#the first one had some anatomical mistakes

[numy-numnum]

Purah study again because I wasn't too happy with first one

[slamminslamminmcgill]

joel getting off of a carpenter job all sweaty and smelling like lumber and probably a little beer and uhhhhhhhhh stealing his sweaty shirts and huffing them when he goes to shower. what who said that 🧍‍♂️

rl quick shoutout to my dilf friend who hosts the orgy he smells rly good and i huffed his pits last night so this one’s your fault babes mwah

anatomical terms: cunt, dick

Is this how drug dogs feel?

When some idiot’s trying to sneak weed through customs, is this how excited they get when they catch a whiff?

Well, probably not this excited, and either way, it’s not the smell that hypes them up, but the promise of a treat afterwards.

You, on the other hand, were attracted to the smell itself, or at least the idea of it. Specifically, Joel’s scent as soon as he walked into the apartment, face flushed, brow dotted with sweat, wet patches pooling under his armpits, sawdust sprinkling him from head to toe, ripped jeans with paint splatters on them. He looked gorgeous, so masculine and powerful. Jesus was a carpenter too, wasn’t he? Yeah, that tracks. No wonder he had twelve dudes following him all the time. Joel’s smell was as conspicuous as lighting a blunt in the airport, something that’d surely attract the dogs.

He wiped his Timberland boots on the mat, then knelt down to untie them. You watched, entranced, as he kicked them off and unbuckled his tool belt. You wanted nothing more than to rush him and face-plant into his armpits, but you figured you should show at least some restraint.

“I’m’onna take a shower,” Joel said matter-of-factly, dropping his tool belt on the counter. “Scream if ya need me.”

Shit, if that’s all it took, you’d scream for him to suffocate you in his pits and let you huff that glorious Man Smell™️ until you pass out, but that wasn’t what he meant. He meant “Unless you’re being murdered, don’t bother me for the next 20 minutes”.

No matter. You could easily keep yourself busy in that time.

Once the shower was on, you cloaked your footsteps under the sound of running water. Slowly, ever so slowly, you tiptoed to the bathroom and cracked the door open. Joel wouldn’t have been able to see you through the shower curtain, anyway, but you didn’t want him catching on. You slid your arm through the gap and blindly felt around for the first piece of clothing you could grab. At the first touch of cotton, you hooked your fingers into it, yanked it through the door, and inspected your prize: his t-shirt. Jackpot.

Having snagged your precious treasure, you shut the bathroom door and practically skipped off to your room. You flopped onto your bed, held the balled-up shirt to your face, and took a big whiff. Sweat, lumber, testosterone, and what you guessed to be either Modelo or Corona. Whatever it was, it was just one ingredient, one splash in this hedonistic cocktail that made it all the more intoxicating. Your cunt was already crying for attention, so you slipped your fingers in your underwear to soothe it. Rubbing along your own slit, spreading the wetness around, pinching your dick and stroking it, you tended to your needs as best you could, the musky shirt muffling your moans. You’d gotten so invested, so focused on your task, that you forgot to listen for the shower turning off. You only realized your mistake when it came barging through your bedroom door.

“Hey, have you seen my-?” Joel started, and then stopped mid-question when you answered it for him. Yes. Yes, you had seen his shirt. And now he had seen it, balled up in your desperate fist, while your other hand rubbed your even more desperate cunt.

No fucking shot of explaining your way out of this one. He knew immediately.

Joel snorted at the pathetic sight before him, “Oh my god, that’s… What is wrong with you, kid?”

You laid frozen on the bed as he approached, surely taking his sweet time to let your embarrassment fester. Once he was within range, he snatched the shirt out of your hand, and said,

“Don’t go stealin’ my shit, boy. Next time you want somethin’ from me, use your words and just fuckin’ ask.”

[pappydaddy]

i'm yours (j.m.)

tv show/movie: outer banks | pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader *cis!female anatomical parts mentioned

requested by another lovely anon as part of my 800 follower celebration

synopsis: not having labels muddles things up. luckily, they don't need labels to know they are mad about each other. though, labels might not hurt - might even save some noses.

taglist: @luvhann | @thelakespoets  | @lonely-simp | @smarie7543| @tenaciousperfectionunknown | @k-k0129 | @maybankslover*line through you user means i could not tag you lovelies!

warnings: spicy, spicy, spicy. dry humping. dirty. reader is horny. blood. broken nose. punching. fluff (if you squint) 18+ please and thank you. characters are aged up as per usual!

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- not my gif -

 It was as if the stars aligned just the right way, because there she stood, the girl that had been consuming JJ’s mind twenty-four-seven lately. The moonlight rained down on her like a glowing spotlight, pointing her out to him as if he needed any help finding her in a crowd. And then, the stars must have shifted because as the dancing crowd moved just right, it revealed someone unpleasant standing beside her - talking her ear off, Topper. With his stupid shorts and polo top matched with his stupid boat shoes. 

  Bitterness swirled in JJ’s stomach as his face twisted into a scowl, his heart lurched, almost as if it wanted to jump out of his chest and strangle Topper. He knew what her opinion on Topper and other Kooks were - she hated him, but she doesn’t like making scenes so she suffers through conversations. She was too nice (or shy, he wasn’t too sure which yet) to tell him to piss off, but JJ wasn’t. However, something did hold him back. They weren’t official yet. And that was completely on him. He was the one dragging his feet on this one, but now he realized his mistake. 

  He’s taken it slow with her. She was too perfect and too innocent for him, so he was scared of either ruining her and her life or scaring her off with all of his baggage. Her friend’s opinions of him didn’t help his self-doubt. He knew they hated him. He knew they were telling her to move on, to forget him. But she didn’t listen. Even if there wasn’t a label, it was clear to both of them that this thing was more than just fooling around. They had feelings for each other. It was obvious when he kissed her and her first reaction is always to blush or do that cute little panicked hand flap as if she was surprised he would kiss her before her body melted into him.

  “Screw it.” JJ’s eyes zeroed in on Topper as he inched closer to Y/N, obviously flirting despite Y/N clearly wanting out of the situation. He was a large guy, standing at six feet and having a decent amount of muscle, so it didn’t surprise him when he reached the pair quickly, but it did surprise him that he reached them in what felt like five seconds - he stumbled a bit, feeling like he was transported there instead of walking. 

  Y/N spotted him first, those beautiful eyes JJ loved looking into so much, catching his and widening as if asking him for help, which was exactly what he planned to do. “What do you want, Pogue?” Topper’s snarl made JJ look over at him, blue eyes cold and hard, as if he was aiming to kill him. 

  “I was coming over here to ask what the hell you’re doing flirting with someone who is clearly not yours to flirt with.” JJ squared his shoulders, stepping up to Topper, showing the slight but noticeable height difference between them when JJ pulls to his full height. Y/N’s mouth fell open, eyes watching JJ as he puffed his chest out slightly. ‘Hot damn!’ She thought, eyes flicking all over his body before looking back at the tense stare off. 

  “Last I checked, she was single.” Topper gestured toward Y/N, shooting her a wink, but JJ shifted to hide her from him, scoffing at this. 

  “Oh, news to me, because I don’t think what we’ve been doing screams ‘just friends’,” JJ put air quotes around the phrase, looking back at her with his jaw set in a way that made her want to drop to her knees right there. “What do you think, Sweets?” He asked her, his voice deep and dark, almost as if it was strained. The nickname. The voice. The look. The protectiveness. It all went right between her legs. 

  “Definitely not.” She confirmed, bottom lip being sucked between her teeth as she crossed her legs as discreetly as she could while standing, squeezing. She had to admit, she was already hot and bothered from watching from across the party all night, and now it was like someone opened the floodgates. She could jump him right then and there, but Topper just won’t let go. 

  “Still single, man,” Topper shook his head with his stupid smirk, making JJ whirl his head back around at such a rate it startled both Y/N and Topper. For a moment, Y/N was concerned that he had hurt his neck, but didn’t realize since he was hyped up on a mix of one beer, testosterone, and adrenaline. “She’s fair game for the rest of us-” 

  Topper didn’t get to finish his sentence before JJ’s fist met his nose, a sickening crack sounding as a loudly hissed ‘Fuck!’ left Topper’s mouth, his hands flying up to his nose which must have been broken from the amount of pain, blood, and the sound. “Hey, you saw he was disrespecting her, right?” JJ looked over to the group of people who were standing around, trying not to look like they were listening from the jump. 

  They all nodded furiously. “One of you put your information in my phone.” Y/N pulled her phone out, unlocking it and opening contacts, handing it to the group. After graduating, JJ learned his lesson - always have a witness or two to confirm his story (true or not). Y/N usually was the one who got a witness' contact information to keep in case they needed it. With Topper, they would definitely need it, he’s pressed charges before. 

  Glancing over at Topper, she saw a mass of people around him, someone holding their discarded shirt to his nose to stem the bleeding. Over the balled up fabric, he was glaring at the two of them, saying something but they couldn’t hear through the shirt and over the loud nose. Eyes flicking over to JJ, she looked up at him, his back still turned towards her, heaving. His fists were still clenched, almost as if he was ready for someone to come try to avenge Topper or Topper to come flying at them. 

  “Here you go, we put her number in.” A shaky voice pulled her eyes away from JJ. A boy held her phone out to her, his hand and whole body shaking slightly, eyes pleading with her to take the phone before JJ turned around. He was scared of JJ. He was intimidating, probably, she assumed since all she saw was a guy with such a large heart and an urge to protect anything he cares about with all his might. 

  “Thank you,” She took the phone, locking and pocketing it. “JJ, we should leave.” She shuffled the rest of the way over to JJ, her toes getting buried in the sand despite her sandals. For the first time since the punch, JJ looked over at her as she gripped his arm. As soon as his eyes met hers, they softened, but seemed to get darker. His chest rested, no longer heaving, and his fists relaxed, one arm snaking around her waist to pull her against him. 

____

  When she suggested they leave, she was more concerned about the possibility of cops showing up to bust the party since there was a strong possibility of someone snitching after that punch was thrown. She didn’t even think this could happen. She didn’t think he would want to. Part of her even thought he would be mad that she let Topper flirt with her, but as he muttered into her neck not long ago, he knew she didn’t want him. Didn’t want him the way she wanted JJ. Didn’t want him talking to her. Didn’t want him anywhere near her. He knew that.  

  Really, they barely even left the party since they managed to make it to the Twinkie and that was as far as they went. In all fairness, JJ was the one who brought it since everyone else had drives already. So the van was all theirs according to him. Imagine her shock when JJ’s lips landed on hers, lips moving against hers with such passion she kind of thought it was a dream. She had expected a fight. Maybe that was her own messed up trauma coming forth, but she least expected to have his tongue in her mouth and his hands roaming around her body. 

   She hummed into his mouth as he gently started to guide her down on her back. ‘God bless the Twinkie’s lack of seats.’ She thought once her back met the floor of the van, JJ’s weight shifting as he settled between her legs, his body pressing against her in just the right way. She could feel everything. From the heat radiating off of him to every single dip and ridge of his muscled abdomen. 

  Her eyes opened when JJ pulled his mouth away, catching a glimpse of the dark interior. JJ had parked in a rather secluded spot. With trees hanging over the van, all planted in a row behind the van, they were perfectly hidden. A bit of moonlight slipped through the leaves, illuminated the inside so softly. Her eyes shifted, looking at JJ’s body pressed against her. The way the soft lighting surrounded him, it made him look pure and soft - just like she always pictured him. “You got quiet,” JJ muttered against her skin as he kissed along her neck and shoulders. “What’s going on in there?” He asked, pulling away to look at her for a moment. 

  A ray of moonlight hit his eyes, making them sparkle like two ocean blue gems. “Just thinking about how beautiful you are.” She uttered, her hands sliding up from where they rested on his sides to cup his face. Pulling his lips back to hers, he let her lead the kiss. Soft. Loving. Tender. JJ felt like they were in one of those romance movies she loves to watch. She took a deep breath in, lips pulling back only enough to do so as if she was trying to breath him in. 

   Eyes fluttering open again, her eyes stared up at him - big and darkened with want and need. Looking into those eyes was all it took for JJ to snap. Instantly, his lips were on hers again, but only for a moment until they trailed down to the spot he knew so well - sucking. Harshly. 

  Y/N’s eyes nearly rolled back into her head, mouth opening and head falling back as she moaned. She always responded like that and JJ knew it. She also knew he knew by the feeling of his smirk against her now widely exposed neck. “JJ, careful-“ She panted, back arching off the floor as he slid his hands under her, dragging against the smooth skin of her back. “What if-“ As his hands hit the thin strap resting on her back that was holding her bikini closed, it was like she couldn’t speak in full sentences. “Someone sees the mark.” 

  She warned, but she knew it was futile since his attack seemed to have shifted from that spot and was now inching down to her collarbones as he pulled on the string of her bathing suit. “So what,” He muttered against her skin, the vibrations tickling her slightly but she was too turned on to pay anything but the need for friction any mind. “That way everyone will know you’re mine and I’m yours.” 

  His words went right to two places. Her heart, but mostly her vagina. Maybe like one percent to the heart. More will go later, after he rails her in the back of his best friend's van. “I’m yours, JJ. In every way.” 

  Too overcome with the need for some sort of relief, her hips rolled against JJ’s. A synchronous moan filled the air. She didn’t stop the movement, making JJ still his merciless teasing. She wanted to open her eyes to look at him, to see why he was frozen as she continued to rub herself against his still body. Thankfully, he was a strong guy with good endurance so even with her trapped under him, she could rub against him and get herself off. She was well on her merry way to doing just that. 

  Moans spilling out from both of them, her movements quickened and became sloppier. She was squirming now, face screwed up. Before she met JJ, she was sure this was an orgasm. She couldn’t understand how it could get any better than this, but then JJ showed her just what she was missing and she was proven wrong. 

  That’s why she sobbed when one of JJ’s hands freed themselves from where they had a death grip on her bathing suit and gripped her hip, stopping her movements. “JJ!” She cried desperately, panting as she tried to roll her hips again. 

  “Gorgeous, if you keep doing that, this is gonna be over way too quick, and neither of us want that.” He practically growled and she gasped. Partially from the shock that ran through her, feeding her beating heart and also feeding her pooling wetness. Also from the fact that with a yank of his hand her top was untied and with another, her top was off and thrown elsewhere. “Now, let me savor everything my girlfriend has to offer.” His voice was deep, in a dark and an arousing way. 

  But what really got her was how his blue eyes remained locked with hers as he dragged his lips down her body. A trail of goosebumps and tingles were left, marking the path he took. From the base of her throat, down the valley of her breasts (where there was a brief pit stop to nip and suck - knowing she loved it), down her stomach, and stopping at the top of her jean shorts.    Their eye contact was unbreakable and somehow he managed to make it a form of sexual teasing. He didn’t even look as he unbuttoned her shorts, pulling them and her bathing suit bottoms down together. Those too were thrown carelessly. He only broke their eye contact for a second, if you could even count it as a full second, to look down at her bare core. “My girlfriend is all sprawled out here looking like a whole-ass buffet. All you can eat, I hope.” He winked before dipping down, hands pushing her legs apart. The last thing she saw was that damn smirk before his lips disappeared and she gasped out a sudden moan. Eyes closing, legs widening before trying to snap shut around his head (his hands already placed to stop her), and her back arching off the floor with her head flying back.

[helpfandom]

Can I request BTAS Riddler with a platonic darling who’s an artist? They can’t leave anywhere without their sketchpad and sometimes draws anatomical art. Perhaps Riddler saw them make a sketch of him and took interest in them

@yanderefangirl

Ah yes, an artist.

He notices you first as you have yet to move from your spot even in the midst of all the chaos of his newest scheme to rid Gotham of this winged 'savior', and yet he pays no mind to you. [He's lying, he's actually looking at you the whole time Batman beats his new scheme, for he can't help but wonder what you may be drawing.]

And once you put the sketchbook away, he catches a glimpse of what you had been drawing, and it was... HIM?

Of course, once you have a moment and step away from your sketchbook for just once whilst leaving it open, well, I simply must critique them, I don't want anyone getting anything incorrect now would we I?

So when you proceed to look at your sketchbook again, it has tiny notes in it in Riddler's handwriting [not like you know what that may look like], with notes of how to make it more anatomically correct, although some of the tips may not be legal. Glossing over it, the only thing left on the next page where the next sketch ideas had been placed was a simple green question mark.

As the days pass by, Riddler finds himself magnetically attached to you, managing to find you in the security cameras around Gotham and staring, watching you work. As he watches you sketch the drawings, he cannot help but wish to correct you, but he does take pride and notice in the fact that you changed what he had written down as a mistake, improving yourself. Better than most of the citizens in Gotham, he must say.

Slowly he begins to stalk you, and starts adding puzzles nearby you, and where you frequent. Usually, it has to do with anatomy, but sometimes it is simply questions such as how many bones are in the human body? [He was surprised that you had multiple answers and that you had gotten it right, for there are 4 possible correct answers.]

Once he realizes this, then he makes those puzzles deliberate, making questions that only you would know the answer to, which stumps that insufferable Bat, but only for a while as Batman connects the dots to the same person who frequently draws anatomically correct.

So Riddler finds himself coming to the conclusion that the only way to properly teach the one person in Gotham who can learn from him properly when the Batman keeps interrupting the learning process, is to kidnap you!

Perhaps you shouldn't have fueled his ego.

[eruditetyro]

sweetmetals.//art, artist, process//created, creator, creation.

RAINER MARIA RILKE/MAGGIE STIEFVATER/BREAD & PUPPET/STIEFVATER/JOHN SINGER SARGENT/STIEFVATER/B&P/STIEFVATER/B&P/STIEFVATER/EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY/STIEFVATER/RILKE. further description under the cut.

text reads:

"we cannot know his legendary head/with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso/is still suffused with brilliance from inside,/like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,/gleams in all its power. Otherwise/the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could-" - Archaic Torso of Apollo, Rainer Maria Rilke trans. Stephen Mitchell

"-them. If one didn't know any better, one might mistake this for an eccentric art sale for discerning buyers.

But the pieces themselves soon corrected that impression. Jordan could feel their collective power radiating toward her. Her body felt awake, alert, ready for action. It was like caffeine. Speed.

No, it was like being real." - Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

[letterpress print] "art soothes pain! Art wakes up sleepers! Art fights against war & stupidity!" - Cheap Art Manifesto, Bread & Puppet Press

"-White only drove this home. They weren't great because they were technically perfect. There was something else. Something more. Whether that something could be named--sweetmetal?--she wasn't sure. What she was sure of was that pieces like that all had a way of seeing the world that no one else had noticed before." - Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

[picture of El Jaleo by John Singer Sargent]

"-would last his entire life. Was this what it had in common with Madame X? Was it it that the painting changed his life, or was it that he knew that it was going to change his life? What was soul? Declan didn't know, but he liked trying to find out." - Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

"Art sings halleluja! Art is for kitchens! Art is like good bread! Art is like green trees! Art is like white clouds in blue sky!" Cheap Art Manifesto, Bread & Puppet Press

"As her eyes burned, Hennessy swiped a thin, bleeding splash of red on one of the index cards, and then, with the marker, suggested the lines needed to show that it was an anatomical heart, bleeding paint. Beneath it, she just had time to jot angrily: OF FUCKING COURSE.

Her heart was broken, that was why she was really upset, her heart was broken, broken, broken because Hennessy wanted so badly to be as good at living as Jordan was and she never even got close. She flicked the index card across the table at Farooq-Lane.

The mouse woke up." Greywaren, Maggie Stievater

"ART IS FOOD. You cant EAT it BUT it FEEDS you. ART has to be CHEAP & available to EVERYBODY. It needs to be EVERYWHERE because it is the INSIDE of the WORLD." Cheap Art Manifesto, Bread & Puppet Press

"Jordan was beginning to understand how it might be possible for ley energy to be tangled into the art-marking process, too." Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

"And she could see in her mind's vision plain/The magic World, where cities stood on end.../Remote from where she lay--and yet-- between" - Collected Sonnets, Edna St. Vincent Millay

"-when they make the art. I thought when I first saw one that it was because the art was special to the world in some way. A real original, you know? But it was explained to me later and this makes more sense. They are special to the artist in some way. They are an original for the artist, something new for them, something personal for them. The subject matter, sometimes, how they felt when they were painting it, others. That is what seems to make some of them into sweetmetals. I do not thing it is the artist who does it. It is, like, the spirit of the time. There is a French term-" Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

"Otherwise this stone would seem defaced/beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders/and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:/would not, from all the borders of itself,/burst like a star: for here there is no place/that does not see you. You must change your life." Archaic Torso of Apollo, Rainer Maria Rilke trans. Stephen Mitchell

[muchinternalscreaming]

A Not Particularly Comprehensive Recount of my experience painting me first digital art piece

Created an ao3 account to gift writers fanart, Created a tumblr account to gift writers fanart,

Turns out this trend ✨️has yet to end✨️

Delved into the world of digital art to - once again - make fanart and gift it to writers.

Also I am making this post to procastinate on WIPs and coursework.

This piece of fanart was inspired by a throw away line (the one about Sam in a suit, Danny in dress) in the lovely fic :

Also available on tumblr @jaewritesfic , though the ao3 link is the one that updates

I: The Beginning, A Sketch.

Ignore the figure on the left, the half-done (quarter-done?) Figure on the right is the subject of interest.

II: Lineart

Hell yeah, you can correct any anatomical mistakes on a totally anatomically correct body (eraser, my beloved).

III: Colouring (My Beloathed)

Ew.

Had to take a few hours away from this puece to recover from the psychic damage, watched approximately 2.5 colouring tutorials, absorbed 0% of the information shared, then proceeded under the modus operandi ✨️fuck around, find out✨️. Anddddddd

It paid off :D!!

But value-wise, the it was v boring. (fixed it l8ter)

IV: Details are the Devils

Pain. Also involved way too many layers (is what I thought at this stage, only to exceed that amount by over 50% 15 mins later) (gave up labelling and my memory is somewhat akin to swiss cheese so for the duration of this journey I worshipped the visibility button)

Anyway, time to fix the boring range of values, simply by mighting the light lighter and the shadows more shadow-y (very technical, such jargon, i know. Plz don't use this as a guide for digital art, I only knew about 0.37% of what I was doing at any time)

not enough shadow, kind of boring. Also need to clean up the areas where the paint overlapped the lineart but that is a problem for future me.

Better!! (At least to me) Also, would probably have to redo the hair b/c it is def stylistically different from the rest of the piece (I did not do that for one very good reason; 'M lazy :) )

If I decide to go w/ this version, I'll probably have to put some shadow on his teeth.

V: Conclusion

What did I learn? Colouring takes way too long (even excluding the time spent procastinating on it), I am sticking to simple colouring for the nxt few pieces. (The full art piece will b posted with those)

[buzzdixonwriter]

Duty Now For The Future [AI edition]

First the eyes gave it away, then they figured out how to make them the same size and facing the same direction.

Fingers and limbs proved to be next the next tells, but now limbs usually look anatomically correct and fingers --  while problematic -- are getting better.

Rooms and vehicles and anything that needs to interact with human beings typically show some detail that's wrong, revealing the image as AI generated.

But again, mistakes are fewer and fewer, smaller and smaller, and more and more pushed to the periphery of the image, thus avoiding glaring error.

Letters and numbers -- especially when called to spell out a word -- provide an easy tell, typically rendered as arcane symbols or complete gibberish, but now AI can spell out short words correctly on images and it's only a matter of time before that merges with generative text AI to provide seamless readable signs and paragraphs.

All this in just a few years.  We can practically see AI evolving right before our eyes.

Numerous problems still must be dealt with, but based on the progress already displayed, we are in the ballpark. All of this is a preamble to a look at where AI is heading and what we'll find when we get there. I haven't even touched on AI generated music or text yet, but I will include them going forward.

. . .

The single biggest challenge facing image generating AI is that it still doesn't grasp the concept of on model.

For those not familiar with this animation term, it refers to the old hand drawn model sheets showing cartoon characters in a variety of poses and expressions.  Animators relied on model sheets to keep their characters consistent from cartoon to cartoon, scene to scene, even frame to frame in the animation.  Violate that reference -- go “off model” as it were -- and the effect could look quite jarring.*

AI still struggles to show the same thing the same way twice.  Currently it can come close, but as the saying goes, “Close don't count except in horseshoes, hand grenades, and hydrogen warfare.”

There are some workarounds to this problem, some clever (i.e., isolate the approved character and copy then paste them into other scenes), some requiring brute force (i.e., make thousands of images based on the same prompt then select the ones that look closest to one another).  

When done carefully enough, AI can produce short narrative videos narrative in the sense they can use narration to appear to be thematically linked.

Usually, however, they're just an endless flow of images that we, the human audience, link together in our mind.  This gives the final product, at least from a human POV, a surreal, dreamlike quality.

In and of themselves, these can be interesting, but they convey no meaning or intent; rather, it's the meaning we the audience subscribed to them.

Years ago when I had my first job in show biz (lot attendant at a drive-in theater), a farmer with property adjoining us raised peacocks as a hobby.  The first few times I heard them was an unnerving experience:  They sounded like a woman screaming help me.

But once I learned the sounds came from peacocks, I stopped hearing cries for help and only heard birds calling out in a way that sounded similar to a woman in distress.

Currently AI does that with video.  This will change with blinding speed once AI learns to stay on model.  The dreamlike / nightmarish / hallucinogenic visions we see now will be replaced with video that shows the same characters shot to shot, making it possible to actually tell stories.

How to achieve this?

Well, we already use standard digital modeling for animated films and video games.  Contemporary video games show characters not only looking consistent but moving in a realistic manner.  Tell the AI to draw only those digital models, and it can generate uniformity.  Already in video game design a market exists for plug-in models of humans, animals, mythical beasts, robots, vehicles, spacecraft, buildings, and assorted props. There are further programs to provide skins and textures to these, plus programs to create a wide variety of visual effects and renderings.

Add to this literally thousands of preexistent model sheets and there's no reason AI can't be tweaked to render the same character or setting again and again.

As mentioned, current AI images and video show a dreamlike quality.  Much as our minds attempt to weave a myriad of self-generated stimulations into some coherent narrative form when we sleep, resulting in dreams, current AI shows some rather haunting visual images when it hits on something that shares symbolic significance in many minds.

This is why the most effective AI videos touch on the strange and uncanny in some form.  Morphing faces and blurring limbs appear far more acceptable in video fantastique than attempts to recreate reality.  Like a Rorschach blot, the meaning is supplied by the viewer, not the creator.  

This, of course, lends to the philosophical rabbit hole re quantum mechanics and whether objects really exist independent of an observer, but that's an even deeper dive for a different day.

 © Buzz Dixon

 *  (There are times animators deliberately go off model for a given effect, of course, but most of the time they strive for visual continuity.)

[inklore]

hi my love! do you have any writing tips? and words of encouragement when fics flop :(

hi darling <3 i feel like i always suck at giving writing tips but i'll try my very best for you ok. i hope some of these help! also very honored you'd even ask me 🤎

first and foremost: don't compare your writing to anyone else. everyone writes different, everyone has a certain style, a niche. if you're worried you don't have a 'style' don't, because you do. everyone does. it's not something you can make yourself have or take from others, it comes naturally with how your brain works and how it curates words and prose and scenes. that's why no book, no writing, is ever the same even if it's the same source material. it's a beautiful thing so don't stress about trying to make your writing sound or 'read' like other writers. it'll only ruin the enjoyment of how you write!

if you want to write more detailed just remember that not everything in a scene needs to be put down. the more you give the reader room to fill in the blanks and set the scene themselves the better experience for them (at least that's the case for my brain, others may feel different, but doing it this way makes me feel like i'm not adding too much detail or being repetitive). but visualizing, setting the scene for yourself through music or daydreaming is another great tip to write more detailed.

when it comes to smut i am a huge stan of you don't have to say the anatomically correct part they're using (like the p words or c word), and describing what it feels like to have that part touched, grazed, etc is really great. i struggle with fear of repeating myself so i try to find creative ways to describe body parts without actually calling them like flowery/nouns/different synonyms. i hope that made sense lmao.

don't worry about edits or making everything flow completely well in the first take. i highly rec everyone editing their own work and reading it back to themselves, yes it's tiring but it helps you find flow mistakes, add more detail, take something out that you thought fit in the moment but doesn't really. that's why i get everything out the first get go in a kind of fever dream manner and then when i go back to edit it then i buff out everything, add more, take away something, add more details that will make a scene pop off more.

now for the encouragement when it comes to flops: it's going to happen. there's no secret to making something do amazing or something failing. there really isn't and someone who says there is has just had a few lucky posts. because having a big following means nothing, writing a long fic, a short one, only using small font, being super aesthetic, really means nothing. i've seen writers with the most amazing aesthetic and beautiful prose with 100 followers write something and get 2k notes and then get 90 notes on their next post. same with someone who doesn't have a big aesthetic but a big following and writes short fics get 100 notes on their last ten posts but then that eleventh post randomly gets 1k. like it's really just up in the air on here if something is going to do good or not, unfortunately. so that's why i don't let it get to me when something i post gets 100 notes or 1k because i'm happy with both, less, or more. i don't expect anything anymore because that only leads to disappointment and i'm here to write and to have fun.

that's not to say i don't rec curating your own little community on here. make friends, block ppl with bad vibes, join discords of supportive friends. talk to writers who encourage and understand your feelings and discourse and who keep you going, give you inspo, etc etc. if only my friends ever rbed and read my stuff and there was only 10 of them? i'd say hell yeah and that'd encourage me to write more. having a good space of friends and community is amazing and can do a lot to fight off the writer scaries and the feelings of obsessing over numbers and success.

now this is just something i do but it always works for me; i post something and then force myself not to look at it for a day or two. i post it and move on to the next thing i want to work on. i do not dwell on how it's doing. i may q up some rbs for it but i don't even look at the notes when i do that. i deliberately never look at it because yes while it matters in the sense that we love encouragement, we love seeing people love something we spent hours on, we wrote this for ourselves but hello we want that validation too and that's okay, but like i said above and i'm going to say again notes mean nothing in regards to talent. these notes are not simon cowell judging you on your performance. so when i finally do go back to rb comments and reply to things, or if i just want to look at how it did, and the number is low i'm just like ok shrug at least those 20 people enjoyed it and that's better than 0. and if no one commented or rbed yeah that sucks and is disheartening but i can either dwell and be sad on it or i can continue to do what i love and write more. why let the annoying little brats on here who refuse to show their love on a work they read get you down? because there's a dozen of them out there and they're not going away. and you may have made someone's day for this little fic even if they didn't say something about it. it does suck that content creators on here don't get the rbs and comments and credit they deserve, and unfortunately if you want to keep doing what you love you gotta work around it and remind yourself why you're creating, continue to feel that joy. it's hard, believe me. but don't let your creativity be repressed because of it, because you'd be doing a disservice to yourself!

i'll say it again though: a high note count / following doesn't mean the fic is good or bad, neither does low notes / no following. no one's talent is ever in question here. we are here to write, have fun, fill the void of the rl scaries.

[corvuscorona]

SHADOW MONSTER - an Astos playlist

...for when you need to spend about an hour rotating that guy in your mind at top speed, or at least a little faster than chillout speed.

(YouTube playlist here) • (tracklist etc. below the cut)

Needed a playlist I could Think About Astos To while doing chores or whatever & it turned out I had the ammunition I needed to be kinda picky, so I'm sharing it here with all my comrades-in-Astos-scholarship, too! You know, in case you also need some music to Think About Astos To. Which seems possible-to-likely, I think.

I have only included tracks that are reasonably well balanced for Normal Listening (just please forgive me for the PS2 synth horns in "finish the promise" if you can find it in your heart). Also, if you use the YT playlist, Man Human is shorter than it should be, so listen to it twice if you want.

ACT I: IMPETUS

Creep City • Jake Shears I said I'd hang on for the ride / now I'm hanging on for dear life / …is that a real knife? バケモノ信者 (Bakemono Shinja / Monster Believer) • MAIKI-P 人の顔した　バケモノさ / 気づけば僕も　バケモノさ • hito no kao shita bakemono sa / kizukeba boku mo bakemono sa it's a monster with a human face / and now that I think about it, I'm a monster, too 心臓 (Shinzō / Heart[1]) • TOOBOE 蘇ってしまうよ　貴方の為なら幾らでも / 間違いも愛せるよ　馬鹿なもんでさ / 生き返ってしまうよ　貴方がくれた命だから • yomigaette shimau yo anata no tame nara ikura demo / machigai mo aiseru yo baka na monde sa / ikikaette shimau yo anata ga kureta inochidakara for you, I'd revive again and again / loving even the mistakes, fool that I am / I'll come back to life because it's the life you gave me

ACT II: THE PROCESS

Bleed it Out • Linkin Park half the words don't mean a thing / and I know that I won't be satisfied Man Human • Denki Groove for Devilman Crybaby Just One Yesterday • Fall Out Boy I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way / still, I'd trade all my tomorrows…

ACT III: MADNESS

Décolleté • Kenshi Yonezu 兎角疲れました / 数えるから直ぐに消えて • tokaku tsukaremashita / kazoeru kara sugu ni kiete at any rate, I'm exhausted / I'll count, so hurry up and disappear [2] うみなおし (Uminaoshi / Rebirth[3]) • Maretu 君は何も悪くないぜ / (多分) • kimi wa nani mo warukunai ze / (tabun) you've done nothing wrong / (probably) 空想メソロギヰ (Kuusou Mesorogiwi / Fantastical Mesology) • Yousei Teikoku for Future Diary (See [4] below.)

ACT IV: FOR WHAT

A Good Song Never Dies • Saint Motel it just reminds you of where you were / the first time it made you cry / the first time you felt alive… SHADOW MONSTER • Toki Asako 探しものは踊らなきゃ見つからない • sagashimono wa odoranakya mitsukaranai if we don't dance, we won't find what we're looking for.

ACT V: RESOLVE

JUMPER • CAPSULE anger stress and secrets they won't break you wake up put aside you(')r(e) feeling nothing freely speed up landing stepping jumping jump Leave The Light On • Overcoats what if I don't make it home / you're not there, and the light's not on

ACT VI: THE END

still feel. • half•alive when it's hopeless, I start to notice / that I still feel alive finish the promise • MOTOO FUJIWARA for Tales of the Abyss White Light • Superfly for Tales of Zestiria 正解なんてない 間違いなんてない / 塗り替えてゆけ 在るべき世界へ • seikai nante nai machigai nante nai / nurikaete yuke arubeki sekai e there's no such thing as right; there's no such thing as wrong / remake this world into what it should have been

( NOTES )

[1] - Specifically the anatomical term. Metaphorical uses of this word do seem to be a thing, but skew more towards meaning something like "courage" (think "guts" or "spine") as opposed to 心 (kokoro) on its own, which is used for something more like "essence", "spirit", "soul". Incidentally, I highly… HIGHLY recommend watching the MV for this one (Check the YT link before the readmore)! [2] - Eternal plug for vgperson, who has been my source for Kenshi Yonezu lyrics since something like 2010, and is the backbone of society. Check out the full translation there (ctrl+F the title!) to get a feel for this song's whole... vibe (which I'd describe as a very specific flavor of "fuck. god damn it. whatever; leave me alone," which of course is why it's here). [3] - There's a footnote on the Vocaloid Lyrics Wiki page for this song that conveys something interesting about the title; it says: "'Uminaoshi' isn’t a word that’s typically used to mean 'rebirth'; rather, it is a compound made up of a word meaning 'to give birth' and a word that carries the sense of doing something over to fix mistakes, because you messed it up the last time," which is fun, I think. [4] - This song's lyrics are poetic in a way that makes them difficult to interpret as-written, let alone translate in a way that makes literally any sense at all. The official MV does have English subtitles that are NOT auto-translated, though. Those are the most coherent piece of information I can give you (check the YT link before the readmore!) re: why the Future Diary OP is even in this playlist, except for this statement: it's about breaking free of a time loop that's being treated like a game in some way by The Entity In Charge Of It. (And also, it sounds like... you know, like the way that it sounds.)

[marvelmaniac715]

This is my third fic in two days. I usually don’t write this often, but inspiration has really been hitting me lately. This fic is more of a sad one, it’s based on a fic idea that I’ve seen on Tumblr but I can’t quite remember which blogs posted about it, so apologies if those people find this fic, if you posted about it I’ll edit this post and credit you :). Basically, it’s another ‘what if’ scenario, specifically ‘what if Chucky had been there when Glen was shot?’ For the purposes of this fic, Chucky is there outside the Tilly house in doll form, the fic picks up just after the gun shot and is entirely from Chucky’s pov. Even I’ll get sad writing this, so be warned :(.

————————————————————-

Everything was moving in slow motion, that’s how it felt at least. A gunshot went off, a bullet fired. Then the world went silent. Chucky was vaguely aware of someone screaming, but he didn’t know where the sound was coming from. 

Could it be Tiffany? No, she didn’t scream like that. Maybe it was Glenda? Poor kid, they’d put up with so much in such a short amount of time, and now their twin was- no, Glen was fine, they were fine. It took longer than he’d like to admit for Chucky to realise that the person screaming was him, and all at once his lungs burned.

He screamed louder than he ever had before, louder than when he had been set on fire. He didn’t even stop for breath, just wailed until he no longer could. All of his heartbreak and fear and panic merged to create that one agonising scream. Something in Chucky’s mind had irreversibly snapped, and (barely thinking through his actions) he leapt forward and pressed his hands to Glen’s chest to staunch the flow.

“C’mon kid, you’re fine, you’re gonna be alright. It’s just a gunshot, I’ve had them before, I’ve lived, I never died. You’re gonna wake up, you have to wake up…”

His voice tailed off. There was nothing else he could say. Regret and grief coursed through his mind. This was his fault. All of it. twenty four years ago he had made the mistake of not using a rubber. He’d insisted that because he was ‘made of rubber’ he’d be fine, completely forgetting that a few minutes earlier he’d boasted the fact that he was ‘anatomically correct’. 

He didn’t regret the fact that his children had been born, but he regretted the fact that he was their father, they’d never have a normal life. He’d put his children in harm’s way because of his bloodlust, and now they were paying the price. He’d wanted a child ever since he was one, but look how he’d destroyed one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

He turned his head to fix Nica with a hateful glare. For a brief moment, he considered tearing her throat out. But it wasn’t worth it. Why would it be? Nica hadn’t intended to shoot his child, she’d been trying to shoot Tiffany, who had been torturing her for over a year. At least when he hurt people he made it relatively brief, he didn’t drag it out for a year, he did have some humanity for god’s sake. One could argue that Sarah Pierce had been captured for almost a year, but he’d genuinely believed that it was out of love. He was so foolish back then.

He couldn’t blame Nica. He did blame Tiffany though, she hadn’t been quick enough to push Glen out of the way, and she was the one who’d driven Nica to this point in the first place. In a way, this all led back to him, and when Chucky realised this, his grief increased tenfold. He’d inadvertently let Glen get shot. He’d never forgive himself- Wait, what was he doing? His child was bleeding out and he was thinking of himself.

Chucky looked back down at Glen and suppressed a sob. Then his mind went numb. He was distantly aware of screaming at Tiffany to ‘fucking do something, call an ambulance!’ But time seemed to float rather than steadily tick by. He gripped tightly to Glen, as if the kid would slip away if he loosened his grip. He was trying desperately to stop the bleeding, but his tiny doll’s hands were useless, they probably had no effect on the wound.

Chucky returned to his incoherent rambling, trying to reassure Glen that they were fine, doing anything he could to keep his child awake. He didn’t even know what he was saying, but he knew that if he stopped talking, stopped trying to interact with his child, Glen could fall unconscious and potentially not wake up again.

He didn’t let go until the ambulance arrived, and that was only because he didn’t want to freak out the paramedics, allowing his child to receive proper medical treatment. And when the ambulance rolled away with Tiffany, Glenda and Glen in it, he sunk to his knees and howled.

[biblioflyer]

Did the Federation (accidentally) reinvent racism? Picard s1e2 Rewatch.

"Good morning plastic people."

The relationship between the Utopia Planitia workers and Synths is troubling but is it an overreach to see more than just playful hazing in their interactions? This is part of a series of essays reevaluating Star Trek Picard and interrogating the widely held fandom criticism that Picard made the Federation into a Dystopia.

For a long-time Trek fan, the interactions between the Utopia Planitia workers and the Synths are in some ways playful and in other ways troubling.

I vaguely recall the first time I watched this scene, I thought that the workers were universally bullying F-8, the Synth worker. With this rewatch I have nuanced that opinion. It’s now clear to me that some of the workers present had developed an affection for the Synths. I think this is quite human really. We like to personify things. That also almost certainly seems to be the intent behind making the Synths appear more human: giving them skin, the semblance of facial expressions. It makes it easier for humans to relate to the Synths.

However, there is a dark side. Because the relationship between the Synths and the humans is clearly one of superior and distant inferior, an edge has crept into the discourse between some of the workers present and the Synths. Some of the workers clearly seem to feel uncomfortable around them and others feel comfortable insulting the Synths.

By The Next Generation, the Federation was generally presented as something more akin to what a true meritocracy would likely resemble, as opposed to self described meritocracies of the real world where merit is amplified by the advantages parents are able to confer upon their children whether they are enormous advantages like being able to introduce them to wealthy investors or smaller advantages that are often hidden like parents having more free time and the educational attainment to help their children with their homework.

At the end of the day, the creation of the Synths, anatomically humanoid appliances, seems to have accidentally reopened the door to the creation of pecking orders and the permission to indulge in a little hazing, if not bullying against a thing that theoretically is not actually a person, has no feelings, and is apparently less fully capable of understanding what it is experiencing than Data. Theoretically. Again, things that shouldn’t become conscious often do in Star Trek.

I don’t care for how F-8 is being treated, however as a storytelling device, this would be far from the first time the Federation fell short of its self proclaimed values and in a way, it helps set up the premise that the Federation is in one of those episodes where it needs to be saved from itself. Rescued from complacency, if not moral decay. Not unlike Picard’s own self diagnosis following his snapping out of his apparently fourteen year long brood.

How does this factor in my ruminations about dystopia? If my darker interpretations of this scene are accurate rather than hysterical, then it's not a great look for the Federation. I can understand why this has a pretty foul brain feel to many longtime Trek fans, particularly those who are very big into the ideals of the Federation and the idea that Star Trek is a “history of the future.” It leaves a pretty bad brain feel to me as well.

However! That the Federation is capable of recognizing its error and pivoting very quickly after the error is exposed, suggests to me that we are still in fact not dealing with a dystopia. If it were dystopian, we might expect the Federation at the end of season one, when faced with the recognition that it had been bamboozled and also a colony of fully self aware Synths, would instead seek to double down.

Perhaps I’m being too much an apologist, but I would define a dystopia as a society that is incapable of admitting its mistakes when faced with incontrovertible proof of them, makes up silly stories to poke holes in reality, or lies about its history in order to pretend that it never made any mistakes and thus has no moral obligations to anyone in the present seeking justice. 

The Federation is not that. It has never been error free in Star Trek, but when it is faced with a grievous injustice it has a hand in, the Federation changes for the better.

[pheonix561]

Look, I'm a psych nurse for a living, and this person's conception of psychiatry is just straight wrong.

The biggest mistake people make about psychiatry is assuming that a diagnosis is an invalidation. That if you've been diagnosed with depression, it means a doctor looked at you and said "The problem isn't with everything else, the problem is with you." That's not true. This field is way less "What's wrong with you," and way more "What's happened to you?"

A diagnosis works in a lot of different ways. For example, this other comment about depression and biology,

However, when we say that depression (for example) is not a disease we mean that there is no biological entity---no infectious pathogen, no 'chemical imbalance', no organic lesion, no anatomical defect or physiological malfunction---that is identifiable as a single cause or correlate of depressed states, nor will there ever be.

Is just completely false! Ever seen someone get smacked in the head hard enough that their personality changes forever, and they're just way easier to make angry or miserable for the rest of their life, even after accounting for and treating any resulting PTSD? Ever seen someone develop depression as a result of a brain tumor they never knew they had, in the total absence of other cancer symptoms, and then have the tumor excised, and miraculously their depression is gone? Even after accounting for any kind of cancer-based existential crisis that may have resolved? Physical pathologies occur in or to the brain that cause depression to develop in people, just like they can cause mania, or other symptoms. It happens! And this is to say nothing of the way someone who's survived trauma's brain chemistry becomes altered.

I won't go into further detail on that, because I'm not a physician. I would rather let any of the psychiatrists who prowl tumblr give any more specific examples. But, I still work closely with doctors, and am expected to know that a diagnosis is often also a rule-out; Saying someone has one diagnosis is frequently the same as saying they don't have a different one. That's what doctors are talking about when they talk about "differential diagnosis." Someone will present with symptoms of depression of some kind, and doctors will set about trying to determine the cause. Off the top of my head, in psychiatric diagnoses, common differential diagnoses would be between bipolar-1 and bipolar-2, along with psychosis from substance abuse, schizophrenia/schizoaffective disorder, severe depression with psychotic symptoms... All presentations I see pretty regularly at work, and all of which suffer from psychosis as some part of their disease course. I know we're talking about depression here but I"m just busting this answer out.

But hey, that whole answer I just gave is about responding to the notion of a "single cause," or a "physical cause" being impossible, and that there's plenty of pretty great reasons why somebody might be depressed. That's also completely true, and something anyone working in the field is expected to know! In fact, its so simple to understand that I busted out my old digital psych nursing textbook that talks about it in the first damn chapter.

The first thing anyone learns about psychiatry in nursing school is the nature of stress; that that's the key thing, the basic reason why anxiety disorders, psychotic disorders, substance abuse disorders, etc, are all pathological; they cause stress. This being the first chapter of this book, it goes into detail explaining different theories of exactly how to define and explain stress, which sounds easy until you try it.

And god, I'd love to explain this whole chapter because I love talking about stress theory and psychiatric nursing theory, but if I do that I'll never finish writing anything. Long story short, the "Stress as a transaction between the individual and the environment" chapter goes

precipitating event.

Let's say a person loses their job.

2. individual's perception of the event.

Did they like the job? They might be depressed. Did they hate the job? They might be happy about it. Did they need the job? They might be scared for their life. After all, was the job their only key to rent? Health insurance? Do they have other job options? What will they do until then?

The first half of that, the "does this event matter to me or not," Half, is the "Primary appraisal." The second half, "What options and coping skills do I have," is the "secondary appraisal." This version of understanding stress is usually the one that I lean on in my practice as a nurse, but I digress.

3. Predisposing factors.

This is actually measuring the response to the event, despite the name "predisposing." Factors here being Genetic influences (say, prone to anger), Past experiences(prior experience with sudden loss, or lack thereof), existing conditions (rent is due when? How much money is in the bank account?)

There's more in this chapter on simple stress management and non pharmacological interventions, which in this example I've been making up, could range from "listen to calming music" to "getting a new, better job." But the point I want to come back to is that, at no point in this, or really at any point in this book, or my experience in this field both as a patient or as a clinician, have I seen psychiatry used to "blame" someone! Which is even weirder because what the fuck is this??

i think it's overly credulous to the psychiatric profession to assert that calling something a disease means that no one can 'blame the patient' for it. in fact i would say it would be difficult to name a disease that doctors, state authorities, and society at large does NOT blame on patients.

This answer is just complete nonsense. People get diseases all the goddamn time out of the fucking blue. Whether they're born with them as a result of a genetic whoopsie, or just spontaneously develop them as they grow, it happens. I simply cannot wrap my head around the notion that I would blame someone for having cystic fibrosis, or cerebral palsy. Any clinician, in any position, who does that, is definitely a weirdo, and an outlier, and doesn't need to be a clinician.

When I first entered this field, I was really worried that maybe there was some kernel of truth to the things people sometimes say about the practice. But since entering this field, I've learned psychiatry is not a field of being one of the state's ways of coldly manipulating disenfranchised people into being governable. It's way more accurate to say it's a field about trying very hard to help sick people, and wanting the state to either give us more resources with which to do it right, or fuck off.

People would still experience depression in a post-capitalist world. They would still develop schizophrenia, and bipolar disorder, and dementia. People would still suffer TBI's. People would still develop personality disorders. Medications still might be magic cures for one patient and seemingly useless to another. And, I've treated just enough psychotic patients from africa to comfortably theorize that the notion that schizophrenia is just a "western culture" thing is probably completely bogus. Psychiatry is the practice of trying to help all these people live their lives, not make them conform.

Hey, I've been delving into anti psychiatry readings but one thing always stands out to me: if there is no underlying disease behind a depressive state, for example, how does that new paradigm not end up placing the blame on the patient? I ask in good faith as I still don't have a clear answer on that regard, and would like to have better conversations about this topic that don't end when people tell me of a close relative with depression who has seemingly had a life free of traumas that could otherwise present as depression.

-materialist (marxist) anti psychiatry identifies the root 'cause' or basis of psychological experiences in the economic and material conditions of existence. depression or other forms of distress, just like other affective states, derive fundamentally from the world we live in, our political situation, the material alienation of estranged labour that underlies 'alienation' the psychological state. this doesn't mean that resolving the contradictions of capitalism (that is, workers' revolution) will magically eliminate all sources of distress, depression, or other currently pathologised experiences. however, it would certainly resolve / eliminate some distress for some people; additionally, it is the only way to overcome the capitalist paradigm that values people by their adherence to a normative standard of ability, which is what renders depressed people (for example) economically marginalised 'failed citizens'

-keeping the above in mind, i would question whether there is really such thing as a person who 'has no trauma' ie, has no material basis for alienation, depression, or distress. capitalism is an estranging system, including for the owner class (though of course this occurs in a different way to the labouring class, and i am not suggesting that the bourgeoisie are the 'victims' of capitalism or some such)

-none of the above is mutually exclusive with the role that an individual's neurobiology plays in their subjective or psychological state. like any base/superstructure phenomenon, the relationship is dialectical, with the material base generally dominating, but both acting on and being affected by superstructural phenomena. economic and material conditions lead to subjective experiences such as depressions; these experiences are also instantiated in, reacting to, and reacted upon by the physiological processes in the brain/body. however, when we say that depression (for example) is not a disease we mean that there is no biological entity---no infectious pathogen, no 'chemical imbalance', no organic lesion, no anatomical defect or physiological malfunction---that is identifiable as a single cause or correlate of depressed states, nor will there ever be; the psychiatric label is a heuristic catch-all applied to a constellation of experiences (symptoms) that are varying degrees of disagreeable to individuals (patients) as well as to medical and state authorities

-i think it's overly credulous to the psychiatric profession to assert that calling something a disease means that no one can 'blame the patient' for it. in fact i would say it would be difficult to name a disease that doctors, state authorities, and society at large does NOT blame on patients

-i also think it's overly credulous to the psychiatric profession to assert that there is a dichotomy between neurobiological diseases and things that are individual faults or failings. in fact i would posit that most subjective experiences, including of distress, are neither

[quotesfrommyreading]

Wishful or not, Hof had fueled a fair bit of this thinking himself. In 2006, he and his colleague Estel Van der Gucht published a paper in Anatomical Record that set the brains of neuroscientists fizzing across the world. When examining preserved slices of human brain, he encountered an unusual-looking neuron. Instead of being shaped like a branch, cone, or star, it was long and thin and very big. He realized he was seeing a von Economo neuron (VEN), a type of brain cell that was first described more than a century before but had been long ignored. These special nerves had been thought uniquely human. Then, in San Diego, California, his colleagues found them in the great apes (our close relatives the chimpanzee, gorilla, orangutan, and bonobo) but not in more distant relatives like lemurs. Hof and others began to hunt for the cells, looking through the brains of more than 100 species, but only a few seemed to have them: humans, the great apes, elephants, and cetaceans. We are distant relatives to elephants and whales, with our common ancestor evolving around the time the dinosaurs went extinct, over 60 million years ago.

Apes, elephants, and whales have much in common: we live a long time, are highly social, very intelligent, extremely communicative, and possess large brains. The VENs appeared to have evolved independently in these three groups, after our ancestors had split into different species, via convergent evolution, a process in which the pressures of natural selection lead to the same features developing in unrelated creatures.

The VENs seemed to be found only in certain areas of the human brain: the frontal insula and cingulate cortex. These regions are used when we feel pain, or notice that we’ve made a mistake, and when we feel things relating to others. A VEN lights up when we feel love, when parents hear their babies cry, when someone attempts to ascertain another’s intentions. In humans, the parts of the brain that relate to high-level cognitive functions, such as attention, intuition, and social awareness, are larger than in most other mammals. This is true for whales, too. And VENs are present in both species. As Hof put it, “The cells that make human integrative experience quite unique are also present in large whales.”

While we still don’t know precisely what these cells do, there are some intriguing interpretations. In both whales and humans, the neocortex appears to have special “integrative centers” that process and integrate the information coming in from the sensory and motor areas. They chew over the signals they’ve received and communicate with one another in networks.

This ability to integrate information from different brain regions is vital: it adds complexity to our perceptions and allows us to carry out advanced cognitive processes such as artistic creation, decision-making, and language learning. Hof and his coresearcher John Allman speculated that the VEN cells evolved in response to a need. To send signals quickly between their integrative centers, brains need highways, and VENs, according to Hof, “are like the ‘express trains’ of the nervous system.” Considering the functions of the regions that house these neurons, and the social nature of the species that have them, these high-speed brain links could be used when thinking about others—for empathy and social intelligence. Some are skeptical of this suggestion, believing that large, complex whale brains with VENs are simply necessary for coordinating enormous bodies in a 3D sea environment. Others say these impressive brains are required to process all the sophisticated information involved in echolocation: their brains have evolved these structures because of how they sense, not because they are actually mulling over the results.

 —   In the Mind of a Whale

[rain-fluff]

The crash after loving too much

For as long as I could remember, there were always cats in my home. If there was nobody around in the house, there would at least be a few felines inhabiting our house. They nest and nap in hidden corners or dark spaces, bask underneath the warm sunlight an browning their coats, or they may even break precious souvenirs and furniture while you’re not looking. Although to be fair, they’d harm anything they can get their paws on so long as they get to sharpen their tiny claws whether you see them or not; what do they know about human etiquette? Some may find it stressful to deal with, some may feel bittersweet as they reminisce the previous signs of life. I have felt many emotions through the years and unfortunately, for me, it led my love for these furry creatures into a steady decline over time.

My love for cats sparked when we had our first cat Nini. She was a precious Siamese stray cat that had a patient and affectionate character. Well in all honesty, I don’t think she was our first cat but she was the first I could remember that left a memorable imprint in the recesses of my hippo campus. Her coat was off-white with the tips of her paws and tail dipped in chocolate with eyes so blue you would mistake them for precious jewels. Maybe it’s because I grew up in an Asian home and was used to being surrounded by brown-eyed anatomical features but I was so mesmerized by cats with vibrant coloured eyes; making you feel like you could grasp the sky so closely in your hands.

I spent a good deal of my childhood playing with barbies and polly pockets right in the living room, dressing my dolls whenever there was a commercial break between episodes of my favourite cartoons. I especially remember on Saturdays at ten a.m. where they would play Sagwa the Chinese Siamese Cat on Playhouse Disney, in which case I would always make sure to get Nini to sit with me as I watch fictional story-telling of Chinese royalty living with mischievous and playful Siamese cats. I remember being fairly upset when Nini couldn’t paint or do calligraphy with her tail much like the royal cats in the show but she was beloved by my family and I nonetheless, even getting the chance to create her own kin. Maybe I was too small to recollect the particular following memory but my mother had explained that she had disappeared one day while we were out of town. At least we still had two of her children at the time; Bandit and Smokey. By the time she disappeared, I had already outgrown from watching Sagwa and moved on with other. As children, its kind of sad to see how fleeting your interests can change.

The two cats had relatively long lives, staying apart from my early childhood up until my preteen years. However, their lives couldn’t last too long. Used to having our cats come and go from our home, Bandit one day arrived home swollen, bruised and fatigued. I didn’t think it was even possible to see an animal look so sickly and ill. Sitting in the back with him nestled in the carrier, he died while I was slumbering; my older brother and mother chastising me for my lack of attentiveness after our arrival at the vet. It was the first death I had experienced witnessing but I couldn’t really feel any sense of sadness. I’d imagine I was still too young trying to grasp the concept of death being only somewhere around the age of eleven.

Smokey was a death that was a little bit harder to accept, being run over by my dad as he was driving his way to work one morning. She quickly went away to hide and mask her injury from the rest of everyone else. It was the first death that had somewhat moved my emotions, being one of the few pets to excitedly come your way when beckoned and grazing her whole being against you. I couldn’t help but hold resentment towards my dad when her corpse was discovered just outside our house before I left for school. I had to walk away without seeing her burial, having my thoughts filled with nothing but unproductive negativity throughout the day. This was just a mere scratch on the surface but I didn’t think that it could possibly worsen as days, months or even years would go by.

There was a small period of time when the house felt too empty, the stillness from the lack of small domesticated creatures roaming in the halls created a cold environment despite living in a tropical country. A year or so later, we suddenly accumulated many in a short span of time due to friends needing assistance with rehoming some animals. Shiloh, a stray female tabby, was the first of many that we had adopted after our past losses. Later there would be additions of pairs such as Knightly and Blucie or Bob and Marley. Despite my family welcoming many, I realized too late that I would be the primary caregiver later on as the rest of my family kept very low engagement with these pets; from cleaning their litter boxes to handling their medication anytime should their health weaken or wane. Despite the tiresome tasks, I had a sense of fulfilment nursing them where I was able. However, the difficulty had risen when more kittens, ones much younger than what I was used to handling, started to sprout like buds at the start of spring.

In between taking care of our older cats, kittens as young as ten days to three weeks old would appear in litters or alone and neglected without their mothers to nurture their growth. This proved to be tedious and stressful due to them needing to be fed every few hours around-the-clock. Having to be hours away just to attend art school while maintaining care often times would prove fruitless, leading them to their deaths. I was ridden with guilt whenever such small creatures would be found lifeless when I reach home but it was the unfortunate reality when tending to kittens so young; even professionals we sought after had trouble themselves. It felt unnerving knowing that vets had to force themselves to be accustomed to these tragedies.

Sometimes, even present mothers can’t be of much help either. Despite giving birth to two tuxedo kittens, Mimi was a good mother only to an extent. While she helped to provide nutrients and grooming, her efforts were very little and had led them to their deaths some time after. It felt like she forced them to be independent too early and it could partly be a result of her natural childish nature wanting to focus more on play than to be a parent. On the other hand, Shiloh had been a good mother to her four kits but I can barely remember what happened to them after except for Indigo. Both Indigo and Knightly were gifts I didn’t think that could crush and shatter me to so many pieces. I first experience with heartbreak was when I first had to break up with my ex at fifteen but it doesn’t compare to the soul crushing pain of losing someone who has been present in your life in the smallest yet influential way possible.

Knightly often spent his life roaming in the outdoors of our suburban neighbourhood but he would always come home to you with open affection, like a child clinging to the comforts of their parents after a long day of school. That comfort was shortened by his internals rupturing his health, rendering him lifeless to even hold despite his consciousness still present. It was a result of his unmonitored excursions; contracting diseases from open wounds that resulted from cat fights and fleas festering and leaching into his organs. He had run away to have a quiet death before we could further tend to injuries with the medication he needed.

Out of everyone, I felt that Indigo had the most traumatizing impact to me. His illness would come back and forth, from catching flus every other month to suddenly having his system shutting down brought from his kidney’s failing support. It took many visits to varying veterinary clinics just to find reasons for his condition but it would never be answered until his near-death. It hurt to see him struggle taking even the slightest step, his body would tremble recklessly even trying to stand up in place. I will never forget the day I saw him drew his last breath, his eyes dulled and snuffed of light in an instant. I don’t think I’ve mourned for a pet as strongly as I did with Indigo. It didn’t help that both him and Knightly we’re the ones who knew to comfort me when I felt alone and in my darkest moments. I couldn’t help but feel desperate; why did you have to leave me alone?

When Bob had passed just this January, I was already drained. I couldn’t really care for her like I would with other cats in the past even though she was one of the oldest we had. I’ve grown tired after accumulating so much grief over the years, wanting an out if I was able. She didn’t deserve my neglect but there was only so much energy I had left to try. I’ve learnt the hardships of grief and it chips your soul enough that it forces you to collapse the more you try to endure. What could I have done different for all these lives that have whisked away so abruptly? What more can I do for these seemingly endless amounts of strays ensuring that they even had a chance of having a life of comfort? Their lives are left in my hands because many aren’t too keen on keeping for themselves but with the current pace, there’s already so much blood spilt all over.

If given a chance, I wish I could do it all over by making stronger efforts of putting them under better care and finding better forever-homes instead of having to stay with me. I wish I could see the signs and get some of them hospitalized faster instead of letting slip away from my fingers so quickly. Sometimes I wonder if I even maintain human relationships when I barely have the strength to maintain my companionship with these creatures. I can’t help but wonder of what-ifs and think if there ever was such a thing as growth for someone like me. They look at you with so much trust that you can’t help but why. What was so significant about me that made you want to stay and put your trust in me? If there was anything I’ve significantly learned from loving these animals after all these years it’s that I really don’t think I can give a supportive love that would last. I rather keep myself distant before I could fracture anything else I hold dear.

[jujujulia]

From the thumbnail sketches I made 4 A4 posters from my favourite images!

The image of the lady bathing in blood (right) is based off of a Hungarian countess named Elizabeth Báthory who killed and bathed in the blood of over 600 women, believing bathing the blood of virgins would grant her eternal youth. This case is very morbid but it was good research in helping me generate ideas.

The first image (left) is a lot more light hearted and fun! It was based on the very famous war time propaganda poster of Lord Kitchener, with a more vampiric twist. The initial idea behind this was to communicate a way where vampires could recruit people to give blood by their own will, rather than taking it. I liked the pun and the image so I chose it.

The third poster was my last completed one and I originally chose the design because I liked how I used the paper colour as the second colour in the piece and drew only shadows. I didn’t really like how this one turned out on A4 because there were some more obvious anatomical mistakes.

I used only crimson and black Indian ink to produce these and I really liked working with ink. I chose crimson out of all the shades of red because it more closely resembles blood, however the ink had a slightly purply tint, which I liked but was told in feed back to experiment with different shades of red. It was easy to use and produced very expressive and free moving lines but also was able to produce sharp and block colours. It’s very versatile.

Peer feedback ^

[writerrando]

Rabbit

This is a short horror I wrote not so long ago, I shared it on facebook, noone really cared and thought I was maybe a bit too creepy.

Ok so this is gonna sound weird..  Who am I kidding, it is fucking ubiquitously brain charred insane. I... bought a rabbit, and everything seemed fine, until... it escaped. Now, there is only couple things that could happen to a normal critter running loose in a flat. I, unfortunatelly for it, valued my computer and other electronics in my apartment. So I went out for some rat poison and when I came back, couple cabels were chewed down. I was pissed, but fortunatelly, I thought of it and bought new ones on my way in and I had some spare... Anyways, to get to the core, as I went along some of the chewed cabels... I heard a sound under an armchair. I flipped it over and there it was, but... not in a way I was expecting it to be. It was alive, happilly chewing and washing its weirdly cute nose and I just couldn't believe my eyes. It, changed, for a while I thought this might not be my rabbit because it was looking out of... place. In an anatomic way. Not wanting to do anything with it, I put it in cage and just closed it. Not really thinking about it for a few days, I forgot, couple times, that I have this monster in here. But the fourth day, I come on home after work, look at the cage ( you need to understand, I am used to getting up early and with that comes low amount of realising what is going on.) And there it was, chewing on its own fucking paw right next to ton of food I left there acumulating for four days now. I also noticed bloody and bent wires of the cage. That bastard almost got out. Ok, now I have a carnivorous weirdly looking rabbit. Is it rabies? It had to happen during the time I was out. I need to kill it. But I will get charged for abusing an animal, but what if it will get out? Man I need someone else to get a hand on this. I thought about this all as I poured myself some(moore) whiskey. And...I woke up in the morning. Ya I fucked up, it was out of its cage and I dont know where it went but let me tell you, I am not going back there. I just can't, I mean you havent seen the paw, it was... done. Chewed down to the bone, and it still got away like nothing. Either that or something else came for it. I just need to feel safe, somewhere. Just as I thought, it wasnt a good idea going to a police station with this. But anything is better I guess.... Ok, first day at the facility. I am today meeting Dr.Shaw Nice to meet you You too, please take a seat. I sat down in one of the leather futons( I must say, very less comfortable, than expected) and got to tell her every little detail. When I was leaving, she tore a piece of paper with some scribblings. Handed it to me and I went away with prescription for pills against hallucinations. And also, my family was sent to my flat to take care of the "poor" rabbit.

Claire

"Diane, hey, yeah, I am in Jonah's flat since there's supposed to be some animal running around and I am to care of it. Meet me in 15 on the corner of the street? Ya, ok goodbye." Diane looked all over the flat and there was everything which could account for a weird tale of terror. Blood on the floor, bent wires of cage? What the hell happened in there, was jonah doing some experiments with this thing? Or worse? Where is it? She heard a thump as some dust and ash fell on her head, ahe looked up and, having weird feelings she covered her face. What she saw was not even remotelly possible, yet the creature stood out in the blackness of a vent where it escaped to. It had red blare of eyes, and... somehow it was.. smiling? No that is not possible. "What in the fucking hell did you do, Jonah?!"She whispered squirming as she ran leaving the flat door open. Tomorrow morning, two passerbyes will find her in a sewer, dumped by a company, which took testing on animals too far. Who made the mistake of not perfecting the security system before letting people work there, who got breached by animal rescuers...and those rescuers... gave animals away...