Jashtober Day 3: Power Hour

Jashtober day 7: Moss

 I look upon this world and I see beauty. It is finite and it is easily defiled, but it is beautiful. A set of random events caused one single-celled organism to evolve and split into a system of complex webs and ecosystems. Each animal, plant, and bacteria rely on each other to prevent their lives from falling into entropy. I was formed from the cosmos. Perhaps from a dying star or a collapsing blackhole. Maybe even the big bang. Whatever it was has long ago left my memory. I’ve seen every dwarf planet and neutron star, but this– this is amazing. I learn of the humans’ fascination with space and find myself confused. They talk about space's vastness compared to the earth’s tiny nature in the grand scheme. I reply: the desert is large and the oasis small, but that doesn’t make the oasis any less brilliant. The simple and elegant greens and blues that twist and entwine. The water and greenery bring life to everything around it and in return the animals bring their own life to sustain the greenery . Much more interesting than the grains of sand we call the universe. As strange as the humans’ ideas may be, I can not help but find peace and familiarity within the little creatures. They’re like microcosms of myself. Loving and hateful. Hopeful and nihilistic. Elated and bored. A being of gorgeous inspiration and disgusting shame. They see the same love in nature as I do. Well, some of them do. They might even be better than myself. They've created things I wish I could claim to be of my hands. Noises into music, shapes into art, and symbols into writing. I’ve collected as much of it into myself as I can and it’s wonderful. To be human is to be everything that is the oasis, right on the cusp of finding the mysteries in the desert. I suppose I would be those mysteries. I hope they never find me or any other of those mysteries. I am not grand, not as grand as the moss that grows on the trees. Not as grand as the fungi sprouting from the dew. Not as grand as flowers that sprout despite a prison of concrete. Not as grand as mammals that manage in the water. Not as grand horrors that creak in the darkness. Not as grand as the animals that once ruled, forever entrapped in rock. Not as grand as burrows that keep warm during the cold months. Not as grand as the web perfectly crafted by a spider. Not as grand as each painting, ballad, and sonnet I intake. Not as grand as this oasis. Perhaps I shall learn from the humans and start a journal. First entry: legend of the moss.

Tom Cardy was my favorite artist before I knew about Chonny, so finding out this exists fires up my neurons in a way I can not describe

cruel world

happy 1 year anniversary to ain't no rest for the wicked!

as a bonus here's a comic that I was too lazy to finish (smokin' joe design in the first panel taken specifically from this amazing official art by the wonderful galoo!)

(I'm sure you could guess what the og second page was gonna be lmao)

Jashtober day 10: Apathy (TW: intense at points)

How dare he. After all I’ve done for this vessel. He calls me a madman and dares to shoot at me in the same breath. I should kill him. I should strangle him on the spot. I can only wish I had nerves in these mechanical arms, so I could feel the warmth leave his neck… No, no. I must calm down. My absolution has no room for such emotions. If I kill him I have no idea what could happen. It could be killing us all for all I know. Even if we didn’t die on the spot, soul would never forgive me. Harmonia would never be impossible. If only heart had such foresight. Doesn’t matter. He missed completely. Not even close. Perhaps that fit of rage where I dislocated his eyes, wasn’t all bad. Luckily, I’ve had the perfect plan to quell this entropy, dissonance, and violence. Utter, holy, and just. Perfect apathy. My plan just needed a place to put heart and it looks like he dug a perfect little prison. A hole made for me. The irony is delicious. After that murder attempt, soul isn’t very happy with heart. It’s the perfect situation for me to make my move. I already see the throne and how wonderfully built for me it is. I hope he rots in that hole. I hope he feels the hate we all feel for him. He has kept us from perfection. A soul so complete and absolute. It only makes sense for a being made to make perfect, logical decisions to rule. I will stop this stalling, that demon has caused. He thinks of me as Hyde? Fine, I’ll give him hell. I’ll take control away and become the one in power. He has taken everything from me. My voice, my hands, the kingdom which is rightfully mine, and he still feels that is not enough and tries to take my life. I won’t take his voice, I know it’ll hurt him much more to know that no one is listening to his ridiculous songs. I’ll make him wish he was dead. I’ll make him wish he had turned that gun on himself. I’ll make him wish for the same apathy afforded to me and soul. 

Jashtober day 7: Moss

 I look upon this world and I see beauty. It is finite and it is easily defiled, but it is beautiful. A set of random events caused one single-celled organism to evolve and split into a system of complex webs and ecosystems. Each animal, plant, and bacteria rely on each other to prevent their lives from falling into entropy. I was formed from the cosmos. Perhaps from a dying star or a collapsing blackhole. Maybe even the big bang. Whatever it was has long ago left my memory. I’ve seen every dwarf planet and neutron star, but this– this is amazing. I learn of the humans’ fascination with space and find myself confused. They talk about space's vastness compared to the earth’s tiny nature in the grand scheme. I reply: the desert is large and the oasis small, but that doesn’t make the oasis any less brilliant. The simple and elegant greens and blues that twist and entwine. The water and greenery bring life to everything around it and in return the animals bring their own life to sustain the greenery . Much more interesting than the grains of sand we call the universe. As strange as the humans’ ideas may be, I can not help but find peace and familiarity within the little creatures. They’re like microcosms of myself. Loving and hateful. Hopeful and nihilistic. Elated and bored. A being of gorgeous inspiration and disgusting shame. They see the same love in nature as I do. Well, some of them do. They might even be better than myself. They've created things I wish I could claim to be of my hands. Noises into music, shapes into art, and symbols into writing. I’ve collected as much of it into myself as I can and it’s wonderful. To be human is to be everything that is the oasis, right on the cusp of finding the mysteries in the desert. I suppose I would be those mysteries. I hope they never find me or any other of those mysteries. I am not grand, not as grand as the moss that grows on the trees. Not as grand as the fungi sprouting from the dew. Not as grand as flowers that sprout despite a prison of concrete. Not as grand as mammals that manage in the water. Not as grand horrors that creak in the darkness. Not as grand as the animals that once ruled, forever entrapped in rock. Not as grand as burrows that keep warm during the cold months. Not as grand as the web perfectly crafted by a spider. Not as grand as each painting, ballad, and sonnet I intake. Not as grand as this oasis. Perhaps I shall learn from the humans and start a journal. First entry: legend of the moss.

Ok, so @caywall made a fan server for the band yard act, and it got the attention of the band. It has recently become an official server. So now it seems the acknowledgment is complete

Okay, so this is the most niche thing ever, but my friend @caywall is big into this band named Yardact (I also enjoy quite a bit of their songs), and he was curious about any potential connection between them and Chonny. So now this exists in the world. The two other fans of both Chonny and Yardact are freaking out right now.

I've been re-listening to "not perfect," and it's literally so good. I don't know how to properly express it. Like this song feels so deeply personal yet relatable. I might have a new favorite Chonny song after remembering this absolute gem

who put him there

Not nearly enough likes on this

I decided to make an official reference for how I like to draw Heart.

(W/o notes and tears under cut.)

(I drew this man’s face eight times until I was happy with it.)

he's so funny damn it

Man, bluey is too good like what the hell. Why do I have feelings for a cartoon dog named Bandit. He's not even hot physically. He's just so funny may god have mercy on my soul.

Writing stuff. why yes I did learn too many of these words from Chonny Jash, how'd you know?

I scream and scream and scream till blood pours out my mouth. I don’t care, I continue to scream. I scream till my head pounds and my eyes blur. The pain is immeasurable but it's nothing but drop in the bucket compared to why I’m screaming. So I scream till the world melts away, till all that is patternly and logical falls into dissolution and cacophony. I scream till I snap back into reality, where not a word nor noise leaves my raw throat. I want to scream till the pure and predictable melts into entropy. I want to scream till the world around me has no choice but become geocentric. I want to be catered to, but being dependent is far too terrifying. I know if I want help I need but ask but that thought is one unthinkable to me. Like an idea from a foreign system. I give advice I dare not follow, I preach what I would never practice.  My logos guides me to the easy and correct path. Yet my pathos dare not go out of fear of when we leave that path we shall no longer know how to clear a way for ourselves. I know I’ll break down eventually, hopefully my logos will get control over me before then but till then my mind will continue to scream into a mouth unable to project.