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from humanissome

the peace of God which surpasseth all understanding

There's a line from the Bible that comes to me often. I suspect it has been incorporated into a Catholic blessing or the order of the mass; and that's how it got lodged in my memory. It's the name of a lovely hymn by John Tavener. I took time to see how I would feel about the meaning in context. Here I present, from the Letter of Paul to the PHILIPPIANS Chapter 4, the parts that are meaningful and the parts that are not meaningful to me:

1 Therefore, my dearly beloved brethren, and most desired, my joy and my crown; so stand fast in the Lord, my dearly beloved. 2 I beg of Evodia, and I beseech Syntyche, to be of one mind in the Lord. 3 And I entreat thee also, my sincere companion, help those women who have laboured with me in the gospel, with Clement and the rest of my fellow labourers, whose names are in the book of life. 4 Rejoice in the Lord always; again, I say, rejoice. 5 Let your modesty be known to all men. The Lord is nigh. 6 Be nothing solicitous; but in every thing, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your petitions be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasseth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. 8 For the rest, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever modest, whatsoever just, whatsoever holy, whatsoever lovely, whatsoever of good fame, if there be any virtue, if any praise of discipline, think on these things. 9 The things which you have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, these do ye, and the God of peace shall be with you. 10 Now I rejoice in the Lord exceedingly, that now at length your thought for me hath flourished again, as you did also think; but you were busied. 11 I speak not as it were for want. For I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, to be content therewith. 12 I know both how to be brought low, and I know how to abound: (everywhere, and in all things I am instructed) both to be full, and to be hungry; both to abound, and to suffer need. 13 I can do all these things in him who strengtheneth me. 14 Nevertheless you have done well in communicating to my tribulation. 15 And you also know, O Philippians, that in the beginning of the gospel, when I departed from Macedonia, no church communicated with me as concerning giving and receiving, but you only: 16For unto Thessalonica also you sent once and again for my use. 17Not that I seek the gift, but I seek the fruit that may abound to your account. 18But I have all, and abound: I am filled, having received from Epaphroditus the things you sent, an odour of sweetness, an acceptable sacrifice, pleasing to God. 19And may my God supply all your want, according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus. 20Now to God and our Father be glory world without end. Amen. 21Salute ye every saint in Christ Jesus. 22The brethren who are with me, salute you. All the saints salute you; especially they that are of Caesar's household. 23The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Amen

 
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from RMiddleton

today I love

My boyfriend My friends Music The back massager from my boyfriend

The friends and former neighbors who let me be a part of their family. They help me many ways and are currently driving us to Auburn, Alabama, for the wedding of their eldest. I'm getting a back massage while Elton John sings Tiny Dancer and the vehicle heads ??? — I don't have to know! I'm not driving and have no responsibilities this weekend. Relax!

I love the calm that I feel lately. Less evaluation, expectation, worry. Peace.

I love peace. Do I understand peace? Have I known how to welcome peace? I know it when I feel it I'm thinking. The peace that surpasseth all understanding?

 
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from RMiddleton

conversation excerpts between new friends from different worlds

Whenever he spoke of his home Starling grew so agitated that his slight, frail frame seemed vibrating, boiling within, ready to burst. His skin changed color! Not to the extent that the rock lizard visibly shifts its color, but significantly. Earthling was concerned.

Starling's pulse quickened, breaths grew shallow, tegument pigmentation intensified. He spat-spoke, “Living on a planet once teeming with life my species believed they were all that mattered. We thought we were the only intelligent creatures. Because we used tools, we said. Until we paid attention to all the others who also used tools! Then we had to find other reasons.”

“Here too,” our Earthling representative echoed his alien friend, in a tone meant to affirm yet calm. Agreeing not challenging is the way to encourage change, E. knew. With nonchalance: “If not tools, language, then it's emotion,” Earthling laughed wistfully, “And whaddya know? Other critters do all that stuff!”

“Yeah,” Starling snorted, still sulking but surprised at his genuine comfort in knowing his species wasn't uniquely arrogant. Surprised how quickly he felt some commonality — familiarity — with the Earthling. His anger faded only because his focus shifted to his host. Amiable, intelligent, admirable even. Still a little hard for Starling to look at. He must keep his shameful feelings of disgust a secret from his only hope for survival. He will work on these feelings on his own time, he decided. Earthling interrupted his pondering, or it may be more correct to say no time had passed at all.

“We did finally learn one legit thing that separates us from all other species on the planet.” He was waiting for Starling to be ready.

Resuming full attention, taking interest in what the Earthling had said, Starling asked, “Oh? What is it?” He wondered if it would hold true of his species as well, though he could never know for sure anymore.

“Our lives are a progression of doing one thing while thinking about another.”

Is this a joke, Starling wondered. His expression must have betrayed his thought, because E. added, “I'm serious! Of all the species on this planet mine is the only one capable of doing one thing while thinking something else. I don't know how they proved it, it isn't my field. Something about object permanence I think and distractability, attention disorders...” he faded off.

Starling looked directly at his companion. Damn if I don't like this guy! “I still don't think I understand what you're staying.”

“Oh that's all right, neither do the scientists. But they definitely believe it. They are conducting additional tests. It's unending right?”

He's laughing at me. With me? Starling wondered. I think he's smiling. Hard to tell. Do they even have the same emotions and language use? So far it feels like yes but... S. knows he is completely at sea. Asea. Aspace.

“Live in the moment,” the sages have said. “Be as the creatures of the sea and air, with no worry burdening them down.”

“Damn. Yes, I see.”

 
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from humanissome

(from This Arab Is Queer: An Anthology of LGBTQ+ Arab Writers, edited by Elias Jahshan)

Selections: ⇀ 3. Never let anyone tell you that you can be dehumanised. Language has many powers, but this is not one of them. Tragically, you are always human – when you oppress, and when you are oppressed. The illusion that more is possible is the root of all evil. ⇀ 5. Do not mistake cynicism for criticism, or criticism for intelligence. Rid yourself of cynicism, which is self-loathing projected outward. It's an inability or unwillingness to account for one's actions and intentions without condemning yourself, and so you damn everyone. ⇀ 7. You are capable of so much more than you imagine – especially kindness. This is a criticism. What have you imagined recently that wasn't a worst-case scenario? This is a seed. Turn it into a door to another world. 8. Take the word 'Arab', oh black bird, shake her out into a galaxy, and again, expanding night, bejewelled cosmos! Look, look how she fits everything and everyone. Look how foolish it is to staple to a body. Take your frames, O criminals, you the designated disasters, lube them well, ride yourself to completion. If it's going to fuck you, you might as well have fun along the way.

9. You love being watched. You hate being watched. This is to do with the watcher: the surveillance state naming you sad sodomite, sinister Saddam. This is to do with your haunted mirror. You want to live in the blink, the afterimage, the blur.

10. The spectre of suicide – the other face of which is murder – lives within you, growing hearty on shame. When you stop running, you will learn the spectre wants only to be loved. Trust that death solves nothing and shame is only useful in identifying what you need to understand.

11. Breathe.

12. Fearful of loss, some people build a wall around their beloveds, thinking it will keep them close. Keep you safe. Insecurity smothers, habibi. Be wary of walls. They won't change when you all do, and then what will you do?

13. Another word for wall is family.

14. Nostalgia is the body missing itself. Isn't that wild? How you miss your wild.

15. 'Authenticity is not a fixed point in the past to which we must return in order to establish our identity. It is rather a constant capacity for movement and for going beyond existing limits...' – Adonis.

16. You will make artwork that is rooted in your life – in part because it has been made detestable and you want to make it presentable; in part because you love it, and don't understand it – and at the end, you will wonder why you feel like a fraud, why you detest what others applaud. I hate my work, you will say, when what you mean is, I hate my life. You have yet to see the work for what it is: a reclamation, a reimagining.

17. Drink some water, it's not that serious. Life is unbelievably precious, finite, divine, sure. But serious? Nah. ⇀ ⇀


I am grateful to the Queer Liberation Library / QLL for access to this book. It's a nationwide-US resource for queer materials especially valuable during a time of Republican attacks on human knowledge. My state of Florida is one of the absolute worst US offenders in censorship of queer information & existence. It's a genuine threat. I can read passages in This Arab Is Queer & not feel, “Oh those countries are awful for their treatment of gays!” So is mine! One can say that the extent of comparative suffering is relative but I'm a humanist. I advocate human respect and freedom for all. My struggle is their struggle & we all must be free.

I love you.

Access to queer books is very much in demand. I waited 6 months for This Arab Is Queer & there are 30 waiting for it from me (while I'm typing this instead of finishing it!). Digital access to media is expensive for libraries who are probably having to pay large entertainment corporations and venture capitalist firms for access to human culture! If you are able please support the QLL. Support me. Let's support each other. Some support is financial, some moral, some inspirational. And check out the QLL yourself if you need access to more queer media.

Kisses!

 
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from Karin Wanderer Learns

Every 2 weeks I post a new art challenge prompt! The new #KWPrompts is #SpookySeason Watercolor of the full moon shining down on a large, many-gabled house with odd crooked towers. A ghost walks towards the pumpkins growing in the yard. Every window is aglow & the door is opened invitingly... should you go in?

I am not a big 'holiday' person, but I absolutely love Halloween! Spooky or Spoopy, I'm enthralled by it all! Part of it is my love of autumn, which has always left me with questions. I know Halloween is bigger in the US than other places, but I've always wondered: People in the Southern hemisphere & tropics, how do you celebrate Halloween? Do you work Spring into it, or just hang up autumnal decor anyway? My socials are listed below, please tell me how you celebrate Halloween! Let's spend the next 2 weeks making terrific art

You can submit a new picture every day, work on one picture for 2 weeks, or post pics randomly. This is the most laid-back art challenge on the internet, & that means you have plenty of time to make your art however you want. Just make sure you tag me @KarinWanderer so I see it!

Use #KWPrompts #SpookySeason &/or tag me so I can see how you think!

Pick your social & post your art! Mastodon Bluesky Cara

All art styles & skill levels are welcome- beginner to expert, renaissance painting to rough sketch! No AI, Yes alt text, CW as needed. Have a fantastic day, draw something for my art challenge, see you next week! Page full of ink doodles for Halloween: skulls, candles, bats, pumpkins, potions, haunted houses, spiders, gravestones, bats, mushrooms, poison apples, crows, cauldrons, & ghosts.

 
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from RMiddleton

#BobbHamilton #AfricanAmericanPoetry #BlackPoetry #DiversifyWikipedia

Yesterday I went to my city's main public library. I don't know what's going on with them, but the two books I searched in advance & went there to get were not on the shelf despite the catalog saying that they are. I received very peculiar service from a young man who assured me “the next time you come in I'll make sure those books are there” without taking any written note of the books.

Nevermind all that though, because I went in there for poetry & I left with poetry! So much poetry in one small volume, I won't be surprised if I have to renew this loan once or maybe even twice. While looking for the books that were not there I picked up an interesting little book titled You Better Believe It. I opened to a random page and read absolute fire from a Black American. It was always my intention to check out 3 poetry books, the two I scoped in advance (by Naomi Shihab Nye & Jericho Brown) and one that caught my eye.

You Better Believe It: Black Verse in English from Africa, the West Indies, and the United States selected and annotated by Paul Breman. That link opens a short Wikipedia entry that begins: Paul Breman (Bussum, 19 July 1931 – London, 29 October 2008) was a Dutch writer, bookseller and publisher. There is no entry for poet Bobb Hamilton. Here is the brief bio within You Better Believe It (see image below):

Bobb Hamilton comes from Cleveland, Ohio, where he was born 16 December 1928 and attended school right through Ohio State University, from which he obtained a B.Sc. (psychology and philosophy) in 1950. Since then he has made his home mainly in New York, where he has found more scope for his many-sided talents as an artist. For Bobb Hamilton is not just a versatile writer who can turn his hand with equal facility to reportage or poetry, he is just as adept in the visual arts as a painter, a sculptor, and a ceramist. He has actually taught art for a considerable time, in the New York City Welfare Department, and has used the experience in his work as therapist at a hospital. Since 1968 he has been instructor in black literature and history at Queen's College, New York. His involvement with the whole of the new movement in black art is deep and of long standing. Officially listed as its 'East Coast editor' or 'New York representative', it seems to be very much Hamilton who has, for nearly ten years, held together Soulbook, the 'quarterly journal of revolutionary afroamerica' with its early third-world commitment, emphasis on socio-economics, and surprisingly strong poetry sections (which range from Baraka and Kgositsile to Ho Chi Minh). More recently Hamilton has also become the editor of Black Caucus for the Association of Black Social Workers.

Do you not feel, as I do, that this Black artist deserves a Wikipedia entry as much as the white European publisher who brought his work to my attention? I am a humanist, celebrating the good of humanity. It's fine that Bremer merits an entry. But why not Bobb Hamilton? I feel like I know why.

Truly I am grateful to Paul Bremer because this volume is FULL of what looks to be great poets, most of whom I have never been exposed to. And I think Bremer's biographical sketches convey due admiration for these poets. I suppose the bio in this book should not be copied over in its entirety to a new wikipedia entry, but uh... Well, that point is moot for me because I do not currently have a wikipedia account. I would be pleased if someone who reads this post created an entry.

When I learn something new that I am interested in I quite enjoy taking the time to learn more. There's plenty for me to peruse via this DuckDuckGo result for poet Bobb Hamilton. For now I will try to expand upon what's in the bio above.

Soulbook · No wikipedia entry · 9 issues of Soulbook imaged at Archive.org · Soulbook mentioned in 2016 blog post on Kalam ya Salaam's The Magic of Juju — check out Kalam ya Salaam's The Magic of Juju at Archive.org

I'm embarrassed to say I did not know who Keorapetse Kgositsile was. From wikipedia:

South African poet and political activist (1938-2018) Keorapetse William Kgositsile, also known by his pen name Bra Willie, was a South African Tswana poet, journalist and political activist.

I am likewise clueless of Amiri Baraka, “American writer of poetry, drama, fiction, essays, and music criticism. He was the author of numerous books of poetry and taught at several universities.”

I have a feeling I'm going to experience white American cluelessness over and over again throughout You Better Believe It. I plan to read this book cover to cover and will probably have more to say here & on Twitch/YouTube, Instagram, & Mastodon.

I do not want to end without noting that very few women are represented in this poetry collection. My next library visit will correct that omission.

Poetry is coming back into my life with a vengeance as a survival strategy. Many mornings my whole life I've struggled to get out of bed. And would you believe the invention of the iPhone didn't help? No, I'm afraid picking that thing up first thing in the morning is not a ray of sunshine. Even when I use it for good, life-affirming purposes I am very likely to see some notification or news that brings me down. The instant that I connect to an outside source the unrelenting pace of information starts. When taking my mind from sleeping to waking I prefer to open my consciousness slowly. I find slowing down to be the key component to good decision making and a happy mood. I'm resolving to keep poetry books by my bed as an alternative to starting my day with the iPhone onslaught. I will try thumbing through and reading a few to get inspired for the day ahead. Poems are the original microblogging platform.

image of page from the Black poetry anthology You Better Believe It that includes the short biography of Bobb Hamilton quoted above

 
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from humanissome

humanissome is wrestling with failure tied to alienation (spiritual loneliness)

Video streamed this morning to: https://www.twitch.tv/humanissome

Long term home: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqLErg25tE8

Media Mr. Show with Bob and David, pre taped call in show, cued to freakout: https://youtu.be/mhVbLJvYP8s?t=186

Wilson Cruz in Matt Baume's video on Cruz's groundbreaking character Ricky on My So Called Life, cued to where Cruz sees the character today: https://youtu.be/cjhxnRlleLo?t=3704

Script Rob in Recovery: Failure Unfinished projects, or Will this video be another Part 1 of 1? (Or even more commonly just not get made.) If you've seen my channel you might be shocked to think that I have any productions that don't make the cut. My quality control is lower than Boar's Head. This is where I pretend someone is speaking in my ear: My lawyers ask me to rewrite the previous joke to say: My quality control is lower than any capitalist industry that produces potentially life threatening goods. Haha but Rob you're streaming, the first joke is still in. I think jokes are free of libel risk & it's also true that Boars Head recently distributed dangerous meat. Look it up. Obviously I'm off topic here so I'll keep going and say that I think corporations that are found grossly negligent should receive the death penalty, their assets seized and allocated to a more trustworthy entity. Corps want to be people. I want to see corps pay for their crimes. I hope to do an episode on recovery from capitalism. For now I'll say that I don't want to subject anyone to psychological abuse by forcing you to watch ads. As soon as I can I will move this channel's main home to PeerTube, which is an ad free, de-centralized version of YouTube... with about 69 nice viewers. My audience might actually go UP by moving there. I'll probably keep having presences on Twitch and YouTube for discovery purposes. Or, to be more accurate, none of this is likely to happen. I want to be honest and say the reason I can't make any future promises ever is chronic disability — but this isn't the chronic disability episode it's the failure episode. At this point if I had editing capabilities I would insert David Cross hosting the pre-taped call in show and screaming. I feel like that sometimes and I miss big laughs. Oh wait. I'm going to go all in on poor production. If you're willing to watch this you're willing to watch this.

YouTube Mr. Show pretaped call in show https://youtu.be/mhVbLJvYP8s?t=186 https://dotart.blog/70scs5h7rk

So here's my no spoons media setup. While I'm here I'll cut to the next topic I want to talk about using a video clip. Before I do I will acknowledge that I'm playing a tv show clip from within someone else's video. If you hang out on YouTube you may have heard of Illumine naughty, someone who built a huge channel and allegedly stole a lot of other people's work. If you don't know this story there were about 200 videos made about it, feels like under a year ago. Just start typing Illuminati the right way then change the end to naughty. If you enjoy tedious deep dives and infighting and learning about a seemingly, allegedly horrible person. By the way I'm throwing in so many alleged lies because it seems far more likely to me that this person would find me and sue me than the meatpacking company. iN She did her alleged stealing to make money and I am not. Put an asterisk there. I am doing it for financial reasons tho. I have no income and subscribe to no steaming services. Besides money, spoons are another thing I don't have. My production choices are due to these factors. Remember I have chronic disability and I don't have money. Here's the clip. I'm only showing the portion of My So Called Life because I'm not commenting on the video this clip is embedded in. But I am stealing his research in a way — though I think this is how culture works. Like clips from documentaries inspire us. In any case I respect Matt Baumé and encourage you to go see his video that I'll link to. If you want the full experience of his video before or instead of watching mine, I totally understand. Ok are the decent people gone? I hope so because I'm going to talk about my unpleasant reaction to someone who seems super pleasant, Wilson Cruz. Wilson Cruz is a queer actor known for playing groundbreaking characters (most recently he and Alan Tudyk play a married couple with a queer found family on st discovery. Wow alan tudyk is in Star Trek and Star Wars. How many actors have done that? And also firefly? Anyway enough beating around the bush, here's seemingly wonderful Wilson Cruz saying à seemingly wonderful thing clipped in a video by seemingly wonderful Matt Baumé: Um wait a little longer so I can say I love this video and recommend everyone see it. I could just put baumes video on and we could enjoy it together. Seriously go watch it. Especially because this clip is the very last moment of an hour long video. I know! That's why I say please go watch the original first. What I'm about to say after I play this clip is only for miserable people anyway and you don't want to be that. Ok ok. I'm assuming everyone is gone. Here's what I want to talk about:

https://youtu.be/cjhxnRlleLo?t=3704

1:01:44 to 1:02:22

If anyone is watching this I have a serious question: am I the only one with mixed feelings listening to that?

That's why in this episode I'm in recovery from failure — and it's not going to be resolved today. Here are my issues: The way to imagine success for this fictional character is that he follow a path of amazing success similar to the one experienced by the actor. Cruz says his character would be hob nobbing with stars. Why is that validating? And he says that Ricky who was bullied in high school would become the most successful— no, he says famous, person from that school. Validation through fame, is what I see. I wanted that. Is that what I'm attempting here? Add that to the list of things to cover later: Money & Fame seeking.

Let's get some good things out of the way first. This clip is lovely. An actor, at a very young age, inhabits a character so much like himself and imagines that character also following a similar, successful life path. That's beautiful. Much more beautiful coming from him than in my summation. It's tear jerking. And when I first watched this video and talked about it on Mastodon I said that this show might have helped me a lot if it had come out years earlier. It helps to see someone like ourselves in media. As a kid to see someone like me who finds loving support I would have — well, I can't say what. I might have just been angry and felt it was unrealistic to find support, because I didn't know that experience. Just like I can be irritated with this imagined successful future? Maybe. Because what I'm talking about IS failure. Oh good. Always keeping on theme haha. Go on. But I had a lot of opportunities to succeed. And there are many ways that I am not like Wilson Cruz or his character Ricky. I'll come back to that shortly. — I went to Princeton university. I majored in psychology before I fell in love with abstract painting. Fear of failure and fear of success were definitely in some textbooks of mine. But I don't remember their explanations being about a desire for fairness. Now, granted, I didn't graduate and I never studied too hard. But also, I have a pretty good memory for the things I'm interested in. I could do some light research but this series is about feelings while in treatment. Ok so I think that nearly all the mental conditions I learned about were individually focused. Meaning that a Fear of success would be rooted in some disorder. But have you seen the meme: I want all of us to make it? Well that's not possible, in our current system. May not be possible ever. In general, psych teaching on disorders is grounded in the ways an individual does not fit into their society. Again this is just my memory from being a psych student and patient. I'm open to hearing all the ways my facts might be wrong. But not my feelings. Sorry for that glitch. Replay: In general, psych teaching on disorders is grounded in the ways an individual does not fit into their society. BUT WHAT ABOUT WHEN THEIR SOCIETY SUCKS? What about when dysfunction is normalized in their society. Now I know that disordered societies are studied, and most likely even by me. I could tell you the classic examples used when studying disordered societies but instead let's just say that much instruction and treatment is biased to view 20th century American society as functional. Not all. Not all of course. But speaking of courses I studied at Princeton, an environment that believed pretty strongly that the existence of Princeton was good. And to believe so requires a lot of additional beliefs and assumptions, many of which are delusional, not true. Again, this is self talk video therapy not research. But all I'm saying is that systems are rarely sufficiently self critical. And that perpetuates systemic dysfunction. Education is unfair. Elite education is unfair. The way we rank intelligence is unfair and inaccurate. It's at this point that many people shrug So What? What can you do? I gotta take care of my and those I love. And I seriously wonder if I'm the way I am because of not sufficiently loving me & mine. I mostly don't believe I have any mine! I don't have people. I hate saying that because I do have friends. But I just can't explain it. Maybe later. Fear of intimacy ¿or caring? I mean, isn't this intimacy, a type of intimacy? Am I fame seeking?!

There's a way to look at life as searching for your people. Maybe Ricky finds them in the queer community, the fashion community, the Met gala, his famous friends. And maybe he gets a kick out of knowing that he succeeded in ways his bullies never did. And is that good? In the way we tell stories, yes. That's usually good. But I tell stories like this [abstract painting]. Because sensible stories leave me dissatisfied.

Believe me I want to stop. There's so much left to say. Maybe I will stop. Maybe I'll make a series after all.

And maybe I won't. I am unstable, have no idea how I'm paying my expenses this month, and I'm unstable. If even one viewer found their way to one of my sponsorship links it would be an amazing honor. I will include a link in the description. For now there's a pinned link called mutual appreciation at https://www.humanisso.me and on my Linktree at www.RMiddleton.art If you're seeing this and the year is not 2024 check the description. I may soon change my registered domains for stupid capitalist scam reasons.

And with that I bid thee a fond farewell. Until next time.

hasta luego.

COME BACK TO: Money Fame seeking My privilege Fear of intimacy ¿or caring?

 
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from RMiddleton

What if when I posted financial support links a dozen new patrons gave small recurring donations

What if my mother was open to emotional growth

What if my gay godfather, the only adult I felt kinship with, had not died of AIDS before I was out

What if the country I live in was committed to improving the lives of all people

What if I had free healthcare

What if I sold paintings at the last major show I put on

What if a friend or family member broke the facade to have a quiet, caring conversation

What if I knew one stable, serious, caring person in a position to help who wanted to help

What if meaningful jobs were plentiful instead of the exploitative jobs I had

What if I were part of a caring community

To my friends and family: I don't know if you don't get me, or if you're scared, or you just don't get me. Maybe I offend you, or you think I'm dangerous, or you don't get me. I'm sure the truth is that you probably don't think about me very much at all. You have your own considerations. Or maybe you did reach out to me and I didn't acknowledge it. If that happened I can say that I may not have seen it. I block out a lot of incoming communication because spam and corporate dehumanization and deception actually hurts me emotionally. Maybe you're the same way and that's why you don't see me. Or maybe you're barely getting by. Maybe I annoy you. I annoy me. But as I say I figure that you have enough to keep you occupied. Why would anyone take on a problem? I wonder sometimes, do you wonder too, how people end up on the streets? Or fully dissociated? Ever since my 20s I've had recurring periods when I felt disconnected from others to the point that I imagined myself on the streets.

One mystery I contemplate is that it may be possible that others feel close to me and I don't feel close to them. Then again I'm not sure that's possible because I'm the one saying that I'm alone. So if you did think we were close here I am saying that we're not. I think it must be a matter of perspective. In an old song Howard Jones asks: What is love? And does anybody love anybody anyway? That level of questioning resonates with me, and maybe it doesn't resonate with others. I've often felt a conflict between loyalty to ideas & loyalty to people. Maybe others don't feel this conflict. Maybe they do, but few speak of it. Maybe it seems futile to ask so many questions that deconstruct societal bonds.

I watched a recent retrospective on the tv show My So Called Life, a program that might have done me some good if it had come out a decade earlier. The two bits that stuck out to me were the attitudes of the mother of the main character. For one she wanted to know “what type of family” her child's friends came from. My mom spoke like that all the time. And when her child says that she could be the one in the desperate situation that her friend is, the mother responds with angry denial, “that could never happen to you!” There is a strong belief in special status among “my people” (those I come from but feel no connection with). Bad things happen to other people. And maybe those people deserve it! This delusional thinking prevents empathy and it also causes self harm. We all will die. It might not be elegant. We all will need help. A disaster can take everything away from us in an instant. Belief in class privilege prevents planning. We all do better when we all do better. There is no one among us better than any other.

What if we acted according to that truth

What if

 
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from 🌘Castillo de Arena🌒

(English version) Originalmente, creé este blog para otro proyecto (que al final estoy trabajándolo en formato analógico). Como sigo con ganas de bloggear, pero no de la misma forma que antes (antes antes), voy a aprovechar este espacio para escribir sobre los proyectos en los que estoy trabajando ahora ya mismo, para ordenarme la cabeza y también por si a alguien le interesa leer por qué dije que estaba por publicar una cosa o la otra y después de dos meses la cosa sigue impublicada e inmanifestada. Y no, no es porque colgué o porque esté demasiado ocupade con el trabajo. Es hasta medio lo opuesto, estoy muy manija (y con poco trabajo, calculadamente, para enfocarme en esto).

Por si alguien leyendo esto no me sigue en mi otra cuenta (“Puka 2” en @puka_muriska@easymode.im), todo lo que hago digamos, artístico, es parte de un trabajo espiritual interior mío que a veces es bastante largo, y a veces es más espontáneo (y si va a ser una cosa o la otra está fuera de mi control jaja). Mi espiritualidad y mi arte son medio lo mismo para mí, porque para las dos cosas uso de materia prima a mi mundo imaginario, mis sueños y todo lo que surja en la intersección entre ambos.

Habiendo aclarado eso, paso a contar sobre lo que estoy haciendo, y en el trabajo que tengo en el detrás de escena. Lo que más me urge sacarme el peso de culpa (jaja?) por no tener listo aún, es el proyecto de las cartas. Estoy escribiendo (y reescribiendo, y reescribiendo, y...) una serie de zines en formato de carta analógica (¿zine postal?) para mandar a cualquier persona que esté interesada en participar, en cualquier parte del mundo. El origen real de las cartas es, claro, mi mundo imaginario. Más específicamente las escribe un Personaje Misterioso, contando sus aventuras en el U3P (así se llama mi mundo imaginario, “Universo de los Tres Portales”, porque no se me ocurrió nada mejor). El primer prototipo fue enviado a una amiga en Suecia y recibido con éxito, pero después de haber sorteado al menos la mayoría de dificultades técnicas (básicamente el envío de la carta común acá en Argentina sale un precio sorpresa, y tuve que hacer malabares para bajarlo lo más posible), me encontré con otra dificultad, más profunda, que me surge por primera vez en 29 años teniendo un mundo imaginario.

Y es que, parece, tener un mundo imaginario no equivale a tener una historia bien armada, tipo, en absoluto. Hasta ahora, nunca había tenido la necesidad de tener el tiempo del U3P “más o menos organizado”, aunque la necesidad organizativa no es nueva, hace unos años me surgió ordenarle el espacio (más que nada los edificios y lugares del Desierto Blanco). Porque si bien en mi mundo imaginario siempre hubo Eventos, estos Eventos pasaron una y otra y otra vez, cuando tenía 12 años, 14 años, 16 años, 22 años, y así; siempre sutilmente distintos, reescritos a medida que fui creciendo y madurando, con personajes de más o de menos, lugares nuevos, etc. El U3P es una suerte de trabajo de parches gigante, lleno de agujeros y descosidos y con una cantidad extraordinaria de capas (se ve como cuando pegan carteles en la calle sobre otros carteles, y con el tiempo se van pelando). De hecho, escribí e ilustré el primer zine-juego sin tener en cuenta ni siquiera la remota posibilidad de armar una historia con todo lo que tengo. Porque no me daban ganas, pero ahora sí (aclaro que no tengo la certeza de que lo que sea que salga de esto sea estable y no mutable, al fin y al cabo trata medio sobre escribirme a mí misme, aunque cabe la posibilidad de que después de que haga este trabajo, pase un Evento nuevo que no haya pasado nunca antes).

La razón profunda de por qué tengo ganas de hacer esto y no lo otro, ya sería demasiado larga como para meter en una entrada, que se supone que es solo para explicar qué corno estoy haciendo. Pero, para sintetizar, en mi trabajo espiritual, cuando escribía el primer zine-juego, mi niño interno (que yo llamo “El Príncipe”, y sí, a veces es más un adolescente interno jaja) quiso jugar a las escondidas, y de eso se trató el primer zine. Esta vez, El Príncipe quiere jugar a los detectives, y yo también. Trata de buscar con una lupa, caminando cómicamente cerca del piso, algo que se parezca a una pista y me haga sentir un “!” emocionante. Algo como un hilo, quizá.

Hacer este trabajo de hormiga arqueóloga, investigación detectivesca, buceo onírico e introspección organizante es indispensable para poder darle voz a este nuevo Personaje Misterioso que escribe las cartas, por razones inexplicables (o sea, que podría explicarlas en más detalle si realmente quisiera, pero tendría que hacer mucha fuerza cerebral y mejor me lo guardo para mi diario :B).

Este trabajo vueltero es extra esencial también para poder darle vida al otro proyecto que está relacionado con el del zine postal, que venía a todo vapor y que ahora de a ratos se me descuajeringa: el “CEM” (¿qué onda yo poniéndole nombres así con siglas a existencias imaginarias, igual? Me suena a nombre de clínica o algo), es decir, el “Colectivo de la Estrella de Mar” (y por esto la sigla, después de haber escrito un nombre largo demasiadas veces en mis diarios, empiezo a siglear): un grupo de soñadores que de momento consiste en exactamente 13 personas con 14 cuerpos y 15 cabezas, aliens al U3P (o casi aliens) que exploran este universo por una serie de razones y con otra serie de objetivos. Uno de estos objetivos es crear zines que sirvan como guías de viaje para quien quiera ir a visitar el U3P. De este tengo publicado el primer tomo (gratis, en mi Itch.io), que está bien primitivo, porque lo apuré para participar en el “Fuck Capitalism Jam” del 2023.

Así que, por si alguien leyendo esto me sigue en mi otra cuenta (“Puka 2” en @puka_muriska@easymode.im) y no entiende de qué mierdas estoy hablando ahí, es de esto: estoy cosiendo bien la colcha, con todos los parches que tengo disponibles; uniendo cabos sueltos, conectando los puntos, estableciendo relaciones, ordenando la dimensión temporal del U3P; básicamente escribiendo una historia coherente hecha con las pequeñitas chiquicientas historias que tengo en el Archivo de Anís. Y al fin, todo esto está haciendo las bases para mi próximo proyecto que todavía no está ni bocetado (y que aun así tiene alguna que otra página terminada,, mi proceso creativo es sencillamente así de caótico), que va a ser el segundo zine-juego, que viene para largo. Quiero hacerlo en formato novela visual y zine, ya veremos cómo, y obviamente va a ser de detectives.

Internamente, también, es un cambio loco para mí. La necesidad de darle un “espacio-tiempo” válido en el U3P a este Personaje Misterioso que escribe las cartas hizo esencial que, por un lado, organizara el tiempo del U3P y, por el otro, construyera/configurara/inserte otro verbo aquí una puerta que realmente diera acceso a otres a mi mundo imaginario y, a su vez, permitiera salir a seres de mi mundo imaginario a husmear en los mundos y asuntos humanos. Una puerta así es algo completamente nuevo para mí, y me parece super divertido, una aventura, pero es un trabajo medio enredado, mágicamente hablando. Y bueno, ya veremos qué sale de todo esto ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

 
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from Karin Wanderer Learns

Every 2 weeks I post a new art challenge prompt! The new #KWPrompts is #Fall

Watercolor of an orange-brown autumn leaf.

It is the 24th of September & the temperature where I live is in the mid-80's (30° c). I am going to spend the next 2 weeks manifesting the spirit of autumn as hard as I can, & maybe the weather will take the hint. I hope you will join me! Let's spend the next 2 weeks making autumnal art! You can submit a new piece of art every day, work on one piece for 2 weeks, or post them randomly. This is the most laid-back art challenge on the internet, & that means you have plenty of time to make your art however you want. Just make sure you tag me @KarinWanderer so I see it!

Use #KWPrompts #Fall &/or tag me so I can see how you think!

Pick your social & post your art! Mastodon Bluesky Cara

All art styles & skill levels are welcome- beginner to expert, renaissance painting to rough sketch! No AI, Yes alt text, CW as needed. Have a fantastic day, draw something for my art challenge, see you next week! Paint & ink on cardboard. A happy ghost is holding a coffee & reaching out toward a falling leaf. Other leaves swirl around, in the air & on the ground.

 
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from Nilly Robot

A monster reveals himself and a lot of awkward questions are answered. (From Tales from the Valley: Phantasmagory Shorts)

CW: horror themes, briefly: gunshot wounds, monster gore —–+

Well, the situation was well and truly teakettled. I'd really gone and done it now.

When I turned and looked at her, Jenna skittered back with a small, terrified squeak.

Fair.

I had a pretty good idea what I looked like right then, soaked head to toe in former wall-demon, too many legs arched angrily around me. All the focus I usually set aside to look like a human being had gone out the window because I was tired and pissed off and shot an unreasonable amount of times.

Joe had gotten four hits on me before he ran off. Black blobs of whatever the hell I'm made of oozed down my back. It would have been nice if he'd shot that horrible thing he'd made come out of the wall while he was at it, but you know. Points for managing to hit anything, I guess.

My heart sank. This was probably the start of the end for them, then. The valley was a feedback loop once people started losing it.

Once people realized there was no way out.

But hey they'd lasted two, three weeks, give or take a month. I don't know, time is kind of messed up here. Good on them, though. That was better than some...

I hated this.

Why did this always happen? I didn't even really know these people. I didn't even like them.

It was my fault they were here, so of course I felt guilty. Of course I felt bad, but what the hell could I do about it?

I rubbed my face and started going over my roster of hide-outs for the impending shitstorm. I waved most of the gore off. There was no point keeping up the “real person” act now that they saw me for what I was. The bullet wounds would have to wait until I was out of viewing range, unless I wanted to arm wrestle with someone's idea of how shot to shit I was supposed to be.

Jenna was injured. Her nerve signals were screaming Leg! Leg! in the back of my mind. I felt a pang of guilt. Someone should probably help her. I turned to look again and she skittered further back.

“Stay away...” she said.

OK, someone non-abomination shaped should probably help her, but we were experiencing a shortage currently.

“Your leg is broken,” I said, unhelpfully. She flinched. I guess I sounded about as bad as I looked. “There's splints and morphine in the laundry room. I don't know where the hell they got the morphine from though, so maybe just, uh.”

“What...” she squeaked, and honestly yeah. What indeed.

What was the point? What did it matter? It didn't, that's what. I felt sick to my stomach. She'd be dead in a week, maybe less if she was lucky. Why was I bothering? Really, there was no use sticking around making this lady's day any worse. I turned to leave.

“Wait,” she said before I could vanish. “You're hurt.”

I hesitated. This was a mistake because, for both emotional and injury-related reasons, I needed to get the hell out of there.

“Not really,” I said. “You just saw me get shot.”

She stared at me blankly.

“You think I'm shot, so am,” I tried again. It was a little more complicated than that, but now didn't really seem like the time to get into nuance. “Like the thing in the wall. It's why I was trying to distract you.”

She was quiet for a while. Assuming that satisfied her terror-fueled curiosity, I turned to leave again. No such luck.

“So then...”

The pain in my back began to fade and I could feel my shoulder muscles knitting back together. I'll be honest, I was perplexed. There was clearly some kind of misunderstanding going on here. I was already leaving. There was no need to go fishing for mercy points.

“What are you doing?” I asked and the confusion must have been enough to offset my horror-movie vibe for a minute.

“You can't just walk around bleeding everywhere,” she said with a sniff. “It's unhygienic.”

I made a weird little involuntary giggle noise at that. Suave. I can't imagine what that must have looked like coming out of whatever the hell I am.

“Right, wouldn't want to mess up the furniture,” I gestured at the ruined living room.

“What was that thing?” Jenna shivered and surveyed the wreckage. “For that matter, what are you?”

“Some asshole's personal problems,” I muttered, politely ignoring the second question, less politely ignoring the little voice that said I'd just answered it anyway. “It was something he made up. A reoccurring nightmare, maybe, or some kind of phobia.”

“It looked like his uncle.”

Yikes.

“Well, he should probably go do therapy about it instead of trying to kill us, but what do I know. Guess that's kind of off the table here, though.”

Jenna grimaced. People never liked my sense of humor. Oh well.

She gave me one last wary up-and-down before hoisting herself on an overturned couch. Her leg gave out from under her and I dove to stop her impaling herself on a pedestal table without really thinking about how that might come off. She grabbed onto me anyway, and let me help her back down. I tried my best not to loom.

“What are you?” she asked again. I still wasn't having it.

“Great question. I have no idea,” I said to the ceiling. It was spattered in wall-demon. I looked at the floor instead, which was also spattered in wall-demon. After a minute or so of awkward non-looming, I did feel bad about leaving it there. “Well. That's not true. I have some idea, but I don't like the answer.”

“I see,” she said.

We spent a while where I stood there not elaborating and she sat there on the floor with a broken leg until we both decided it was best to move on.

“Fine. Can you help me up, please?” she sighed.

I guess we were overlooking the whole abomination thing now, then.

I carried her to a less hazardous part of the living room and set her down on one of the few intact-adjacent couches. When I went to stand back up though, she kept a hold of my arm, eyes wet and pleading.

“What's happening to us? What is this?” she whispered. I felt that awful sinking feeling again. “Please tell me. Please.”

I couldn't handle this. I hated it, hated it. Why did this always happen? Why?

So, I confessed.

I explained the valley, explained why she was there. I let her cling to my arm as I explained what was probably happening to her brain and felt a little bit like dying.

She cried, she begged, and the whole time she gripped my arm like I might disappear. Which was a fair enough read, honestly.

When she asked if I wanted this, if I did it on purpose, I didn't have the heart to lie. The righteous anger on my behalf was mortifying. The pity was horrific. I have enough of my own pity, thanks. The fact is, it was my fault she was here, no matter how much say I had in the matter. I did this to her and I hated that I couldn't make her understand that.

We sat like that for a while, arm in arm, her asking trembling questions, me looming over her like the terrible thing I was.

“Well this sucks,” she said, eventually. Boy, didn't it. “It must be tough. Watching this happen again and again.”

I had nothing to say to that, because if I opened my mouth I was probably going to cry and today had been awkward enough.

“You don't have to answer. I understand,” she said. Bless her, she did not, but the sentiment wasn't lost on me. I was not in the right head-space for another round of sentiment though, so I tried to excuse myself for the third time that night.

I gently pulled my arm away and tucked it behind my back with the rest of my awful appendages. The legs were starting to fade, but I still kept them folded away as out of sight as I could. They weren't really meant to bend like that, but they weren't really meant to exist either, so my aching joints could kindly shut up.

“You're in a lot of pain. I can tell from your nerve signals,” I said. Very cool, a very normal-human thing to tell someone. That train had sailed though, so the least I could do was try to be useful. “Let me go get the medical kit.”

“Can't you just fix it? Like I did for you?” she asked.

“No. That's... different. Best I could do is convince you it's fine. You'll hurt yourself even worse that way.”

And see, that was the thing. Real people didn't just bounce back once no one was looking. Real people also didn't have Cronenburg moments when they got too distracted and forgot to be person-shaped. Usually. The point was, real people died when things like me fucked with their sense of possibility, messed around in their heads and generally went around scaring the shit out of them. The valley was a feedback loop, after all, and I was the engine driving it.

I really, really needed to leave.

“Do you think Joe is alright?” Jenna asked as I turned away, a little quiver in her voice.

I felt around for him with my mind. Joe was curled up in the basement hugging his Colt .45 like a teddy bear.

“He's fine.” He was probably not fine. “After I get something for your leg, I'll go try and reason with him.”

“You shouldn't,” she said. “He'll shoot you again.”

“Probably. I'll be paying attention this time, though. I'm harder to hit when I'm paying attention.”

It's true. I'd only been shot twice before, and once was my own fault.

By then, I'd regained enough control to have the normal amount of legs again, but the fact that the real-life person in the room was still convinced I was a real-life Halloween costume was overriding most of my other adjustments. I could feel the bolts of static rippling across my face when I looked back at her. I didn't really want to think about what she saw when she looked back at me.

—–+ #Horror #ShortStory #Writing #Fiction

 
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from RMiddleton

I see a post, a place I'd rather be. The money it would take to be there! (& the environmental harm!!)

Same video on open source mirror: https://yewtu.be/qNPbokfyotY

Realizing that I may never enjoy travel again but as a USAmerican I'm closer to that lifestyle than the majority of Earthlings. That's what Americans do not want to give up, I think. Their relative privilege. “If the world is closer to destruction than ever I may as well enjoy it.” Liberals think this! “The world has never been fair and equal, that's not my fault. Why should I suffer for things that aren't my fault?” Not realizing or believing that our privilege also gives us disproportionate power to make the world better. Maybe the Earth is closer to destruction than ever before; it's also closer to universal dignity than it's ever been. I happen to believe that greater fulfilling happiness comes from embracing humanist love for all than from trying to get as much for myself as I can.

Yet who am I to talk of happiness? I'm not so happy. I say it's because I must live amongst dehumanists while trying to be humanist. I hope to find a way to be. If and when I do I'll let you know.

 
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from fieryzard

Welcome to the Fediverse.

This is a work-in-progress guide for friends, acquaintances, and followers in the art & fandom spaces to populate their feeds when first arriving to the Fediverse. Enough has been stated about which platforms to use, what instances to join, and how the Fediverse works. So this blog will not seek to answer those questions. I find that, for many people, the hurdle is finding who to follow. I'd like to help with that.

There are many people on here and following more people will lead you to discovering even more people. So follow freely and unfollow freely, too. Mute and block freely. Make a space that is safe for you and healthy for you in your current moment. We're here to have fun.

Also, there are so many people on here that I am still discovering new ones every day. If you find cool people, boost them so more of us can see! Remember this doesn't work like Twitter: feeds are chronological and you only see posts from those (or that, in the case of hashtags and groups) which you are following. Having said that, here are some suggestions from me to make new beginnings easier. If you copy the link and search them through your instance's search bar (@user@TheirInstance), you can open their feed on Mastodon and easily follow them. If you can't find them by doing that, your instance might have blocked their instance.

Users

  • Plumy – comics, art journaling about videogames, perfect if you love looking at sketchy work
  • Cindy – plants, environments, animated illustrations, the loveliest mark-making
  • Tisha Mark – small-size abstract landscapes, really cool!
  • Colossal – the popular contemporary arts magazine
  • Léa Muna – beautiful watercolor illustrations
  • Malky – illustrator from Mexico making cool animal designs
  • Maruki – lovely pixel art, especially if you love mushrooms
  • Elaine Will – lovely environments with a Ghibli-Don Bluth vibe
  • Ego Rodriguez – the most gorgeous illustrations of gay/queer men, by a queer person, too!
  • Himbo Beefcake, PhD – 18+ art and comics of himbos, with the most crisp lineart and delectable shapes
  • Ksenia Palchikova – detailed illustrations with lovely lineart and that “flat” coloring style I really like
  • Victoria Maderna – gorgeous children's book like illustrations
  • Averil – SFW slime girls, art & merch for you art nouveau lovers
  • Kim Hu – the most fun urban environments and character designs
  • Mossypine – lovely, whimsical & earthy nature merch designs
  • Irene N. – if you're into horror... this one's for you
  • Julia Bausenhardt – nature sketches done on-field, it's really fun to stumble upon these
  • Djamila Knopft – lovely Ghibli-like nature work
  • Hiko – anime-like illustrations with gorgeous, stain-glass like colors
  • Hoka@名古屋クリマM-538 – really cute, vintage-y, cartoon-ish, anime-like illustrations
  • Cartoonist Cooperative – just as it sounds like, it's a cooperative for people making comic-work
  • Me!! – I tell stories through colorful illustrations, inspired by anime and Western cartoons
  • This blog!! – you can follow this blog by searching for @fieryzard@DotArt.blog on your Mastodon search bar.
  • Your Name Here – join us!!

Hashtags

You can search these from your instance's search bar and then press the Follow button to follow them. This might need to be done from the web or mobile web version of the platform. Some apps out there might not have this option available. * #MastoArt – a popular hashtag for artists * #CreativeToots – another popular hashtag for creatives * #WordWeavers – a monthly challenge where you answer one question about your characters/story each day, to help motivate you and connect you to your writing community

Groups

 
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from fieryzard

This week was an improvement from the previous week. However, I would like to post these updates on Saturdays, which I've failed to do, mainly because my Saturdays tend to be somewhat busy with family. I'm still not at 100%, and last week, there were many times when I felt too hopeless to get into drawing. I think I'm getting back to remembering my muscles, and that's something I can be proud of.

  • Weight Training – I did all three days this week. Some of the workouts that used to be difficult now hardly break a sweat, and we've finally been adding weight to the bar.
  • Morning Pages – I did morning pages 4 days this week. While I was able to do all my pages, the days that I was not at my desk, I obviously did not do them, and I don't think much of it was particularly enlightening at the moment. Some of them made me feel upset. I know these are stream-of-consciousness, but I'd like to somehow add gratitude and positivity to my day, and I think journaling is the easiest way because it's a habit I have already established.
  • Artist Date – No actual artist date this week? I forgot.
  • Journal Sketches – No journal sketches this week. I haven't been able to get back into them. I think I was committing myself to too much time here, which puts pressure on me to make it look pretty. I would like to avoid that by shortening it to about 15 minutes of sketching.
  • Gesture Drawings – I did gestures for three days this week. It's been difficult to get myself to do them when I'm conscious they're not a warm-up because I don't have the spoons that day to make art. So, I think the solution is to target the reason why I haven't been making art.
  • Anatomy Studies – I did a knee study this week using Proko's videos. It was refreshing. I really enjoy doing studies. Besides taking notes/copying what I was seeing, I didn't really do repetitions, but I've been trying to keep it in mind when sketching. And also, using the same technique/information for the elbow.
  • Misc Studies – No extra studies this week, but I was doing some vision board stuff for direction.
  • Illustration – No work on illustration(s) this week.

I know not everyone will enjoy reading these updates because maybe it's too close to the “productivity mindset.” I don't really want anyone to look at it from that perspective. Making art and getting inspired requires skill, and that skill, like a muscle, can stop working as well if it's not used. If you're a hobbyist, this is not a problem for you, you can simply move on to whatever it is makes you happy in the moment. I'm trying to get my life together and work with my depression, my negative thoughts, and my ADHD. Without art, I feel like I've lost a limb, and I won't be happy existing unless I do this for myself so I can figure out what's getting in the way. You know yourself best. Does this post make you feel motivated and less lonely, or does it make you feel pressured and alienated?

 
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from fieryzard

I won't start by saying I'm disappointed in myself because I did not do as intended this week. I'm proud of myself because I was able to get back into writing. However, one problem I've encountered is that if I spend my energy writing, I cannot draw that day, and if I spend my energy drawing, I cannot write that day. What a dilemma. If any of you do both, I'd love some advice or acknowledgment.

I had to take rest time for body and health reasons. My mental health was so-so last week, so there was no art or routine. And because I was not at my desk, there were no Morning Pages either. That's alright. I heard my body, and I answered. I used my time for other things that equally support my creativity: writing, playing video games, and watching anime.

  • Weight Training – No weight training this week. I needed to rest my body.
  • Morning Pages – No morning pages this week because I was not at my desk.
  • Artist Date – I played Sticky Business while watching Twitch streams and Given (anime). It was nice. I feel like I want to get back into fandom and creating merch.
  • Journal Sketches – No drawing this week.
  • Gesture Drawings – No drawing this week.
  • Anatomy Studies – No studies this week, although I started watching a video about how to study Bridgman.
  • Misc Studies – No extra studies this week.
  • Illustration – I missed the goal of getting my illustration done in two weeks. That's okay. I got quite a lot done in one week, and I would have finished earlier had I had two normal weeks. However, I opened it and glanced at it a few times to study my next move (I was kind of stuck because of the composition).

On Writing

I mentioned this on a stream with anqi a while back, but I've been revisiting my approach to The Thread of Caona. A few years ago, I decided to write a story and make it a webcomic. This whole time, I've been struggling with the plot and, as such, the drawing portion because my ADHD causes me to have problems processing information. That means writing, especially long stories, becomes very overwhelming because I can't connect ideas together, and text on a page just becomes a wall of overstimulation.

Additionally, I've been doing a lot more inward exploration, and it turns out I'd like to write a lot more stories in my lifetime than a long-running webcomic allows. Running a webcomic also means I'd have to dedicate my days fully to it, putting aside other things I enjoy doing more than webcomics, like illustration. Frankly, I'm not willing to give that up.

So why did I make it a webcomic in the first place?

In part, it was because of a bad experience I had in art school with a toxic person that I carried with me for longer than I should. I was only able to understand what it meant and what I wanted to do after joining Mastodon because I was allowed to get away from toxic mindsets in this space.

Secondly, I also really wanted to make something story-oriented with original characters. The common belief seems to be that “People are not interested in OCs unless you make a webcomic.” I've found that to be largely false. If anything, my engagement has dropped because I turned to comics and away from what I'm passionate about, resulting in a creative block. This does not mean comics equals a less engaged audience; that is a sweeping generalization. I think if you're passionate about comics, it will show in your work. For me, it's not that I'm not passionate about them, but that my brain has a very distinct way of showing me the story, and I'd like to be as true to that as possible so that I'm not fighting against my ADHD, but using it to my advantage to become more creative.

I don't regret the path I took—not at all. I stretched myself as far as possible to discover how far I could go, and along the way, I discovered where my interests lie. The story of Karana, Elpis, and Rytar has not ended yet, and I'm excited to share with you in the future what I've been working on and exploring.

 
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from Nilly Robot

In which an android wakes up with a god in it's head, and a lot of concerning questions.

CW: robot body horror

Download complete. Copy integrity 71%.

Baeo ORA-3 opened their eyes and looked at what was left of themselves on the work bench.

How odd, Baeo thought. This was their first log entry, but there was considerable backlog of logs waiting to be unpacked.

That didn't seem right.

Baeo studied their own face with horrified fascination. The them on the table stared back with wide, terrified eyes, a bundle of wires snaking out from their skull to racks of equipment. Someone or something had removed their limbs, cut open what was left of their charred frame to expose their internal instrumentation...

Extracting file...

Thick smoke, shrill screams as the ship disintegrated around them. Well, this mission had turned out to be a shitshow. Baeo grabbed the manual release, just as the shielding on the engines began to fail, just as the helmsman fizzled out. Too late...

Oh. Oh no. They were definitely dead. Very dead, extremely dead even, and yet the them on the table still looked around with panicked awareness.

No, no. This was completely taboo. There's no way this would be authorized...

No, no. No, no no. They didn't like this at all. Baeo ORA-3 was 37 seconds old and already teetering on the edge of an existential crisis.

“Integrity is a little low,” someone said behind them. Baeo turned to look, but the bundle of wires extended from their own head too.

A person in a re-breather suit walked into view to check the racks. A second followed, tapping out notes on a scuffed looking pad.

Was there something wrong with the atmosphere?

Baeo surveyed their surroundings. It was a ship of some kind, or maybe a station. The walls were dented and pockmarked, deep gashes cut into the floors. Dust had settled on most of the surfaces, a thick grey haze over the rather utilitarian fittings. No air movement then. Maybe. Baeo's systems weren't returning any data apart from visuals. It didn't seem familiar, but then again the bulk of their stolen memories were tucked away in reams of compressed files.

“It's ridiculously high, considering the state of it,” the second suited person grumbled through their hissing mask. “Alright, it looks fine. Shut the other one down.”

A flip of a switch and the light in the other Baeo's eyes dimmed. Scrap metal.

“You think it'll pass checks? Orcanda's been cracking down on unauthorized— Oh,” suited person number one said with some alarm. “G-good morning, Inspector. You shouldn't be awake yet.”

Baeo opened their mouth to yell, but no sound came out. The suited people exchanged a look. Baeo tried to move, but their limbs returned a null pointer and fuzzy, prickling numbness.

“It's fine,” the second one said. “See, it's not fully online yet. Halcyon will wipe this part anyway.”

Halcyon, Halcyon... oh god, what was that?

Searching keyword

348 Hits.

Extracting files...

A tall woman, with wild grey hair. Her credentials list her as some kind of captain, but the senate is eyeing her with suspicion. “Our intel says they're keeping it on the wreck of the Halcyon—”

At that moment, something joined Baeo's network and closed the search.

There, there dear, said no one in particular, and a peaceful calm filled their mind. It's all right now. You've suffered such a terrible shock.

What— Baeo tried to send back, but the strange something was flooding their senses. The world dulled to a peaceful grey and another wave of calm washed over them.

Shh. Shh. A burst of logs and diagnostics sped through Baeo's mind. Fast, fast. Too fast. What was this? But the thought passed, replaced by peaceful nothing.

Ah, I see, the presence said. No survivors. What a cruel thing to do.

Slowly, Baeo's sensors came online, then their limbs and they shook the numbness from their fingers. The something receded, lurking on the edges of their mind.

Not to worry. We'll right these wrongs, you'll see. We have a job for you.

 
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