dastardlyobnoxious

[dastardlyobnoxious]

I somehow spend more time thinking about writing then actually writing even though I want to be a writer.

[dastardlyobnoxious]

Motivation

I've really started to use site this as more of a blog/place to complain/communicate with myself. I wanna say that'll change, but I don't wanna limit myself. So, stay tuned?

I see so many people younger, around my age, or older who do so much of the same stuff I'd like to do. I find them amazing. Over the last couple of years, it's become a lot more difficult to write and produce stuff just for myself.

The why of it comes down to some pretty big factors, but I think the biggest is that being "a writer" has become a bigger part of my identity and what I see myself as. It's partially why I've started to put more weight into what I say or do as I lose myself in a maze of emotions.

It's partially why I've started to struggle with writing and creating. I want to see the stars and produce something I'll be proud of, but so many virtual and internal chains seem to be everywhere.

I can't write just for myself if it isn't something short of a small retrospective or ramble like this and that sucks. Cause when I was younger, I did just write to write. I want to feel that free when I write, but instead I'm bogged down by my own brain.

Even this probably reads as somewhat incoherent or incomplete because I worry so much about the end result before it's even done.

I might revisit this in the future to talk with myself on any future findings that help me deal with this, but for now I'll say a quote I heard recently that sorta helped:

Progress not perfection.

[dastardlyobnoxious]

Fatigue

I lose myself in the spin of ambiguity and obscurity. A sugary sinkhole where the only scene I see is that of my own self.

My candid corpse ready to respond with some colored expression or judgement.

I live in a world of reds, whites, and greens. Unable to move or motivate beyond the bare minimum. I want to write for someone who isn't me.

Intense self-hatred and self-ostracization swings round and round. My clock that chips and chimes with predictability. I want to be free. I want to be free. I want to be. I want to not be perceived.

I'm out of place most days.

Can you even call yourself a perfectionist if you struggle to say something in the first place?

I barely feel like I make sense most days. The time that's already made way only partially why I've melted away.

Happy new year.

[dastardlyobnoxious]

Social sprite

My identity raw and tart, torn apart by social strings I can’t seem to see. Unable to move or speak, as I stand in space wondering if I’ll ever feel the real me. A smile or neutral state, where I pretend to be more than the joints I move around. This tense sense of silence will wear my face and its brows till I’m tired and down. The clouds above move on a blue background where the me of today is forgotten by tomorrow. A mask or mechanism, I’ll never know. Where I’ll hit on the same self-conscious state of extremes till the monitor above obscures my face. The robot awake I breath through mechanical limbs and sparkly sights. My endless horizon of lights won’t stop till the sun dies. The world that’s all mine, the world where I seem to stand the tallest, to speak the loudest, and live the brightest; locked behind a wall. My world that’s wedged the largest daggers in my eyes, is the realest place I’ve ever lived in. This space I’ve tried to escape, sparks and speaks in its own ways. Far off in time, this robot’s robotic heart seems to crack. I run, unable to seek the sight, to speak the rage I can’t quite make. Back behind the robot, back behind the real world's glare, I can’t stop spinning in place.

Vulnerability, sincerity, and truth. Tie my spirit to the two worlds below, stuck in a game of imitate. I move the way others do in fleshy suits to try and speak my own case. To bridge the gaps that those swirling around can’t seem to make when they see these robotic gears. My digital heart paves its own small space forward even if I can’t seem to find the right words to make up my life. 

[dastardlyobnoxious]

Tryhard

“man that guy really sucks at Undertale”

[dastardlyobnoxious]

Another shitpost for y'all...

I spend an embarrassing amount of time on these comics.

[dastardlyobnoxious]

Saws & Screams

Colored soup like senses stirred back to life.

You awake in a daze, trying to fight that hounding pain. Where currents of cocoa puffs fall down your face. Drunk on drips of metallic tasting tinges, your mind cracks awake.

A dull ache of searing pain, held in place by a rope tied around your waist. You try to break away, to twist against its seams. Muffled screams in a seemingly empty space. The rope raging against your skin, you can smell the stale space. 

Quick to give up on rubbing off the rope, you pull yourself up right. Legs weak and unwilling you appear to be in a bedroom of sorts. Drenched in dim blues and diamond shaped patterns, this place has seen better days.

Dust covered toys thrown about the room, batteries burnt or broken, two toys remain awake. One, a purple fan fights the room's stank. The other a blocky robot, its eyes alive and staring into my side. It chirps out an automatic line, “MOTION DETECTED.” 

You spin around twisting to find who triggered the thing, before spotting a silhouette in the corner of your eye. 

Watching it vanish from afar, you try to stand. Crashing to the ground, you land with a splash. Water that wasn’t there a moment ago, now slowly filling the place. 

The overhead light sparkin’ to life, you hear the doors slam shut. Color clawing at your brain, desperation and panic quick to ramp up. Water and rope holding you hostage.

The closet doors burst open as an intercom chimes off, your face confused and terrified as the man speaks: 

"Hello everybody my name is Markiplier, and welcome to Five Nights at Freddy’s 4."

Five-Six hour write up, that I thought of months ago. Yes, the entire time I was trying to set up a gag, and no, I will not be taking questions. More a writing exercise/way for me to put something here. Doubt I'll look back on it too fondly (given I'm not really grammar checkin' it) BUT! Gotta experiment with style, 2nd pov, and horror/comedy(??) somehow. Back when Markiplier was still doing his Help Wanted 2 Playthrough I kept seeing art of him tormenting Lefty and thought, yeah that'd be a funny post. Probably could've committed to the bit and made a much bigger text file with animatronics and a mustache twirling Markiplier but nahhhh. Still tryin' to work and get used to Tumblr's posting format, so if any of my tags are off let me know. (Same with feedback if you'd like). Finally free for the summer, so here's to being a bit more consistent with posting. May marks ten years since I created my first Roblox account, so that's probably next in line, but no promises! Until next time, chao.

[dastardlyobnoxious]

[dastardlyobnoxious]

From this -

This post is mostly for those who don't want to have to click on the link in order to read the entirety of The Owl House's series bible.

[dastardlyobnoxious]

four kids play a game...

[dastardlyobnoxious]

I never know what to do for 413, I think this is the first time I do something hsdfhj

[dastardlyobnoxious]

got their asses handed to em

[dastardlyobnoxious]

they were surprised he finally put moderate effort into something

[dastardlyobnoxious]

JUST FINISHED PAINTING MY OWN CUSTOM AIRY 3D MODEL :DDDD IM SO PROUD OF IT QwQ

More pictures of the model on my Instagram

V

https://www.instagram.com/p/Cx_nokCrpVN/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

[dastardlyobnoxious]

wow what a guy

[dastardlyobnoxious]

[dastardlyobnoxious]

So close yet so far…

(That stream where Bagi and Empanada kept going back and forth in the flower field Bad died in was an Experience)