
“But time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake
Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake”
Lord Byron
This is my inner sanctum of sketchiness, every night before I sleep I draw or write my dreams so they don't get in the way of a good night's rest. Each picture is a self portrait narrative, some pictures become other pictures. Can you figure out which ones? Are you clever? Well this is my mad world, so enjoy.

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