Empress of Mars: Undisputed @zebratron2084@awoo.space

It will never cease to infuriate me that my brain is just as prone to panic after being praised by my employers, as it is after being criticized.

Guess I'm still doing great, if a little slow, at my employee evals-- and damn, if this job isn't raising some fascinating intellectual questions. I'm splitting semantic hairs all day and apparently good at it.

It's so weird having _work_ be the most stable sphere of my life. Maybe that's what scares me. >_>;;

TIL the coypu has bright, almost day-glo orange teeth. Why was I never informed of this?!

https://farm6.static.flickr.com/5019/5492525406_7850f62395_b.jpg

I did the research, it's definitely not shopped. It's due to high iron content. But now I definitely want an anthropomorphic one with lustrous electric-blue incisors, matching hair, and that [Molly Millions × Tina Belcher] charm.

#pfaf #rodentpunk #nextsona #questionablebodymod

Quick shot in the dark:

Postfurry at its core is about pulling the "Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra" trick on your own psyche.

We already know that unitary identity is a neurological trick, and human consciousness is multi-layered. But our vocabulary for these things is shit.

Living out your furry identities gives you a powerful narrative shorthand for talking about nuanced inner states-- states that would be very clumsy (and dull) to explain in great literal detail.

Just shooting this off, but... I wonder if any of the locals might be interested in doing an RPG experiment with me?

Be warned, I have very little tabletop experience, and all my attempts to GM so far have been abortive, because I'm scatteredbrained as hell. This is not unlikely to fizzle. :)

But I'm game to try again, and with all the veteran RPers around here, I'm sure SOMETHING interesting would happen. You may be snared into some game system design as well, hoping to keep it simple though.

I should be less shy about sharing some of my ideas, now that some of the pariah funk seems to be dissipating from my brain. n.n;

I've been obsessing about the idea of a card-based storygame RPG whose goal is to create an enormous funky-smelling overgrown mess of a multiversal canon, like I was discussing a few tweets ago.

I think that's one of the biggest things I miss about focused RP. Socializing through it was awesome, but worldbuilding is the part I just gotta have in my life.

These books would've been great if I'd wanted to write the next Guardians of the Galaxy. But honestly, if we're going it alone, without a studio -- and Peg may feel very differently, here -- I want it to look more like Star Trek by way of Jean Cocteau dressed up like David Bowie, glitter makeup and all. We don't have to care if you don't like it. XD It took so long for me to learn that this is OKAY.

I think watching Orphée with Peggy might have really screwed my head up. Productively so.

You know that old psychological trick where you flip a coin, not because you want it to make the decision for you, but because you want to be forced to confront which option you really wanted?

Yeah, reading books about screenwriting has been like that for me. I don't feel like I learned anything useful from "Save The Cat," for instance, except "yes, Hollywood screenwriting is its own stylized artform and, no, you absolutely do not want to work within it, especially not for Parallax."

I crave canon.

I crave complex, tangled, mutually self-contradictory, disputable canon.

I crave canon that is so warped and fermented with age that it generates interesting metaphysical quandaries even when it desperately doesn't want to.

I crave canon that is so convoluted, any attempt to streamline it will either destroy it, or make it exponentially more complicated.

I don't just want these canons... I want to play with something that will GENERATE them. I want a multi-narrative antfarm.

Current headcanon:

Alba (Read: "Lawful Good Glow-In-The-Dark Mooncat Technocrat sona") has gone Full Native during her disastrous sojourn to 21st-century Terra -- but she hasn't gone native human, she's gone native feline. She's turned her back on soy products, has started menacing birds and squirrels, and found herself a cushy gig as a crazy black dragon's familiar.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF866xp-tag #moodsnapshot #dysphoria #hemidemisemigirl #trannisattva #MaVieEnBeige

Presenting: the all-new Hamilton-Beach Mixmaster Paleo Edition

"Chirp! It's a living!"

https://awoo.space/media/n0jgwdAp6d-zS9pbgQI

Oh, but I did finally manage to feed myself. I had pho for dinner. My hands still reek of limes and basil, from the garnishes.

So at least I got that goin' for me.</bill_murray>

It's like the awful inhabitants stroke my cheek and confess to me, "No, darling... THIS is what a world where nobody cares about anybody but themselves, and there is absolutely no forgiveness for your mistakes, looks like. Remember? Now, hurry on back to YOUR reality and do not return here soon, let you become one of us. I know you keep toying with it."

And then ten seconds later they shake their heads and mumble, "What a wanker. I thought he'd never leave."

I'm double-fisting the series run of Chris Morris's ultra-break sketch comedy "Jam" as a spiritual emetic. As usual, it seems to be working. Been thinking about why.

The thing about black comedy is, like all horror, it's a fantasy genre. It's set in an alternate universe where all the normal niceties between nature, humans, and social morality have been suspended.

In other words: it's exactly like the nightmare world *I* go to. It's good to be able to leave it.

(note that this model is pudgy in all the right places to have a transgender starter kit installed -- the owner was a depressive lumpbag who only drove his dysphoria on Sundays and never had any work done, so you can start in immediately!)

Still. One (1) human body available for lease or rent to clean, professional imaginary persona. Highly motivated owner seeks to leave dimension ASAP.

4.2 foot³ capacity, functional digestion and excretion facilities, four standard human limbs, no tail. 1975-model high-end brain, 130 IQ capacity*. Good enamel, bad gums. Very nice hair-- Italian.

No deposit necessary. Available immediately. Inquire here.

* theoretical, actual performance may vary with intoxication damage

I don't presume to swap stories of hardship with people. I know that's a bidding game I'd lose. Nothing worse is wrong with me than bad neurochemistry, alienation, guilt, self-loathing, and an all-around lack of faith in the human prospect.

Just suffice it to add me to the list of casualties. I've gotten to the point where everything on the self-care checklist gets a "yes, I know, but I don't WANT to."

I would not say that I'm suicidal today. Somebody with a good knowledge of the human body could easily get another 15-20 years out of this old beater, and it would be such a shame to waste it on such unseemly decadence as a self-murder.

However, if any of you happens to have a persona who needs their own space, or who has become too annoying, burnt-out, and burdensome to shelter (god, do I sympathize, happens to the best of us apparently), put 'em on a thumbdrive and come on over.