Mason!! 🌻🏳️‍⚧️

tow truck is here, omw home .. wehh

car broke down on the way to work today... wtf!!! on the side of the highway for the next hour... woohoo...

I WANT TO FEEL IT ALL / I WANT TO FEEL IT NOW

screenprinting project ,, for skool
didnt end up printing tn but ,, soon

my strange and nefarious sloshing

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if u want to join my zine club and see wips of my writing and art u can do that here!!:
ko-fi.com/capegloam/ti...

i am turning this piece into a zine for March's zine clubbers! It will be mostly these words but i will be adding small illustrations in the margins and it will be riso-printed!

In Mind, a Changeling Cold medicine highness in my legs, my folds tucked aspirin under tongue, gelly glisten. Beckon my god, blue animal(s): My sky bubbling, warping wood, absorbing moisture clung onto dry clouds. Particulates in tender mouth, a sand a friction a dune that walks thirty blocks home & drunk after out of my body and into a probiotic lie woodchip colony; Whimper and splinter under his calloused thumbs. Recreational Nyquil. Recounting out of order: Two, five, one-three-four. Or somesuch. Turquoise-handed, I pretend I am not turquoise-handed. At risk for diabetes. Or sumesoch. Off-ness. awfulness. To be fae-fair and encumbered at work, at barely cash register, and still-swaying without song, joyous blue animal(s): “Let's take Ibuprofen together.” Generated Corporate Advertisement Inserted Into Webpage: You gave my phone a fever. “Let’s take Ibuprofen together!” and swallow enough for liver failure. Slip into puppy-minded saliva sleeping. Mischievous wrinkle, in perpendicular hatching, canvas material torn threadbare: Cornflower powder sent skyward by sinus pressure, immediate relief. Pretend I am blue animal(s): immediate relief. Blue intestinal food dye stain. Smooth muscle; anabolic bowel feeling, loose. lubricant. Diarrhea: A body that moves without me. An ecosystem of writhing bugs. My spirit vaccinated, she changes form, she plies a new persona; a cured body; a blue pill; blue animal(s); Changeling, a thing I don’t identify. Separate from the folds.

ok here is my current most-favorite poem draft, about medication, & Fursonas-as-medication:

🌀"In Mind, a Changeling"🌀

warmth

summer water

her ghost leaned down to kiss me with a message from the sun

i sort of .. need to share my poetry .. i sort offf... need people to get it. to get me.

i forgot . to mention. she would have a revolver.

my full furry poetry chapbook ... will be real...

recently wrote a poem & im daydreaming abt illustrating it ... cock out werewolf wearing silver bangles ... its fine art

The painting depicts a photo with the flash on of Dex, an anthro raccoon, in a classic arcade with a variety of cabinets around him. Caught in the act of almost biting a hotdog while looking surprised at the camera, he unintentionally knocks over a tray of french fries over a cabinet's counter. He wears a pair of jeans and a black shirt with the text "Eat. Game. Sleep." stamped on.

Commission for @punypunymouse.bsky.social !

mang. explodes into sadness glitter and viscera.

RAAAHHHHGHHH IM AT WORK I SHOULDNT BE VENT POSTING RAAAAHHGGHG

I stopped trying years ago and their divorce has made them both start contacting me a lot more and I really want to go back to not hearing from either of them every other day because that was a lot less heartbreaking. than this is.

like my dad is a math guy. He doesn't know how to make art. i don't know how to have a friendship with someone who doesn't make art. This is probably a flaw of mine, but i need that thoughtfulness for connection.

just pulling my hair out. how will i ever get what i want from them.

Maybe one day they will actually read my drafts but so far they have proven the exact thing I thought would happen.

All my most meaningful relationships, friendships, are founded in creativity, and unfortunately my parental bonds lack appreciation for it. And thats really all I want. from them.

Parent claims they care about me and are saddened I don't contact them.

I share my most special and beloved part of myself, my creativity, my poetry, with them.

they don't read it. they don't give it any time at all. They Reveal That They Actually Don't Care About The Part Of Me That I Love Most.

i did a big step and shared my poetry drafts with my parents (because they've been playing the low-contact guilt card "you never call!") and like. this is the microcosm:

sketchy comic thing. Marty and Charlie watch TV together on the couch. Charlie notices Marty's starlight in his chest is small, and says "You're doing a good job keeping your star quiet!". Marty stares for a beat, and says "Um, thanks... its not easy, so- um... so close to you-" Charlie comes up with a flirtatious prank while Marty stammers, and lifts up his shirt, which surprises Marty greatly. Theres a big blank space at the bottom cuz this scene isn't fully drawn yet sorries

comic sketch wip thing. I am practicing conversational flow. I want to do more dialogue between my characters in my sketches, i draw them static too much.

I wanted to draw marty getting flustered by charlie. he flusters easily and its cute and makes the star all spikey :3

cute!!!

i keep a little mood tracker app to help me visualize my patterns ... heres feb so far + the days where i drew something ... ive been lower than usual & that reflects in the lack of art ive been making. I can feel myself climbing out of the hole though !! raaah

my ear issues that have been bothering me for a week and a half finally started clearing up today ... gonna hopefully get back to doing more of what i love now that im not feeling so miserable

sighs and deletes my stupid post

mewgenics satisfies all of my basest animal instincts (solve puzzle. make number go up. manage resources. watch sex happen in front of me) and none of my actual creative yearnings. makes me feel hollow.