#gin update

Okay hiiii so I've decided I'm gonna keep @ginhaku125-offical as my main as I've gotten more comfortable posting on it, I'll make a new pinned on there soon and I'm gonna keep this blog up for archival purposes & occasionally check on it

For now please please please go follow @ginhaku125-offical it's my new main we have fun times on there and I have a cool Pokémon ScVi AU on there hehe

If you've been following along with Gin's adventures for some time, you'll be aware that she was married to Terrick/Terror and they had twins - Rose and Jon. While this relationship and the twins are not being retconned:

I will not be writing this version of Gin on the blog much if at all.

Terrick's player and I are still on great terms, no worries! But I talked about this with him, and he's okay with just keeping the Ebonsteed version of Gin to a strictly in-game thing, just because I don't like having a portion of my own character dependent on someone who isn't there.

my consult with Noel’le felt like one of the defining moments of my life and the result is FUCKING BEAUTIFUL, I just ordered a computer I’m pretty sure will do everything I need it to, I replied most of the important things I was supposed to follow up on with various humans, there are people walking around wearing my art on their chests, I’m about to be moved to 5 nights a week at the Cellar for the late night menu, the shop schedule is going back to intermittent after this week so I’ll be able to have days off and make adventuring plans, there are several good shows coming up, last night I had a lovely, perfectly happy evening with my vulpine companion after a series missed connections and rushed interactions, and tomorrow I’m very likely going to tattoo myself for the first time

but by the same token,

I haven’t figured out my car insurance yet, money trickles through my fingers like water (I finally have a machine recommendation from Noel’le I’m excited about but with buying a machine comes the need to buy ink, needles, etc. etc. and now that I’m getting my computer I need to get that device to try to recover my old hard drive and I’m going to have to have my brakes done eventually and the woman I sublet from charges us utilities like every 3 months so it’s going to be a big bill), I decided the best way to celebrate the tattooer ladies I adore was to make us fresh spring rolls and cake for tomorrow but now I have a ton of ingredients (expensive) and very little drive to do much more than sit here on the internet and finish up the rest of my correspondence...which also bleeds over into the fact that I have a ton of projects to work on-- costuming, illustration, flash, rock tumbling...bleh. My room’s a mess because I haven’t had much time to clean. And there’s the tougher bits of correspondence too-- I don’t know what to say to Nathan because I don’t know if I’m going to be able to act in the Bordello this year-- I’m very likely needed at work on Halloween.

And, while it’s been a very fulfilling experience, going from one tiny tooth to maybe 40% tattoo coverage on my right arm in less than a month is kind of fucking with me...feels like a very small identity crisis (”whose arm is this?”) and for the first time I’m starting to find my eclectic collection jarring and discordant instead of a charming collage of diverse elements. I’m sure this will let up as I continue to fill in the spaces but right at this moment it’s a head trip all its own.

In stark contrast, some days your place of employment gets in trouble with a major television network for copyright infringement and someone takes a shit in the urinal and threatens one of your favorite coworkers and gets arrested for three hit-and-runs. Some days, for the second night in a row you find yourself staying up until well past the dawn of the next day to watch movies and discuss everything ever with a new friend.

Some days you don a rooster mask, still sweaty and smelling of dishwater and not yet quite finished closing the kitchen to go up on stage, strip down to fishnets and do a sexy ravey dance to Trust, as part of the quarterly variety show Which is Definitely Not the Gong Show (stage name: Coq Au Vin, act name: Coq Au Vin a Go-Go). You get not-gonged off about 2 minutes in (last time, you won best in show by singing a song about taking too many drugs, puking on things and exposing yourself to children while spanking your half-mannequin for percussion. No idea why my rooster dance was less popular, but I guess it’s a tough act to follow...) and you can’t see so you almost lose your balance and destroy the stage, you have fun. Some days, you run back to the kitchen to close and then celebrate by having an exuberant dance-off with your coworker, awkwardly shoving your comics at your new chimeric vulpine friend (now on day three of pretty much hanging out whenever you can) and raiding the costume box you left in the back (the rejects from a care package you made to help dress your boss lady for the Burn.)...culminating in further dancing with other cute people and good talks and just kind of a lovely night.

I’m going to overflow if I keep this snarled mess in my chest, but where else can I put it?

…

Dude. Dude. I know I *just* texted you about literature but seriously last night was enchanted.

I mean, Karaoke night is kind of magical to me anyway. Magical mid-week catharsis, the day I shit my social anxiety out through my voice (and this time I was particularly successful in my selections– Criminal by Fiona Apple and The Tide is High with my housemate…we killed it and I felt more positively disposed towards her than I ever have I think. Our relationship is complicated.).

But instead of closing down the bar to hang out with my coworkers as I normally would, I took a chance invitation and after a long walk in the dark over slippery stones and driftwood, found myself at my favorite beach with the best rope swing in PT and bioluminescent jellyfish as big as silver dollars mirroring the shooting stars in my favorite shade of blue and a shared bottle of wine with a knife in it because no one had a cork screw, and mushroom tea that was just strong enough to get me silly but not scared flavored with mate and honey, and hippies who play beach guitar gorgeously languid then hauntingly bittersweet, and a beautiful somewhat canine boy holding my hand and exclaiming at everything with “golly-gee-whiz!” enthusiasm while all of us new friends lay on our backs in a line under the sky and a beautiful sharp-as-a-tack and slightly vulpine boy on my other side made a sidebar conversation with me, of dark jokes and conceptual art, sadism and pants.

And that’s kind of how things have been in general, beautiful and much too much to keep from overflowing in run-ons and reverie: reading voraciously for the first time in years, knocking out Remainders with new zeal, the huge commission Iron Horse dropped on me in the kitchen during closing one night that I’m both excited by and annoyed to take on, scrambling to figure out which path to take with my tattoo education while I still have time, the disaster and respite of living without a computer or a vehicle, finally finding myself moving up the ranks to late-night cook and probable pastry chef, okonomiyaki and zucchini bread for my housemates and the sheer delight of being praised for my food by a household of cooks, Bethany’s visit, drinking together for real for the first time, kink talk, cloves and Fort Worden wanders, the day that Edward was supposed to arrive spent relaxing in solitude with bear’s milk, finishing a book he recommended a year ago and missing him but in a fond, warm, patient way, the friend who slept over in my bed in all his clothes one night, too drunk to drive and allergic to the dog, curving into my spine first in sleep and caressing us both awake with surprising tenderness and intensity (not the person I would have suspected but now my stomach drops a little to think of it) then putting on the brakes himself, knowing exactly when and why to stop, so comfortable and easy to leave it there, my rush of gratitude for affection sans complications, in spite of the unmistakeable tension.

I shoulda probably gone to the Solvents’ show tonight because I know the band is great and it would be good to make more connections with people who might want posters from me, but I’m so tired.

I tried so hard today, and kind of half-brained everything I did: important talks with my sensei and a very dear friend I haven’t seen in weeks, inking my precious comic, gallery-minding. I’m just burnt and since I said it aloud on the phone I’m realizing, yeah, I think I’m pretty lonely here.

I’m missing having one-on-one time with another being that I’m comfortable enough to relax with, I mean. My social life at the bar and the times that I’ve been up to group hangouts outside of work have been astonishingly great. But my ideal interactions are generally with one person and often follow a formula: (close friend or lover) + (tea or snacks or hookah or beer) + (media or deep talks or quiet creative time or a long wander somewhere cool) = need for companionship satiated.

But also I don’t feel bad about not having those specific interactions for the first time ever? I know I can wait until I find/have access to the right people for deeper friendship? And parties don’t scare me as much? And I don’t need to leave every social event early because I feel alienated? I think I’ve shifted from *brutally shy introvert* to *still shy, perplexingly empathetic extrovert.* I get a charge from many of my interactions with people these days, which is textbook extroversion. But I still experience a fucktonne of social anxiety (which I’m learning to roll with for the most part...developing a rep as a good listener helps, until it hurts when *I* get comfy enough to want to tell a story and I get drowned out.) especially when I’m tired/distracted (unfortunately, with my workload, that’s almost all of the time). And I still need to recharge sometimes (and I relish my alone time a lot more than I used to...my resting state used to be ugh, I hate people so I need to be alone but I’m so restless and I wish someone would reach out to me or I could just go somewhere but I might have to interact AAAHHHHH *PARALYSIS* and now I’m like...yeah, attention is great, but so is lying on my floor looking at tattoos on instagram or reading a book with tea or drawing. I can walk to the corner store for a snack or wander on the beach by myself if I need to, no pressure.) but that’s usually because I still end up feeling other people’s emotions a lot more than most beings have to...and there’s been a lot of sadness/cattiness/frustration going around lately that feels extra toxic and alien to me in my new, dare-I-say carefree state. And that’s weird too-- there’s a lot to worry about to be sure, but I’ve set it aside-- I was never able to do that before. I stress, but only enough to push myself to get things done, and really the only thing I get worked up about enough to cry over is Steven Universe (and that feels soso good, you have no idea. It’s kind of obscene how much I enjoy my StevenBomb catharsis seshes. Lul.). I get pissed off over specific asshole things people do, but I let go really quickly. I get depressed, but it’s different: run-of-the-mill can’t-get-going-today depression, usually on days with no specific structure or plan.

I knew I was still growing after all the huge changes of the last year+, but I can’t really account for all of the leaps that seem to have taken place. I’m very close to being the person I want to be, and it feels indescribably nice to be able to grant myself that. I’m still learning to value my body and work around my various disorders, but that’s a lifelong project I’m sure. I’m asserting myself better but I’m still not where I’d like to be in terms of expressing opinions/boundaries and not being swayed by stupid bullshit, and for that reason I’m now kinda hoping to get moved to the bar for practice rather than stay in the kitchen, but hell...it’ll be sink or swim soon enough.

But anyway, Bethany in August, Desiree in September, Edward in October? It’s hard to wait to see the humans I care about especially since 2/3 are coming in later than expected, but I seem to have developed an even deeper degree of patience and gratitude when it comes to my friends from other places. The stuff that matters doesn’t ever really go away, and there’s nothing wrong with a bit of delayed gratification to make the sweet even sweeter.

Oh, and I formulated some interesting thoughts on the way I make art: first, all of my personal work is an experiment, and it’s how I learn and process. I let an idea flow through me without really knowing what it’ll end up being or if it’ll even work (it’s a happy accident that it *does work* 75% of the time), whereas my comics and illustrative work are done with the end product (and another person’s approval) in mind. I think that’s why I jam so hard on assigned work, but when it comes to my own shit I just kind of meander through a mental collection of mythology and song lyrics, sticking bits on bits as I go and playing with my repetoire of techniques until I learn something from it. Which is something I never really thought about until it popped out of my mouth today as a complete thought. Surprise!

Second, I think I have such an attachment to illustration, figurative art and the idea of tattoo as a (personally satisfying, not simply lucrative or impressive) career because I truly enjoy reimagining derivative shit in a way that feels unique to me. Or you could say that I like getting people to see the same old crap in new ways. I think that’s also why I enjoy looking at clever product design and modding culture and things like screenprinting for inspiration...it’s the endless word- and image- (concept-?) play, the personal stylistic touches an artist can add to something as hackneyed as the tarot, a folk tale, a band t-shirt. I like it when I’m seeing something familiar, but I feel like I’m being let in on its secret meaning. I think many very intelligent creators like to play these games as much as I do: work within the system of culture, discover the odd little bits of it they love and study them, find new ways to juxtapose old symbols, subvert the tropes they love the most...it’s hard to describe I guess, but maybe you get the idea? I’ve been told repeatedly that my work is very genuine and unique, and one woman even told me that it seemed like I was going to change the world, my work was on the very edge of culture in a way that was both uncomfortable and inspiring to her. But I *know* I don’t make anything that hasn’t been made a million times before and yet I’m not overly worried by the thought that I’m hard-pressed to come up with a truly original concept. I just do the same things a little differently, because I have a weird fucking eye and I never managed to find that *one* artist or style I wanted to emulate. It was a curse in the illustration program at school when I didn’t have my own visual language yet and couldn’t find a mentor to use as a starting point for developing a style, but now I think it’s one of my greatest strengths: because there wasn’t any one person for me to look up to, I absorbed a bit of everything I liked and because I’m eclectic, a lot of things I like just don’t go together-- so my style is off-kilter in a way that isn’t quite like anything else. Almost any assignment is fun, because I know I can make it mine just by virtue of *the way I do things*. And because I didn’t figure it out very early, I’m not confined to my own aesthetics: I have enough technical skill to render from life or a photo, or copy a different style when I want to.

Don’t get me wrong, I really love artists who take more conceptual approaches. I adore life/performance/film art, for one. But I feel like the same approach can be taken with those disciplines: take my ex-partner for example. I still really despise him right now, but I think the art pranks and installation projects he told me about when we were together were pure fucking genius. Pop-up robotic mini-golf? Filling your shirt with animal guts and roaming around a hospital? I can’t remember the half of the good ones anymore because I’ve tried to let go of the memories but....aaaagh, they were so good. And yet derivative. Humor or social commentary, after all, can’t happen in a vacuum.