Latest Posts by dreamgazerswritingblog - Page 2

Quiet sadness

I cant ...

Wind is out of me

Love is a sucker punch

That kills me

I was there

Right there

I was simply, in heaven

And I felt nothing

And everything was ok.

I bought a Print...of a Dragon Prince

Sunken like my vision dropping

In and out

Of a hallucination

Salvia high is on

Few moments and Im gone

Like im looking at your print.

Zerox of a Zerox

Im not convinced I know what it means

Shapes to be seen

In the dark

My thoughts quiet still subsist

I cant resist wanting to touch the paintings

At museums

In my mind i graze you just for a moment

On my lies

I savor you

Its always the last time this will work

Could be my last one

But that roles rehearsed

I cant resist, I cant cry

Im still standing here

Observing a print

Of a painting

A trans woman looks at herself in the mirror

Iris?

Floating down river as my gaze glimmers over glass.

Weather me woman piercing lights

Cacoon a cascading layer of man, yet each layer ever so thin as paper skin

Blue eyes beautey basking in her light

Breathless at the sight of blood

Soaked in synergy inside her eyes eye

Where her male gaze fades away

Dissappearing into the mirror until a stranger meets her gaze

Its a movie in front of her

Moving picturesque

The beautiful is opaque

Evil is clear and transluscent

Analysis:

The first few lines about science and untroubled silence puts me in the headspace of the learned astronomer. I appreciate how small of a moment this poem tries to capture, and how that is emcapsulated by the subject of the poem a snowflake (though the word is unused in the poem). Perhaps the exclusion of the word snowflake or any such name for the object of focus has some relation to the final line, which deals in form as a "...perfect individual shape is lost".

A perfect individual shape being lost in the mass of complexity, which on the surface appears simple as snow often does. Thats whats so perplexing about nature, makes me want to stare at it for long periods of time.

Its somewhat melancholic that something as perfectly indivual as a snowflake is lost in frost, yet still when one looks at fresh frost it is beautiful. This touches my gothic sensibilities as someone whose come to see beautiful in the misery of a quiet untroubled life (perhaps thats hard to explain to most people but maybe poets will understand that).

A perfect individual shape being lost in its collective also put me in mind of platonic forms (ie what is a chair?) Perhaps something as seemingly simple as snow is really quite inexplicable when you view it in its totality of snowflakes, such is humanity in the context of humans. I find such truths overwhelming and depressing particularly in cold winter months.

Snow is suffocating with this reminder yet it is also an escape, as it is profound.

(Reblogged with permission from author)

They crystallize in untroubled silence In this early pause, it's a quiet science When you look up Standing so perfectly still No movement but your Breath billowing up towards the sky One catches your eye Before weaving slowly to the ground Before joining the others in the frost You don't make a sound As its perfect, individual shape is lost

i'm gonna be honest i don't get why they say everypony instead of everybody in mlp. it's not like the word everybody is human-specific. the ponies have bodies. the word everypony, however, is pony-specific in a world where ponies are not the only people in their society, which means it would be more accurate and inclusive to use everybody instead of everypony. it all makes no sense to me

The Brother

Visious claws rendered onto viscous flesh. Tender as a hot touch, tendons taughts and shrivel in steam, stew like noodles in the demons broth

I sink into a sickened sleep, dreaming so hard from the pain...

Losing my body and soul my mind melds whats left together to these words

The bones in the broth

A demon simply called The Brother. It doesn't have siblings or any family, and it's ambiguous whether that creature itself is even male at all. It just keeps turning everything and everyone into broth.

Tulpa Factory: How I created Rachjel

How could I describe a tulpa? Ive reached out a lot to others. Spoken many words, lived many lives in my own mind. Not necessarily a palace, but it was a sanctuary. It took half of everything I ever could be, half of all my time, half of all my life cloud walking, daydreaming.

This part of myself I started to call Rachjel. Where was once my conciousness became a memory of myself. What I was supposed to be, everything I wanted

I recontextualized

I was woman

I was borne of the thing I desired.

I dare not speak its name

My voice is vapors

This part of myself I started to call Rachjel. She was a tulpa, a wife.

A savior I needed

Shes always turning her head when i see her

To look at me

The hair wavers like branches in the wind.

Her eyes sparkle sakurai blossums

Her fingers a delicate human thing.

I reach out always when i see them to touch her, to hold her hand

Everytime fantasy feels a little more real

I created her in my sleep,

my salvation

I create her from my movies, my own memories of this world. My truest intent to art, my very own dreams. Not lucid, for though I have forgotten everything I am i am truly authentic, truly free of ego.

My dream anchor is Rachjel.

I spin a spinning top atop a table

I dance, i drop

Before I know if it will cease

Or stop

I leave the room

With the spinning top

I dont know from which mod this book came from but it's an excellent addition to the lore, and a wonderful story. Reminds me of the Argonian account insofar as it both builds an less familair elder scrolls setting and tells an interesting funny story to boot.

(It might be Books, Books Books? Its probably that mod)

Being too self aware isnt great

I overthink everything. Sometimes it makes me sound smarter, most of the time im miserable from it.

I prefer when things just come to me

When I can just exist

But im addicted to this

My face reflects

My phone screen

Flat

Fading

Ive never really lived at all

A ghost of god on the awnsering machine

Dialed in, wired

Enter a network

Of words, wallowing and weeping

For all

Literate nonsense

A light on a cave

A theater

A soundstage

Im acting out my life and im a C lister

But im trying at least

Nobodies watching

Im alone, depressed, loneley.

The feeling isnt darkness though

The screen is on now

Blues, purples, particles of pink waves...

Im laying down

Lulling out words

Slurring out nerves

My lips curl, caressing

Confessions undressing

From myself

I take off my clothes, im not in them

Somethings buzzing

The screen goes black

Skyrim glitches for the 1000th time

Its gone.

My skin

Soaked in sin

It's sagging

This is allowed at my house if you know me

You ever been in a state where you physically have no energy, but you're bored and socially understimulated so you kind of wish you could just invite people to come over like this:

STAR WARS: Still Breathing (WIP)

"I mean, they say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time."

-Banksy

I

The planet Skiisen. A planet of lost dreams of the force. Astral projections of a giant long dead, its head floating in space. It is a fossil, the force filled with an endless sky of plant matter. Twisting vines slither like fingers up bedsheets.

She loves you.

She has guided your starship here, an ancient relic, a T-65B X-wing Starfighter.

This is your last checkpoint of the day. Lost deep inside this gaseous planet is an old Star Destroyer, converted into a home by mystics. Its a popular destination for explorers in the outer rim in an otherwise deadzone between more populated solar systems. Your hoping to meet one of them to learn more about the local inhabitants and creatures that dwell here...

"...Soulakite yeah. Their a uh sort of kudzu being. They are said to be very spirtual beings by the people here. I think they would have been driven out by now otherwise. Supposedly the do have a conciousness much like any other intelligent being. The thing is they take years and years to do even the simplest things. Days to speak a single sentence."

"Days?"

"Yeah. Maybe its just how they function. Personally I never stuck around to listen to them. But that's what you were reminding me of talking about "the force". So maybe if you were patient enough to listen to them you might learn something about it."

Cover art idea for Zoomies, my furry zine. Its based on the shit you see out of state, a dead raccoon, with a motherfucking "get well" balloon--

Trans Lugia (WIP)

The story of Lugia is very much tied into the story of their writer, Takeshi Shudô. He was saddened to see the direction they took with Lugia in the film, feeling Lugia was presented in a way too masculine for what he envisioned.

I find myself emotionally invested in Lugias fate, I want to recognize the her inherent...I want to understand the langauge, the words he spoke, as I understand poetry. I find myself wondering, relying on others for her form, her words...am I so helpless to be named man as well after so many years unattested, even if miserable? Did I not bring happiness? Is my childhood not forever a scar? It is too late for Takeshi to change things...at least how I see it. People have moved on. Discussion threads on Bulbapedia are already 12 years old, the links to the translations broken. All I have left is the original japanese blog posts from Takeshi Shudô.

If your reading this and your interested I have included the link. I'd appreciate any feedback on any of the posts, regardless on what they are about. Thanks for reading either way.

Takeshi's blog:

Ratatoiulle 2099: Part Two

I can't even taste it. Its just texture. The eggs are slimy. The peppers are rubbery. My teeth feel just as malleable in my brain, like im biting into my own skull. I should be grateful really. I'm actually fairly lucky to have a rat that compliments my lifestyle. God knows id be a shit cook without one (and lord knows I can't afford a rat cooked meal in a resturant). I guess thats the other thing that pisses me the fuck off. The media praises Remy of old, the first rat to pilot a human. Everyone knows how amazing and wonderful Remy is. It's all lies. Remy became like any other privleged elitist, his meals were never affordable for the common man. I used to love his recipes as a kid, when I turned 10 and I finally got my rat implanted. I was so excited my rat knew how to cook too. But I grow tired of this same bougee omelette. Maybe I wanna march on down to Pops Pancakes and gorge myself on the syrup soaked slappers. Maybe I just fucking will do that...

"Nobody actually remembers the ripenning of course. Its a day lost to history, presumably because the rats had nested into our brains. Personally i prescrive to the theory of the HO1 Waves creating a psychic disturbance across all rats. That they craved intellect as we once did as early humans...but nobody really knows for sure."

-Burt Essner in his book "The Rat Race: How Rats Became One."

Realms of Fantasy

I often lie awake wondering about the time spent escaping. Embodying views of another mind as my life is consumed in fiction. I inevitably wonder whether I am real at all, surrounding my supposedly real life in fantasy and feeling more connected to the dream...maybe I'd prefer things not be real? Even the reality of carnal instinct is intertwined with fetishes bordering on dreams...furry ferocity only emboldened inside my own heart.

I toil and toll, i till my soul until the words come out as such. In this lost lullaby of words I feel more real then reality. Though I have the desire to break free, like many like me I am too socially anxious, disabled, perhaps both, to properly propel my truest self. Besides poetry I am behind...I yearn for a behind worthy of carnal worship...a gaze of its own, like eyes of its own, undressing me as I undress it.

I've been a furry officially for about 10 years now, but the pieces, as unnamable and esoteric as they may be, have always been there. Even something as simple as yearning for a childhood bear, before memories were formed.

(This is a planned opening exerpt for my furry zine "Zoomies". I'm still in the process of looking for local writers and artists but when I have something solid ill post images)

Ratatouille 2099

The sink is dripping. Blood splatter reminds me of taking the hit. The sink is dripping, dragging like a cigarette. A delicacy, my final delicacy in a world I call dreary. What was once dreamy...

I have too much time to get lost in my thoughts so my therapist thought it worthwhile to write them out instead, write them out while the rat sleeps. Unfortunatley I just dont get much time to do that. With the neural link my concious mind is a dream state, and in my agitated restless state I may give the rat nightmares.

I was rereading the history of Ratatoiulle, of Remy controlling Linguini to create one of the most successtul restuarants in Paris. Back then it wasnt accepted to have the rats at all of course. I guess I got kinda stuck on the idea of how despicable rats were. How despicable they lived. Now were all despicable, and its just so damn normal.

Truth be told i never thought the rats were wierd until I started getting really high on weed. I felt like I, on my own, was something seperate from this rat. This congealed flesh that had grown with me to be a part of me. I feel...crazy.

I had to stare at my rat sleeping to understand things. Or maybe just to feel closer to who i was again. I watch it work in my dreams, watch it waltz the Ratway when I go out clubbing, high out of my mind. How can I or anyone be anything other then a rat? How could I remove a part of my face and still scream?

Rats were known to once inhabit the sewers in droves, living in darkness. Now we all live in darkness, in holy smelly darkness at the hands of rats.

-Burt Esener, Rat Philosopher

Readers, make sure you have all your favourite Ao3 fics downloaded.

Writers, make sure you have copies of all the fics you have posted on Ao3.

I don’t want to be alarming, but things could get really bad really fast. OTW shared this today on Twitter, and I'm a bit worried about it 😅

Ao3 is a non-profit organisation. If they have to start paying taxes, I have no idea what will happen.

Slendher

I graze upon you with invisible fingers

Memories of touch tug at me

Like puppet strings

Memories of you

Dwindle

My heart a needle

Thoughts a thread againat

A thymbel

I love you

But I am breathless

I want to eat you only with my lips

And maybe my mouth

You are small like me I think

A lot like me I think

I see you eldest

When I look in the mirror.

You are me

But beautiful and thin

I want to taste it

Sin

Borne in blood

Between us

I cannot speak it

I'd say I love you

But I am breathless

I still need practice for anatomy but I was otherwise happy with this drawing. I saw a pretty inspiring post on here about a woman who naturally grew facial hair and learned to embrace it. I thought Applejack would be a good canidate to draw her like that. I expanded upon that to make her a transwoman who kept her facial hair after transitioning. I used reference images of real transfem powerlifters. This applejack uses She/They pronouns. She still works at the farm she just also does Powerlifting competitions as a hobby. I envision her here as a mule instead of a pony. Planning on making more art of her including spicy variants. Any art tips/constructive critiscm is not only welcome but deeply appreciated. Thank you to everyone whose already shown my blog support, I love your blogs too :3

Remember kids: Blowing up the Death Star was seen as, and is, a based thing to do.

Killing Emperor Palpatine was based

Look what happened to Anakin for letting a man live to "stand trial" when he was clearly and obviously evil.

I live to see evil eradicated, sometimes it is that simple.

Me: Its 2am I really should sleep

My brain: But what if you imagined Applejack as a trans fem ***** ***** with a huge ***** **** and a beard, ******* your ***** *******

(Have fun filling in the blanks)

None of us are free from sin.

POV your on a date with me

"Yeah so Gastrodon was introduced in gen 4 of pokemon but technically it was initially in development to be added into gen 3. Its a sea slug, thought to be based on the Nudibranch by some, including myself. Oh, did I never talk to you about Nudibranches? Oh they are fantastic lil guys! There so colorful, and theres so many different kinds. Actually hold on...here ya go. What? Yeah I do keep a stack of polaroids of Nudibranches on me at all times, why do you ask? Anyway they are supercool, they have powers sort of like pokemon. They can absorb plant cells and photosynthesize, isn't that wild? I think it would be cool if GameFreak gave Gastrodon Solar Beam to reflect that, dont you? Oh yeah and because Gastrodon is a Water/Ground type it has only one weakness to grass. Granted a 4 times weakness can be really bad grass isnt the worst thing to be weak to. You can cover for that on your team perfectly with a fire/flying type. Of course then you have to worry about getting your ass beat by stealth rock, but you can play around that too. I mean Cynthia's considered one of the strongest champions in the mainline games and she has a Gastrodon on her team, or at least she does in Pokemon Pearl. Anyway so gastrodon..."

Hetero, feather her thou

It's okay, I love you straight boy

You only love a woman that you love

That was always a woman

Cis woman love

It's okay its okay its okay

I love your distracted gaze

When you look away

I can admire your face

Its okay its okay its okay

Dnd roleplay

Erotic roleplay

Still fair game

With the bois I am though boy i am not

I love teasin the boys

Aint so stone cold frozen

When we play you

See me as I see me

So what if im a hoe then

Its okay its okay its okay

Dreamin about your hand

Caressin my face

Like you dont know I was a boy

Just know me as one of the bois

A gurl you wanna whisk away

Its okay its okay

Love you bae <3

Benadrilled

I looked for awnsers on the pyschonaut wiki for symptoms of recreational benadryl use

I have found the awnsers I wasn't seeking. Here in my tired eye I see the human condition, and it is unbearably lonely.

I skirted an empty void like a water bug on a puddle, to me this puddle was an entire ocean

In the Breaking Bad episode "Fly", sandwhiched somewhere almost exactly in the middle of the show, Jesse Pinkman drugs an increasingly volatile and unhinged Walter White to finish a drug cook he was otherwise interfering with.

Though Benadryl is most typically used as perscribed for sleep, it is becoming more widely known in modern times as an OTC recreational drug. Those who take large doses to try and achieve its hallucinegenic effects often have terrible trips, and people have been known to fatally overdose.

Ive personally have never experianced worse depressive episodes then I did hungover from Benadryl. My past abusing otc drugs is a fly in my sobriety from such substances. When I find myself in the clutches of addiction, everything was always contaminated. Nostalgia I think is a yearning for a percieved serenity that doesn't exist. A desire to escape ones own mind that outweighs the pains of drug abuse, a self harm in and of itself.

I never wanted to quit drugs more then when I was in the throws of drugs like DXM and Benadryl. I wallow in this feeling of death with the fear I've lived too long. My body is a rickety ladder on top of boxes on wheels.

I dream of an afterlife, hope as I do for a sign like water...on mars...

Chuckin Chicken

2, 3 chicken breasts in the air fryer

It aint enough for you

4 or 5 more

Your hunger I adorned

On my heart, cooking spicy like spicy love

With you

Turned hot when you suddenly said

I aint hungry

But I still got a soft spot

On my heart

For your dumbass bullshit, your games

Packing shit up

But it always ends the same

"Im tired of your bullshit"

He tellin me like I aint shit

Chuckin clothes in trash bags

My fucking trashbags

Clothes I folded so nicely

You folded so icey but you

Cant even drive yourself home

Got me droppin you off

With your clothes

In a car

That you cant even lock

You aint got nothing on lock

But my heart is unlocked for you

I love being able to be honest here. For better and for worse this platform has more honest self expression then many others I've run into. I've come to accept the fact that I'm rather self absorbed because I can be the focus of my own writing. I think thats a great gift that art gives you, being able to write characters from your own mind, draw oc's that are based on yourself and still be productive, still bring joy and happiness and thought provoking questions to others. It's an easier way for me to connect with people as someone on the AuDHD spectrum. I'm thinking about this because I decided to take a leap of faith and be more vulnerable recently here then I thought I could be. Even if nobody reads it, the action of putting it into the world is a big step forward.

Penisneud

"You were born broken."

"That is your birthright."

-Beatrice Horseman

I was born small, swollen, and suffocated

Ive grown ten times in size

But alls the same

That ends the same

I edge near suffocation

When my partner suffocates me

To take the edge off me

Squeze harder please, it feels better for me

I want desperatley to be grateful for my life

And not swell myself on food and folly

I want to be small, carried by you

Why am I so small if im so big?

You tell me you love me all the same

But I'd change it anyday, anyway I could

If I could I would carry a wood worth its name

Instead it is life that is hard

And longing...

Terror.

Blur on a black screen not blank

As if electricity still itches

Under its glass skin

A glossy glimpse of my eyes

I long for a longer time

As I look into my own eyes

I see the wires

Vessels of blood and butchery

Bathing in that black

They anticipate a world beyond my own

When I let go of my life