katindeed

Latest Posts by katindeed

Love you

I used to be a powerlifter

(please reblog this version, as it is finished!)

Good god theyre multiplying

@piereoglyphics hmm OK! Just this once, I'll give advantage for being Mind coded

Oooh close one! With advantage that's a 19 - that almost went a lot worse....

Fire art

This one goes out to my biggest fan @vinniemitchell

What happened to him:

Uhhhh PUNK ROCK HOLOCAUST!1!1

And yet I don't get one 😔 /j

I guess this is a thing now as my friend asked for one too

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.

Sometimes, I wish I was more narcissistic because my emotions are either that or saddened disassociation. Yeah

I don't even want to be positive or nonchalant. I'm going to bang my head against the wall till the world is so decomposed it doesn't even going to matter to me anymore

Ooh! I wanna poke Mind!

The game continues! Here's your result:

Uh oh, we've got our first true low roll - and it's a bit spooky for today's occasion 🎃

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.

Jashtober day 12: Haiku

I like Chonny Jash

Both covers and originals 

Haikus are easy

Dammit, there's a reason I don't do poetry /lh

Jashtober day 12: Haiku

I like Chonny Jash

Both covers and originals 

Haikus are easy

Jashtober day 12: Haiku

I like Chonny Jash

Both covers and originals 

Haikus are easy

Jashtober day 11: 8-bit

There's nothing quite like a dusty old console. The substantial feeling you get when putting a cartridge into the slot. The whirring that emanates from the system as you wait for it to boot up. Even when never experiencing one in childhood, it feels like a nostalgia machine. I get a giddy feeling when I sit down with a stack of these old games with me. All these possibilities. In many ways, modern innovations have brought much fluff. These games didn’t have such luxury. They had to be tight and straight forward. In many ways they feel like the past itself. It makes sense. The world was simpler and easier to navigate. Well that’s how it feels anyway, but I know that’s not true. As much as I want it to be true, that the world was less complex and more composed, it simply isn't. Have you ever tried to play the first Zelda or Metroid without a map or guide through. It's nigh impossible. The world’s intricacies and confusions have always been the only constant. Perhaps that’s for the best. At least the world isn’t getting worse, just different. Maybe even better.

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 9: Cruisin'

Maybe it’ll be ok for now. The war feels fresh, but perhaps it never existed at all. Maybe it did exist, but it doesn't matter now. I’m alright. The world is composed. Everything around me makes sense. Exactly as it should. I wonder if I’m a new person after all this time. When I first played this song my context was completely different. The way I told the story was of a different style and experience. I find myself hesitating to even attempt it once more. If I am a new person, will even trying it feel wrong. If I’m not a new person, will it just be derivative slop? Why am I even attempting this? Wait, that's exactly what I need to remember. Why I am doing this. The world feels manageable and understandable. The horrors aren’t close and the stars are in grabbing distance. The world is just as it needs to be. I may be revisiting this, but I have new understanding to bring. And I may be changing the synth for jazz, but I’m not a completely new person just because some has changed. Whatever comes of this has come from me. It’ll be not perfect, but it will be mine. 

Jashtober day 8: Tidal

The water pulls in and out...

That is how oceans work after all. I’m not going to regale you with an epic story told with far too verbose diction and a pension for self indulgent endings. What I will give you is a regalement of how to start your own life on the tides. Living upon a boat is not for the faint of heart. It takes sturdy legs, a strong stomach, and a touch of insanity in the brain. You have to learn to catch your own fish, because there’s no way in Davy Jones' locker, another member of the crew will share. It’s best not to start as a hothead. No matter how big you are and no matter how good of a fighter you are, there is always someone bigger and someone who’s a better fighter on your boat. It’s also best to ask a captain what their goal is in sailing before joining the ship. If they mention a whale, especially of the white variety, run. It seldom turns out well. Fishing boats are the safest bet, but they're also a dead boring choice and trust me lads, lasses, and lords, you don't wanna be boring. Now those hunting for some almost forgotten treasure are the perfect choice. Sure, there may or may not be the occasional mutiny, but danger is the spice of life. That's about it for living out on the seas. Oh wait, how could i forget. Invest in daggers. All right you scamps, get out there. I assure you it’s much easier than it sounds (after about 43,830 hours).

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.

Jashtober day 6: Forest

This is hopeless. I can’t seem to make my way out of this endless foliage. This unbearable weather beats upon my soft and fragile skin. My flesh can only take so much more of this punishment. From heat to cold during days and nights. Why does the closer I get to freedom make the perils feel even more present? This forest continues to mock me with its deceptively pleasant streaks. Some days and even full weeks, all I see is blue skies and chirping birds. Finding food is as simple as turning the next right. Those days are wonderful then I get snapped back into the cacophonous reality I’m stuck with. Sometimes it's a lighter pull into actuality, like a simple squirrel attack or not having no food for a day. Other times the corporeal truth of my existence is revealed to me more violently. Maybe a lightning storm or a less than kind bear encounter. When I was left in this worldly hellscape I was given just three things. A hunter knife, an all but entirely useless compass, and a lighter. I dared not use it up to this point. This place was littered with dry dead scenery. Even after the countless rain storms the surrounding area seemed to instantaneously dry back up after it was finished. Paired that with the distinct lack of any sort of rocks even after this endless wandering searching. If I ever dared to light a fire I risk setting this whole forest ablaze. Yet, as my apathy grows I consider lighting it up purposely more and more. Perhaps, then I can turn this metaphorical hell into a more literal one. But my selfishness hasn’t quite grown to that level, yet. 

Jashtober day 5: Angel

What have I done? I shot at him. I had to. His assessments. His methods. The vile trite he spews, then turns around and acts like it’s wisdom. He claims he will pull us into the light ,yet I see where this path leads in the end. Either the body dies from the soul’s exhaustion or the soul dies in order to keep the body going. Leaving an empty cadaver with only computer parts left inside to keep its joints from rusting and its eyes still blinking. I’d been practicing for weeks. First I attempted echolocation (I got surprisingly good, but not shooting a gun accurately, good). Then I tried shooting a dummy point blank (I realized after a few days of testing that method, mind would totally just smack it out of my hand). So I finally decided on just shooting it in the general direction of his voice. It did not work. So I’m stuck in this hole. Mind despises me more than ever and I’ve lost soul’s trust. What have I done? 

Jashtober day 4: light

What counts as glorious holy light? Is it the beams from the sun that power all life that inhabit this little blue and green marble, or is it the fluorescent light that brightens the churches. Is it the light that comes from within or is the power we gain from what others give us? Can one’s inner radiance from the tireless working of a greater goal or is it true that no person is an island, and the illumination will only be achieved through the movement of the community. Of course, there is an irony to me asking if it’s one or the other. Such a black and white world view. Every possible color and shade is shown by the light. Every blue, pink, and gold. Every black, white, and gray. Every fire yet to be burnt. Perhaps there is no ultimate glory light. Perhaps as I have thought many times before these zealots are as in the dark as the rest of us. And most importantly, perhaps that doesn’t matter. Every step that I take will land whether I have light or not. I can not rely upon anyone’s source of truth. I must find my own. No matter how many moon sets and sun rises it takes. 

Jashtober day 3: Power Hour

Four men walked into my bar today. A narcissistic artist, a love drunk apostate, a curiously morbid poet (who I swear was hiding some sort of rodent under his coat), and a lovely looking lad wearing a skirt of the most awe-inspiring colors I had ever gazed upon. The table each ordered their alcoholic drinks (except the love drunk one. Some sort of new found sobriety) and a basket of bread for the whole table, though they barely ate or drank. They were much too busy talking about their lives. Each had a new story to tell and a comment about the other one's tales once it was done being told. I overheard anecdotes about the biography of a rat and unwanted fans to corporate misdoings and the unheard signals to fire lawyers and infernal torment (though it was a much more lovely account then I was used to). They stayed till my bar had to finally close (though, I let them stay longer than I should have because I’d been enjoying eavesdropping on their conversation so much). When they finally did leave, I was a bit saddened. Would such a remix of ideas ever come back into this bar? Perhaps not. And perhaps that’s ok. Each new person brings a new legend with them. From ancient moss to collapsing moons. Perhaps one day I’ll go out and make my own myths, but for now I’m quite enjoying these tall tales of CJ bar.

Jashtober day 2

The stars speak to me. When I look at them I hear my name. A name that no one knows. My real name. My name was different when I was a little girl. People didn’t even call me a little girl, they called me a little boy. At first I thought they must have been confused, but as I grew, being called by that name seemed to hurt. Every Time I was called handsome I would want to rip out my hair and scream at the tops of my lungs. Why? That was the correct term for me, wasn’t it? When the world seemed to make no sense I would lay on the grass and look at the stars. They always seemed so composed. As if when everything else around me fell into disarray and entropy, they would stay the same. Like an anchor for a boat. As I understood my reality more, the stars were always my safe haven. I could look at them and it’s as if I was sent to a new safer place as I stared. I began to learn why I hated to hate my name. Why I hated being called a boy, because I wasn’t one. Despite their insistence, the world was wrong about me. The realization was exhilarating but horrifying. I knew who I was, but at what cost. The world is seldom kind to those who don’t fit into its preconceptions. I could feel my heartbeat. My breaths clawed out of my chest. Everywhere I looked like it wanted to hurt me. Like an animal ready to pounce. At that moment I looked at the sky and saw the stars. I could hear a word calling down from them. “Astral”, I thought it was a beautiful word. But it wasn’t a word, it was a name. My name. The stars aren’t always out. They are hidden by the oppressive light of the sun. So, whenever I need the support, but they are nowhere to be seen I think of my name. This gift they have afforded me. 

Jashtober Day 1 (ignore the day I actually posted this 😭)

What does it mean to be one? I have asked myself this question more times than I should have, in this not particularly long life. Does being singular require to have no internal inconsistencies or personality changes? Alternatively, is the definition less strict than that? Perhaps, all it takes to be a single individual is a foundational glue holding the zealots and heretics within one’s head from collapse. They continue to pull the strings at my edges as a struggle to hold on. Is this it? Will I be split once more? To be forced through another tour of my mind. To be forced to amuse these deviants. I am me! I am me. I am me….. Am I me?

cccc au we're after the events of c4 Darrel goes through cacophony

Heart, mind, and soul au, but their just the 3 stooges.

@darrelsnumber1fanboy credit or whatever

sex is dumb. go on the roller coaster