#posted by

[dysnomic-absolution]

between the cracks

As a kid, I used to dream of flying.

My gods were mundanity, wonder, and loneliness. My prayer came as a warble in my mind, some coiled frailty in my chest, pulling me along. I balanced between this faith born of hope, of childlike certainty, and this secret awfulness. I wished on every star, begged a god that would not listen, and tried to find my way to faery through gaps in the brush. Escape came just as easily as idle worship. And I tried to bury my gods just as surely as I ran from the dark. What child isn’t afraid of the monsters they can’t see, while baring their necks to those stood plainly in the light?

I dreamt about weightlessness, about formlessness. I dreamt I could be as insubstantial as a breeze, faster than light. I lamented the heaviness of flesh and bone, my internment in a world that stood so solidly ‘round me. I stared through every desperate imagining and saw only my own eyes looking back at me.

If only I could fly away. If only, if only, if only.

Despite every bit of study, every ounce of intelligence, I didn’t know how to get free.

Not of a human body, not of childhood, not of individuals with hooks like claws sunk so deep I hardly ever thought they might come out. My mind was a grave, the dark earth tucking me in, walling me off. Chaining me to the ground, while my eyes roved hungrily over a midnight sky. I wasted, there, inside, myself and echoes for company.

Dreaming still, but quietly—so unsure, every second a stutter.

I got used to static, to numbness, anticipated the blank nothing.

Dreamless existence, sleep choked with nightmares.

Reality bent under the weight of my terror.

Fear swept in and out, this tide I had no name for—and no words to describe. I remembered only what was necessary for my survival, and dreamed about time like a lover—as if maybe, one day, I might learn every inch of her skin with my mouth. As if time were a taste I wanted to know with as much intimacy as blood. Daring only to dream of dreaming, taking nothing, asking only what was necessary.

Don’t ghosts fly? I wondered. Maybe if I really was nothing at all, nothing in particular, I could be free. I could go. There would be some release from the constant weight. The immovable object pinning my limbs and leaving my body exposed. My skin writhed with phantom agony, scar-tissue shining and silvery. Bleached white, but never erased. Ever-present.

How do I get out of here…?

Please.

Let me go.

I can’t anymore.

Who could ever withstand this much.

I need to find some way out.

Get out.

Leave.

GET OUT.

Bend reality far enough, and it

b

r

e

a

k

s

What’s a mind if all it can muster is the shattered pieces of a child that grew like weeds, scattered by a hurricane, by scavengers and opportunists? What’s a body that goes on only because it doesn’t know how to stop, a dream that swirls ‘round and ‘round, approaching the drain like an addict flirting with the edge? What is a wish that cannot come true?

What is forgetting your own name over and over and over again?

What is going unheard, yelling into a void choked with broken things?

What do you do, when you reach the end of your own capabilities?

I

sat

down.

And waited.

I collected my breath, and every whispered fragment that made it as far as I had.

I took one breath, then stood, and took a step.

I didn’t fight, anymore. Looked up from my path only to glimpse a sky made of blackness, interrupted only by gold veins—this glow like the stuff of pure memory. Made of nothing but the nameless dreamstuff, a whole mind’s eye of light.

I taught myself each new thing, each step, each hurdle—returned knowledge where I could, but left many areas dark and unlit.

Precautionary darkness.

Failsafe pockets, where I might bury myself again.

I didn’t dream of flying again. I dreamt of food, of water. I dreamt of rest without interruption, and silence that didn’t bite. I dreamt of lungs and hearts, of flesh and blood and cells. I dreamt of steady hands, and scrubbing the blood out from under my nails.

I took my time where I could, chest heaving.

Straining to continue—always with an undercurrent of weariness.

But time came to me like a dog, forgiveness settled gently ‘tween its teeth.

And together we went.

One foot in front of the other, that light filtering down through the darkness to brush the crown of my head only. A chaste kiss from hope and memory. A solemn promise.

[69-candyredshippers-69]

POV: moon and kankri found you after a long chase and now they’re going to beat you up!!!!

[ladyshinga]

[her0-se7en]

Concerned Ape knows what's up

[fallahifag]

goodnight everyone (:

do your daily click

spreadsheet of families in Gaza you can help today

donate to:

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[whiteshipnightjar]

Zoozve, my beloved

[bokkerijder]

pro-AI in the sense of "they taught a bread scanning computer to recognize cancer cells" etc etc

against AI in the sense of "we stole artwork from hundreds to thousands of artists, didn't credit them and didn't financially compensate them"

[mayhemchicken-artblog]

in the hour or so it took me to draw this op turned reblogs off

EDIT: reblogs are STAYING OFF. op was right and correct and i have never regretted making a post as much as this one. if you want to reblog my art you can reblog something else from my blog. or commission me, lord knows i deserve financial compensation for the nightmare this post has put me through

[azimuthalis]

Good news, fellow artists! Nightshade has finally been released by the UChicago team! If you aren't aware of what Nightshade is, it's a tool that helps poison AI datasets so that the model "sees" something different from what an image actually depicts. It's the same team that released Glaze, which helps protect art against style mimicry (aka those finetuned models that try to rip off a specific artist). As they show in their paper, even a hundred poisoned concepts make a huge difference.

(Reminder that glazing your art is more important than nighshading it, as they mention in their tweets above, so when you're uploading your art, try to glaze it at the very least.)

[stargoyle]

"This person has a secret onlyfans!" "This artist does NSFW commissions!" "This author writes porn on the side!" I cannot begin to tell you how swag and awesome that is.

[theredtours]

why yes I AM making boop gifs from screen recording

[hilarioushitshq]

Not Karl..

[punkitt-is-here]

you will probably not look like a skinny white anime girl when you transition you will likely look like someone's mom and you need to realize how swag this is

[sexygaywizard]

Things are happening on reddit

[theboxfort]

Peace and love

[throwbackblr]