Two years, nine months, two weeks, three days, 9 hours, 5 minutes and 32 seconds. 20427 cigarettes not smoked, saving 3.268,41 €. Life saved: 10 weeks, 22 hours, 15 minutes.



My Chat: #CelticSpirit

Note me for commissions, check my gallery for my skills

I do drawings, jewelry, clay thingies and scarves

I only accept paypal, thru andreiarfps@hotmail.com




In this day and age it seems like the World of Writing is slowly being driven backwards into a cliff that has no railings. I’m part of an art site, and I see most people make a bee line for all the brilliantly colored pictures and shiny imagery, completely by-passing anything with words in it.

Often the only exception is the fanfic, which despite the lowering of the number of people interested in the written story manage to stay afloat by giving the reader a familiar character and setting in a plot that strokes our overly eager brain’s necessity for acting out complexes that would make Freud turn in his grave.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good fanfic as much as the next fangirl, the lemonier the better, and complexes I do have many, from the savior one, where the main female character saves the main male characters soul through love to the saint one where the selfless main character gives everything of her to save those around her, including her life. We thrive of it and it grounds and keeps us sane to a degree, as we often can’t or won’t be that way in real life.

But, alas I digress. From my wonderings on the web it seems, to me at least, that nowadays people do seem to prefer the sight of an image full with someone’s creativity rather than immerse themselves in a world of words that will stimulate your brain to weave those sentences into visual tapestries filled with memories and smells and sound, a veritable psychological movie that etches the story into your mind and, when we are lucky, our very souls.

How erotic it can be, to just read about the advances of an enamored couple picturing their movements, giving them life by way of our memories, creating our own characters with all the imperfections of ourselves and yet the subliminal feeling of a dream when all appears life like and so utterly feasible and divine at the same time.

Feeling on our bodies the thick fog or heavy rain as the writer describes it in detail, actually smelling the sweet scent of the orchids swaying to the breeze as we pass them to reach our love, except we don’t it is the magic of the words as they filter to our brain that conjure up the brilliant imagery and empiric memories, much like when we pass a our bed during the times our partner is away and we swear we can still smell the intoxicating scent of vigorous love making, despite the sheets being freshly laid.

With images and movies so often small details are lost, and despite loving all the amazing that is a show of lights and sound in a darkened cinema, which does have many merits, alongside the pretty pictures so well thought of and accomplished can we not make a small space to revive and cherish the beautiful tradition and magic that is to simply read and dive into a world of creation that makes us interact so actively with it? And the wondrous feeling of holding a book, feeling it’s roughed leaves as we turn them in search of the next thrilling scene to engulf us… so pleasurable and yet so unappreciated today.

Let us make an effort to not let this brilliance slip through our fingers as so many other traditions that have been lost to modernization and a flawed ideal of distancing ourselves from a past that will always be with us, much like our own shadows to gives a sense of direction and existence.




:Admin at:



:My Clubs:



: Outside DA:

Fórum Missangarte - Artesanato

:My Store:

Midnight Studio