#See ye around

[captainkurosolaire]

Resolute Once More, Forever Lastly.

Heading back to create a lot of writing and stories this year throughout. Return to what foremost matters. But within every New Year resides a newly grown sprout of light; hope. However intense we set our resolutions and tough forth with action is how well that hope blossoms into something worthy enough for memories... What I'm setting myself too is simple, but altering to my essence.

Now officially, a decade ago, upon this time. I endured my meant trial a very close touch to death. Young and not determining value yet, I threw myself numerously towards surgeries and just carelessly towards the voices that were experts in treating me for the better, and while true. Every-time I seemingly fearlessly showed while others were frightful of mere needles, I turned blank like stone, uncaring letting my life become the epitome of waves. Hell, I never used my voice even towards what mattered, spoke out, for myself before that time. I was just a simple-minded creature that lives off only habit.

But at the same time all that happened and I was in my critical state only relying on hearing what my surroundings brought. Graced by potent dreams brought on by some powerful painful medicine. I still felt my soul, linger. I heard and felt, every day even when my eyes could not open or my body wasn't in my control, the noise warped my realities and nothing felt, real as it wasn't, but was. There was no way, I couldn't bring up in my mind, was this it? And that is where and when, everything flashes. Confronted what fulfilling things you brought in your time alive? I knew for one thing wasn't definitely, not enough. So why didn't I fight, be tougher, challenge myself, explore, think. To accept death isn't brave not when you can still run marathons. I survived. Told myself I would never again place myself into that position when I awoke and could finally rise to a daybreak, I would hold against myself more. Reinvent, discover, figure out what drives me, challenge, I would tangle and wrestle life itself, cause it wasn't ever going to slip against me. Long as I drew breathe from lungs. In almost the same vain, when I couldn't find value within his own life. A friend who had life's endless potential, accolades, credentials, smart, the type of smile that warmed a whole school, avid wrestler too, just easily liked. Unforeseeable, accidentally and most definitely could been evaded died around when I was recovering and emerging. Two opposing spectrum's, stances. Took that personal, harder than seemingly anyone, just because it was practically a brother, a first friend who saw and knew me beforehand, type you never forget, someone you clung and loved quite simply. So now I get to thrive and before I even jogged out, I now had to collect myself again. Many avenues, paths, could've taken. I could've slipped just gave up found myself quickly back where I started... but instead I spit in the eyes of fate and stubbornly, said I will live a life worth two, or as many as it takes to make up for it, I forced my eyelids open to the light, even when all the power was turned off! I turned my entire soul into a pledged tribute. And that made me rise against being shy easily, to become more engaging, even when I was told to rest, I kept going until I strained myself continuously back to hospital visits, in heaps of pain, but never once undetermined. Took up writing and never looked back, threw and went against pills, never wanting it to be a new way I was defined, or have some excuse so I invented my own cure, what better place, to live many lifetime's over, but to create them? To build them and aim to make them raw. Lead to writing, I could express and be myself, showcase parts of me and be my voice as much as needed, learn and acquire everything I lacked previously. Often we become the stories we tell ourselves. It awakens and alerts us to parts we never subconsciously had deep meaning or connected. There is a bountiful and lifetime amount of stories I have yet to write and to create, dramatics, fights, ups and downs, to dabble into things not in my nature or character, that doesn't discern someone like me. Because writing, no... creating is to know the existence of infinity. Might be asked why I spilled and always go into such elaborate lengths into everything I do. Now in days, if want people to know your story, it's say it under less than ten words. But that's not me. If you understand anything from why I am, who I am. You'd know I think and reflect deeply, I put "why, where and what" after each thought. I risk the damages of knowing those three words, into everything. Every year that changes, is a new beginning. It's only natural and spirit, I reflect on previously, and seek to aim for something new. After a decade of the garden I made. Being someone stubborn always punishing himself, forcing himself into challenges, being hard if I couldn't succeed, no matter what effort I put into, I made myself the grandest mental antagonist, villain in any story, a critic that destroys. Why sure, destruction can often lead you to admire what's left in the aftermath you created. Can't forget what destruction really means. So with it all being laid out. I'm doing something wild. I'm betting, gambling on myself. For once I'm not out to punish, challenge myself to something artificial, to force me to live the fullest. But something much grandeur. I want to live for a happiness for myself. See to really let yourself live for happiness outweighs everything else and that I believe is really what value really is. No matter how smart or massive it may be, or shape and size, if you give it importance, it becomes just that. Silly taken me this long to finally do that for myself and like when I did the XIVWrite to that Tribute my passed Friend, I can now dedicate forever and now on to tribute myself while still many times over. But this was a journey I had to undergo, writing and creating took me on this amazing path here. Met some outstanding people to call friends and mutual-alike, met crucial people that impacted me and sharpened me. Sorry for the blog post but you know, it's a blog I’m old school and lay it all on the table. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Moving on to content and ongoing things forth. I spent last year restraining myself and limiting myself a lot so I could make myself truly thirst and understand what is important and writing has never ached more to do. So throughout year, I got a small goal to just throw some chapters out, sixty would be a sick number, but let's not break this resolution. Getting refresh with somethings for the next week or so, try getting myself polished on some stuff for the Budokai 3 showdown. It's going to be the continuation of these works below, chronologically listed.

1. Parley of the Oceans

2. Give Up Butterfly

3. Genesis

Ideally I have the actual Fight, chopped into seven chapters for a full-on week, soon. Working on condensing stories into one chapters, or just a lot less, going forward. But eventually I can begin the dramatic story-telling and really exploring a whole roster of characters... O_O I've got a lot in-store but this makes me come alive above many things. Got some gut-wrenching feuds, some epic showdowns, war uprising, most anticipating is actually a pirate custom-made sport, next best thing since Blitzball in this universe, I conjured. xD That I really want to get to in the story-timeline. 5v5 of a ton of characters to figure out how I can spoof them up for their debuts. Somehow, unfathomably made it this far down. Thanks, means a lot to have some supporters and even those I admire to give me inspiration to not just create for myself but also create as large I possibly can so that it may matter for others too. That right there is stupendously valuable to me. Cheers hearties and even my lurking enemies!

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[cozylittleartblog]

not that we didn't already Know belos was full of shit, but it's even funnier knowing the titan was still alive the whole time and probably judging him

[egophiliac]

was this anyone else's first thought, or

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[gascreates]

a new star

[speench]

nsbu fans listen to me, listen, most of the cast hasn't had an Ify moment yet where they talk directly to their ?? alter egos?? and before we see dynamics unfold with other characters I need everyone to consider: Liv and Kingskin as unwilling father and his newfound ride or die child trope that is all

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 314

Danny has discovered something absolutely amazing. While he can’t cook for shit, he can? Actually bake? Really well? Must be those bonding sessions in Long Now with Clockwork making all those cookies and cakes and everything else. 

But? This means he can A, actually make himself food, and B, has somehow befriended several more ghosts, including his rogues. Apparently he gave off bedraggled cat vibes when covered in flour. Or they just enjoyed the cupcakes he’d made to look like them in a sleep deprived ferver. 

But hey, he even has a decent job while he’s in (online due to medical issues, officially) college at one of the local bakery-cafes. Which means he also gets free coffee, so that’s nice too. Just erm, he might’ve gotten in the habit of handing cookies or other baked goods to anyone trying to attack him.

Look, it’s how he befriended his rogues (Apparently Fright Knight, being the ghost of Autumn, enjoys pumpkin spice cookies, who knew?) and they even continue to visit too. 

So really, it’s not his fault that there’s several goonion (honestly Sam will be pleased to learn they’ve got a union) members who are now constantly coming to the bakery. And- okay is that another undead person? Have a cupcake. 

[salamispots]

squid 👀

[ivytea]

may-bells cuisine

[minalots]

so about that book…

[almondpiglet]

just fooling around at the speed of sound... found a cool brush to play with...

[send-me-a-puffalope]

people will see a traumatized guy character and claim him as their sopping wet cat babygirl and then see a traumatized girl character and call her annoying.

[pierogish]

I grew a spine

[wasyago]

we're at it again🕺

[inkskinned]

he says i hate everyone except you and that is addictive and that is kind of romantic and beautiful because you're young and you're kind of a sarcastic asshole too and you don't like bad boys, per say, but you don't really like good ones either. and you like that you were the exception, it felt like winning.

except life is not a romance book, and he was kind of being honest. he doesn't learn to be nice to your friends. he only tolerates your family. you have to beg him to come with you to birthday parties, he complains the whole time. you want to go on a date but - people are often there, wherever you're going. he's just so angry. about everything, is the thing. in the romance book, doesn't he eventually soften? can't you teach him, through your own sense of whimsy and comfort?

at first - you know introverts often need smaller friend groups, and honestly, you're fine staying at home too. you like the small, tidy life you occupy. you're not going to punish him for his personality type.

except: he really does hate everyone but you. which means he doesn't get along with his therapist. which means he has no one to talk to except for you. which means you take care of him constantly, since he otherwise has no one. which means you sometimes have to apologize for him. which means he keeps you home from seeing your friends because he hates them. you're the single exception.

about a decade from this experience, you'll type into google: how to know if a relationship is codependent.

he wraps an arm around you. i hate everyone except you. these days, you're learning what he's actually confessing is i have very little practice being kind.