#form and emptiness

[turiyatitta]

You Exist Because Nothing Does

In the profound stillness of existence, there lies a paradox that both mystifies and enlightens: the realization that you exist because Nothing does. This concept, which dances on the edge of comprehension, invites us to explore the depths of nonduality and the nature of our very being.At the heart of this exploration is the understanding that nothingness is not a void but a fertile ground from…

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

a couple scribbles i cleaned up. also i think i like drawing him in varying states of distress

[aeide-thea]

Stained glass by Constantine Woolnough, 1858 Church of St Mary, Dennington, Suffolk Photography by Simon Knott

[starry-bi-sky]

wolfpack. aka: if not friend, then why friend-shaped?

"Hey-- uh, Danny?" There's an almost imperceptible tremor in Tucker's voice.

Danny doesn't look up from what he's doing, his pencil scritching across his notebook as he tries to do another quadratic formula question. "Hm."

"What's -- uh -- what's with the dogs?"

He looks up now, and finally sees where Tucker is -- standing in the doorway of his room with an ashy look on his face and a skewed, nervous smile. He's got a white knuckle grip on the doorknob. Sam is wide-eyed behind him, and using him as a partial meat-shield.

Danny looks down to the two giant ghost wolves sprawled next to him lazily. One large green one with his head in Danny's lap, letting him use him as a prop-up for his notebook. Another equally large black one splayed against his hip, sleeping on her side with her head tilted inward to his calf.

Automatically, a grin tilts across Danny's face, and he lifts his notebook up to scratch behind the green one's ears. He opens a lazy eye, one that is bloody red with a ring of yellow around the pupil, before slipping it shut and leaning his head into Danny's touch. "This is Sirius and Procyon," he says, and reaches down to scratch Sirius' belly. "And they're not dogs, they're wolves."

"Great," Tucker says, his voice suddenly much smaller and faint, "Love that distinction."

Sirius makes a great big groan, and Danny's grin widens, his heart swelling with fondness. His hand slips away from her belly, and before he can put his notebook back down, Procyon pushes his head up his lap until his ear is against his stomach, demanding pets now too.

Sam peeks her head up from over Tucker's shoulder, "I think what Tucker's asking here is what are they doing here, Danny."

He shrugs, scratching under Procyon's chin. "They kinda just showed up. I tried sending them back to the Zone, but they keep returning." And they were weirdly intent on just following him around, which is the only reason he gave up on returning them. They weren't causing trouble, and they knew how to hide around the living. Plus, he just loves dogs. "So now I have two wolves living with me."

This, oddly enough, did not do anything to calm Sam and Tucker down. Tucker's mouth purses into a thin line, and he presses the sides of his palms to his lips in prayer. "How have your parents not found out about this?"

Danny wordlessly raises his hand, and his sleeve slides down to reveal a thin chain bracelet hooked around his wrist. He whistles sharply, and both Procyon and Sirius jerk their heads up to look at him, ears pricked up and eyes alert.

Silently, he points to his wrist and rattles it twice, and in unison both wolves stand up and pounce. Instantly, they turn into a respective, opaque black and green mist that swirls around the bracelet and forms into two, flat wolf charms.

Both wolves are posing in the stereotypical wolf howl, with little stars indented on the sides. Procyon's charm has the Canis Minor constellation engraved on it, while Sirius has the Canis Major.

Danny faces Sam and Tucker, and points at his wrist. "Like this."

[taitavva]

[Worlds in Worlds — Danusha Laméris]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

He dies if you don't pay attention to him, its a very urgent situation for an uncle to attend to.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[ribbonsaikeaux]

Doll: Miss? Can this one ask you something?

Witch, smiling: Go ahead doll. I'm all ears.

Doll: This one was... wait... Miss is all ears?

Witch, nodding: Yes sweetie I-

Doll, eyes filling with alarm and awe: Butbutbut where are they?! Are they like really really small? Are they invisible?! Are they magic ears?!

Witch, rolling its eyes: Dear that-

Doll, starting to whisper: This one must be very quiet. All those ears must make everything super loud. I'm just gonna go clean Miss. It loves you.

Witch, shrugging and sighing: I wonder what it wanted to ask...

[sillychaotic]

the all-seeing one

[valeron99]

- We can handle everything.

[eunuchmoder]

I’ve been thinking about the concept of a minuteman combat doll who’s FAR too good at her job.

Really only built to last a couple of fights, she should have been killed in the line of duty months ago. Her sentience is really just a tool to use on the field, developed to help her fight more effectively, but that sentience has become warped. Her ability to think on her feet has become twisted into free will, which doesn’t make sense in a body that is only ever awoken when the guard needs her to be cutting down insurgents.

When she has a brief moment to rest, she thinks. It’s not comfortable. The viscera of countless rebels cakes her bladed arms, and she remembers who each sinew of muscle or chunk of flesh belonged to. She’s lived long enough to recognise patterns between each and every one she’s killed: insignia adorning their masks and shirts, the chants they cry before being met with a wall of fibreglass and steel, even a rough outline of the causes they tend to fight for. She’s pieced that last one together from context clues, which is a skill she didn’t want to learn. But once you’re sentient for long enough, you tend to passively pick up on these things, no matter how uncomfortable they make you.

She’s been alive enough to understand concepts she shouldn’t. Names, homes, values, dreams, love, planning, yearning. These aren’t for her, and any time she stops, she begins to understand them more.

The idea of staying alive deeply disturbs her. Each time the filigree clockwork inside her spins to life, she prays it catches some wayward molotov or a strategically-placed polearm of some kind. But she can’t do that intentionally. To do so could spell the end of what she’s defending, and that goes against her mission statement – her reason for existing.

It’s only been four months since she was built, but it’s too much to bear. She wasn’t meant to live this long. Hell, she wasn’t meant to live, neither in the “not dead” way nor the way humans use it to mean making their lives filled with enjoyment. This isn’t for her. Existence was enough, existence was all that was planned, but her reward for excelling at her task of being the perfect combat doll has earned her the cruel reward of awareness.

Maybe if she pushes herself hard enough, it’ll finally result in her demise or her decommissioning. She’s not valuable enough to repair, but she’s valuable enough to keep around. But if one never fully breaks down, then when will that time come? Deployment after deployment, she wishes she could be broken down and reforged into something new, just so that she could get a mulligan on this whole “overdeveloped sense of identity” thing. But why does she want to be reborn at all? This shouldn’t matter to her at all!

All of a sudden, the alarm bells toll. The bellows in her chest breathe life into her chassis.

She shakes her head and steels herself.

Just one more deployment.

Come on, doll. Make yourself useful.

[loveanddeepthroat]

Me, doing all the training, abyssal chaos, deepspace trial, hunter contest, listening to every damn un-listened to tender moments story side shit to save those gems for monday:

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

and then everyone had nightmares for a month. the end

[discard-celestia]

lestat de lioncourt - on the deer which runs faster than itself. Hélène Cixous, Stigmata / Anne Rice, The Vampire Lestat / Interview with a Vampire (2022) / Catherine Malabou, Ontology of the Accident / Czeslaw Milosz, New and Collected Poems: 1931-2001 / Louis Moe, Allegory / Ovid, Metamorphoses / Ethel Cain, Ptolomea / The Company of Wolves (1984) / Lingua Ignota, I WHO BEND THE TALL GRASSES / Hugh Parry, Ovid's Metamorphoses: Violence in a Pastoral Landscape.

[volivolition]

DAY 4: DRAMA - Put on your prettiest face for the masses!

gonna start adding silly captions actually. [POINTS ACCUSINGLY] MELTY FUCK (AFFECTIONATE)!!

[stuckinapril]

i need to go about my digital detox in a slightly different way. i feel like i'm only ever capable of being fully off my phone when i am so distracted that i cannot be on it (reading a book, on a run, w friends, doing a task etc etc). but i just want to be okay w the silence. i want to sit at a rooftop bar and look at the night sky and not feel compelled to check my phone or supplement the silence w something else. i want to be sitting on my bedroom floor doing nothing and still feel okay that i'm not on my phone. being off your phone can get intense bc after a certain point it actually feels like withdrawals (you get anxiety, fomo, antsiness) but i just want to feel those things and let them come as they may. it's not that i want to be off my phone completely so much as i want balance, but this interim of just letting go has been so tricky and kind of hard to beat. i seriously just need to be okay w the silence

[chaosintheavenue]

An expression of a general sentiment that's finally coalesced into words during a discussion with my siblings:

I am an absolute sucker for liminal spaces, dreamcore, whatever you call that whole 'aesthetic'. The very specific yet vague childhood nostalgia it draws on, the loneliness, the emptiness, combined with a creeping sense that something isn't quite right here. I love it, and I eat it right up.

The millisecond you show what isn't right- add actual horror elements, or God forbid some sort of entity- the entire specific vibe that draws me in just evaporates. Endless empty corridors? Hell yes. But throw a blood splatter on the wall, and you've completely lost me and completely changed the overall tone.

AKA, that feeling when your sister professes her undying love for 'the backrooms', you get excited, but it turns out she just enjoys playing rainbow reskinned Slender The Eight Pages that coincidentally happens to be set in the poolrooms.