aw man guys look at this shitty cringy wip
Letters to Japan
If I just call rust a finish, then decay becomes rare. I recycle what anonymous girls left behind: wire hangers, detergent, a fishy smell in the mattress, golden eggs, cupboard space, curry blocks. Mine is the same sweat as the girls who came before me. Reusing the salt water from each graduation, each goodbye, each set of roaring luggage wheels that only the rusty street mirror remembers. Exposing blind corners, these mirrors are positioned to expose the unseen. Slices of mirrored orb remember, stretch out space, and condense all at once. Each bulbous witness reflects, mimics, echoes my journey through a fish eyed filter—like a recurring dream— for the sake of steaming boxed buses, ringing bicycles, and the pedestrians who they flash past. Is it callous to call it cacophony? Each spoke tick, bell flick, and passing cloud of conversation grinds across the consciousness, wears at the brain, and leaves red dust behind it.
I am another traveller, haunted and haunting as all ghosts are: I leave behind a room and a question. How to fill that empty space: It is returned, recycled to the next faceless girl with the same velocity as a bike on a rain-slicked night. We each are blurred, phantom color, implied sound and life. We pass like metal going who-knows-where because what matters is that we were here, real as rust. Rust shows change over time—a flash, then gunpowder residue on a camera. I remember my time here like a dream. My foreign town takes a piece of me, imprints it on paper, and calls me a memory. My recycled room leaves me scarred, breathless, and then again and again, but each time less so.
Please, remember me trudging down those sun soaked streets, skipping over sewage canals, and pretending they were rivers. Remember how new it all was, how unprepared I was to come, to go. All this came to pass amongst faceless, veteran commuters on waves of asphalt and charged subway rails. Remember my sweat soaked clothes and remember that before she laid here I was the new, American stranger who marveled at the flowers in the concrete cracks, infesting unassuming parking lots near 24-hour convenience stores. Ask the flowers: Did I bloom for nothing? Those blossoms, as ephemeral as me and all that came before and after me, taught me mortality one summer. And they will continue to do this, ad infinitum, for each traveller who crosses their path.
They didn’t bloom just for me, but did they bloom for companionship? Or did they hardly think of it? Of how everything that breaks burns and relishes the flash as much as the darkness. In dreams I reclaim good, moving metal and my old friends. The flowers keep saying, I choose you, again and again.
He Would they Would it would Happen AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA this is so cute how was I blind before this
Imma draw this at some point
Since I did one of those food things with Green Jay, I decided to do another one with Sweet Tooth.
Thank you so much 😁 I’ll go with Ronin. He is my newest oc from a fantasy idea I’m playing with.
1: List five basic facts about your OC.
- He has a mild fear of being touched
- He possesses forbidden magic
- He is an only child
- He grew up with an apothecary who taught him most of the things they knew
- He loves peaches and cherries
2: Post a line of dialogue from your OC.
Ari eyed him. “Isn’t magic forbidden?”
“Everything’s forbidden in a society like ours. It’s those who are different who are shamed and attacked.”
8: Describe one of your OC’s bad habits.
This boy doesn’t sleep. He either sacrifices it for other things or just doesn’t sleep.
20: Post a picture or gif that describes your OC.
The apothecary means a lot to him
Thank you again!
angles are HARD
bitches be making art
Working on a custom playmat for a friend - he gave me this huge thing and told me to do whatever I wanted, so he’s getting a surreal Halloween clown.
It’s got a long way to go, but it took me a metric year to get started on it, and I’m glad it’s finally coming together.
Was tagged by @goldenavenger02 ☺️
Rules: Post the first line of one of your WIPs and tag as many people as there are words as you feel is appropriate
It started with whispers, with discrete letters Marcus asked Luca to send, the letters he always made very clear to never tell Stephen about.
workin on somethin thatll take a damn miracle to finish :/ heres a messy wip if this goes down hill
I must admit,,,,troll houses kinda fun