witch of the undecidable @eta-reduction - Tumblr Blog

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Signifier Sign 「Aphasia Of All Media」

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Equality Sign 「Morphism Of Twin Symbols」

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Signified Sign 「No Phenomena Under Heaven」

eta-reduction

Signifier Sign 「Aphasia Of All Media」

eta-reduction

Equality Sign 「Morphism Of Twin Symbols」

Signifier Sign 「Aphasia Of All Media」

fortooate

c*cktail recipe: whiskey sourer

i don’t feel like making simple syrup

fortooate

hey wait

simpler syrup

you just don’t do anything

chomplicated

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i've many skills on a decently tight leash— not free reigning, at any rate; but most still aren't reigned-in enough to prevent them from biting me. and pulling them that close-to-hand would choke them, and by extension me, anyway.

the solution is, of course, centrifugal force.

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it is essential, whenever you engage with my works of artistic merit, that you understand i've been whirling a dog on a leash above my head.

#h.out

i've many skills on a decently tight leash— not free reigning, at any rate; but most still aren't reigned-in enough to prevent them from biting me. and pulling them that close-to-hand would choke them, and by extension me, anyway.

the solution is, of course, centrifugal force.

all this to say: once i raised my blade toward heaven. these days i've been taking an interest in j-fashion.

#i really *get* the wandering swordsmaster disguised as a fisherman.#even down to the little shits in the jianghu knowing my old name.#h.out

martial-art-world

reverse iaido. putthe enemy's sowrd back in its saya reeeeeal quiclk

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i'd been groomed for it, you know, from a young age. there was a race for the top. to be the best-in-field. or at least the narrow slice of the field afforded to the naïve children and stupid teens we were.

they'd carved it up, the field-- split it out into events like the bold white lines on a stadium's track. and us, the racehorses so generously afforded a place at the starting line. (even back then, i knew a little about resenting the lines, painted wall-thick. now? ...well. how else would their horses know where to go?)

...i was pretty good, y'know. even when i was younger, i swept regional competitions, placed near the top at state. i went head-to-head with, by all accounts, a rising star of our generation, and thrashed his ass. by the time i was older, i was invited to a national training camp, for the cream of the crop.

(ah, but the less said about the camp, the better.)

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it wasn't forever. no game like that can be.

we excelled, of course. all of us shining paragons of our craft. better, i expect, than most ever would be; but it was hardly a sport. not a real one, at any rate. at some point, we aged from teens into people.

we'd won, or we hadn't. no longer virtuous stars, peerless racehorses-- simply young adults, who'd dedicated far too much of their time to meaningless craft. time to run for the fields. make our own lives.

(miraculously, i ended up one of the better-adjusted of the cream. most of us never… matured, in any appreciable way. many of us never will.)

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i'd known the strongest, before the end. our paths crossed once, twice, thrice: not enough to truly know them. not as a person. but enough to get a glimpse under the mask.

many of our peers (many at camp) idolized them. idolized the ground they walked on. begged for tips, for strategies, for a shortcut: if not to the top, at least higher up the rankings.

but they never really answered. it was a cruel question to ask; an inquiry with no right answer. what could they say? that they'd poured countless hours of work in, long before most of their peers had set foot on the track? that they'd been blessed with Providence, unattainable to mortal hands?

i knew the truth, or a truth, though. it wasn't a burning desire to be the best that had struck their heart; no spurs of failure had ever dug into their flank.

they loved the craft. they enjoyed the work. enough to work at it, day after day, for over a decade of their life.

(they sing for a local choir these days. they look happier now than they ever had then.)

#h.out

eta-reduction

i'd been groomed for it, you know, from a young age. there was a race for the top. to be the best-in-field. or at least the narrow slice of the field afforded to the naïve children and stupid teens we were.

they'd carved it up, the field-- split it out into events like the bold white lines on a stadium's track. and us, the racehorses so generously afforded a place at the starting line. (even back then, i knew a little about resenting the lines, painted wall-thick. now? ...well. how else would their horses know where to go?)

...i was pretty good, y'know. even when i was younger, i swept regional competitions, placed near the top at state. i went head-to-head with, by all accounts, a rising star of our generation, and thrashed his ass. by the time i was older, i was invited to a national training camp, for the cream of the crop.

(ah, but the less said about the camp, the better.)

eta-reduction

it wasn't forever. no game like that can be.

we excelled, of course. all of us shining paragons of our craft. better, i expect, than most ever would be; but it was hardly a sport. not a real one, at any rate. at some point, we aged from teens into people.

we'd won, or we hadn't. no longer virtuous stars, peerless racehorses-- simply young adults, who'd dedicated far too much of their time to meaningless craft. time to run for the fields. make our own lives.

(miraculously, i ended up one of the better-adjusted of the cream. most of us never… matured, in any appreciable way. many of us never will.)

i'd been groomed for it, you know, from a young age. there was a race for the top. to be the best-in-field. or at least the narrow slice of the field afforded to the naïve children and stupid teens we were.

they'd carved it up, the field-- split it out into events like the bold white lines on a stadium's track. and us, the racehorses so generously afforded a place at the starting line. (even back then, i knew a little about resenting the lines, painted wall-thick. now? ...well. how else would their horses know where to go?)

...i was pretty good, y'know. even when i was younger, i swept regional competitions, placed near the top at state. i went head-to-head with, by all accounts, a rising star of our generation, and thrashed his ass. by the time i was older, i was invited to a national training camp, for the cream of the crop.

(ah, but the less said about the camp, the better.)

sifserf

thewuzzy

i’m obsessed with the mum from ponyo. driving single lane on a cliff edge? drift those turns in your nissan cube. husband has to work an extra shift? tell him to fuck off in morse code. pet fish turned into a child on your driveway? adopt her. town drowned in a tsunami? leave your 5 year old in charge, he’s the man of the house now