A Pikey with a Knowledge of Scripture

I'll tell you a story, but you won't listen,
It's about a nightmare steeped in tradition.
It's the story of a coked-up pansy
Who spent his nights in flights of fancy.
Yaz, I know. I've been a bit neglectful. Which really doesn't matter. I blog for myself, which is good, because bloody no one reads this little corner of cyberspace.
News.
Erm, I've nearly finished the first face of the grisaille portrait, and I'm working up the courage to start the next and fill in the clothing details. Looking for some reference, but I think I'll just cop out and do it from memory. There's texture in the canvas. Blah.
I bought some ink the other day, but I was very disappointed to find that it's not viscous enough to work with my pens, and I already have watercolours to work with my brushes. I don't want to do the sumi-e thing.
I started this sketch today...it was meant to be David Thewlis, but it ended up not being nearly sensual enough...his nice, expressive mouth turned all tight and forbidding. I can't imagine David Thewlis looking forbidding--can you?
I just found out that he's a novelist. The brat. And of course, the critics absolutely CRAWLED to him.
Perhaps I will begin to paint postcard-sized heads. It shall be my own little protestation at minimalism.
Other than that, there isn't much on the brain, besides the fact that I'm getting worse and worse at holding myself back. I'm turning into an emotional hedonist, indulging myself in feeling at every opportunity. It's shameful, really. I've been so good at not for ever so long. And I remember why I didn't. Because, when you're really let go, it's as though the sky itself were incinerating, little polyps like stars all gleaming like pinprick angels.
And then your lips begin to gleam, as well, in a rictus smile that beguiles and makes everyone think you're a pleasant person.
Pastry-chefs, I expect, are shamefully adorable boyfriends.
However! I wouldn't know, because I only ever flirt with them when I feel the need to 'suit up' in all the masks and sugar-tartness of candied cherries and glossy tea-cakes.
Maybe I'm only feeling like all the colour has gone out of everything because it's the tail end of winter, and spring hasn't yet shown up to tell me that things always move in cycles, and it really will be all right, but there are far too many layers to my life, and I just want it to go out of this present one and into the next.
Because emotional excess doesn't always need to be present in the life of a girl, even if she is young and moderately attractive, with good posture and nice teeth.