Sometimes I Realise I Can Just Make Whatever Characters I Want. Whenever

Sometimes I Realise I Can Just Make Whatever Characters I Want. Whenever

sometimes i realise i can just make whatever characters i want. whenever

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my art art digital art ocs original art oc: francis

More Posts from Rumograph and Others

rumograph
7 months ago
The (Boy's) Locker Room I stand in the locker room shakily grabbing my bag There is a scoff and I am told that I am not a man Pull my ribcage apart with your bloodied hands Count them and rectify only twenty-three Scrape your fingernails against the road of my veins Altar the pathways and direct them as you see fit Gouge out my eyes, my tongue Play my vocal chords Put me in tune Carve my jaw in your imagery Stain me with your morals your mannerisms Disconnect my joints Make them bend in a way you find acceptable Reconstruct me in your idea of masculinity.

the (boy's) locker room [25.11.2023]

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poetry poem original poem trans poetry rumos poetry wrote this almost a year ago now ...
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rumograph
11 months ago
pen drawing in black, white, and purple, of a person with a buzzcut surrounded by fish and fish skeletons. the person has a hole in their forehead with intestine-like things falling out

🐟 ° . •

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my art art traditional art original art rumosona the original was actually red but i thought the purple looked cool so purple it is !!
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rumograph
1 month ago
New Character That Is. Around Five Seconds Away From Ripping Someone To Pieces

new character that is. around five seconds away from ripping someone to pieces

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my art art traditional art ocs alien oc original art pen pencil bug oc Need a name
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rumograph
2 months ago
black text on a blue background reading: pharaoh ants (two smokers & a cadaver) Bodies buried in plastic bags. We are rotting & rotting & rotting. It's dripping down the walls and we inject like heaven. Clotting in your veins like ants in resin. Did you know that ants don't have lungs? Let's make that our next project. We used to be in and out of hospitals but now we just stay home and smoke. A colony of two won't make it; a dying species that choke themselves out won't make it; a pest doesn't stop being a pest just because someone loves him; what I'm trying to say is, we won't make it. But go on, "It'll be alright", let me hear it again & again & again. The lifetime of a pharaoh ant is about 10 weeks. Remember that for me? Everything's started all over and we do nothing but know it. We are rotting & rotting & rotting and yet we can't stop killing. Who? I wish I knew. Our parents, our friends, ourselves? For now I just focus on the bugs that lie legless on the porch. They say dealing with an ant infestation is difficult, but we've managed to rot this place to the core in just a few weeks. Tomorrow marks seventy days and we will gut this house; no apologies; no goodbyes; just you and me; you and me and this cadaver of a home; let me hear it again & again & again.

pharaoh ants (two smokers & a cadaver)

Tags
writeblr writing poetry poem original poem spilled ink rumos poetry 08.03.2025 liked the blue background so couldn't do the font i like
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rumograph
2 months ago
Some Vague Clown(ish) Characters I Was Making A Little While Ago
Some Vague Clown(ish) Characters I Was Making A Little While Ago
Some Vague Clown(ish) Characters I Was Making A Little While Ago

some vague clown(ish) characters i was making a little while ago

Tags
my art art traditional art ocs original art pen anyways clown oc clown art i make characters and leave them to rot most only get drawn once
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rumograph
2 months ago

maybe today will be the day i decide to start listening to it again. maybe

this year i will start listening to the magnus archives again and. actually finish it. maybe

Tags
personal listening i really need to i know i'll like tma ... but podcasts .... aghh
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rumograph
2 weeks ago

they were right btw. you have to dig yourself out of your grave over and over again

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over and over and over
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rumograph
4 months ago
People don't understand what I mean when I say that I've died a million times. I'm in a train and in each carriage is a dead child. They are dragged off the train, one by one, and I can do nothing but watch. It's hard to tell a dead child from a living one sometimes. I get off at Camden and think about what casket they'll sleep in tonight. When I get out of the train station, my mind is full of nothing but the dead. I think about the suicide pacts I made with my ex. I call her on the phone, say it's been a year since I last touched a blade. I spend the next morning prying the blood out of my fingernails. I revise the ways I'll die over and over. Three bullets in my throat, one for each child I missed. I light another cigarette. I stumble through the market like I can't see two steps in front of me - in many ways, I can't. I spend too long looking at the wrong things, trailing my hands across the painting of Bowie, buying orange juice instead of the record I want, walking across the rainbow crossings over and over; there is a dead child in me and London makes him sick. His body hangs limp in every window I pass; you learn to deal with it, eventually.
Every twelve steps you take are someone's last. I stay at the Lockside until I'm gagging on my words and I can't feel the rain on my back. I taste it on every breath; I am dead in ways people don't understand and I will die in ways they wish they couldn't. Outside there are bodies floating in the river and only the ones already standing with one leg over see them. I stay inside for another hour or two. On the way home, all I can hear is screaming. I've always hated the underground. The screeching dies before it can reach me and all that hits me is the sobbing behind it. The underground is a burial the same way the road is a cemetery. There is nothing in the windows but my reflection slumped and rotting in the seats across from me. I wish I could find it in myself to mourn but you can only die so many times and still feel something towards it.

camden market '07 [13.01.2025]

(first piece of writing of the year !)

Tags
writeblr writing oh well I tried rumos poetry parasite days not sure how good the image is on this one what do i tag writing with
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rumograph
1 month ago
A pen and ink drawing of a red ant with a black speech bubble with the morse code: .... .. ---... -.. which is "hi :D" when decoded
A pen and ink drawing of a red bull ant (or at least I think it is a bull ant) which has a black wobbly line speech bubble which has the morse code: -.-- .- -.-- which says "yay" when decoded

shhh. they're having a conversation

Tags
my art art traditional art pen ant bug ants antposting the ants speak in morse code
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rumograph
10 months ago
rumograph - is rumo real ?
Tags
my art i am so tired rumosona
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rumograph - is rumo real ?
rumograph
is rumo real ?

the underground is a burial the same way the road is a cemetery

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