Saturday, March 21, 2009
Meet the Illustrator
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There are whispers being carried on the winds, and they bode ill to all who chance upon them. They are like ripples in the water, growing steadily as they speed towards the shore. Although the sound of them is displeasing to me, I am the first to admit I know not of what they speak. What has caused this change? For it was gradual enough that I was able to turn a deaf ear on it for some time. Though it is obvious, in looking back, that this has been culminating for quite a while. The words are foreign to me, but I admit that their sound is displeasing and brings a sense of unease each time I hear it. “War.” “Uprising.” What is it we are rising up against? There are so many questions unanswered.
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