So I sit here fresh from reading an infuriatingly stupid mail. There comes a time when you are forced to question whether intelligence really did evolve in humans. And suddenly you realize even you are a human and the question is quietly put to rest. Neither the question nor the mail is really important in the current context, but the action taken to release the scalding heat built up inside, is. To convince myself that the brain really has some function other than making sure we breathe and walk on our two legs and not hands, I fall back on my one corner of solace. My sketchbook. Draw. Let the pencil off its moors. And cool thy fury, lest somebody shall have his undergarments pulled over their fair countenance. Here is what unleashed.
The ugly, violent and stupid place that the world is, there shall be more instances where the pencil shall keep the peace.
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