corvidisss

[corvidisss]

mees my soul release my worry cease my mees

mees my mind be loose my fear reduce my mini moose

mees! my smile increase! my life is peace my precious mees

more stress relief meeses. they are very calming <3

[ID: pen doodles on paper of several little mice. they are in various positions and poses but all have triangle feet, curvy noses, big ears and little whiskers. there is also a secret elephant blending in among them. end ID.]

[corvidisss]

[ID: tumblr notification with a hexagonal blue badge that reads "Congratulations, you posted 5 posts!". End ID.]

tumblr is mocking my lack of resolve

[corvidisss]

Scene 1.

Cold, yet warm. Endless expanse of lifeless ice and a beacon of light, a golden glow; you leave it behind. It is the last place on this world that might welcome you home. You turn a glistening eye to look back up at the timber hull that may have learned to cradle you. It is not yours to keep. You drift away.

Scene 2.

There is nothing now. Nothing but a blank screen. Empty heart. Hollow soul. Light a fire to lose your mind in its careless dance. Yet embers spark and rise a thought like a phoenix, burning, full of uncrushable hope; its light consumes you—

Scene 3.

Exhilaration is the first thing you feel; a rush of something you can only describe as life, a surge as if swept up suddenly by the wind, tossed high above the clouds, above a canopy of soft lush leaves, tossed to tip and glide on the air itself;

Peace comes to you next. It hits you out of the endless sky with a pressure that compresses you and then sets you free. Its sensation is alien to you, so long has it been since this kind of contentment dared to settle on the branches of your mind yet here it is, touching down to tend its nests... Is this what it's like? you wonder. Is this life without torment? Do real people live this way? This uncanny, incredible realisation floods across the surface of your mind like fire; dangerous, damaging, beautiful;

It burns up pieces of you. It tears down pillars you have been leaning on for years. It withers the scripts you have been reading from and leaves you darker, with more holes, with more spaces to fill. The new absence in you feels... rich, somehow. Like soil ready to start anew;

Scene 4.

The landscape leaps, barrenness blossoming with new beauty, blinding golden sun rising over snow-peaked mountains, their slopes rushed with trees, their flanks filled with flowing light, the air around them somehow tangibly alive; it is somehow both vastly empty, and bristling with detail and colour and life. It looms above you, sun and slopes and sky, beautiful and terrible, overwhelming and unbearably new;

Scene 5.

Stillness consumes you. The weight of this budding possibility thrums through your soul, vast and motionless yet brimming with trembling anticipation; great lake, moon shimmering sheens across the surface, cupped by land as large as fear, steam rising—

Scene 6.

Rise to meet the sunrise. Huge, warm, bright, scattered light across ice and snow; Lift up to your feet, toes touch the softness of the numbing ground below, ribs opening like crystal dragonfly wings to let out the bursting tide of choking relief;

The world anew, passing around you like the gentle hush of flowers turning, time rolling while you stand, enraptured by the vastness of life and the openness of time, dwarfed and embraced by the enormity of it all...

Scene 7.

Warm, yet cold. Great land which you have made your unwelcoming home all these years, comfortable in its familiarity while it buries brambles in your soul. It is the last place on earth you understand. The place that raised you, taught you, made you what you are. The hollow in your shape that you have worn in its poisoned earth calls to you, begs you to return to it and make it whole.

You leave it behind.

You are not its to keep.

Scene 8.

And the world around you turns to light.

Scene 9.

You could not understand it at first. The change overwrought you, the terror of stepping into something so inexpressibly new. You were consumed by it, drowned by it, barely thinking, barely breathing, barely daring to hope that this might stay.

It has stayed. It has been a while now. Perhaps it will fade soon; all the more reason to finally turn it in your mind and give it life in words. To accept that it was possible. To accept that it has happened.

Life, it turns out, can be more than barren ice and brambleweeds. You felt your entire being restructure under the horrible, wonderful light of the new world; your eyes filled with tears as you were swept through the beauty, ever-changing, colours shifting, each new word or touch or smile a whole new hue in the thronging sky. Tears of what? Of grief for the time you were denied this? Of hatred for those who kept it away? Of overpowering relief, of wonder, of life? You could barely see what was before you for the sea in your eyes. But there it was, distorted through the water, bright and beckoning, welcoming you home.

It has been a while now. The turmoil of those first few months has mellowed. You feel your feet on the ground where before you floated, untethered. The grass between your toes is green. The fire of the phoenix that enveloped you has settled and the bird perches on your hand. It looks up at you, golden head cocked.

And here you are. Life was a storm of scrawled lines, ink that could not be unwritten; now it is a tapestry, embroidered stars repeating like smiles. It is boring, sometimes, you think. Little moments of happiness over and over. There are more ways to hurt than there are to be happy. But the stars fill your cloth and you wear them with pride.

Happy Spooky Corpse Boi Halloween! Please enjoy my newest animatic, "Boreas".

[corvidisss]

Parhelion

Cold and bleak. Lifeless. Empty but for crags of ice.

Place of death. Of cleansing; of discovery.

The ice creaks – floor miles wide, metres deep, fraught with fractures, moans beneath your proverbial feet. Like a whale's song, turned through time. Like the slowed-down sigh of a boat's sides.

Boats have been here. Dared to stir through struck chunks of frozen water, dared to venture up, ever northwards, ever colder. Tracked their path slowly, racing the seasons in plant-like movement, yearning to see further over the horizon, further into the great white land that isn't land. Their backs topped with people, pulling ropes, wrapped in cloth and fur to indistinguishability. Their figureheads frosted. Their flanks sigh.

A carcass lies here; the wooden bones that never returned home. Its crew is gone, its masts stretch sailless over the white. It sinks to one side, forgotten. Abandoned. Its sides gleam in the harsh winter light.

No living ears bear witness to its gentle song as wind flows through its ropes and whistles through its timbers. No living eyes take in its shape. But the sky watches; Parhelion, rimmed halo of light, crowned with bursts of sunlight scattered by sky into four startling points, so bright it drowns the ice in blue-white, casts its stinging gaze across the land. Its glare commands. It watches, godlike, all that passes in its reach; it presses its power over all it touches and yet, still somehow, brings a beauty to tint its domain. It shines off the carcass hull, the peaks of ice, like a glint of wonder in a sailor's eye. It brings uncertainty, intensity, tranquillity, stillness and awe. Deity of the land of ice.

When the poets, artists, authors, who embraced the romance of the world around them, who turned from mechanisation and smoke to watch the sunsets, spoke of the sublime; this is what they meant. This, if any were blessed to see it, is their proof of religion in nature's form. “How could such a sight exist,” they'd say, “were it not brought to us by God?”

We cannot know. The science shows us how; for some this tells them why as well. Others sit less satisfied, studying the sky to seek some greater purpose, to find some further guiding light.

The Parhelion pays no mind. It lives and fades, stirs and shines, rises and watches regardless. Questions of origin and reason do not shake its certainty. It comes and goes, heedless of our wondering. It shone long before us and will shine still when we are dead.

Acrylics on canvas, 2022

Inspired by images of the 1914-1917 Shackleton antarctic expedition as well as the 2018 series the Terror.

[corvidisss]

Somewhere out there, she is floating.

Paws limp and lifted, unstayed by gravity, unworn by time.

Her fur stirs as if in water, in currents indiscernible; her tail drifts.

Her eyes, half-lidded, so brown and deep like an ancient box that once held glittering jewels and now lies empty.

She is peaceful, quiet. Unbarking. Unbouncing.

The sun lights her body; its rays reach her through the vast blankness. Touches her softly like the ghost of a hand, runs its warmth down her back, fondles her ears. She turns, tumbles slowly onward through the darkness. The sun watches her, aching.

Somewhere down here, her ashes are scattered.

She did not live to see the sky go black to blue; she suffered her end before this and was spared the rattling flames.

Her atoms came home as dust. She rejoins life in death, her pieces refused with the earth. Her form is lost, her fur in smoke, her flesh in fire.

Yet she is out there still.

The sun watches her, feet turning over belly, her gentle drift and twist so slow and slumbered. It strokes her, tickles her chin as it tilts into the light. Oh, old girl, it mumbles, in the imperceptible hum of a million threads of radiated light; Oh, how they treated you. That you could take the sweet touch of hands once more; that you could wag your tail in delight just one more time at the sight of someone you love! If your soul could only wander the world you knew, and not float on, untethered, where you cannot breathe.

It runs its glow over her face. It cannot substitute the firm and loving feel of hands yet still it tries. Old girl, it whispers, softly, in the deep and stirring thrum of enormous mass and enormous grief; Wake up. Wake up and see.

The spirit stirs. Something flickers deep in the ancient caskets of her eyes. Something glimmers in the heart of the dog in the stars. Something shifts—

She opens her eyes. Her nose twitches, her tail flicks, her ears prick, half-lop. She turns, pushes out her paws to twist her head and see.

Bursting across the expanse of space, rushing out the darkness, flushing out the emptiness, enveloping the solar system in its burning warmth and light; the sun! She's seen it before, from the weight-bound realms of Earth, through the small circle of glass as she left home behind, but this—this is something else. No longer withheld from the sight by fragile mortal eyes, she gazes on the fiery heart. Its patterns fill her mind, its gentle shifting surface; she stares and stares, awash with awe.

The sun calls to her. She hears the smile in its voice, in its heat. She feels the light running down her sides like love. She kicks her legs and runs to it.

~

(@dappermouth no pressure to interact with this at all, but in case you'd like to see it <3)

- Dog star, burning through a vast black sky -

In memory of Laika: a greater friend to mankind than mankind was to her.

[corvidisss]

As Summer Follows Spring

The feeling of standing in houses preserved from hundreds of years ago, surrounded by timbers and nails and crafted polished dressing tables that have weathered centuries and still remain.

Of looking at paintings on those plastered walls, peering beyond the central figure to the detail in the background, of folk on horseback and surging landscape and clouds, all rendered in tiny brush strokes and faintly flaking;

Of casting my gaze through the leadlights – through the diamond glass and iron struts, framed in painted wood and locked carefully shut – out upon the countryside, rolling forested hills, sectioned by hedges into fields and pastures like the divided panes through which I stare, touched by traces of sunlight dancing through woven clouds.

I hear the music of a quieter time, looking upon this; the strum of a lute, the crackle of a fire, the harmonious humming beneath bright, star-full skies. I hear poetry spoken in words so old and fluid, words that taste like spices and feel like engravings in the wooden handle of a utility knife, spoken in an accent rich and long dead, in the voices of people who are now nought but bones. I hear their words, musical over the plucking notes, and wonder who they are – whose hands they've held, what bread they've baked, what sights they've seen; did they marvel at the rising sun? Did they cradle a flower and reflect on impermanence? Did they see their family smiling and fill with pride? Did they hurt, did they grieve, did they lose sleep?

Of course; as sure as summer follows spring. People have always been people. Their songs travel across the years, their art persists, their bones fill the earth with curiosity. Their legacy holds answers yet questions still rise: Who were you? What was your name? We thrill to find treasures of history and ache to know those whose skeletons are left behind. To long for connection with people dead hundreds of years is a wish that can never truly fill, yet we toss our coins for it anyway. We ask, knowing that we shall never receive an answer, “Who were you? Who were you? How could we ever forget?”

A temperate, wild vale, whence above garden warblers fly between yellow dandelion flowers and the meadow's home, the sunlit green forest, what the poets of old would call lady.

Queen Daniella Leo

[corvidisss]

Pinned Info Post!

Welcome to this blog! This is a wild little idea I had which I am trying out to see if it gets anywhere. (I may abandon it almost immediately or at any time in the future, or I may just not use it all that often.)

What is this blog for?

Essentially I'll be using this blog to post creative writing doodles which were inspired by art or visual stimuli I've come across. I don't promise quality, quantity or frequency with this; it's simply an attempt to get me creating more often.

What will I respond to?

I'll respond to any visual artwork or piece of media that interests me. This could include drawings/paintings, photography, costumes, make-up, dance, music, short films, music videos, animations, and so on. I will not engage with NSFW media.

Can you send me stuff you think I might be inspired by?

Of course! You can tag me in posts or send me links/images in asks or DMs! Couple of caveats though:

I only reblog images with image descriptions. If a video or piece of music is able to be described, the same applies there. If you point me to something which doesn't have a description, I may not use it or it may take me much longer to respond. (Wherever possible, describe your own work and things you reblog - if you struggle to do this, you can always get help in the People's Accessibility discord server!)

It may take me a while to respond. Creative juice is an unpredictable fluid.

Some things might just not get those creative juices flowing. This is simply personal taste and is also influenced by current brain function so please don't be offended <3

Okay I think I've rambled enough lol. If you have any questions don't hesitate to ask!