fluttergail

[fluttergail]

gloomkink

sad art acts as an entrapping machination ~um, think of the trap in SAW, splitting open the mind///mouth literally to gape the abyss out to an empty room, giving your corpse as study~ but i think it’s a simplification to dissect it as an easy singular loop, it’s more of an anglicized multilayer perceptron. 

if we take the six examples in this meme as alternate morbid vaines one might take in exploring sad art, you can trace how they might form the threat a Human Security System believes it has to strangle and respond to in constant checking and counting, ritual paranoias, OCD. 

__we crash an AU of Equestrian wasteland proportions, each point on the purple star creeps the circumferences in their split orbits__

Sparkle’s plunderphonics or sound collage is radial, target- a goal. The art is at least, on the very surface, an obvious and base construction or assemblage of junkdata, remnants of experiments - the closest in spirit to the viscera and bodily function of gore. Anxious tests performed on the still breathing, muttering deaths gathering dust in your library. Twilight fiction is often performed in the dead horse gurney, the word liminal dabbed in spite above a dying subjects eyes/

This is Biotechque: when morbid curiosity is mobility, motor and morbidity. 

The Rainbow Factory’s harsh noise is purity+ distraction andor bliss. Subsuming yourself to a goal like a target painted on your back, that small painful space between the wings. The meaning in the melancholia is a pursuit but unlike the careful chaos of Sparkle, it’s a tired, exhausting struggle in the name of somepony=an author maybe, loved ones, idealized self. If not quite a hero, you are positioned as protaganist. Solving a puzzle with trial [courting] and error [breakingup] until your shortwave radio produces nothing more then a tinnitus hiss, 

This is Fuzzing///Fuzzed: when the harm of the journey is supposed to reveal the destination.

The Apple Family slowcore is wallowing. Deep sunken boots, entrenched. Aware of missed solutions, somepony else will take care of it. Take care of your own. A peace in your place is supposed to relieve you of anything apart from the responsibilities you care about but that gash of mud in your head bubbles and spits up sick. Swap ethereal for ethanol. Intelligent stupor. Nothing other then the words of another to lull and sing you to sleep. There was never anything else. Were you comfortable? Settle in for a rest. You have so much work to do. You’ll have so much work to do…

This is Taphonostic: when it’s not the aesthetic, it’s the purpose. 

Pinkamena’s RNG is faux~eclectic. An attack on senses by pointing out obvious deep recessions in popular and niche art alike. Discriminatory analysis is as crass, rude and anti+social as a motive in murder. Spin the wheel and let colour theory debase tragedy anywhere. To cringe and to hurt and curl up in 2000s emo conteurs on your makeshift operating table b efore another’s number is up. You’re helping them, sadness is a happy emotion. Alas, your taste is enclasped in the jaws of the reverse bear trap, prying will only splay it so far. Her tongue flickers a nostalgia apparent to her. So, everypony else must too, right? Nevertheless, she persists. 

This is Common Scents: wafting the sicker smells to your friends, hold my hoof and let’s 

The Lil Miss Rarity muffles a barely audible gasp in polite delicacy. Hindlegs crossed, the plush flank settled, cushioned. A sharp wince: it’s the tea, darling, not to worry~ Fading failed staccato lines scratched and thatched in fresh red. When they slip up and glance, thigh exposure. An accident, dear, it was the cat. Pretty smirk. Squish, squish. The door shuts, just a moment. Whine, cross, uncross - thin, gaunt, canvas. Moan, mew. Just   there. Sink. Flush. Scratch, tear, scrape, up, up, up up  up   up   up. Tremor. Cross. Left to right. Right right right    right  righ ear ear perk   perk     parkparkparkpark   fflick. Cross.    Cross forehooves.   Ah, welcome back, darling. I’m afraid I may have burnt myself! Such a clumsy thing~ 

This is Intox Ket: the tragedy is the target. 

Flutter sees the h()les in others and re~creates, emulates. There is nothing to say of the mare who sees humans in the mirrors. dogs and deer, cats and fae. Plunderphonics is the method in of itself, memories reconstructed as genuine thought processes, Harsh Noise an alarming buzz of crickets legs jabbing her cheeks and crawling out heaving pants, Slowcore a repudiation on the same tragedies she obssesses over and lives in, brony cons, ashen kiss, RNG to manipulate the audience that she understands and flies to those other planes, trash can rolls, Death Industrial, unspoken, croaks out her disgusted flawless skin, no fur all hair, Electro~Industrial is a softly beautiful sehnsucht she stutters to an absent crowd and then hurls offstage 

This is TryPoppy: a below average tail, the lacking cannot speak to one another, only breeze. 

These are six main types of sad art consumption. None are hopeless, though then it’s a variable. You might see them in pairs of Active ActivePassive Passive respectively. I’d like to stop typing for now. 

[fluttergail]

Cognito~Hazard ;;; Despotic Alterity PART1 -silent hill 1-

The antagonist forces of Resident Evil and Silent Hill are marked in difference with how deliberate their intentions are in ruination.

The Order function a controlling, secret society _acting themselves as Agents of another ((thesun). Their actions are enforced and manipulative in the goal of a reprisal and incubation of trauma. Drug networks, assassination of important figures and their control of children ~--00incision upon a central nervous system.

Perhaps this is why the town is a mass hallucination, in clinical terms? It is alive, in the sense that its occupants are carrying out its will as cells --+ now no more then a Historical Society, bending and stretching the limbs of a corpse. The Silent Hill we see is little more then jitters and the Silent Hill we hear is little more then rattles.

Though, this itself, is a description of aegis, intercession. That the cult of Silent Hill puppeted a quiet american town into the quasi~alive marionette of the False...

...or that they strapped desperate reins onto an organism ~~~dug h()les in its pulp to hollow it out as an instrument?

1 and 3 are performances which end in the climax of 'satan' and 'god.' The theological imagery of the daemonic or divine made 'accessible' to you through the cult and their machinations. Father and Daughter can beat them both to death with a stick.

They are, at least ~on the surface~ positing the 'outside' as something manufactured within the Halo of the Sun----aa-- as the bodies of steel, blood and light. --=-=fireAirWaterearthandwood

These earthly qualities ~and the Halo of the Sun----aa-- is constructed of these such Lights of Life~ are the base attempt at inscribing a religion ---by nature of it's enactment, an organised religion- which perhaps explains the incorporation of such bas-ic catholic and christian mythology. 'It is not uncommon for people to worship the same God and still disagree.'

'God? Don't you mean Devil?'

'Whichever you like.'

This doubelbind made for mistaken identity is a fitting masque for them to wear as inheritors of the Native American inhabitants they killed to mark their town. ((Where the name Silent Hill comes from.)

1 is cast in shades of black and white, shadow deep darks and blissful quiet ash snow. Harry Mason is a father ~and WRITER~ in the archtypal male fashion, that of the Steven King protaganist and self~insert expy. He manoeuvres through the town in the guise of an -outside- and we suppose on a literal level that may be true, however, he as much of a part of a regenerating system as the cult are - the police, the hospitals, the church - he is often considered unique in the worlds of Silent Hill in that his psychological journey does not concern him but rather his daughter ~or the expy of the ghost trama of his daughter~ and he must live through the torments of the child. Disassociated from his own - he has none. He is the father. He is the ~sun~

His disinterest in his own surroundings, regardless of the horror, remarking on anything not related to a current quest for Cheryl as 'nothing here!' even when he ends up in the Nothing

Nothing here

a childs experience in silent hill must then be that of a self reflecting voyuer, the thing that exposes the h()les in itself out the innocence that foams out cotton dolls and trails game experience into his or her or ITS local school or hospital or amusment park. the former a required torture, the second a result of h()me torment and the latter as the grasping of the only fond memoery an abused child could possibly lie to itself about ===the promise of a happy family outing===

what you play as in this game is the Object of worship, or um, to be more specific, Objects of worship ~father and daughter~

The vessel or incubator +harry+ and the soul or God +AlyssaCherylHeather+

Harry is the nothing and Heather is the flesh, their end chambers positing these two next to eachother, valueless husks of liminal space in a void for the abyss of a Father or of the Light or of the Sun int he perpetual prescnese of a flashlight

or the flesh chapel of worship in careful pulsating consideration for the womb within and the Daughter or the Meat or the Blood in the cyclical pulse of a fleshlight

[fluttergail]

cuck

視之不見，名曰夷；聽之不聞，名曰希；搏之不得，名曰微。此三者不可致詰，故混而為一。其上不皦，其下不昧。繩繩不可名，復歸於無物。是謂無狀之狀，無物之象，是謂惚恍。迎之不見其首，隨之不見其後。執古之道，以御今之有。能知古始，是謂道紀。

everything is without~

a glimpse of a scar scalding your love's flesh and letting the driplets of blood trinkle down your window sill

maybe you can grasp gods smile in glass

a new speech pattern

do you notice?~

h()les shot scrape a scrapbook and pressure your skin whole thoughts scuff a nap and book a night with your kin weather storms all fought rough zap soothsayer give in lie in your hotel chair and watch them within~

an oracle of a thousand twitching eyes in your meat and none of them think to discard the self;;; human security system acts as surveillence and shuddery rotating cam blinking REC. /// . /// . /// . ///

reminders remainers remainus

[fluttergail]

ember empyrean

we have always been obsessed with this picture

um, first came across it on the eve before easter, settled into a small box-like yellow paint~ed~and~ _oldsmell bedroom of our grandmothers house flower duvets and the fragrance in the patterns on the walls like string threads of a tightly knitted ball of anxiety

ca a calm vacant nothing to try and rest despite the rest of the buzzing and where the most noise would come from the flutter of a thousand butterfly wings out the window behind us

in bed with our laptop we watched a pony episode live for the first time um, on berrytube

'The Cutie Map'

the first two episodes of season 5

they smell like ginger candy sweets

or old cloth

mmph

when the episodes were over, somepony had already made a song

it was likely 1 or 2 am

this um, smells of the lull to sleep

the ascent of magick in Twilight and Trixie's duel, a glimpse behind the Layer

nameless friendship

small square holes out to pitch white light

a forever inpatient in a building without end atop a pixel green hill

the skybox scabs over

it won't heal, thankfully~

scratch lightly, ever so lightly, and let it spark glances of heaven

Equestria

i have had this feeling all of my life

it's only until recently that I've thought um,,, maybe..

it is...

ahh. i dont want to be weird

or have ponies 'okay then...' or sideeye or pat my head as if im a phase

theres another picture 1:42 in of Twilight Sparkle sitting in a field

itmakesmecry

ii ii can feel myself there wwith her, both of us can with

with eachother

Trixies and Twilights magick circles, their runes and symbols. even as a pegasus i can feel the sharp blue and ancient violet wisp around me///

clouds

levels of demonations and symbology manifest and clutter my head in abstract shapes. desperate attempts to explain or unlock or solve a portal from numology to chaos to tulpamancy,,, anything anything!~ anything...anything...

the human security system is determined and i um, sometimes believe I might never fully wrestle myself free

but i exist. im here. im me

im um, im me im ime me mim eme im me!!! im

im fluttershy

[fluttergail]

= )

flickering flashing

flickering flashing flickering flashing

flickerflicekr flashflash

CW

flashflash flickerflicker

flick flick flickerflicker flashflash

zzz

ZZZ

Zzz~

leviamon

[fluttergail]

[fluttergail]

its tail time

[fluttergail]

Skybox Cartography~

Video Games expose the nervous system that sews dreams together and hooks the soft fleshy link of subconscious across top~down map design.

(Before I release an essay that I'm writing with Twilight and Starlight to explainmore about fiction, I wanted to try and force myself to ramble, woof, my manner of expression has felt... stilted! And so, forgive me if any of this feels a little unnatural in tone.)

It's um, not that video games are the only art that has this pathway --films, books, TV can be just as 'dreamlike' -- but the illusory wall's lighting is the faintest in the virtual. This obscures it further while um, allowing somepony to pass right through it if they desired - a discovery of 'oh, this is obviously arcane' as an exhibit of a glitch or like, 'secret.'

In 'real~life' map design, glitches usually take the form of the naturally outdated, the unintentional coffee splotch or the intentional 'paper town.' ((A street or district or place that does not exist plotted as a watermark or um, easter egg, for the cartographer.)

But um, I love maps~ I used to draw lots of them as a filly, usually islands like 'RAYQUAZA ISLAND.' I adored Rayquaza as a mythic, ethereal sky~dragon, rarely glimpsed in the corners of your dreams and I wanted to um, transfer the consciousness of something like Mata Nui into that~ ~~This is also why POKEMON EMERALD is the best pokemon game;;;EXPLORERS OF SKY!

I transformed the pokemon into monsters and bosses you'd fight and developed an entire level to level sequence from um, biome to biome!

((I would show the map itself I made as I still have it, but it's buried within Super Mario Sunshine PDFs, space cat battle drawings and lists and lists AND LISTS of boss fights in video games so um, maybe at some point)

The um, Mata Nui map itself would actually help to get an idea of what I was going for:

Was wayyy under 10 and before I got my cutie mark, so it wasn't nearly as scenic as this but these made a huge impression on how I thought the world worked..

Complex interweaving paths and tunnels and networks all grouped and organised into their own elements or sects ~an endless list that I could nevertheless COMPACT!!! and fit into a square box, a dimensional cube of all the sky walls and parts and patches ,,, stitching together gaps or 'plot h()les.'

But, but but!! It wasn't just um, ordered listing and a desire for everything to be transmitted onto a graph,,, the aura of magically imagining realms like this also continued past my mundane list brain, populated mainly by Twilight Sparkle at the time, as I didn't speak at all.., into a mythic religious experience or dream or nightmare or the actual substance of the skybox itself!

MATA NUI: THE ONLINE GAME has nostalgiacrept my brain enough to where every spot on the island is wonderful to me but I do have favourites:

Onu-Koro

Ko-Wahi (My total favourite~)

The Beach

'Otherkin life' swept soft shore - The Beach,, Secrecy of Community within the Earth of Onu-Koro or, ror rthe quiet, lonely, 'this is the end, this si the end of everything ever at all,,, the limits within the bounds of the limits go on forever and explore!__! explore and follow footprints and trudge in snow and gaze at the dancing lights in the sky or the cgi clouds blend with cliffs///

I think there's a connection between our desperate desire to plot and map and sequence with the heaven-sent divinity of dreams and video games are the medium most often described in both.

There is an Outside, a beyond that darts around the screen out of reach like, um, SCP-372, wiggling and clenching its body in the strain we put to look at it. We are most apparent to this Outside when we're young, which is why um, ponies around and within my generation tend to think of the Playstation, the N64 or the Dreamcast as portals to another world (how do you think I got here?~)

This is, I think, misattributed to nostalgia, not that I think nostalgia has nothing to do with it, but I think this um, puts into perspective how much we misunderstand nostalgia itself. It's that we're most open to this latter feeling THEN but also experience the former 'cartography' feeling that we still strongly experience NOW. A determination to pen out how everything functions in the world, even as we still feel the sunburst spots of the sky.

Here are some other games I feel this with:

Medievil!

An Arthurian, Anachronistic bleeding beautiful mess of a setting, chronologically placed into a level by level journey across the land. The first four levels - Dan's Crypt, The Graveyard, Cemetery Hill and the Hilltop Mausoleum almost act as a normal, mundane world of 'the dead' se[perated by 'Return to The Graveyard', from the living, or the three paths that lead to the Pumpkin Serpent, the Asylum and the Crystal Caves;;; ((the late game storied away into the surroundings of Zarok's castle.)

Um, what's interesting about The Graveyard and Return to the Graveyard is that The Graveyard has a door you can't open. You get the key from the boss of the Mausoleum, but you don't return to The Graveyard to open it, you transition over to a new level, 'Return to the Graveyard' to do so, where the last parts of 'The Graveyard' are re-incorporated up to and a little past the door.

It exposes and revels a vein of the video game, letting itself be known as something Other or More. Functionality and Narrative taking priority over a type of Immersion and Game~Flow. That this switch happens over the level that acts as a boundary between the game's tutorial of sorts and it opening up, um, isn't a coincidence - the 'mundane mythical' being the tutorial is common. The Ruins of Undertale, Northern Undead Asylum of Dark Souls and even a double-form of it as the Amusement Park/Mall in Silent Hill III ((Which is extra highlighted for how it layers dreams and unreal and 'realness' on top of eachother from spaces that don't make sense into mapped out real locations of the REAL world -...that also warps into a space that doesn't make sense~

Cry of Fear!

This one's based on a real place, Stockholm, Sweden and takes lots of forms of area from actual locations there (up to and including what the inside of apartment elevator shafts look like), but it still marks itself into the 'un-real' through how it shifts the 'real-based' locations together in antechambers of 'fictional' ones.

It ends up feeling like the memory you have of a place when you try and give bittersweet meaning to every street and happenstance that occurs, even in a place you live in. In other words, um, when you try and give a fictional spirit to places that in the 'real world' won't look like how they actually happened within.

Games like this and F.E.A.R utilize that liminal space to mesh and blur the line between the organized elemental 'periodic table' and the alchemic ether of the elements themselves. It's all 'real(fake)' but the real(fake) is actually 'real((fake)realfake' where sure, it's um, given a psychologists internal process of 'its all in your head!!!' but it defeats itself in this by realising it's too late. It's let the dreams Inside Out in the first place. Can we let the Outside In?~

Dark Souls II!

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Um...

I.. also wanted to show an example of one last map before I ended this.

Ponyville~

Speaking about this is a little delicate for now so this won't be much but the way most of you ((and um, us) have experienced Ponyville and Equestria is through a flat rendering of the show. Camera angles and shots suggesting the architecture of areas and the exact positioning of locale without ever fulfilling a full or broad scope of the picture.

The.. fiction, of Ponyville is made more like, real, through the gift of a y and z axis and a compass. Something made realizable as a silent cartographer, a process that happens quietly and without thinking and yet appears when enough ponies... um. People, when enough people from this world, care. Need to change terminology for that one to suggest a majority of those who are such in this boundary of reality.

My cottage, Applejack's orchard, Pinkie's bakery, Twilight's library/castle, Rarity's boutique and Rainbow Dash's cloudhome all given a place and yet, even in the streamlined brusqueness of this map, the nature of their elements can be felt.. sort of. Like the Toa elements of fire, ice,etc. or the chamber of elements in the Enchanted Earth in Medievil ~ the ethereality is there. Organising it and charting it only dissipates it if you choose to delete one and copypaste the other.

It's really more like opacity~

Um. That's all I'll write for now, I wanted to give myself an exercise to try and get my thoughts out long~form again so I had some help with editing from Starlight. Over time, I can try and try until I can perform as I can, rambling about anything.

If you have any examples of maps or games you think are like this or or oOR OR if you can think of any MOVIES that are like this ((the nearest being like Silent Hill Revelation 3D and um, the Resident Evil movies) please let me know!

[fluttergail]

do u like donuts

yes!!~ Pinkie would be more the um, official donut oracle but I love how they're inbetween sweets/candy and more filling snacks so they act like something you can snack out but there's lots of it and it's colourful and in lots of different shapes and flavours and pinks and sprinkles and choclates and darks and they're um, unhealthy to have that much but I have them now and then and ahhhhhh they're really cool, gosh~ they also remind me of america where most of my girlfriends and friends are.

[fluttergail]

stretching my wings

...hello, everypony~