#one of these images is The Same Clay Image but it's ok.... his side profile is Not accurate to what i really want so ur never gonna see

[eolande]

sorry for spam I ALSO FOUND MORE CLAY IMAGES i've been thinking about them soooooo much....

[voidoffline]

Hey!

Hiya there, I decided to do a picrew challenge:] by that I mean I tried a bunch of different picrews I saw to see how close I could get to them looking like my actual self

(this was something I did on a whim and on my own, and not some compilation. Oh! And I will be linking picrew I used so dw!)

Here’s a list of aspects about me that I tired to include in each thing the best that I could:

- simple black/dark grey undershirt, red collared over-shirt, black/dark grey bandana/mask over neck

- dark brown (almost wavy/curly) hair, short on the top shaved down on the sides, black cowboy-like hat or black (noise canceling) headphones

- blue almost grey eyes, right eye(viewers left) slightly closed, bushy eyebrows and eyelashes, scar over right(viewers left) eyebrow, dark eyebags, golden hexagon glasses (not sunglasses)

- reddened hands or gloves, compression socks (for the ones that show full body), earring on left(viewers right) ear

Now for the picrews!:

(Plus the links)

(Oh, and if you want, feel free to do this same challenge yourself! Tag some friends, make this a chain if you want. Or just use this to see which picrews are the most inclusive and have things for you. Do whatever! I just did this for fun and said ‘fuck it, I’ll post my results why not’) @phpolly @echofish07 @eliyips @shadowsesi @nogenderonlyfrogie (don’t mind me, just tagging some of my moots in case they wanna try this picrew challenge thingy too)

[thebrownblog]

Shaker’s Mill

As the days got cooler and the nights got longer, John Redman came to realise troubles he thought may be downwind had already enveloped him. There wasn’t any one particular moment where this cold truth struck him like a thunderbolt or a holy revelation, but instead understanding dawned gradually, at first mainly expressing itself in a constant feeling of unease deep in his gut.

Things were different now to how they had been at the beginning of that hot and seemingly endless summer that had begun so promisingly. The point where it was still possible to deny this had passed, it simply was. His friends with his cherished gang of brothers-in-arms was never going to be the same again, and that had bent his heart out of shape. Carol was gone and never coming back, and that had shattered it. These were the things that he could put his finger on, but they weren’t all of it. No, there was so much afoot lately that he didn’t fully understand.

Things had been…slipping. Somehow that was the best way to describe it. “Coming apart at the seams” was another decent effort. Unraveling, going south, heading west, taking the Nutso Express headed east, getting fucking weird, going bat-shit crazy. They all beat somewhere around the right bush, but none of them quite hit the nail on the head in expressing exactly how things had been around these parts recently.

“The centre cannot hold” John mumbled to himself before taking another drag from his cigarette. A crow eyed him suspiciously for a couple of seconds before turning its attention elsewhere again. 

“Clearly not a fan of Yeats, eh?” This time the crow gave him a quick, disdainful look before spreading its wings and setting sail for pastures new, probably ones free of smoking morons who spoke to themselves out loud. 

John took a final drag on his Marlboro (“Filthy habit John! I won’t kiss you anymore if you keep smoking those cancer sticks!” Carol had proclaimed, taking a drag on her Lucky Strike. Within ten seconds she had kissed him once again. A long, lingering kiss....), and stubbed it out on the dry clay by the rather shallow-looking brook he was currently standing in front of. He shivered a little as a cool breeze ripped past him. Summer was already packed up and waiting in the departure lounge with its luggage, and wasn’t it a drag?

 He was unable to resist the heavy wave of misery that suddenly washed over his constant state of low-level melancholy. He sat down on the clay, let his head drop down into his hands and began to cry. At first he wept gently, but soon he was releasing great unselfconscious sobs, his back arching with the force of them. He wept for the way the bottom seemed to have suddenly fallen out of everything he took for granted. He wept for the way all the innocence had ungraciously disappeared from his seemingly perfectly adolescent life. He wept for friends long gone, even if they still only lived a few blocks away. Most of all though, he wept for Carol. There wasn’t even a hateful bird to keep him company anymore.

***

“Hey give me that, you clown!” Danny bellowed, his laughter robbing the command of any real weight.

“Come and get it, dipstick!” John retorted. 

“Go wide, go wide!” Eric cried out to his left.

“Nice catch Eric, you shithead! Now pass it over!” Danny was getting fed up.

“Over here! Come on, come on!” Kyle implored as Danny advanced rapidly on Eric, who seemed unsure what to do in the face of Danny’s genuine annoyance.

In the end, it was this hesitation that caused Eric to botch the throw to Kyle and send it over his head and the right….and straight through one of the factory’s single-glazed ground-floor windows.

“Oh you idiot!” exclaimed John and Danny, almost at the same time. Eric had his hands up against the sides of his head, eyes wide with the kind of shock that usually follows making a sudden, major cock-up. Kyle was standing motionless, head turned left to see the damage two feet behind him.

“OH YOU STUPID FUCKING LITTLE BASTARDS! YOU”RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS!” roared Mr. McKinley as he came bursting out of the factory’s rear fire escape, red-faced with bulging eyes and yellow teeth clenched together in a grimace of rage.

For a moment that felt at least ten years long panic enveloped the quartet of boys, and they all remained rooted to the spot as he advanced on Kyle, the closest target. It would have seemed to any casual observer (perhaps a bird in a tree, for example) that Mr. McKinley was going to be able to simply stride over to Kyle and snap his young neck with no resistance whatsoever. Kyle was only able to stare at him wide-eyed and trembling, like a bird hypnotised by an approaching snake. In the nick of time, the spell was broken however.

“RRRRUUUUUUUUNNNNN!!” screamed Danny, and the paralysis was broken.

John and Danny immediately began pounding the cement of the weedy backyard with their Nikes, gaining a two-second advantage over Eric, who was then away like a steam locomotive once he jolted into life, rapidly gaining on them. Kyle was the most terrified, and consequently the last to get moving, despite being the one who most needed to. A second later and he’d have been seized upon, but the realisation that this was for real hit him with literally not another moment to spare, and he performed a crab-like sideways shuffle to evade McKinley’s outreached arms. He turned his body right so quickly that he momentarily lost his balance and was on the verge of tumbling to the ground. For one very long moment the issue was in doubt, as McKinley continued his lumbering, heavy-footed advance, and then Kyle regained his balance and was in motion, leaving the portly foreman behind. 

McKinley, knowing in spite of his rage that his ample frame had no chance of catching up to a skinny teenager’s athletic body, did not give pursuit. Instead he remained in place below the shattered window, shaking his fists and hollering at the young vandals who had disrupted his day.

“I’LL GET YOU! I’LL GET ALL OF YOU LITTLE COCKSUCKERS, YOU JUST SEE IF I DON’T! YOU’RE ALL DEAD! DEAD, YOU HEAR ME, YOU MOTHERF-” Mr McKinley yelled for quite some time, none of it cooking recipes or grooming tips.

As they got out of earshot of the steady barrage of threats and profanity, the boys’ spirits began to lift. They eventually came to rest in a dry, yellowish field about half a mile from the scene of the crime, sweaty and almost overdosing on adrenaline.

“What a pleasant gentleman!” John said, panting.

“Oh yeah, a real pillar of the community, eh?” Danny quipped in return.

“I think he was a tad displeased with us today though” Eric said, getting involved slightly late, as was his custom.

“What a fucking prick!” exclaimed Kyle with all of his usual subtlety.

The other three boys looked at him, Danny’s lip started to quiver with amusement, which in turn amused Kyle enough to start laughing, and within seconds it had spread like a forest fire, with the whole gang in fits of hysteria. The tension had been released.

“What a fucking prick indeed!” John chipped in when he was composed enough to speak and the hysteria was dying down. Danny made eye contact with him, his lips quivering harder than ever, and it started all over again.

***

“What’s wrong Johnny boy?” Tony Redman asked, taking his eye off the television screen and regarding his son with a mixture of mild concern and frank curiosity. 

“Huh?” John replied groggily, jolted suddenly out of his reverie. 

“You’ve barely said two words all night. What’s eatin’ ya?”

“Oh nothing dad, I’m just tired. Long day I guess.”

In a way this was true. It felt like every day had been a long one recently. All experiences, even ones which would usually be rather mundane seemed to have taken on a sometimes sickly intensity as the summer approached its sweltering, sticky crescendo.

“If you say so, son. If ever there’s something you need to talk about, you know where to find me, OK?”

“Yeah I reckon I could track you down if I had to, dad.”

“I’m an old fart, but I’m not quite over the hill yet, you’d be surprised at how much your old man knows about things.”

“I don’t doubt it. You still owe Jesus five bucks from school after all!”

“The old ones are the best, eh?” his father chuckled and turned his gaze back to the television. His concern for his son was genuine and didn’t recede with the turning of his head, despite appearances. The boy had been off-kilter for a couple of weeks now, John’s handsome face too pallid for his liking... and had he lost weight? It certainly seemed so when looking at the boy (boy? Hardly anymore! Where do the years go?) in profile this evening. Tony Redman, who had indeed lived more of a life than his son would believe or credit, continued to ponder the cause of his son’s malaise (Drugs? Girls? Bullying?) until he dozed off in his armchair with half a can of undrunk beer sitting next to his left foot.

***

Lying in bed unable to sleep at the antisocial hour of 1am, John’s mind ran down the hazy, nebulous paths which are so well-defined and accessible during the small hours. He had seen things in the previous few days that he was struggling badly to reconcile with. This had been the case too often recently. Tonight, as with the previous night he had tried reading, usually a surefire way to doze off quickly, but had found himself completely unable to focus, reading the same few lines over and over until he threw the paperback on the floor in frustration.

Uncomfortable images refused to stop flashing in his mind like blinking warning lights. Carol and Danny engrossed in a secret conversation. The unnatural act the homeless man had performed on the field. Fragments of shattered glass twinkling in the sun. McKinley waving his fists, his face twisted in an expression of raw fury. The chubby boy from the year below sprinting as fast as his stubby legs would carry him, panic in his eyes. Blink blink blink. Flash flash flash.

It was enough to drive a fellow mad. The stench of stale sweat and sleeplessness permeated his room as he resigned himself once and for all to another day of grotesque fatigue in the July heat. The radio had been announcing all day that tomorrow (now today already) was going to be a scorcher. Sunscreen would do precious little for the expanding bags under his eyes however.

*** 

John was not the only adolescent boy in Shaker’s Mill unable to fall asleep that night, far from it. Two miles away (as the crow flies anyway), Danny McGrogan was enduring a similar bout of greasy insomnia. He too had seen the quality of his sleep decline rapidly in recent times, for reasons similar but not entirely the same as those troubling his good friend and long-term accomplice in mischief. 

“What the fuck is going on?” he murmured to himself, and not for the first time that week. Unlike John, he had given up on trying to sleep well before midnight, and was currently sat at his desk, gazing out of the large rectangular window overlooking the deserted street below. Deserted for now anyway.

[toekneetv]

Tesla Model Y Styling Breakdown: A Designer’s Take on the New SUV

Elon Musk’s master plan has always had the Model 3 circled in fat red ink as Tesla’s mega-selling, do-or-die affordable car. But since then, those fickle car buyers out there have been having other ideas and ditching their sedans for crossovers. Although the Model 3 has been selling remarkably well nonetheless, it hasn’t been enough (probably because of its price) to avoid a $700 million loss last quarter. Moreover, the predicament’s been compounded by slipping sales of the more profitable Model S and X (the S is seven years old now, but still going strong, check out our exclusive Model S long-range test) and the headwind of evaporating federal incentives. Answer? Scribble out that first circle and draw a new one around the next car—the Tesla Model Y. Although it’s based on the Model 3 (75 percent so, Musk says), it’ll land in the absolute sweet spot of the market (crossover) and where people are accustomed to spending a little more. Everything seems hunky-dory then, except for one thing. That sloping roofline that doesn’t look much like today’s crossovers.

So what, then, does a car designer (whose first name isn’t Franz) think of the Tesla Model Y? It just so happens that we know a really good one, Mr. Tom Gale, longtime design maestro at Chrysler and MT’s sage of style. I dialed Tom’s number: Kim Reynolds: Hi Tom. So here’s my big question: How would you identify this thing? A tall sedan? Or a crowd-pleasing crossover? Tom Gale: I don’t see it as a crossover at all. In fact, I think a lot of people are going to miss it on the road. Just today I saw a Model 3, and it really is a testament to how well they’ve evolved the proportions of Tesla’s design. The same is true with the Model Y, but to me, this is just a sedan being taller. KR: At the Model Y’s introduction, our Miguel Cortina got a ride in one that has the optional third row, but they wouldn’t let anybody climb back there. Third row—good or bad? TG: I think it’s a waste of time. The compromise to overall storage space is a step too far. KR: So far, you’re being critical. TG: Actually, you really can’t fault the car’s line work, and I think the Model Y sits on the platform fairly well. They’ve used some of the devices they did on the Model X, where you black out things they don’t on the sedans. And when you look at the way the Model Y’s DLO finishes within the side view, it’s far more comfortable than on Model X, where it hangs on for so long the car almost looked shifted on its platform. KR: I’m sensing a “but” coming … TG: I would have loved to have seen them exercise their design talent trying to figure out a roof that’s better suited to the intended function of this vehicle. I love the design consistency, but I can see the internal struggles that they must be having. I just would’ve let this one break out and say, “See, we can go after this market with some different stuff.” KR: When I look at the Model Y’s profile, what I see is the price of batteries talking. It’s pack probably costs $10,000-plus, meaning—unlike a gasoline car—the Model Y has to be obsessively efficient to minimize this tremendously expensive cost. Probably why Lucid’s first car, the Air, is an aerodynamic sedan, too. And why I’m sort of amazed by the boxy Rivian. But on the other hand, the Rivian is exactly what people expect a crossover or truck to look like.

TG: I’m no longer on Rivian’s board, but I’ll tell you that it’s far more efficient than it looks. Look—this is the designer in me talking so take it with a grain of salt—I wouldn’t compromise for a few minuscule points of aero. As important as they are, you’re going to throw the baby away with the bath water because the public’s consideration is the most important thing. Without knowing any of the aero numbers, but being taller, you’ve already got the frontal area. And there’s a lot of aero devices you could use if the roofline had a conventional pickup in the back. OK, you’re going to create a larger vortex, but I would question how much of that offsets what you’re losing in terms of the product perception. That’s the central point: If the reason’s aero, that’s a big bet. Look at the BMW X6 or the Honda Crosstour. Not very well accepted… KR: So let’s imagine that you walk into Tesla design studio just at the point where the Model Y was a full-scale, completed clay model. I hand you the sculpting tools to make changes. What would you do? TG: Well, that’s tough because Franz is living with it day-in and day-out. And I think the openings, the graphics of the vehicle overall, the line work of the vehicle, it’s really very good. But if I were to lead them, I guess I would say, “I want to investigate what you could do with the roofline and still have it be Tesla.” Leave the C-pillar—that is very recognizable of Tesla—and then try to grow something out of the back of it. Then I would look at whether there’s an inventive way to change what you do with the hatch to gain function. Maybe you let some of the top of the hatch move forward into the roof so that you’ve got a taller space to hold stuff. KR: Go on. You’re on a roll. TG: From there I would move around to the front and say, “Why don’t we look for a way to create some image equity that would be ours. Maybe make the top of the Tesla ‘T’ part of the upper character line.” They kind of started it already with the noses of the Model S and X. Then I’d ask, “Is there something we can do to accentuate its capabilities?” I would’ve loved to have seen a little bit more track—maybe they could’ve done it with wheel offset. I would’ve been really riding hard on the engineering guys for me. KR: Back to the roofline; instead of the Y’s big slope, could Tesla have gone with the sort of station wagon-y roofline of the Porsche Gran Turismos?

TG: For some reason, the words “station wagon” are verboten in the U.S. Having said that, I think the Gran Turismos are very successful from a design perspective. But from a marketing perspective, station wagons are too low to be perceived as functional. KR: Earlier, I Googled images of the Model Y, and at first glance, I didn’t realize that a lot of them were speculative renderings made before the unveiling. You can hardly tell them from the actual car. This must be the most predictable-looking vehicle in a long time. And with its sloping roofline, it’s dangerously undifferentiated from the Model 3. TG: I think they’re going to cannibalize some Model 3 sales. KR: A lot rides on Tesla making the case—without advertising; they don’t advertise—that the Y isn’t just a “Model 3 Tall (M3T?)” but instead a new-think aerodynamic crossover. I guess we’ll see, right Tom? TG: I guess we will.The post Tesla Model Y Styling Breakdown: A Designer’s Take on the New SUV appeared first on Motortrend. Read the full article