crayfishcoffee - Tumblr blog

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Ideal work schedule:

I show up and am given a list of cognitively engaging but achievable tasks

I complete the list

I leave immedietly

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two of my favorite illustrations from this year, both from Carmilla

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scum ii / graphite

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“The Minotaur doesn’t like to smoke, but smokes anyway, smokes menthols because he likes them even less, while JoeJoe dances to the static-y music thumping out of the boom box at his feet, the music fighting with the sounds of the exhaust fan over their heads and the incessant traffic on the highway below.”

Steven Sherill, “The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break”

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couldn't stop thinking of this

(joke from here)

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simpler times

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pig,,

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do u guys remember the ruby sapphire reveal. do u remember oh steven we already love you. the absolute pandemonium. the high we were on.

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[writes about Jesus but it’s actually about being trans] [writes about being trans but it’s actually about Jesus]

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being cosmically "insignificant" doesnt even matter like its not important......... like literally lets enjoy a strawberry

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surprised more people aren’t talking about the “kabru might be the child of an incubi” comic that also features “laios knows way too much about monster reproduction.” was that one just too easy or

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taking a class on sex this semester which has resulted in many fun things like "sex activity" and "sex final" being added to my planner. being very mature and serious about this .

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Apparently people who don't have executive dysfunction think that actually working on something is the hardest part of doing something. And that's why they get mad that you call the rest of the project "easy" after you've finally worked through doing the plan and know what to do when you're working.

So when you're through with the epiphany of how to make it physically possible to make the thing you're making, and you're sharing the plan with excitement, because the hard part is over, and now you only have to get your hands moving and do it, they get mad at you like

"it's not that easy! It's a lot of hard work! >:C"

they mean it, because

to them, working is the hardest part.

They don't have to fight their brains to get started. They don't have to fight their way through making the choices, making the plan, making yourself make the thing. People who don't suffer from executive dysfunction think that the hardest part is actually doing the thing.

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"Persephone Writes a Letter to Her Mother", by A.E. Stallings

First – hell is not so far underground – My hair gets tangled in the roots of trees & I can just make out the crunch of footsteps, The pop of acorns falling, or the chime Of a shovel squaring a fresh grave or turning Up the tulip bulbs for separation. Day & night, creatures with no legs Or too many, journey to hell and back. Alas, the burrowing animals have dim eyesight. They are useless for news of the upper world. They say the light is “loud” (their figures of speech All come from sound; their hearing is acute).

The dead are just as dull as you would imagine. They evolve like the burrowing animals – losing their sight. They may roam abroad sometimes – but just at night – They can only tell me if there was a moon. Again and again, moth-like, they are duped By any beckoning flame – lamps and candles. They come back startled & singed, sucking their fingers, Happy the dirt is cool and dense and blind. They are silly & grateful and don’t remember anything. I have tried to tell them stories, but they cannot attend. They pester you like children for the wrong details – How long were his fingernails? Did she wear shoes? How much did they eat for breakfast? What is snow? And then they pay no attention to the answers.

My husband, bored with their babbling, neither listens nor speaks. But here there is no fodder for small talk. The weather is always the same. Nothing happens. (Though at times I feel the trees, rocking in place Like grief, clenching the dirt with torturous toes.) There is nothing to eat here but raw beets & turnips. There is nothing to drink but mud-filtered rain. Of course, no one goes hungry or toils, however many – (The dead breed like the bulbs of daffodils – Without sex or seed – all underground – Yet no race has such increase. Worse than insects!)

I miss you and think about you often. Please send flowers. I am forgetting them. If I yank them down by the roots, they lose their petals And smell of compost. Though I try to describe Their color and fragrance, no one here believes me. They think they are the same thing as mushrooms. Yet no dog is so loyal as the dead, Who have no wives or children and no lives, No motives, secret or bare, to disobey. Plus, my husband is a kind, kind master; He asks nothing of us, nothing at all – Thus fall changes to winter, winter to fall, While we learn idleness, a difficult lesson.

He does not fully understand why I write letters. He says that you will never get them. True – Mulched-leaf paper sticks together, then rots; No ink but blood, and it turns brown like the leaves. He found my stash of letters, for I had hid it, Thinking he’d be angry. But he never angers. He took my hands in his hands, my shredded fingers Which I have sliced for ink, thin paper cuts. My effort is futile, he says, and doesn’t forbid it.

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D&D going mainstream really messed up people's expectations cause chances are you're not gonna find a DM who has the free time, talent and resources to put on a tale that competes with Tolkien. you're gonna find your friend's roommate Phil who's read one of the manuals a few times and has to pause to get a calculator out to figure out how much damage your attack did and his story is blatantly ripping off a dragon age 2 side quest

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I'm rewriting Aeaea Academy, but here's some of the old pages