HEY. You. Yes You.
HEY. You. Yes you.
Sometimes you're gonna be trying to do something early and you're going to piss away the whole day making very little progress. Sometimes it'll feel like time just passes under your feet. Sometimes all your little systems you set up to keep you productive aren't going to work. And people aren't going to understand when you explain it.
That's ok. You're not evil, you're not a disappointment and you didn't just peak in high school; you're just experiencing executive dysfunction. Maybe you don't have meds, or the ones you have aren't working quite as much today, or you just have other shit interfering with it.
You don't have to succeed 100% of the time. Sometimes your body and brain are telling you to do things that aren't "productive" that you need. Sometimes you need a walk in the sun or under the moon. Maybe you need to take an hour or two to meticulously clean your room and do laundry. Maybe you needed a nice hot shower or some time with your friends.
People aren't always forgiving or understanding; learn to lie a little for that. But for you, you sweet little creature... learn to forgive yourself. Let this meat puppet you're shambling around in (with???) tell you what it needs. Soft animal of your body and all that. You can't expect to always huff and puff and buckle down to do The Tasks. Fail at this sometimes. Please.
More Posts from Cosmicsmoothie and Others
Asaranakkas
anyway blackout poetry not just as an art form, but as an act of violence against other works of art
taking a piece of text that someone probably put their heart and soul into creating and using it as your raw material, cutting out everything that you deem irrelevant to the point you want to make
i mean imagine cutting up a painting and using it to make a collage, or taking a marble sculpture and carving pieces out of it to make a different sculpture
just to be clear: i love blackout poetry, im not criticizing it here. i am just waxing poetic about it. i dont really know where im going with this i just have Thoughts about art being destructive
augh ive been doing so many dragon profiles and nothing but that and im having a crisis because i dont know if im losing my ability to draw people? im struggling with anatomy and idk if its a passing funk or if i am just fucked
seeing 2023 off, it's very nice to see that i've become everything i once swore to destroy. everything, both in name and definition (because i mixed up several of those back in ye olde days)
What's funnier is that it was mostly coincidence. but knowing that a younger me would tremble and rage before my presence brings me joy. ive grown so much!! :3
a selection of artist memes hand-picked and curated by me based on my own experiences
show your local dragons some love by contributing to their hoards (especially if they have more specific things) (they will remember this and you can summon them in your hour of need)
my bad guys i left the bismuth dragons alone for a couple decades and now they set up a panopticon-style swarm of amazon echo dots mandated by the city-state in everyone's homes that see everything entirely by sound
the only upside is that the one dragon whose consciousness is in all of them can barely process all the information at once, so action on any suspicious activity IS delayed a couple. hours.
the next time i make any dragon character and a D&D nerd starts trying to correct MY lore about MY DRAGONS based on a tabletop roleplaying game's story i am going to shove a mythological compilation of dragons throughout history up their ass and then stab them with a big sword. same goes for people who tell me my dragons arent actually dragons because they have slightly different numbers of limbs. burn in dragon hell.
i had one class today and if it was like thursday or something i could spend the whole day just going into a simultaneously thoughtless lust-rage and omniscient enlightenment but its monday so i gotta keep it in my pants
they/them | adult | Minors DNI | one million fireballs breath attack | kill all ai scrapers | staff can take one penny off of my cold dead hands
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