Kiana Khansmith
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JBB: An Artblog!
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@felixwylde
What Bothers Me and Why
These days? It’s the hush around small betrayals. The way people look away when someone’s benefits are cut for being a day late with a form. The silent shrug when a neighbour’s flat is boarded up because they couldn’t pay rent.What bothers me is how normal it’s all become.How the supermarket at 10 p.m. is full of people making tough choices in fluorescent light, pretending they’re not crying in…
The Kind of Future I’m Hoping For
What are you most excited about for the future? Honestly, it’s the possibility that we might get better at admitting how little we know about taking care of each other. I’ve spent years fumbling with that. I know how easy it is to hurt people without meaning to, or to hide when I’m the one bleeding.I’m drawn to a future where we’re not so afraid to say what we really want—not the obvious stuff…
Stones at the river's edge
What could you let go of, for the sake of harmony? I could let go of the need to be understood, the clutching at exact words that prove I meant well.I could loosen my grip on the old injury that says the world will hurt me if I speak wrong.I could let go of the certainty that my vision is clearer than another’s.I could let go of the silent scorekeeping that measures who gave enough.I could let…
The Music That Helps Me Get Things Done
What is your favorite genre of music? When someone asks what kind of music I enjoy most, I think of simple, steady sounds. I tend to choose ambient or minimalist music—something quiet and repetitive that doesn’t demand too much attention.It’s not about big choruses or catchy hooks. It’s about creating a gentle background that helps me focus. I like music that gives me space to think clearly…
The Echo Chamber
I’ll never forget the night I fired up that hulking machine—steel panels glowing like a spaceship altar, wires snaking everywhere, humming like it was alive. The lab smelled like burnt toast and old books. I slapped my palm on the frosty screen, felt it shudder awake, and muttered, “Show me the beginning.”The room flickered. Suddenly, I was staring at the almost-people. Small, crouched figures…
Hypothetical Paranoid Fringe Timeline
The Shadow Behind the Curtain Disclaimer: The following is a work of speculative satire, drawing only from the outer edges of the internet, whispered threads on image boards, grainy documentaries that never aired, and that guy with a whiteboard in a bunker. It is not factual… or is it? The Hidden Pattern: Lord Protectors of the Global Reset Some believe that what we’re witnessing isn’t just…
The Case of the Phantom Sample
It all began with a routine check-up. Dr. Billingsgate, suggested a urine test, just to be thorough, he said. “Pop the sample in the blue box on your way out,” he chirped, already halfway out the door. I obliged, carefully labeling the jar.A week later, I called for results.“Ah,” said the receptionist, her tone drier than a nutter’s knick-knacks, and a pause too short to be human. “Seems we’ve……
The Bone-Spiral God
Before the waters climbed the mountains and made memories into myths, the land breathed slow and heavy. It was not yet tamed. Nothing had been named cleanly. Every shadow had weight, and every silence, a reason.Kélen was of a dwindling clan, skin roughened by wind, thought shaped by hunger. He walked alone across a ridgeline that no longer appears on maps, following a path only seen by those who…
Dr. Marlow and the Horny Grief Moths
Act I: The Man Who Mistook His Shadow for a Séance The hospital’s seventh floor hummed with the static of unmonitored heartbeats. Dr. Marlow’s office—a crypt of velvet drapes and chessboards missing their queens—smelled of bergamot and unsent letters. Her patient, Arthur Vale, 51, sat coiled in the chair, his voice a scratched vinyl of a man who’d “misplaced the key to the wine cellar.” His…
They Were Always With Me
I was never alone. Even in the silence between heartbeats, they were there—shifting at the edges of awareness, pressing against the fabric of my mind. In my ignorance, I thought them demons, hungry and insatiable, their whispers twisting through my thoughts like creeping vines, choking out the light. I feared their touch, recoiled from their shadows, mistook their presence for torment.Now I see.…
Worn Out, Waking Up
Where does it end for me? This body falters, unravels, dissolves into the earth—yet I wake again, as if nothing truly ends, only shifts. The same patterns emerge, the same instincts take hold, the same conditions shape another existence. The form is different, but the mind picks up where it left off, like a flame passed from one candle to the next. Forgetting would be a release, but memory…
Tale of Neglected Warnings and Broken Umbrellas
In the shadow of a once blazing sun, a garden of silent anguish now lies barren—a field where seeds of care and hope were expected to flourish but instead withered beneath a sky of neglect. The seasons turned, yet in that time, a storm of unseen contagion swept through, as if a misinterpreted omen had led gardeners astray: preparing for a gentle rain when a tempest was poised to break.The…
Tomorrow Was Meant to Be Brighter
Every generation sees the world through the lens of its own struggles. Those who have endured hardship often look upon those who have not with a mix of pride and frustration. “We suffered, we toiled, we endured. Why don’t they have to?”But this is the wrong question. The real question is: “Wasn’t this the goal?”The Purpose of ProgressEffort is not wasted if it makes life better for those who come…
The Koan of the Endless Scroll
A young seeker visited Master Jinen and asked,“Where does reality begin?”Jinen handed them a smartphone. The seeker scrolled.“Where does it end?” they asked.Jinen took the phone and refreshed the feed.“Master, I don’t understand!” the seeker said.Jinen smiled. “Neither does the algorithm.”At that moment, the seeker awakened.
The Sollow
The forest has always been there. It was not planted, nor did it grow. It simply is.The trees stand too still, their bark smooth as bone, their branches reaching in ways that do not match the wind. The air is thick and still, as if it has been held in a dead thing’s lungs for too long. The ground does not sink when stepped on, though it should. The leaves fall, but they do not age.No one enters…
A Conversation About AI and Sentience
Recently, I had a conversation with someone who believes that AI will eventually become sentient. They spoke passionately about the idea that, as technology continues to advance, AI could develop consciousness, emotions, and even independent thought.As I listened, I found myself thinking about how we often project our own ideas and hopes onto the technology we create. The concept of AI becoming…
A Story We Tell Ourselves
How have your political views changed over time? I’ve abandoned the naive hope that leaders might be wise, rather than wealthy fools stumbling through decisions with pockets deeper than their thoughts. Continue reading A Story We Tell Ourselves