msmural

[msmural]

"The Lagoon Over Levantia"

This is a drawing I made of the starship "Lagoon" over the former Terran colony of Levantia. It from my short story serial "Aberrant."

Aberrant

A woman purposely infects herself with an alien parasite that transforms her into a monster in order go to find her wife and restart their life together. However this go awry and she finds her star ship crashing into paradise. Can she make it off world, all while evading a humanity that's turned against her?

Cw: Sex Acts, Forcefem(ish), Torture, Violence, brainwashing, murder, Identity Death(ish), Transphobia, Genocide, Space, War, Graphic violence, Politics, Intox

A03 | Scribblehub

[msmural]

So I read Human Domestication Guide

I finished reading the entire first story and I can get why people really like it in a sexual way, it's kinky as hell, and was worth a few blushes. But honestly, it scared more than any horror I've ever read. Like, I took a nap a few days ago, and I had a dream while sleeping that I was a Floret (dear god save me I'm lost in sauce) and it was pleasant. I wasn't thinking, or caring, or really understanding my surroundings. It only became horrifying when I woke up and realized that I found the experience pleasant in some terrible order.

I realized, while writing today, why I find HDG so sickly fascinating (literally in my case, my tum tum hates me when I read it.) The idea that one not only can be made happy against their will is unsettling. The idea of forced happiness, especially in a situation where you are being, in no uncertain terms, treated like an animal and sex object at the same time, is horrifying.

None of this is to mention the fact this is everyone. Hell, not even just humans, but all sapients, or sophants (as the story prefers), that exist (aside the Affini themselves) are now florets, or going to become florets, and it's impossible to stop it. The only people who could stop the Affini are dead or now Florets themselves. It's scary.

It reminds me of the Dark Forest Hypothesis; in effect, space is full of alien life; yet it's hiding. We don't know what from, or why, or how, but it's hiding. Humans, in our ignorance, may have already brought the end upon ourselves by a random radio beam sent out in 1963. But also, maybe not. The forest is dark, and we're just living in a forced clearing.

Anyway, 8.5, maybe 9 out of 10, would recommend.

[msmural]

Aberrant

A woman purposely infects herself with an alien parasite that transforms her into a monster in order go to find her wife and restart their life together. However this go awry and she finds her star ship crashing into paradise. Can she make it off world, all while evading a humanity that's turned against her?

Cw: Sex Acts, Forcefem, Torture, Violence, brainwashing, murder, Identity Death(ish), Transphobia, Genocide, Space, War, Graphic violence, Politics, Intox

Part One

A03 | Scribblehub

[msmural]

On Voice

She, who is the artist, is the dumbest of them all. 

For the artist makes no craft, nor controls capital. 

She has tricked herself into the mistaken belief,

That art can be profound beyond science’s grief.

Who is she, to think she knows.

As here she sits and dares compose,

Some poem addressed to the dead, the lost.

Yet, now she wonders, has she come to that line crossed?

To the point she can’t go past?

They’d be oh so awfully aghast.

Yet that appeared the only choice. 

To put down the pen, to give up her voice.

[msmural]

What I was.

What I was isn’t me now.

Broken, that is what I am now. 

A shattered thing, with no soul left.

Eyes drawn half shut as sleep demands I cede my mind to it.

Permanently.

But I refuse, too stubborn to die today.

.

.

.

Though, on second thought, perhaps I should close my eyes.

Never forced to anguish at the dawn’s call, upon a Monday.

Or to force myself up before the sun cared to do the same.

I’ve grown to hate the flowers and sunsets and the bittersweet taste of sugar. 

I think I used to like it.

That was part of me.

A child, one with little wit for the terrors of life ahead.

.

.

.

The longer I go now the harder it becomes to keep myself from that ledge. 

I nearly did it too, twice in the same night.

Yet I didn’t.

I sit here to relish in my own misery. 

These things I’ve tried, medicines, treatments, plans.

The damned fluoxetine, CTB, or weekly meetings.

None of it works, not anymore. 

They say it’s because I’m not trying.

I say that when I tried it only got worse.

They politely call me a liar, and we go on with our lives.

Me falling apart ever more, and they with my picked pocket.

.

.

.

I was a boy, once upon a time. 

A stupid little boy.

Who’d run around telling smarter people they were wrong.

I still get to tell people their wrong, though they lack the mind to understand why.

He thought there was no limit to what could be known or done or dreamed.

I still dream, though they feel like nightmares now. 

He got mad, he wrongly displayed, sure, but he hardly knew better.

I still get mad, I break things.

I miss those days.

What I wouldn’t give to go back there.

Childhood.

It’s right there, I can see it!

But it’s gone now, separated from me by the ever growing seas of time.

I regret not using my time to learn.

I regret not having learned to draw when I had a steady hand.

I regret refusing to learn to code because it was too difficult.

I regret not having fun.

I spent my time alone and bitter about it.

No, instead I spent it afraid of my inner self.

Cause I wasn’t free of self-loathing, was I.

I’ve always had it.

Creeping over me, seizing my body out from under me.

It was just a matter of time until it fell.

. 

.

.

What was I?

I was growing up.

I might be different than most.

But I’m me, for better or worse I suppose.

And when I ask myself, would I do this all over again?

I can’t say I wouldn’t.

[msmural]

Glasses

What good are glasses?

What good are they when I cannot see?

I cannot see what is before me.

Is it the past that bothers, or the future? 

Is it these voices, the ones in my head that refuse to not exist?

The ones that mimic mine,

Yet they recite all my worst deeds back.

Perhaps then, it is my own voice trapped, echoing through my skull?

Then why does it lie?

I don’t think I am a liar, am I?

For who am I? 

A man?

One with strength and bitter resolve, muscular with hair that’s infected my body?

A woman?

One with beauty and wit, slender and with those expectations of the ideal her.

Oh god, I’d like to not be human, not wholly at least.

To be free of culpability for our ancestors' crimes.

To be free of fear and terror.

To be free of the violence that’s haunted my memory to the point of numbness.

To see without these glasses stained a dulling rose, 

with the blood of the genocides and murders and slavery of our own kind.

I wish to be something new, 

some creature or species that hasn’t yet walked this Earth, 

and may yet not.

But I want it!

I want feathers,

Or fur,

Or an extra pair of arms,

Perhaps a snout or wings!

All so that I separate myself from humanity, 

Yet I know I cannot.

Such technology is far off, if even possible. 

CRISPR/Cas9 may look like magic,

But it is not. 

Even then, I would suffer humanity's fundamental flaw.

It’s not our form that is wrong,

It is our mind.

My mind is wrong in a lot of ways.

It hates the body it was given,

It sickens the organs it commands in an attempt to break free.

It hates the world it's been placed in.

It is me, is it not?

So, I am suffering.

Living life trapped in a body that is neither correct in shape nor form.

One I must just force to bend to my whim.

[msmural]

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[msmural]

On Freedom

What is freedom?

Is it fresh air? Safety from evil? The right be?

See, they say we have our freedoms,

Freedom to gather, in our place, freedom to breath our air, freedom to be where we "should" be.

But what freedom is this?

We live in fear of the open, of the liberty it beholds.

Are we to disparage our well wishes for acceptance?

Are we to slumber as they force us back into the shadows that we once were forced to lurk?

I hope the answer clear, no.

We are to fight, to the bitter, bitter end for our freedom, and the freedom of those akin us.

We are to indeed fight for our freedom to not just stay in our horrid place we've itched out, but to walk freely among all places.

To breath the same fresh air.

To feel the same safety.

To have our right to be.

For freedom, it calls. We know it calls.