A gothic horror story where a gentleman from a good family gets haunted by something monstrous, which follows him around and keeps killing people around him at utter random, in cruel and horrifying ways. Specifically within circumstances where the protagonist has no alibi, and everything indicates that he committed the murders.
But the real horror is not that he would find himself accused of the murders, but that the people around him naturally assume that he did do it, but genuinely do not care, because the victims are never people that the society around him considers "important". The scullery maid of his household is found brutalised beyond recognition in a room where even the ceiling has been splattered with blood, and a constable of the local police brushes it off as a case of household discipline gone wrong, being horrifyingly casual with the assumption that the protagonist severely beat a girl in his service to death, and will dismiss it as an accident. The street urchin that the protagonist was seen talking with - wanting to help this poor little orphan - is found decapitated, severed head in the protagonist's fireplace. This, too, is calmly swept under the rug.
After every horrifying murder, the protagonist tries to seek help, to present the crime to authorities in hopes of getting some semblance of help, or at least clearing his own name of this, but every time it's brushed off. "These things do happen", he is reassured, like it's perfectly normal that a mansion of that size has a secret garden of unmarked graves in one shady corner.
The real horror is the ever-encompassing implication that this is perfectly normal.
Last night I had a dream where I was filling up my water bottle at a drinking fountain and someone ran over and started to drink out of my water bottle as it was filling up and I got so mad I woke up
As in exercise in letting myself create imperfect things regularly, I'm going to do daily sketches highlighting a moment from Yesterday. Yesterday might be longer than one day ago, but that is fine. It's both about letting myself make things without placing emphasis on everything being correct. And being more mindful of the little moments in my day-to-day life.
Just saw someone with “use whatever pronouns you use for yourself for me” in bio. I honestly never considered the depth the pronoun metagame could have, we’ve barely scratched the surface with this shit
"if mushrooms are the superior lifeform that really calls the shots on this earth, why haven't they destroyed us yet?" listen to yourself. have we as humans gotten rid of every mountain on the planet just because we are smarter than big rocks? no!! because they don't pose a threat to us. sure some people die rock climbing or skiing and that's tragic but mountains aren't dangerous to us as a global society. do you see where i am going with this. it's your misplaced hubris that makes you think that humankind is worth destroying to a mushroom. we are a part of the mundane landscape on the surface. we pose no threat to the mycelian era. humble yourself
“if no art makes you feel anything, make your own art and feel something” is too raw of a line to have come from a jenna marbles video of her painting a rainbow/polka dot seahorse saying “it’s seahorse time” on a denim jacket
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