self-induced-paranoia-blog

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

2/24/18

I had this epiphany today, as I gazed onward towards the setting sun that loomed over the mountain, that the Universe, for one reason or another, was keeping me here by a mere, metaphorical thread. Every time my sense of will to live begins to slip away, it's as though some positive force lunges for me, breaking the cycle of nihilistic thought. 

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

Full name: Datura Thorn Cascadel

Pronunciation: Da-tu-ra THôrn CAHS-ca-del

Nickname(s) or Alias: Thorn, Poison, Mad Scientist, Lone Rogue

Origin of name: The datura flower is an extremely poisonous plant with large trumpet-shaped flowers, native to southern North America. Daturas contain toxic or narcotic alkaloids and are used as hallucinogens dating back to the Native Americans of the Old Earth.

Gender: Female

Race/Species: Halfling (deemed Quarterling)

Age: 19

Birthday and Zodiac Sign:  April 1st, 4015, Aries

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Spirit Animal: Crow

Sexuality: Homoflexible

City or town of birth: Dire Garden in Epatha, Country: Southern Midlands

Currently lives: Dionysus, aka Wine Country, Farmer’s Haven, Home of the Arts. Country: Priapus

Languages spoken: Common with Eosian dialect; Olde Common (pirates)

Native language: Olde Common

Relationship Status: Single

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Height: 5′6″

Weight: 110lbs

Figure/build: Hourglass, thin middle, thicker bottom, lean, defined muscles, agile and roguish build

Hair colour: Darkest red, black tips

Hairstyle: Short, above the shoulders; A-line bob, front longer than the back

Eye colour: Deep crimson with a venomous fusion of olive green and purple around the iris

Skin/fur/etc colour: Pale olive

Tattoos: Swirling thorns intertwined with roses creeping along the majority of her left arm. Small icon of a crow on the back of her left forearm. Tattoo of a moth and mystical designs on the top of her right hand and wrist.

Piercings: Black septum ring, labret with a dark ruby in the center of the captive bead ring, ears are scattered with rings and studs of all kinds

Scars/distinguishing marks: A fading scar over her left eyebrow, slightly pointed tips of the ears from her mother’s Eosian blood

Preferred style of clothing: Black - post apocalyptic, military garb, surgical and gas masks

Frequently worn jewellery/accessories:  Gaudy silver rings, each bearing a gemstone that marks a specific event or trait in her life. A necklace/pendent with 3 bullets laying across her collarbone. Weaponry: Curved twin daggers that emit a radiant green glow; single tailed whip; brass knuckles and a bronze handgun.

HEALTH

Smoker? Drinker? Recreational Drug User? Which?

Addictions: Not a slave to any addiction, user of many; Pleasant Dust (Cocaine/amphetamines on Old Earth, but with magical additives)

Allergies: None

Any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: None

Any medication regularly taken: None

PERSONALITY Personality:

Likes: Alcohol, science, money and chaos

Dislikes: Ignorance

Fears/phobias: Losing control, love

Favourite colour: Red 

Hobbies: Adventure, a life of crime, writing, sketching, bar fights, and occasional dress up (usually for spy related missions)

Taste in music: Metal, classical, and whatever’s playing in or around the bar at 3am

SKILLS

Talents/skills: Pick pocketing, chemistry and various sciences, engineering, intimidation, (attempts) at underground supremacy

Pets or companions: A small Jackdaw/crow hybrid named Callowel can be seen sitting on her shoulder at times or flying in proximity.

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

From a little shell at the bottom of the sea, With the Earth and the Moon and the Sun above me, But the world fell down with some people still around, There is love, there is love to be found. #pensacolabeach #seashells #aquamarine #lisagermano #sugarsand

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

Can’t expect the world to be your raggedy Andy while running on empty 💀 #grungeaesthetic #blackandwhite

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Life’s a bitch, then we die, that’s why we get high #pensacolagraffitibridge

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

Life is nothing but a manmade delusion. The words I etch across these man made lines speak nothing of the twisted thoughts that loom within the artists mind. I guess the artist in question is probably me. Forlorn, drug infused, substance abused. Wrecked by the toil of earthly materials. Chemicals. Pharmaceuticals. Living, or rather, just... breathing through this existence one day at a time. I’m growing bored. Yet I want more. Is this simply the side effect, the result of a diseased mind? Is it an illness or a mere choice created from the ashes of all these broken, forgotten souls? I’d like to say it is more of a choice... in effort to lessen the perceived justification of it all. I chose this for myself - that isn’t even close to a question. Maybe I’m done deciding where I end up. Or alternatively HOW I end up. Dead or alive, or desperate inside, for some form of relief from this madness. This chaos. This darkness. Darkness that consumes me daily in a death hold grip. Squeezing the very life out of me. I’m losing it. I’m loving it. Even rock bottom feels like heaven sometimes, although it’d be considered some sort of hell, to the majority. I might be white. I might be “female”. But nowhere do I fit into the carefully defined structures built by our own society. Just like these blue tinted lines. Chaos drives me to my next destination, Through windy deserts, mountains, flatlands, lush tropics and ethereal overlands. The rest is on me. “Koyanisqatsi” 10/23/17

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

Jien Tohr

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

* Glow Blog *

* The Glow Store *

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

Artwork by @627726 | Motion Effects by rexisky

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Oh yeah I almost forgot. Hair dresser put in some tribal lines. ❤❤❤ it!

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

It’s as though only a day has gone by, when in actuality, it’s been close to a year.

Every January is marked by a painful dose of deja vu. Every January brings about a new sense of despair I didn’t think possible. Every January... I find myself alone, with nothing and no one else but myself and my own thoughts. Fight or flight, well,  I suppose, there’s no other choice but to fight. I’ve fled from heartbreak for a year now. Numbing it daily. Layer after layer, I've covered up the deepest plot. My heart, the coffin - at this point it’s up to me to excavate the remains.

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

🥀

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

January 7th, 2017

It was a gloomy Saturday. Not gloomy in the sense of sadness, but more in a sleepy, tranquil kind of way that made you want to bundle up in the warmest blanket and forget to watch the clock for a while. Window open, rain patters against the concrete and birds chirp in the very distance. The smell of coffee and hazelnut lingers throughout the house. A sheet of euphoria washes over me, so nicely, as this high remains fueled by several pleasures, no matter how organic or supremely unnatural.

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

January 4th, 2017 My mind is a mess, but not quite the mess it's been. Scrambled and trying to make sense of it all - life. Life itself, there are no concrete words to even make the measly attempt at explanation.

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

You know that feeling... That feeling you get when you stare at the fire too long. That feeling you get when you stand in the shower until your skin is beet red and your fingers prune. Or when you find yourself staring... your eyes, feast upon the comfort of nothingness. No urge, no willingness to break that invisible link, hooking you to the vastness of empty space and endless flame. You're imprisoned. Within walls, physical or psychological, that bind you from present thinking. Yet... all your mind consists of is thought. Never ending wonder. Why do ashes turn white like snow? When we're lost, where do we go? Why does time pass so quickly, and why is it that the smallest of circumstances can destroy a country, or break the most fragile heart? I wonder. I will always wonder, until the day I'm six feet under.

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

without art, we die

we die inside. 

we cannot thrive.

[self-induced-paranoia-blog]

One eye Several different substances