Greetings! This blog is mainly a vent blog that also doubles as a personal blog. If not for the numerous untagged posts where I shout into the void, then you'll mostly find me within the DRDT tags, as well as the occasional post here and there in mental health ones.
Additional Info / "FaQ":
β No, I do not have an art account I can redirect you to, and I am not interested in having an online presence as an artist. I hate making art, actually. I don't draw shit for IRL purposes. My majors are solely english and economics for a reason.
β I'm a fictive that deals with a lot of vivid faux memories, ones that frequently have very little in common with my source, as they take place under more "mundane" circumstances. If any of the art I post ever felt out of left field to you, that's -- probably why.
ββ> On that note, I am prone to heavy, heavy bias when discussing my source, which I try to account for, but slip-ups are inevitable, so take opinions with a grain of salt. For the same reason I try my best to avoid talking about David, but -- with varying success. Turns out it's a little difficult to talk about DRDT without talking about the elephant in the room.
β Feel free to talk to me even if I don't follow you!
No, seriously: I follow like five blogs at best, because I keep forgetting that it's a function that exists, as I just sit inside tags instead of the dashboard anyhow.
ββ> That said, please contact me either through asks or comments, as I despise Tumblr's buggy "direct messages" function. If you're looking for a more lengthy interaction, I'll gladly give you my discord tag.
β As far as text posts are concerned, I don't tag any triggers. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's just not going to happen. I'll also not be tagging any "ships" for the artworks I post, as already the mere idea of it feels insulting to me.
You're free to tag my posts with whatever you like within your reblogs; I couldn't possibly care less. I'm just not going to tag them as such myself on my own blog.
ββ> I'm sure this is very upsetting for anyone who is looking to filter out certain content, but quite frankly I suggest you make use of the block button. Alternatively, if you do want to see my illustrations but don't want to deal with the venting -- just unfollow me and keep an eye out on the public DRDT tags; almost all of my artworks can be found there, with few exceptions where I didn't feel like it'd be appropriate.
β Speaking of art. Do whatever you want with my drawings.
I genuinely couldn't care less. No, I Do Not Care about credit, either. You can save them, use them, edit them, sell them, burn them β who cares. I don't.
β On the note of "I Don't Care"; this blog has no DNI. That's final. Don't try to make me care about declaring X or Y, for I already do enough performative shit IRL and I quite frankly am not interested in doing that on a vent blog, too. I may hate myself, but not enough to invest energy in something so very pointless.
β Furthermore on "I Don't Care"; yes, this extends to whatever Fandom No-Go's you can think of. I'm not paid enough (/at all) to care about whatever the fuck other people draw or write. Jturo didn't kill your grandma; get over it.
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If it is to be believed that an average apple would be 7.6 centimetres tall, my height would be approximately 22.4 apples. If we were to acknowledge the supposed maximum height of 10 centimetres, I'd tell you that I'm β at least β 17 apples tall, which should be more than enough apples to ensure my throat is under constant discomfort for the remaining days this week.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I should quit my attempts of disclosing my deficits that do not match the picture others have of me, such as the aromanticism or anhedonia, to those I interact with frequently. It only complicates relationships with those who've been under the belief by now of having a good grasp of my personhood by confusing them with these contradicting bits of information that, frankly, are of no use to them.
What point is there in stating something they'll fail to believe anyhow, as they're certain in their possession of countless "evidence" against my claims? One might argue there's value in opening up to those dear to you, but I vehemently detest every single one of them, leaving my efforts void of any meaning. Perhaps it's just my sorry attempt to cope with this inauthentic existence by creaking the door open ever-so-slightly, but if that's the case, truly it's nothing but a disservice to myself. You cannot have your cake and eat it too, as they say, and likewise I can only choose between an easy life or an honest one; not both.
I cannot think of anything that'd console me, let alone anything realistic. But I tire from those I happen to be surrounded by; everyone's daft and unpleasant, and while I'm sure I'd temporarily be a happier man if I were to cut all ties and try anew elsewhere, I'll inevitably feel the same hatred soon enough there also.
how frustratingly difficult it is, to find the strength to maintain anything in life. it'd certainly be easier if I could conjure a positive reason to, rather than solely circumventing negative consequences. i hate this life, and i hate everyone in it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Stuck in a conversation with a 20 year old who's utterly convinced I'd find the meaning of life if I'd just take up hiking as my next main hobby. Like he did, right after a horrible break up.
Honestly, I genuinely find people who's first reaction to not understanding something being to immediately hate on it instead as significantly less intelligent.
Breaking news; a middle-aged man has killed himself this morning, leaving behind a suicide note entailing details on a too juicy steak paired with a too buttery lobster.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Other people work to earn themselves a rewarding break. But when every aspect of life is nothing but work to me, what reward am I hoping to cash in? It'd be absurd to treat death as a break, for I'd not be conscious to experience it, ergo I'm left without any true reimbursement.
It's funny; to ruminate over the meaning of life is nothing new, but when everyone else does as much, usually it's of a much more profound nature, discussing things such as purpose and impact. My thoughts couldn't be more superficial; what do I derive from living? What's my benefit from existence?
A particular acquaintance of mine would be sure to lecture me on how life itself is the precious reward, but if that's the case, I fear all investment analyses agree this product comes with a contribution margin far beneath zero.
Don't mind me, you don't understand, I've had absolute zero privacy for over four days straight so it's a small blessing I get to ramble on this stupid blog for a bit before it's back to fucking torture circus