tohakumaru

[tohakumaru]

still wip, thank you for putting up with me also, impossible nomad is a thing i feel i need to get out of my system, words and images-wise but i know it is a little tedious!

Wip, this is taking so long, and i'm not patient

#illustration #drawing #impossible nomad #wip #art #artists on tumblr #original characters #some kind of beasts you might say #i just wwant to finish the illustrations so i can put up the last few parts of this story #and get on with making models #it's really fun but it takes time and makes me think of and remember a lot of uncomfortable stuff

[tohakumaru]

working on the last few parts for impossible nomad, part 7 is taking a lot of work, and i've been a bit tired and distracted so just some wips for now. happy sunday!

Wip and uh listening to

#delete later #wip #impossible nomad #illustration #mysterious creatures? #drawing #art

[tohakumaru]

Last day! Thank you so much everyone for participating.

The story comes verrryyyy close to an end. I think it will finish before 21/06, and then we come back to more builds and weird bird's little adventures.

>you lower your head and touch the tip of the nomad's beak >you put the palm of your hand against the side of its head, tenderly

the nomad closes its eyes and presses its forehead against yours, and the world explodes behind your rotting eye lids. flashes of pink, white, and red streaking over a stream of technicolours. your heart bursts with hope, like the first time you'd ever seen fireworks, like the furtive joy of being-let-in-to-a-love-larger-than-life. a warm taste of candied ginger spreads from the tip of your tongue all the way to the back of your throat.

it ends just as quickly and suddenly as it starts. you can't just come back to life. i'm sorry, that's not how this works.

---

once upon a time there was a little girl standing by a murky pond, on the side of the road. she was too young to understand desire, so this need, this surging, swirling temptation churning in her stomach ladden with disgust and fright, telling her to crush between her fingers a clump of foaming pink snail eggs resting on the stalk of a lotus surely must be the voice of the devil.

i don't remember how the story ends. i can't tell if the girl went home that night and became a woman, or if she is still sleeping amongst the lotus roots.

----

you watch the nomad pulls away, puts its cloak back on, and resumes its walk. begrudgingly, your faltering limbs move as if of their own will, and bring you along. as silence makes itself known like a tertiary character in a crude paperback novel, you become acutely aware of a desperate thirst. your throat is all but parched, shrivelled flesh, brittle bones; fingertips grating away with sand like chalk on the pavement.

then it appears before you. a gaping hole in the sand: a pool of water inside a black rock, an abnormal outcrop in the sea of sand. the water is crystal-clear and so perfectly still, its reflection of the empty sky gives the impression of an infinite pit. as casual as can be, the nomad approaches the pool and dips its beak in a few time. then it stands aside and looks at you.

without waiting for an invite, emboldened by the incredible thirst, you rush towards the water. at first you try to cup your hands to drink, but the water keeps leaking through so you abandon all attempts at etiquette and sink your head in, lapping up the water like an animal. and who cares, who cares? so beautiful, my love, as the water runs down your chin, wets your neck and splashes all over your hair.

when the thirst subsides you see a fleck of silver at the bottom of the pool. the moon, the bastard! you claw at the water, trying to catch it with your fingers. give it back, give it all back. please. please. please. i want to go home.

but that's not how this works.

the nomad puts its hand on your shoulder. it's time to carry on.

read the previous chapter here

story up to date here

#7th day #7/7 #illustration #drawing #art #impossible nomad #fiction #writing #story telling #prose #poetry #poll #stories

[tohakumaru]

some close ups - and again thank you for having voted in the poll so far, and for your patient with this project, only 4-5 "chapters" left to go depending on the polls outcomes from this point :)

project page

newest

#illustration #drawing #poetry #art #my stuff? #impossible nomad #prose #story telling #poll #narrative #fiction

[tohakumaru]

>you lower your head and touch the tip of the nomad's beak >you put the palm of your hand against the side of its head, tenderly

the nomad closes its eyes and presses its forehead against yours, and the world explodes behind your rotting eye lids. flashes of pink, white, and red streaking over a stream of technicolours. your heart bursts with hope, like the first time you'd ever seen fireworks, like the furtive joy of being-let-in-to-a-love-larger-than-life. a warm taste of candied ginger spreads from the tip of your tongue all the way to the back of your throat.

it ends just as quickly and suddenly as it starts. you can't just come back to life. i'm sorry, that's not how this works.

---

once upon a time there was a little girl standing by a murky pond, on the side of the road. she was too young to understand desire, so this need, this surging, swirling temptation churning in her stomach ladden with disgust and fright, telling her to crush between her fingers a clump of foaming pink snail eggs resting on the stalk of a lotus surely must be the voice of the devil.

i don't remember how the story ends. i can't tell if the girl went home that night and became a woman, or if she is still sleeping amongst the lotus roots.

----

you watch the nomad pulls away, puts its cloak back on, and resumes its walk. begrudgingly, your faltering limbs move as if of their own will, and bring you along. as silence makes itself known like a tertiary character in a crude paperback novel, you become acutely aware of a desperate thirst. your throat is all but parched, shrivelled flesh, brittle bones; fingertips grating away with sand like chalk on the pavement.

then it appears before you. a gaping hole in the sand: a pool of water inside a black rock, an abnormal outcrop in the sea of sand. the water is crystal-clear and so perfectly still, its reflection of the empty sky gives the impression of an infinite pit. as casual as can be, the nomad approaches the pool and dips its beak in a few time. then it stands aside and looks at you.

without waiting for an invite, emboldened by the incredible thirst, you rush towards the water. at first you try to cup your hands to drink, but the water keeps leaking through so you abandon all attempts at etiquette and sink your head in, lapping up the water like an animal. and who cares, who cares? so beautiful, my love, as the water runs down your chin, wets your neck and splashes all over your hair.

when the thirst subsides you see a fleck of silver at the bottom of the pool. the moon, the bastard! you claw at the water, trying to catch it with your fingers. give it back, give it all back. please. please. please. i want to go home.

but that's not how this works.

the nomad puts its hand on your shoulder. it's time to carry on.

read the previous chapter here

story up to date here

#illustration #drawing #art #impossible nomad #fiction #writing #story telling #prose #poetry #and belated happy birthday to myself #i'm 27 #and i want to be alive #poll

[tohakumaru]

this is a throw back, to celebrate moving into my new place, and the joy of having an address again, which is a wonderful thing that is often taken for granted. here is a bit of writing, let's call it an excerpt from an imaginary love letter to Stockport. Makes more sense when you're trying to make yourself inconspicuous on a back of a 384 going through Offerton at 10pm on a Friday night in summer toying with a hole in your coat, gauging the attitude of the bus driver towards the drunken man who just stepped on. and you know, just like having an address, the term "belligerent drunk" is also often taken for granted.

[slobbering adultery on the back of a golden hind

as late summer magnolia fills the air with musk

the road turns and turns,

and her head falls into his lap

a hound on top of the hill swallows the sun,

mouth open so wide you could barely believe

how hard it is to walk away.]

Also this is what I mean by the space under a building and not a room, like a tunnel but also a space directly linked to the ‘road’. Based off this one place I used to go to at night to study for the TOEFL. Tuition cost an arm and a leg but I never ended up taking that test. I took the IELTS instead. Oh well. Happy Mother’s Sunday. Be nice to mothers & yourselves!

#queue #self rb #3 years throwback #miniature #space #architecture #photography #diy #paper #craft #toy #postcards from nowhere

[tohakumaru]

first 4 scenes of the short… probably won’t get the whole thing done in this month but sometimes it takes some time.

#self rb #2 year throwback #animation #weird bird #postcards from nowhere #queue #miniatures #photography #architecture #stop motion #diorama #dollhouse

[tohakumaru]

thank you so much for voting in this chapter!

this one has been a key moment where if the poll ended with a majority in either option 4 or 5, the story will end in the next post, originally planned for march 27th.

perhaps by coincident, but we have a tie between option 2 & 3, so we keep going. in a way, this outcome has been very comforting to me.

(previous chapter)

stillness, like an unbroken curse. your trailing limbs cut a line in the sand like a cruel finger over milky adolescent skin.

the walk seems endless. the sun never comes up and the nomad maintains an impossibly even rhythm. after a while it feels almost too natural, too comforting, as if this is exactly what you're born to do.

---

and you know, darling? you're so beautiful. you wear death like an angel drowning in a sea of stars . have i told you i love you today? love you. love you. love you.

love you when the flesh falls off your bones and your soul leaks from the cracks in your skull.

---

you don't notice it, but the nomad starts to hum, softly at first, then louder, enough for you to make out that it isn't a melody but an airy cacophony of ringing, like bells on a fishing line in winter. and then you can taste it in the air, a pungent yet pleasant smell of burning that fills your lung with warmth. you arch up your neck to see a field spanning as far as the eyes can see. it is lined with perfect intervals of clothing lines, on which thousands of blankets hang burning, tongues of flames licking up at the dark sky as if reaching to swallow the stars in their grasps. there is no smoke.

the nomad signals you to stop, and takes off its cloak. you observe that its body is small and smooth, like that of a child, but proportions slightly elongated and with just a hint of deformations at the joints, like a bird ripped of its wings and forced to stand. you linger on the nape of its crooked neck, and find it strangely endearing. unperturbed by your gaze, the nomad leaves its belongings and raft by your side, and continues alone into the field of the burning blankets.

like a good dog, you lay down in the sand, waiting. your eyes glued to the fires, as their crackling smoulders soothe a fever you don't realise you have.

---

the sacrificial lamb pulled its mottling wool over your eyes dressed you in white linens and crossed your hands over your heart. lamentation is for those who can afford it, but that's alright now. lies don't hurt when you're dead. you lay your head on the altar it was the best sleep you'd ever had.

---

when the nomad returns its skin smells like coal and eyes glitter like diamonds. now it gazes at you, quietly. against all odds, you feel your heart break. you want to pull it into your arms and hold it against your chest. but i won't let you do that. mine. mine. mine. you shan't hold another being unless i allow it, and i only want you to hold me.

but there is no need for us to bicker. the nomad puts a stop to all that by gently placing a light sheet over your shoulder, careful to place the flesh and entrails and are constantly spilling from you inside the fabric.

this feels ceremonial, this feels like love.

read the full story up to date here

#i couldn't let go either #and i thought it was going to be the death of me #but life carries on regardless #it's good to live #it's good to be alive #impossible nomad #poll end #writing #narratives

[tohakumaru]

Reading the whole Impossible Nomad was an incredible experience so far. The best part is that I can't even describe what's so lovable about it. Honestly, it just makes me *feel* more than any piece of literature & media I've ever encountered. The writing is amazing.

I adore how there are aspects that aren't (or can't possibly be) explained. How the reader can't really pick out a logical explanation of anything, but that's the beauty of it. How the explanation is there's no explanation. This whole story altered my brain in a way, which I'm so grateful for. Texts like these make reading fun for me again.

I'm truly fascinated by this project and I'm sending so much love!! Keep doing your thing <3

hi anon,

i couldn't find the words to thank you enough for your kindness, this is such incredible encouragement. i am so, so very happy that you have been enjoying the tale of the nomad, especially since it is so close and personal to myself.

thanking you again and again, and to everyone who has been reading and participating in the polls so far!

#anon #impossible nomad #writing #fiction #very very grateful #you guys make this thing feels worthwhile

[tohakumaru]

#miniatures #architecture #photography #toy #dollhouse #art #postcards from nowhere #papercraft #plants #garden #home #i miss my grandmother

[tohakumaru]

couple of close-ups. tried to do this thing i read about where you hide some narratives/foreshadowing marginal details or using decorative borders as a visual device. not entirely sure if that was effective but i had a fun time drawing it so all good.

#illustration #drawing #art #patterns #stork and snake #stars and heaven's gate #the impossible nomad #artists on tumblr

[tohakumaru]

Hello!

you can now find the full illustrations + text only versions of all Impossible Nomad chapters on my project page

https://tohakumaru.carbonmade.com/projects/7264503

preview (phone, i think better on desktop)

thank you to everyone who has voted in polls and taken interest in this so far! it means the world to me :)

#illustration #drawing #art #fiction #impossible nomad #dead poet #proses #poetry #writing #short story #poll #it used to bother me so much that i can never get anyone to help but now it feels good to do everything #i like claiming that i am the writer editor illustrator media project manager #though in truth i'm just doing whatever #but you know maybe this comes with age? #if noone cares then i just have to care enough to make up for the whole world #that's called loving me #babeyyy

[tohakumaru]

(previous chapter)

stillness, like an unbroken curse. your trailing limbs cut a line in the sand like a cruel finger over milky adolescent skin.

the walk seems endless. the sun never comes up and the nomad maintains an impossibly even rhythm. after a while it feels almost too natural, too comforting, as if this is exactly what you're born to do.

---

and you know, darling? you're so beautiful. you wear death like an angel drowning in a sea of stars . have i told you i love you today? love you. love you. love you.

love you when the flesh falls off your bones and your soul leaks from the cracks in your skull.

---

you don't notice it, but the nomad starts to hum, softly at first, then louder, enough for you to make out that it isn't a melody but an airy cacophony of ringing, like bells on a fishing line in winter. and then you can taste it in the air, a pungent yet pleasant smell of burning that fills your lung with warmth. you arch up your neck to see a field spanning as far as the eyes can see. it is lined with perfect intervals of clothing lines, on which thousands of blankets hang burning, tongues of flames licking up at the dark sky as if reaching to swallow the stars in their grasps. there is no smoke.

the nomad signals you to stop, and takes off its cloak. you observe that its body is small and smooth, like that of a child, but proportions slightly elongated and with just a hint of deformations at the joints, like a bird ripped of its wings and forced to stand. you linger on the nape of its crooked neck, and find it strangely endearing. unperturbed by your gaze, the nomad leaves its belongings and raft by your side, and continues alone into the field of the burning blankets.

like a good dog, you lay down in the sand, waiting. your eyes glued to the fires, as their crackling smoulders soothe a fever you don't realise you have.

---

the sacrificial lamb pulled its mottling wool over your eyes dressed you in white linens and crossed your hands over your heart. lamentation is for those who can afford it, but that's alright now. lies don't hurt when you're dead. you lay your head on the altar it was the best sleep you'd ever had.

---

when the nomad returns its skin smells like coal and eyes glitter like diamonds. now it gazes at you, quietly. against all odds, you feel your heart break. you want to pull it into your arms and hold it against your chest. but i won't let you do that. mine. mine. mine. you shan't hold another being unless i allow it, and i only want you to hold me.

but there is no need for us to bicker. the nomad puts a stop to all that by gently placing a light sheet over your shoulder, careful to place the flesh and entrails and are constantly spilling from you inside the fabric.

this feels ceremonial, this feels like love.

read the full story up to date here

#illustration #writing #fiction #poll #impossible nomad #prose #fields of burning blankets #there is a light that never goes out #art #artist on tumblr #poetry #kind of #narrative #episodic storytelling

[tohakumaru]

Happy V day and throw back to the last time i dabbled in "real literary illustration". It was an attempt to illustrate Midnight's Children with paper puppets. i was a bit obsessed with the depictions of love in the book, and found it amusing how i couldn't make my puppets "hold hands" properly.

Shadow projection of a paper-cut doll & my hand holding her. 

#art #illustration #shadow puppets #projection #shadow #Midnight's children #salman rushdie #photography #literature

[tohakumaru]

had to get 2 more to make it more complete, very honestly just playing around with this one.

#miniatures #diorama #architecture #postcards from nowhere #weird bird #background #tiny #art #artist on tumblr #photography #i am immensely tired though

[tohakumaru]

the last 2 from the set, there are more in between but i'm trying to work them into an animation. anyways, happy lunar new year!

this marks my 8th year being away, but it's really for the best. here's a bit of crap writing about loving your parents.

[ten thousand miles of plastic wires burning over the golden horizon

a prophet lied through his teeth

so the chariot crushed his bloodied eyes on its way towards the sun.

the bottom-feeders, scums-of-the-earth, pillars-of-salt, blasphemers

and she-who-arrived too late sat on the ocean floor

contented themselves with the half-eaten god you left behind.

little mouths tinged with blue and red

red-bright-red, eating the grace away. ]

#miniatures #architecture #photography #diorama #background #postcards from nowhere #doll house #toys #paper #happy new year #lunar new year

[tohakumaru]

some more potential shots for animation

#miniatures #architecture #diorama #background #photography #postcards from nowhere #plants #garden #pond #toy #papercraft