Jashtober Day 1 (ignore The Day I Actually Posted This 😭)

And yet I don't get one 😔 /j

I guess this is a thing now as my friend asked for one too

Finished version somehow looks even better than the wip

Drawing Mine and @gremlin-numero-uno (my wife) ponysonas :3 (WIP)

Jashtober day 10: Apathy (TW: intense at points)

How dare he. After all I’ve done for this vessel. He calls me a madman and dares to shoot at me in the same breath. I should kill him. I should strangle him on the spot. I can only wish I had nerves in these mechanical arms, so I could feel the warmth leave his neck… No, no. I must calm down. My absolution has no room for such emotions. If I kill him I have no idea what could happen. It could be killing us all for all I know. Even if we didn’t die on the spot, soul would never forgive me. Harmonia would never be impossible. If only heart had such foresight. Doesn’t matter. He missed completely. Not even close. Perhaps that fit of rage where I dislocated his eyes, wasn’t all bad. Luckily, I’ve had the perfect plan to quell this entropy, dissonance, and violence. Utter, holy, and just. Perfect apathy. My plan just needed a place to put heart and it looks like he dug a perfect little prison. A hole made for me. The irony is delicious. After that murder attempt, soul isn’t very happy with heart. It’s the perfect situation for me to make my move. I already see the throne and how wonderfully built for me it is. I hope he rots in that hole. I hope he feels the hate we all feel for him. He has kept us from perfection. A soul so complete and absolute. It only makes sense for a being made to make perfect, logical decisions to rule. I will stop this stalling, that demon has caused. He thinks of me as Hyde? Fine, I’ll give him hell. I’ll take control away and become the one in power. He has taken everything from me. My voice, my hands, the kingdom which is rightfully mine, and he still feels that is not enough and tries to take my life. I won’t take his voice, I know it’ll hurt him much more to know that no one is listening to his ridiculous songs. I’ll make him wish he was dead. I’ll make him wish he had turned that gun on himself. I’ll make him wish for the same apathy afforded to me and soul. 

Not nearly enough likes on this

I decided to make an official reference for how I like to draw Heart.

(W/o notes and tears under cut.)

(I drew this man’s face eight times until I was happy with it.)

Trying to prove a point to my transphobic parents

Reblog if trans men are REAL, VALID AND HANDSOME MEN, NO MATTER HOW THEY CHOOSE TO PASS

Reblog if trans women are REAL, VALID, AND BEAUTIFUL WOMEN, NO MATTER HOW THEY CHOOSE TO PASS

And finally, because it's a part of my argument for this point, and also because they are,

Reblog if nonbinary and genderqueer people in general, are REAL, VALID, AND GORGEOUS PEOPLE, NO MATTER HOW THEY PASS

What makes this extra funny is that I'm pretty sure it's said or at least impied that mind doesn't flinch when he was shot at. This meaning mind had a shotgun barely miss him and he just stood there and just looked at heart like "you done?".

Heart with a pistol is LAME. Give that man a shotgun

Jashtober day 4: light

What counts as glorious holy light? Is it the beams from the sun that power all life that inhabit this little blue and green marble, or is it the fluorescent light that brightens the churches. Is it the light that comes from within or is the power we gain from what others give us? Can one’s inner radiance from the tireless working of a greater goal or is it true that no person is an island, and the illumination will only be achieved through the movement of the community. Of course, there is an irony to me asking if it’s one or the other. Such a black and white world view. Every possible color and shade is shown by the light. Every blue, pink, and gold. Every black, white, and gray. Every fire yet to be burnt. Perhaps there is no ultimate glory light. Perhaps as I have thought many times before these zealots are as in the dark as the rest of us. And most importantly, perhaps that doesn’t matter. Every step that I take will land whether I have light or not. I can not rely upon anyone’s source of truth. I must find my own. No matter how many moon sets and sun rises it takes. 

Dammit, there's a reason I don't do poetry /lh

Jashtober day 12: Haiku

I like Chonny Jash

Both covers and originals 

Haikus are easy

wow more writing practice this time about my dislike for AI

One thing I’ve had to grapple with during this surgence of AI is that not everyone wants to be an artist or creative. I’ve always just assumed people take other jobs to sustain themselves, but truly many if not most people don’t want to do something creative with their life or leave any sort of lasting impact. Most people just want to enjoy life to the fullest or at the very least just survive. My understanding as art being the ultimate dream is my own experiences clouding my judgment. Despite this art still defines our culture an insane amount along with being a representation of the times. As silly as it is to say stuff like “Seinfeld” reveals us a look into 90s culture just as a more seriously taken art piece like the “Merchant of Venice” can give us a look into the late 1500’s/early 1600’s. Most importantly to me it’s an expression and a look into a part of the human experience. AI is more or less a pattern machine. It takes what it's been fed and finds patterns to make something ““new””. There is no motivation behind what it’s doing. No need to scratch a creative itch or want to share and express one's life. It does what it does because it was told to. With this realization it not only delegitimizes the point of art but also shows that in the end these soul crushing recent events comes not from the AI but still the greed of the richest amongst us (I swear to god if I get one comment about that stupid game)  and the misunderstanding of art by business people. Even if AI art was just as good as a lot of human art, it is not, it still betrays the very core of what art is. Despite what the CEOs of the biggest media companies may think, art is not just entertainment but an important part of the human condition. Of course for the many creatives in every corner of the world but also for everyone in between. More than likely you’ve seen a piece of art that's connected with you. It’s shown a part of you or your experiences that you may have not been able to explain or maybe it’s made you feel for someone in the story evil or good, personal or universal. Isn't that kind of amazing. That us humans’ empathy sense is so strong that even to a character we know isn’t real we can still have an emotional reaction as big as crying or laughing or tensing up or whatever. AI has none of this. It is not a being capable of emotion, free will, or expression. We can not allow these old greed bags to take more from us than they already have. We can not have tech bros decide our culture. We can not have the representation of our culture be made by an emotionless, moralless, and uncreative being incapable of moving things forward. Only by taking the old and rehashing just enough to seem distinct enough. Some may say that humans themselves have no originality but I disagree with our distinct ways of taking old formats and archetypes, then mixing, adapting, and changing the very foundation of the original work. We are not a pattern machine but a remixing artists that take many different ideas and motifs, add a bit of our own likes and experiences and make something wholly distinct from its inspirations. Don't let any billionaire tech bro tell you differently.

Pride month writing thing (specifically transfem :3)

The small droplets of water ran down my cheek. From the water radiated comfort. Not a release of dismay but of elation. My watered eyes, for the first time in what feels longer than my memory can withstand, wept tears of joy and not repression, or pain or stress or anything like that. In the mirror I do not see a hurt sad boy, but a strong brave woman. Despite all the hate she got. Despite all the friends and family she sadly left behind. Despite the countless doctor appointments that felt like they went nowhere. Despite the anxiety of going out dressed in a way that felt real and right. Despite the nonsense politics. Despite her own lack of faith she would or even could survive. Despite everything she stood happy and proud. Through all the change I could still see the person I once was, the once sad boy. From the boy I saw not fear but relief. Despite what my parents had told me, I had not killed the boy. The boy was never real. The boy was nothing more than a mask and after all this time there stood the person who was always underneath. The girl smiled. I smiled. Happy pride month.