- Tell me the Truth. - Ruff. Real Ruff.

😂😂😂😂😂

How to play The game is transition. The game is moving. The game is experienced. Play with people. Play in the field. Playing creates solutions. Playing protects us from problems. Observing people play encourages us to play more. Watch people play. Play with your shadow child. Draw, tell stories, and create all kinds of arts and crafts. Sometimes, we stop playing with our shadow children when we start to worry about growing up and going to work. Instead of leaving the shadow child behind, invite this playful spirit to work with you. Take a leap together into the void. We can change the game when work is play.

✌️

Hey Dave, can I buy you lunch?

On the bus to work i love this guy

Circle thing

this shit deep 2:01

Jesus

🥾

I always wanted to be an artist and loved doing art purely for joy as a kid, and I became amazing as a teenager. Then as I grew, I clung to my art being “amazing” and looking great and impressing people to the point that I lost the art, the joy and the true expression. You’re the only art teacher out of a lifetime of art teachers that has so easily and repeatedly brought me right back to that. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for bringing me out of the yellow.

I believe that was a right triangle

Discomfort. Yes. My soul is uncomfortable. My ex is crying to come home, saying that he won't make it without me. I want to call him a baby. I am cringing at life, and that painting might be the only fucking thing that looks normal to me right now. Life is sideways.

colours are mixing the cumming night snug to everyone’s skin. they loved all they complained about; the humidity & the mystiquers of late summer. anxiously carried were boxes & bags & packages, their tripes, tropes and trinkets they kept packed deep in despair of their CONTAINMENT CELLS …quizzical how do i want this… when were they ever finished carrying all that baggage, everything in force they make themselves; forget? b/c they can’t connive the frame up to tolerate any longer the view they have w/indulgence of it’s memory kept safe? separated space between the lie & lay; rooms that fabricate solitude oscillating their CONTAINMENT CELLS. they all think of different thoughts & show us their ideas frequently as their ‘partner’. they look at the walls wondering what colour the flies will paint them for the day & picture what they will trace over that. dark purples and pale pinks, wood colour dresses & one dead LightningBug. some were about red-sex in the holywood lights and what colour the wells would take on in that context. some were about black spades & black knights & polished chrome and what colour the wells would lack best spitting from the hip. THEIR RESTLESS SCHEMES WILL ALWAYS CHANGE W/THE COWARDICE OF A HAPPY LIFE the room reached out, like a well when looked down on; so he made a wish as he hoped through the door. the dark room stretched across like pale cream dipping into coffee, when the softer colours swirl a war that goes onto say “it is warmer to be in here w/us then out there were you are sparking w/silence & drowning on the floor”…READY TO ENTER… they take pity on themselves, i think to myself in echo as well, are their’s hope of being compassionate? don’t everything take pity on itself in their hopes of there being compassion… we all wake here, pandering upon pain w/it’s wintering; cindering has already killed me to the point beyond death & being, inside this badly drawn, ill body, i watch how the larger ‘fly’s set me on fire. illuminating the splintering around me are the shards and scraps, even cold could not hold together with glue; spouting from the fumes are the ruins of my new CONTAINMENT CELL. they knew all the secrets of the FABRICATED CITY, the flies on the walls were designed to overhear the humans & weave copper sirens to sing out melodies that once were the laughter ringing our youth; while we sit behind our platted glass starring at the reign smoked world, not seeing the merriment that comes along with puddles any longer, but only the blandness of each day. the grays that intertwine and seep through every pore are expelled only when we take amusement in everything; and laugh. we never laugh anymore. never do we hear the chorus of bells that use to ember our recess for us now; once we reach a certain point… i don’t know if i ever want to reach that point, but sometimes the grays are welcoming… that was my favorite concept of the book too honky; my art has never felt this respected before, i’m very grateful you were this inspired by it… thank you for existing & being you.

often between fiction & truth, somewhere other then present; we will find the artist in a reality world imaginary the surreal. consider this try at authenticity too, a good example of the “Lived in Life” as one of nonfiction, found stuffed w/the giving that most likely gave life to a thankful moment. on the other hand; facts are abused when presented against the absurd of the surreal. AND AT TIMES the imagination appears more… grown up than made up’d; on only through trying moments, tying life & time into one unreal showing of reality we voyage… a way in the back of their basement the attics included there for what might be lying in wait, for prey to search the edges of boundary hunting sustenance rather than surrealism & reality rather than truth; lost in the imagination of the FABRICATED CITY, whose authenticity to achieve failed to shock the value of both scenarios & the lot the common has for sale. in showing the artist feeling his arts travels truly and finds it succeeded in showing life to reality… i could never tolerate all those flies with the same ease i do my thoughts… i’m impressed; after 3mins in your CONTAINMENT CELL i’d of eaten my own head: trying to get out of there.

Pure exploration. Every turn can be failure or triumph but luckily taste is subjective so there's a fan for everything.

If I ever get to see you Dave, I will buy you at least two chips for lunch with coffee. Thank youuuu

What kind of crayons do you use?

Thank you for the videos David❤

If a man wants to be a bottle rocket, then help him with the fuse. It's not that hard. Most of us have lighters... Well, some of us have lighters, others may have a vape or something, that's ok, there's matches, usually in a drawer or cabinet. The point is, share in others success by helping them succeed... Guess I could have led in with that and skipped all the nonsense, but it's more fun my way... Yep

I know what he’s saying is the truth because when he called me out for not playing enough, my deep core/unconscious soul felt spotted and I physically felt myself want to escape this video. That’s the truth.

He’s funny, and right

You made me cry, fck you, thank you, love you. 🌸

Normally I click away when someone says 'Hey, I didn't see you there' but he actually made it funny.