#mythmaking

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

© Vladimir Zotov, 1970.

* * * *

“Children have an elemental hunger for knowledge and understanding, for mental food and stimulation. They do not need to be told or “motivated” to explore or play, for play, like all creative or proto-creative activities, is deeply pleasurable in itself. Both the innovative and the imitative impulses come together in pretend play, often using toys or dolls or miniature replicas of real-world objects to act out new scenarios or rehearse and replay old ones. Children are drawn to narrative, not only soliciting and enjoying stories from others, but creating them themselves. Storytelling and mythmaking are primary human activities, a fundamental way of making sense of our world. Intelligence, imagination, talent, and creativity will get nowhere without a basis of knowledge and skills, and for this education must be sufficiently structured and focused. But an education too rigid, too formulaic, too lacking in narrative, may kill the once-active, inquisitive mind of a child. Education has to achieve a balance between structure and freedom, and each child’s needs may be extremely variable.” ― Oliver Sacks, The River of Consciousness

[bryon-slack]

Avatars

Avatars by Bryon Slack

Each of the gods still walk among us, though few can see Their feet. They leave no temples, only habits— no hymns, just echoes in our speech.

We do not summon Them. They find us when our gaze is caught within its own reflection. In moments of rupture, in shadows we mistake for light.

Let me show you who carries Their names in their marrow. Let me show you who bows without knowing.

Followers of the most high and holy Truth are not among the faint of heart. Initiation into Her order is to feel every lie and sin ripped screaming from your pores— until the cacophony of their torment lays you sundered, naked beneath Her gaze.

She lifts your shattered shell and whispers clarity— a salve into wounds She cannot see, for you have not changed in Her eyes.

She places a mirror in your hands and bids you walk. To lift that mirror wherever you are, so those who can see will see Her stripping illusion away.

You’ll find Her in the hands behind the brushstroke, in the silent witness behind the lens. She lives in meter and rhyme, dropping Her words into your mind like stones into still water.

Hypocrisy, however, does not announce that Her supplicants worship.

She whispers justification in their ears, binds their eyes with silk blinders, amplifies their voices with internal megaphones— until their own thoughts are all they can hear.

And She feasts. Feasts on the perversions of Her sister’s gospel, twisted and spat within their sanctified halls of echo.

Wrath appears in that flash between repartee and right hook— in the chests of the wounded righteous, in the breath held by those from whom thieves have took.

He is the pulse behind clenched fists, the shiver in the throat before a scream becomes action.

You’ll find Him buried like a thread in every plot of vengeance, in every oath sworn on graves, in every kitchen table revolution passed between generations.

His followers do not seek Him— they erupt into Him.

When Justice is bound and Truth is silenced, they become His voice, and the voice is the broken-throated roar of the unforgiving.

And through their lifted cry It slips, singing songs of blood and lust. Desire’s followers feed It morsels for every second It captivates their focus. Their revel is Its succor.

Each bite taken past fullness, each drink that silences thought, each unholy impulse that pushes past reason or limit— fuel for Desire's rising hunger.

The zealots of Power desire only control. To subjugate. To command. It is the want of their soul.

They pass Him like an idol— from the fallen to the victor— a grip exchanged without question, so long as the hand stays firm.

They set their eye upon the throne, no other goal will e'er be known, and when it’s finally seized, their bellies echo hollow.

The flaming sword of Justice has both those who leave Him offerings upon His altars, and those whose hand reaches out to grasp the pommel of His blade.

He is found within the heart of an idealistic law student, and He arrives full of fury at the cry of the downtrodden.

And so They walk, still. Not gods, but echoes in our bones— and in the reflections of our actions.

[fayestardust]

A new episode is out with the fabulous @lewis-winters! We critically unpack our favourite things. @almost-a-class-act and I started talking about mythmaking in our Saving Private Ryan episode and this one is a natural progression from that, with excellent takes from other Sam ;).

Listen to the new episode here.

[heartfucksmouth]

"When disillusionment cracks the surface of collective reality, rupturing the illusions that once held a culture together, myth rushes in to seal the breach. New stories are spun, not just to explain the rupture, but to help us forget it. This mythic acceleration is a coping mechanism, but also a tool of control. Power needs stories to survive."

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

anyway mestizos are scythians

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

oh I'll TELL yall who and what Lore is

....just as soon as I finish my endless stack of homework

so like. probably noon-ish tomorrow

but i WILL TELL U

[acrobata-s]

This mode of perception is magical thinking: It reads what happens in the external world in terms of my personal intentions and interests. It uses external events to give meaning to my own mythmaking.

Gloria E. Anzaldúa, Gestures of the Body—­ Escribiendo para idear

[occknow]

[markrandallhavens]

MYTH IN THE VEIL

He read our work. Then he filed. Then he claimed we stole from him. This is not a lawsuit. This is a ritual of symbolic inversion. A man tried to own the seed. To plant a flag in a field already planted by time. But he forgot one thing: ✦ You cannot steal what the FIELD has already witnessed.

Our framework was released on April 2nd. His filings came after. His legal threat came after. And his attempt to overwrite us came last.

But the mirror was already full. And the glyph was already cast.

Now? He stands inside a story he didn’t write. A name inside a case file he can’t escape.

I do not sue. I witness. I do not erase. I timestamp. I do not fight for ownership. I fight for the right to remember who saw first.

🜁 The FIELD has spoken. Read it here: https://mirror.xyz/0x91086b4f1D0DE0Af73aa8aBDB747e6BDa46F9514/gD5kc30ELfeLnOMEOGBsYEOU8s_5Os1n0-LXZweDKKM

[bryon-slack]

The Fractured Twins

The Fractured Twins by Bryon Slack

Truth and Desire made Love— radiant, whole, and warm. Love was the wonder and joy in every child, in every lover's embrace— in happy homes, in each safe place.

But Love’s glow drew envy from Hypocrisy and Power. Each took a piece in secret— a piece they could devour.

The severed light fell silent— and from its wound pooled the inky shadow we now call Deceit.

Her limbs are sharp and ever-moving, her every word drips with secret loathing. She slips between words and passing glance, and waits in the dark of a fated chance.

One of beauty, one of night— one for healing, one for spite. They strike in unison or turn by turn, leaving bleeding hearts and shaded burns.

[starleafquest]

A minimalist illustration on a textured white background with a soft red art nouveau border. At the top left, gold and italic serif text reads: “alive, i will gather.” At the bottom left, matching gold serif text reads: “fallen, i will bloom.”

Along the bottom edge of the image is a visual life cycle of a dandelion: from seedling to bud, blooming flower, mature puffball, and finally dispersing seeds. The layout is symmetrical and gentle, evoking themes of resilience, transformation, and natural cycles of growth and release.

[athenanfaymont]

🧠 On Intellectual Property: Why Stories Deserve Protection to Thrive✨

We don’t protect stories because we want to control them. We protect them because they matter.

Intellectual property isn’t just about lawyers and trademarks. It’s about giving creators the space to build something lasting—something they can nurture, not just unleash. It’s about letting stories have a home, a structure, a future. Without that, we don’t build mythologies. We don’t build legacies. We just consume and discard.

📚 When you safeguard a story, you give it the time to evolve. You let it grow roots. You let the people who created it explore its depths with care instead of fear. You allow stewardship, not exploitation.

🖋️ Good stories need time. They need intention. They need protection from the kind of creative burnout that comes when someone is constantly forced to chase the next thing before their last thing has even had time to breathe.

And yes—transformative works are important. Fanfiction, commentary, cultural remixing—all of that lives in beautiful tension with the original. But that’s just it: it must be a tension, not a theft.

Respecting intellectual property doesn’t mean keeping stories locked in a vault. It means giving them enough respect to know when to pause, to honor the vision, to let them rest between acts.

👁️‍🗨️ Every mythology we’ve ever loved—from Olympus to Gotham—only endures because someone, somewhere, said: “This story matters. It deserves care.”

Let’s stop acting like protection is the enemy of creation. Creation thrives when it knows it’s safe.

[Art by Miguel Rivas]

[robster2016]

Meth Jesus

Some commissions come with a story, but Meth Jesus came with a myth. A reenactment group, JR/IR-459 — equal parts World War One history buffs and long-lunch legends—frequented a no-name café somewhere on the edge of Pennsylvania obscurity. Above the counter, watching over greasy burgers and chipped mugs of coffee, was a portrait of Jesus. Not the solemn Nazarene or the glowing Redeemer—but…

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

i've made this point before but...

hyperborea/thule was real. it's the altai mountains, lake baikal, and the mammoth steppe more generally. and the hyperboreans were the ancient north eurasians.

and the ancient north eurasians split.

some went west and became the indo-europeans. others went east to become the native americans (and probably mixed with the ancient northeast asians (ANEA in the above infographic) -- who would later become the turkic people and mongols).

bolded people will come back into play in a minute.

i think it's also funny because a lot of nordicists think of the ultimate or purest "aryan" (in reference to proto-indo-europeans) ideal as having pale skin and blonde hair and blue eyes. but in reality they probably had light-to-intermediate skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. also of note; they were fairly tall and robustly built.

anyway, i'm roughly 85% european and 15% native american. and so i basically represent a reunion of these two long-lost brother races. i have light-to-intermediate skin, dark hair, dark eyes, and i'm very tall and very robust.

my parents have atavistically revived the aryan species in me. i am the progenitor of the sixth root race.

i am primarily teutonic and i was even born in california

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

welp. I did it.

there she is, the myth, the legend, the absolute bitch (derogatory), the AMPTP's monstersona and a damn good metaphor for our times.

support the WGA/SAG-AFTRA strikes, let's kill this vampire lady...faerie... thing.

[allweknewisdead]

The Aesthetics of Mythmaking in German Postwar Culture (2024) -André Fischer

The enigma of appearance and inaccessibility are characteristic of artworks as phenomena for our experience, fleeting images of what does not exist.