clowder-cats

[clowder-cats]

sure

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Funny, i thought simplyplural wasnt that useful to us before because we have somewhat shared memories but since we started using I didn't account for the fact that sometimes we just forget whos in co-con? Sometimes hey go quiet and i get confused when they comment on something, but looking at front gives an idea again. Like ohh, of course... They're still here. It's nice c:

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i'm no longer the person i was 40 minutes ago

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Mahmoud Darwish, from a poem featured in A River Dies of Thirst: Journals

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if tumblr dies you can find me at the recession pop playlist andddddd clubbin inside headspacew

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i hope every alterhuman in the world knows that i love them forever. it's going to be okay, creature

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Would people guys still liek me(us?) even if i was a little haterrrr

I don't give other people the same mercy tbh I don't like to read people complaining and bitching for no reason. But what if i were a hypocrite a bit and gave me this mercy :3c

overral the midway between expressing opinions are such a bother, you can know people through their likes and dislikes but a balance must be maintained. i dont mind reading what my friends are complaining about but when a total stranger only lives to bitch and moan i think their life must be quite sad

at least expressing positive opinions is already progress even if we are tiptoeing around not expressing negative ones, it paints half of a full picture, the other half is quite ugly. we used to vent around a lot without thinking about who we may concern but now prefer to keep that part shut, and it seems to be best to move on and forget bad stuff instead of dumping without making any reflection

truly, living is so complicated. reminds me of another thing i wanted to write-

as in, selfishness is a defense mechanism- one cannot leave this life unscathed if they only give to others without protecting yourself. to someone who has lived their whole lives thinking about others and getting hurt because, either the intentions don't match the outcome (and we are labeled as selfish because of the outcome itself) or that we are not considered in return (wouldnt matter if we were or not, selfish)

my point being is that respecting your own boundaries, evokes the feeling of selfishness to someone who has had them ignored their whole lives even if its quite neutral in nature. if you start respecting yourself, others that felt like they were entitled to the entirety of you to the point of harm perceive that absence as you taking away something that they were entitled to (even if it hurt you before)

of course that this cannot be said for everyone. theres a difference in [people that empty themselves for others] and [self entitled rude people] and the latter would use this philosophy to treat people worse... the difference between someone not saying to the barista that their order is wrong because it would make them feel bad (you are doing a disservice to yourself, you are paying and they are working) and someone mistreating and insulting the barista ( the self-entitled person who would misappropriate this philosophy)

Another thing being of the bitching and moaning variety- it would, eventually get quite cyclical, nonsensically looping around concepts that we cant help but spin in our brain, quite personally- a secret hater blog would misfire in the most asinine of events such as art styles or other stuff we hate and that are mild at best (doubt that anyone would see us hating chiikawa and agree with it, could be compared to that subreddit of hating pets)

it is, obsessive neurosis- a fruitless wall of text with no conclusion - coming back to the start, marinating and stewing concepts without any chance for interjection of others. like yaoi, "no climax, no point, no meaning".

[clowder-cats]

The life of a fox is not one actively hunting, but opportunism

Waiting patiently for opportunity to strike swiftly as night, leaving everyone confused in the aftermath when i am safely already gone and away

Striving to not making an impression is ideal, but who can blame me for being so striking? 😌

Eating the spoils, lovingly taking it apart and licking it clean. and burrowing in my den to sleep and live for another day

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Mondo always looked so beautiful covered in snow... People huddled together and drinking to their hearts contents, laughing together, looking out for each other because it was a dangerous time and going missing was easy

I miss that

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It's confirmed Mondstadtians are literally Venti's kids and they believe they turn into dandelions when they die

....does that mean when Venti drinks dandelion wine he is drinking the souls of his dead children?

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No red fox silvanians what a TRAGEDY

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me at 3 am scurrying around the house in search of food

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Fox Mouth perfect size for put chickn in to n\ap! inside very Soft and Comfort chicken sleep soundly put chicken n in fox Mouth :3

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Good Boy!

i sit by the window of your world, waiting under some spell like trance, panting like a dog, like a good boy, obeying i can’t speak your language, but i accept what i hear, smiling, tail wagging

[clowder-cats]

So much of the human experience is defined by how we react to things, even if we don't consciously think about it.

People like to define "humanity" as the emotions/empathy/sympathy/love you feel. Anhedonia and apathy combined with alexithymia is considered inhuman. No ordinary person would know this terminology, but when they see it in people, they consider it a "wrong" or "strange" or "inhuman" way to exist.

People might just assume you're depressed if you're not enjoying anything you're doing, or if you're unresponsive in a social situation. But when it comes to something dramatic, like a societal tragedy or a relationship issue or a death or something similar, if you don't react in the way you're expected to, you're judged.

These judgements could be in good faith, maybe they assume that you're in shock and you don't know how to react. But others will assume you're heartless and don't care at all. It depends on who you're with and how you navigate the situation overall, how your reaction will impact their reactions.

Beyond the surface level, it's also the little things, how you react to birthdays, holidays, marriages, pregnancies, medical events, children, elders, etc. We are a society highly defined by interaction with other people. When you don't interact as expected within your respective culture, you're looked at like something other.

I know what it's like to feel things, at least, I have some sort of memory of enjoying things and feeling strong emotions, but they feel so much like a distant memory far beneath the ocean's surface—muffled, colorless, far away, unreachable. Thinking back on memories don't trigger emotions for me anymore. Despite this, there's still things I don't like talking about, but that I can remember without triggering those traumatic feelings.

I'm sure the change seems drastic to people who've known me since I was a child. Or they didn't notice, which seems to be about right. I became so good at keeping things internal that there's so many things I haven't described even to my mother about my childhood, where she thought I was doing perfectly fine in the messes that were going on.

I started feeling like I was dying at the start of high school and that feeling never left. I feel like I've decayed and I've become something inhuman.

(Photo from the other night.)

Imagery like this was always something I connected with even as a child. Dark hallways, bare tree branches twisting up into the sky like twisted little things, dark churches (which I owe to having grandparents working at a historical church), dead forests, cemeteries, and other gothic imagery.

Now, it portrays the things inside of me that are difficult to verbalize. I do it in my artwork, I do it in my writing.

Even though my novellas are all very different stories, they contain very similar details, relating to an often cynical and unlikable protagonist, themes of bodily identity, neglect of self care, and how we appear to others. As for my art, I don't really like explaining it, especially my art that's unrelated to any of my stories. Writing artist statements for gallery showings and suchlike things has always been dreadful. I'd rather it just speak for itself.

So in the end, I consider myself something inhuman. It is not something I reject or am ashamed of, for I've lost my ability to feel shame. There's no reason to deny the truth.

[clowder-cats]

T. S. Eliot, from The Complete Works of T. S. Eliot; "The Confidential Clerk,"

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stay safe because i like being alive at the same time as you.