More sketches. A little weird. Even for me.

I can explain.

No, really.

I had been reading John Donne’s poem about the perfidy of women, “Go and catch a falling star” and while I don’t really agree about the women, it’s got some lovely imagery, one line of which is “Get with child a mandrake root.” This got me thinking about pregnant mandrake roots and–did I mention it was 2 AM? It was–so I got up in the middle of the night and went and scrawled this thumbnail of a pregnant mandrake with rooty feet. Today I refined it a bit. I have a vague desire to paint it, but for some reason, the painting wants to have…err…rooty wooden labia…and my brain is brachiating around inside my skull like a squishy wrinkled gibbon trying to figure out why. I mean, there’s nothing overtly sexual about it, and the pregnancy is really the central element so it makes sense, and the human body is a wonderful thing, blah blah blah, but it’s still a trifle…odd. Well, the wombat in the corner looks freaked out, anyhow.

The random text, which is too small to read at this size, says “The screaming fish in Bob’s eye made it hard to meet women,” and “Worm opera is not well understood by vertebrates, but seems to involve many tiny hats.”

I’m not strange, damnit.