First Exercise (10 minutes) My real name is buried deep on a farm filled with brambles with razor-sharp grey thorns. The silt path to the place my name is buried is thin and winds between each towering bramble. One wrong step will bring you to ruin, since beneath the thorn-clouds there are hidden mud traps to catch virgins and the unwary. My real name is in a strong box, iron-grey,
Perhaps it's too soon to say this, but I like that I don't have a great memory for the pasts' small specifics. The downside is that I admire people who seem to carry all of their life experience, in detail, in their heads. I don't. And I'm not even motivated to try. Probably making a virtue out of necessity, but, it makes finding little dated doodles like this more fun.