#surreal justin

[sunaketchup]

"𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯"

surreal by justin Fanart ✨🌸

Prints available :) sunaketchup.carrd.co

[thewindowofthesummerhouse]

Justin O'Neal

[icouldbeluckyagain]

anyone else just living their lives and then it hits again you all of a sudden

[disease]

“BOOTS IN LEATHER” LOUIS VUITTON F/W 2023 PHOTO: CAMILLE VIVIER DSGN: JUSTINE PONTHIEUX

[x-heesy]

Rick аnd Mоrty

#cartoons #cartoon #art #cartoonnetwork #drawing #comics #animation #s #illustration #cartoonart #artist #anime #cartoonist #digitalart #sketch #love #memes #funny #artwork #comic #disney #draw #tomandjerry #scartoons #fanart #artistsoninstagram #oldcartoons #meme #looneytunes #saturdaymorningcartoons

Burn The Ships by Warlord Colossus, Dozy Doe 🎧

[sb19alexx]

justin with saoirse 🤍😽

[nuuspace]

The Door to Nowhere

In a chamber of forethought, Gris vanishes.

Their consciousness fades and their corporeal tangibility becomes meaningless in an instant. The life they once experienced is a memory that will inevitably wash away into the infinite pool.

All the aforementioned precedents vanish. Gris sighs, their new sight hazed.

Clouds of verdant and mauve, serpents and groves; each piece of abstraction their brain pieces together for milliseconds before their vision clears.

Today, they stand tall. Today, they are a man.

His shoulders relax, his legs remain tense. He's standing. Around him, a large crowd of people talk amongst themselves. Every few ticks, they stagger towards the direction he was supposedly facing.

He stands in a hallway as thick as roughly five people if they lay flat on the floor, that of which is covered in blue carpet, just as the walls. Between the floor and walls are oddly-angled stairs, covered in the same carpet, no seams to be found. The ceiling breaks the pattern, an off-white tile, splattered with occasional faux dirt specks to help with the immersion. Peering above the many heads, he notices the hallway may be one-hundred steps until the presumed destination. Soon after he twists his body around, he feels very light-headed.

The hallway extends for what feels like forever. As it gets further away, it curves upward, completely disregarding gravity, if it were even there in the first place. Gris does not bode well with odd geometry, albeit the entirety of Nuuspace.

He turns back and grounds himself, focusing on his new body; black lax jeans, white ragged t-shirt, and an olive, loose-fit waxed cotton jacket.

There's a gap in front of him in-between the crowd, so he moves forward to close it.

Gris is not particularly used to looking down on others. Most of his bodies are petite. It can be assumed that his original body was closer to that size, considering the pattern. People prefer familiarity after all. However, this body is more burly and old than the others. Not too old, no, perhaps in its late thirties. But far out of the standard range of Gris' experiences. Whether it's one of his own or one that's preoccupied, he chooses to keep it as is.

He turns to his left to find a relatively young man; black hair, black jeans, gray crop-top. He scoots toward him.

"What are we doing?" He asks the young man, his new voice deep and soft.

"We?" The young man asks. "Well I'm waiting in line. What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting in line as well," He assumes. Gris looks toward the presumed destination. At the end of the hallway, there is a set of wide doors, but that's the extent that isn't abstracted by the crowd. Periodically, the doors open and close in an odd pattern. Perhaps, and more likely, it's a series of doors.

"What are you waiting in line for?" He asks the man.

"The edge of the universe." The young man verbalizes.

Gris ponders for a moment. "Is that… dangerous?"

The young man stands in line.

Gris sighs. He moves past the man, as those around him inch towards the door once again. Maneuvering through the crowd is hardly an inconvenience; although there are many people, there are no obstacles, and no obstructed paths. He moves toward the stairs on the sides; no guard rails and no separation from the floor or carpet. The stairs jut out from the floor like an odd extension of the hallway's body, while the carpet acts as its skin. They're rotated in a way that makes them feel more like spikes, a rather unorthodox design for something that is presumed to be traversed.

And yet, Gris' curiosity bests him. He walks onto the stairs, and loses his balance, falling to the ground. He quickly regains his footing, only to realize that everyone else is standing on what seems to be a slope. It's as if his and their gravity are separate, relative to the surface they're standing on. The stairs are no longer at an angle, the hallway is.

The doors at the end of the hallway are now at the bottom of the stairs. There is no longer a queue for Gris, if there ever was one in the first place.

Down the stairs, passing each soul. Each in their own world, in their own space, slowly inching towards their supposed destination; none bat an eye. There are no obstacles, there is no trouble. There is nothing stopping them from getting to where they want. What is it that they're waiting for?

He arrives. The wall at the end houses a series of doors, each identical, laid out next to each other in a row. No one comes through, they only enter. Door opens, one enters, door closes. Again. And again. And again.

Gris steps off the stairs. His gravity returns to normal, flinging him upright. The vertigo sends a wave of nausea through his body from top to bottom.

One door remains still—no one enters. As if the door is waiting for him. He approaches the door and caresses the cold wood surface, moving his hand down to grasp the door knob. Ice cold.

For but a moment, he forgets that his body is not his own. Whether this was the door his host was meant to be in or not, this was the door for him. He opens it and walks through.

All that lay ahead is the hallway he just stood in. Nothing more, but so much less. No one stands in the room, waiting. No one stands in the room, moving forward. He turns the other way. The door is gone.

All of that curiosity, all for nothing. The anticipation. The waiting. Just for it to end in absolutely nothing, in absolutely nowhere.

His consciousness begins to fade. His time is up. Ended so perfectly at this moment, as if destined to be.

From here to there, and inevitably everywhere, Gris will continue their journey until the end of time itself. Changing lives, creating new ones. Injecting new points into stories, and retconning old ones. All at random, forever and ever.

As Gris leaves the man behind to deal with the actions of his possessor's consequences, they enter an echo chamber. Doubt, regret, sorrow. Remorse.

All the aforementioned precedents vanish.

And they begin anew once more.

[talefoundryshow]

NOW ON NEBULA!

If you’ve encountered Justin Tomchuk’s Interface series before, you probably have one question: what IS this? Let’s explore this oddly familiar fever dream together!

[saintaerni]

“SERAPHIM“

[guhitgab]

Kaibigan / Surreal

[sunaketchup]

Something to commemorate Justin 's solo debut! Unreleased Justin Fanart from last year (kasi no time pa rin ako gumawa bagong fanart huhu) glow in the dark yarn jk

[thewindowofthesummerhouse]

Justin O'Neal

[clemsfilmdiary]

Mulholland Drive (2001, David Lynch)

12/25/22

[lildreamsmith]

🌱— Surreal is such a sweet candy for our mental health. A song that serves as a breather from this stressful world.

[sb19alexx]

SB19 | justin dedios on Philippines ESQUIRE

For creative master Justin, the individuality of each SB19 member is crucial in ensuring that they have a unique yet cohesive sound.

[rugessnome]

so bye, bye, Aloha shirt guys,

went out to the beach heard the seagulls cry

music dudes rest in peace, now your years've gone by

years of the things that help you hang on

first Jimmy Buffett now Steve from Smash Mouth this is like 9/11 for dudes with closets full of Hawaiian shirts