So we get a Zero Suit Samus alt with a top and shorts, a Shulk alt with just shorts…. If the trend continues, Japanese Magicant Ness confirmed for Smash.
I couldn’t help myself again.
(I don’t own any of these pictures, this was just for kicks)
PostMetaPaintbrush Episode 1: Wynn and the Blue/Orange Poster
"What are you up to on there?"
"Looking for women"
"On the internet? You’d have better luck looking for a power saw at a coffee shop"
Wynn did that thing. His ripostes had neither the zest of improvs nor the eloquence of composeds, giving him the almost impressive ability to simultaneously affect both wit and inastucity. He stood stiff: if his posture existed in a vacuum one would extrapolate that he wore oversized button shirts and jeans that ran perfectly vertically without any of the eighty dollar crease marks. But he wore a birdhouse on his head and feather fur as sleeve lint. An awful[ly] contradictory guy, in lots of ways.
Let’s stop for an eighth. I don’t like to do that and it’s not for my own accord. Getting explicit like that is bad form in some schools, but I don’t have Jake Barnes’ narrative restraint. I’ll hold back on the moralism and stick to deflection, but be generous and eat this up as meta. Onward?
Wynn left for groceries and I drank mandarin oranges in a spoonstraw. The canned peaches/oranges/mango complemented the glows of the room’s blue screens (television, laptop, phone) to create an iridescent effect like those late 2000s superhero movie posters. The wall noises turned to sea foam and I blinked for twelve hours.
PostMetaPaintbrush Episode 3: Phuc and the Hole
I wrote this passage. Lexi made this image in response.
Phuc Stevenson was a postman in Mansfield, a suburb of Dallas. Understand now that postman is a joke, a play on “post-man,” implying either that Phuc somehow transcends humanity or that he’s the quintessence of postmodernity. Whatever it means, he definitely has nothing to do with the mail [commentary on privatization of postal service in America and neoconservatism because such commentaries are too unabashedly earnest for someone too young to remember 9/11 to make] or stamps or Thomas Pynchon. Phuc decided last month while snapchatting underage girls dick pics under the alias Dylan (he thought to use Phil because of his name or Fred because of phonetics but those are some pedo as fuck names (I guess 16 isn’t even pedo it’s more ephebo and half of Europe is cool with it (not that non-Euro countries can’t be good examples of reasonable sex policies, not being ethnocentric (no fuck that Thailand has no business being like that (reverse privilege Phuc is Asian (no shit, his name is Phuc) so I can say that (though I (the defictionalized author) am only half so I/he can write/think that))))) that the whole affectation/sincerity thing dominating the arts is stupid since the opposite of affectation would more accurately be isolation, as affectation is inherent to socialization, or perhaps even suicide, as it’s sort of inherent to existence (unless you’re retarded or senile or David Foster Wallace (scratch that last one he killed himself (as you know :^) hehelololkekekeakguaholmjrgimt); I think I’m/he’s on to something)). As problematic (this is only half-ironic because on the one hand fuck university liberals (university being a modifier (the non-tenured variety are fine (privilege check: of course I think that I am one))) but foregoing fitting diction to avoid tumblr liberal (there are so many varieties (latte leftist, limousine liberal and microblog (cultural) Marxist (which is really just tumblr liberal with more Joyce points) round out the alliterative subset)) connotations is insincere as hell (irony of using affected po-mo down-to-earth colloquialisms (“…as hell”) when chastising insincerity noted)) as affectation as a concept is, sincerity is even more so, as Phuc realized fourteen pages into his Sonic the Hedgehog fanfic he jokingly wrote, because with intention (fuck you determinists I’m not going eight parentheticals deep to temper that term) comes an inherent sincerity.
PostMetaPaintbrush Episode 4: The Artist Looking Up
Lexi painted this a while back and showed it to me a few months ago. I wrote this poem a week ago in response.
Consider it an experiment in unabashed cliches.You’re an easy on the eyes
version of Gertrude Stein
I’m not yours and
You’re not mine because
You belong to you and
I belong to me
That’s the type I
want to be
You can tell secrets
and I can tell lies
I guess they’re the same
since the truth doesn’t hide
Or maybe truth is inner and
language is a snake
And if you’re using words, then
honesty is fake
a useful fiction
I see your soul
in syntax and diction
Western LEDs tell me love is weak knees
But Zen Buddhists say love feels like peace
I guess if I’m mixed then
I can be both and
know that love
is when I get verbose
And when I’m with you
is when I talk the most
Slipping sideways on my stair rail
pass! pass! pass! on, pass me by
my eye sides hurt
the sugars shrinkage sings to me
“watch yourself; the young are going”
My teeth feels smaller
I should eat less
as I count the counter pieces
What’s that whine
is it the tv?
is my roommate’s girlfriend singing?
I’ve left the bathtub on I know it
Tell me huntress, where’d you go?
are those footsteps from the kitchen
or do I just hear the freezer making ice?
is my vision prescription up to date
It’s felt fuzzy funny fuzzy lately
lately, lately, lately layers
I have left the sink on! damn!
good god mine god the fan’s still running
Not again! fake winds will kill me
and send strange angel Ansen for my legs
who the hell still has a home phone
Citrus fruits, olive juice, fudge almondine
Loosen up warm in a worn gaberdine
A sip they said
only a sip they said
and your mind would be totally free
But later that day
the announcement came
that the group had died afraid
I grabbed the glass
my hands shaking
and looked my peers in the eye
You shall regret this
a voice told me
I shrugged it off looking away
It had been small, but loud
it had been minimal, but over encompassing
The winds of time blew through that room
shook its foundation to the core
I sat and pondered
glass in hand
What could have caused such a blunder
The roof shook off
its wrings spread
and it flew away
The house in which we all sat
rose up as well
and carried us across the city
Such sights I had never seen before
such feelings I had never felt
Describing such a thing
would be like describing
the foundations of the Roman Empire
From Noble, to Peasant
The house, how it flew!
Beyond the sky, and further still
'Til we god damn near touched the stars
But later that day,
I felt a pain far too great
the voice had been right
A bit of a variation of a poem I have posted on my wattpad (via aidaenos-am-i) —
Moon jellyfish (Aurelia aurita) gather in huge swarms to feed on the late-summer plankton bloom.
The Sea Angel (Gymnosomata) Is a group of sea slug that grow no larger than 5cm. These obscure little creatures are found in a wide range of habitats from polar to tropical regions of the sea.
Dilation and constriction of these organelles, called chromatophores, are responsible for the squid’s ability to change color.
Inside Nature’s Giants: The Giant Squid (2010)
The Old Ones Remember
In addition to their unparalleled powers of camouflage, octopuses are equipped with incredible powers of the mind.
Octopuses have evolved a brain and central nervous system comparable to that of vertebrates, endowing these creatures with the ability to learn through observation, and form long-term memories of their experiences.
The remarkable mental faculties of octopuses, the most advanced among all invertebrates, has made them ideal subjects for research on neurobiology. Scientists continue to
call upon the knowledge of the Old Onesstudy these amazing cephalopods to discover more about the processes of learning and memory.
image source: Portland Aquarium website
reference: Hochner et al. 2006.