Vertical Colors
08 . 29 . 2003
These backgrounds create vertical lines in four different colors individually, or all together (with tile number three). They are made soft with a brush technique, so they will not overwhelm your page. Have fun with them.
Download Here
Download Here
category - Backgrounds
The Flames
08 . 29 . 2003
The sample below is simply one idea using layers and colors and what not. As you can see there are two images below - one positive and one negative. The light blue images around the top are what the actual brushes look like untouched. I have also included a texture to give the brushes a grungier look when using burned and dodged layers.
category - Brushes
About
08 . 28 . 2003
The Site
This site opened up in January of 2002 and went through a ton of versions and sustained so much development before coming to the state it is in now.
This is a personal site, full of all of my loves, hobbies, and hates. (Though I'm working on not hating at all. Even when it comes to J-Lo.*gringe* I despise that woman.)
The focus of this website at the moment is brushes for psp7 and ps6. I like creating these the most and they give me the most fullfillment. So, that is what you will find the most of.
Thanks
I feel the need to thank someone who was my inspiration to create my own brushes.
Thanks Vered! You have made me love brushes and grunge more than just about anything else on the net. The BSE was the one major thing that brought people to this site and I thank you for creating it. I am sincerely hoping that you don't mind me taking some pointers from you and I also hope you don't think I am trying to impersonate your style or your work. Eventually, everyone who tries to be successful at something emulates their inspiration and in doing so, does that inspiration honor. I don't know you and you don't know me, but I find you inspiring.
Webrings
«?Artists #» <<?poetic voices #>> «?verbosity #»
«gotnet?» «¿ movie whore ¤»
 « | list | random | »  |
category - Miscellany
From Midnight On
08 . 28 . 2003
"Come smoke with me,"
She said as the door opened up.
"I want to talk under the stars,"
She said as the match struck.
"Stay with me a while,"
She said as the sun came up.
"There's still moonlight left,"
She said as he walked away.
She said as the door opened up.
"I want to talk under the stars,"
She said as the match struck.
"Stay with me a while,"
She said as the sun came up.
"There's still moonlight left,"
She said as he walked away.
category - Poetry
Dancing Giants
08 . 28 . 2003
The giants dance alone
Amidst cobwebs of highway
And the noise of honking machines.
They stand tall and proud,
Thinking back to quiter times,
Trying their best to wish the time away.
Amidst cobwebs of highway
And the noise of honking machines.
They stand tall and proud,
Thinking back to quiter times,
Trying their best to wish the time away.
category - Poetry
The Universe In A Sink
08 . 28 . 2003
One small drop
Gathering weight, gathering speed
And crashing head long
Into dry white porcelain
Until an insignificant puddle forms
Around the hair clogged drain.
Somewhere in the puddle
That one drop remains
Searching for the answers
To all of life's big questions.
Gathering weight, gathering speed
And crashing head long
Into dry white porcelain
Until an insignificant puddle forms
Around the hair clogged drain.
Somewhere in the puddle
That one drop remains
Searching for the answers
To all of life's big questions.
category - Poetry
Nomadic Lover
08 . 28 . 2003
Autumn is moving in again.
Her bags wait by the door.
I can smell her all around me,
And see her footprints on the floor.
Her hair is like early dusk,
Her eyes a wind swept sea.
We'll laugh together over breakfast
And wax poetic over tea.
When she smiles I'll smile too,
Then we'll giggle like little girls.
We'll relive the long ago memories,
Like the time I once had curls.
She'll kiss me every morning,
And touch my face late in the night,
Then she'll move along again,
Taking with her my warming light.
This time I'll tell her I'm in love
And try to win her heart,
Then maybe she'll stay with me
And we'll never be apart.
August 2003 Poetic Voices collab entry: An Ode
Her bags wait by the door.
I can smell her all around me,
And see her footprints on the floor.
Her hair is like early dusk,
Her eyes a wind swept sea.
We'll laugh together over breakfast
And wax poetic over tea.
When she smiles I'll smile too,
Then we'll giggle like little girls.
We'll relive the long ago memories,
Like the time I once had curls.
She'll kiss me every morning,
And touch my face late in the night,
Then she'll move along again,
Taking with her my warming light.
This time I'll tell her I'm in love
And try to win her heart,
Then maybe she'll stay with me
And we'll never be apart.
August 2003 Poetic Voices collab entry: An Ode
category - Poetry
Mistress and Her Beast
08 . 28 . 2003
She called him evil
And he sprang up with a growl
Showing teeth, glistening, dripping,
Made jagged by years of wear.
She had thought he was weak,
Controlled for her to use.
He sank his teeth into her flesh
As she screamed and beat him with fists.
And he sprang up with a growl
Showing teeth, glistening, dripping,
Made jagged by years of wear.
She had thought he was weak,
Controlled for her to use.
He sank his teeth into her flesh
As she screamed and beat him with fists.
category - Poetry
Face Without a Name
08 . 28 . 2003
He must've had a name.
What it was I didn't care.
All I wanted was his lips,
His face, his tongue
Moving along my ear.
What it was I didn't care.
All I wanted was his lips,
His face, his tongue
Moving along my ear.
category - Poetry
The Mason Dixon
08 . 28 . 2003
EDIT 1 - original below
She was a little girl not too long ago.
She played with dolls and danced in the rooms
of her family's small, wounded home,
just passed the Mason Dixon.
On hot Virginia days she rode her bike,
two wheels used to get away,
and hide at the neighbor's place,
a soldier seceding from the Union.
She stole her mother's cigarettes
and smoked up with the other kids,
laughing when they coughed in fits
and lighting one butt after the other.
She packed her poor man's bags
In all the bad girl ways.
But there was nowhere for her heart to go,
So she stayed put, a raven in a cage.
Then one day she had a little girl,
the great rebellion gone awry.
Though her nose was still in books,
her heart grew wings, broke the lock.
She worked hard without perk or fringe
and brought late night Slurpies for her little one.
She learned to type, played with computers,
and gave up her twenty-something time.
The men were few and far,
but some were worth the while.
Vagabond boyfriends can't be kept,
so they left for grasses more green.
They moved around in the latter days,
gypsies looking for a place to call their own.
A quaint Yankee village made them welcome
and they learned to love the six-month snows.
When the little girl grew up,
she found a knight, almost shining,
and had a little girl of her own,
a tiny pink lady with ancient blue eyes.
Now she sees her mother in a new light
and the "whys" and "how-comes" no longer matter.
Her mother is now someone's grandmother
who plays on floors and dresses Barbie in smiles.
The cage has long since rusted
in waters of salt and sweat, running thick.
and the raven's wings are full and well worked.
She's been flying on her own for years.
***
original
Mommy was a little girl not too long ago.
She played with dolls and danced in the living room
Of her family's small unhappy home,
Just passed the Mason Dixon.
Everyday she rode her bike,
Two wheels used to get away,
And hide at the neighbor's place
When she could no longer stomach the fight.
She stole her mother's cigarettes
And smoked up with the other kids,
Laughing when they coughed in fits
And lighting one butt after the other.
She ran far away from home
In so many different ways.
But there was never anywhere to go,
So she stayed put in her angry cage.
Then Mommy had a little girl
When her nose was still in books.
Night school and midnight feedings
Take a toll when your just seventeen.
Mommy worked hard at many jobs,
Though she never went to college.
The little girl stayed up late at night,
Waiting for Mommy to come home.
They lived in different places.
The men walked in and out of their lives.
They finally stayed in a quaint, snowy village,
Far away from the Mason Dixon.
Then the little girl grew up
And had a little girl of her own.
Now she knows what it is to be a mother,
And now she understands.
She was a little girl not too long ago.
She played with dolls and danced in the rooms
of her family's small, wounded home,
just passed the Mason Dixon.
On hot Virginia days she rode her bike,
two wheels used to get away,
and hide at the neighbor's place,
a soldier seceding from the Union.
She stole her mother's cigarettes
and smoked up with the other kids,
laughing when they coughed in fits
and lighting one butt after the other.
She packed her poor man's bags
In all the bad girl ways.
But there was nowhere for her heart to go,
So she stayed put, a raven in a cage.
Then one day she had a little girl,
the great rebellion gone awry.
Though her nose was still in books,
her heart grew wings, broke the lock.
She worked hard without perk or fringe
and brought late night Slurpies for her little one.
She learned to type, played with computers,
and gave up her twenty-something time.
The men were few and far,
but some were worth the while.
Vagabond boyfriends can't be kept,
so they left for grasses more green.
They moved around in the latter days,
gypsies looking for a place to call their own.
A quaint Yankee village made them welcome
and they learned to love the six-month snows.
When the little girl grew up,
she found a knight, almost shining,
and had a little girl of her own,
a tiny pink lady with ancient blue eyes.
Now she sees her mother in a new light
and the "whys" and "how-comes" no longer matter.
Her mother is now someone's grandmother
who plays on floors and dresses Barbie in smiles.
The cage has long since rusted
in waters of salt and sweat, running thick.
and the raven's wings are full and well worked.
She's been flying on her own for years.
***
original
Mommy was a little girl not too long ago.
She played with dolls and danced in the living room
Of her family's small unhappy home,
Just passed the Mason Dixon.
Everyday she rode her bike,
Two wheels used to get away,
And hide at the neighbor's place
When she could no longer stomach the fight.
She stole her mother's cigarettes
And smoked up with the other kids,
Laughing when they coughed in fits
And lighting one butt after the other.
She ran far away from home
In so many different ways.
But there was never anywhere to go,
So she stayed put in her angry cage.
Then Mommy had a little girl
When her nose was still in books.
Night school and midnight feedings
Take a toll when your just seventeen.
Mommy worked hard at many jobs,
Though she never went to college.
The little girl stayed up late at night,
Waiting for Mommy to come home.
They lived in different places.
The men walked in and out of their lives.
They finally stayed in a quaint, snowy village,
Far away from the Mason Dixon.
Then the little girl grew up
And had a little girl of her own.
Now she knows what it is to be a mother,
And now she understands.
category - Poetry
Ricky
08 . 28 . 2003
Ricky was a drummer,
Italian, and looked good in glasses.
He smelled like coffee all the time,
Chapstick too, and Merit Lights.
He liked Todd Rungren
And had a couple bikes.
They broke up thirteen years ago,
But I think she loves him still.
I only wish I could fix it
So I wouldn't love him too.
Italian, and looked good in glasses.
He smelled like coffee all the time,
Chapstick too, and Merit Lights.
He liked Todd Rungren
And had a couple bikes.
They broke up thirteen years ago,
But I think she loves him still.
I only wish I could fix it
So I wouldn't love him too.
category - Poetry
Chocolate and A Novel
08 . 28 . 2003
Her Granny used to scratch her back.
Not to ease an itch.
Not that kind of scratch.
Granny hummed her southern way
And gave her chocolate milk.
Extra chocolate, sweet to sip.
She used to lie in Granny's lap
While Granny read a novel.
It was probably a romance.
Granny liked her romance.
Not to ease an itch.
Not that kind of scratch.
Granny hummed her southern way
And gave her chocolate milk.
Extra chocolate, sweet to sip.
She used to lie in Granny's lap
While Granny read a novel.
It was probably a romance.
Granny liked her romance.
category - Poetry
Once My Father
08 . 28 . 2003
There is a man
Who lives in this big city,
Who drives these crowded streets,
Who sees the same night sky,
Who was once my father.
Not by blood, bond, or name,
But by the pure will of fate itself.
Though he thinks he has forgotten me,
Love always makes itself known again.
And as the years pass us by,
And we linger just beyond that face to face,
I will remember the yesterday
And know that I am still his daughter.
Who lives in this big city,
Who drives these crowded streets,
Who sees the same night sky,
Who was once my father.
Not by blood, bond, or name,
But by the pure will of fate itself.
Though he thinks he has forgotten me,
Love always makes itself known again.
And as the years pass us by,
And we linger just beyond that face to face,
I will remember the yesterday
And know that I am still his daughter.
category - Poetry
Listen to the Poetry
08 . 27 . 2003
All of the files are .wavs, which are actually smaller, crappier files than mp3s, and I don't think anyone wants to download these to a CD anyway. Obviously, having a faster connection helps with the listening. I'm sorry if you don't have a fast connection. I really am. You can still listen though. It will just take longer. :) Happy listening.
Section One: First Blood
All Tears
Camelot
Deja Vu and Echoes
Eternal
I Remember
Forgotten Kiss
Little Lost Girl
Move Me!
Narcolepsy
One Green Eye
Private Party
Sliding
Soul Placation
Stagnant
Why Dream
Wounded (Revised)
Wounded (Draft 1)
Section Two: A Kind of Evolution
Once My Father *NEW*
Chocolate and A Novel *NEW*
Ricky *NEW*
The Mason Dixon (fully edited) *NEW*
The Mason Dixon *NEW*
Mistress and Her Beast *NEW*
From Midnight On *NEW*
The Universe in a Sink *NEW*
Nomadic Lover *NEW*
Dancing Giants *NEW*
Face Without a Name *NEW*
category - Poetry
International Postage
08 . 13 . 2003
Brushes of international postage stamps. The multicolored look was created by using different colors (obviously) and blending effects with different layers in PSP7. Have fun and make something pretty.
category - Brushes
Templates: Magick
08 . 09 . 2003
category - Templates
