what an angry frog, huh?

(header photo credit: ola jacobsen on flickr)

[godslayerfrog]

Shinsou Hitoshi from Boku No Hero Academia. This drawing took me 11 hours to finish, but I think it was worth it!

[nereida-art]

I’m amazed with quality of animation in Legend of Korra. Also bought two artbooks about this series and collecting $$ for two others . Kudos goes to Studio Pierrot and Studio Mir!:3 Gah, just look at this movement!

[4threset]

Maneki Neko

[godslayerfrog]

on immortalities, deities, and histories

history. 

  what a vague term.

  swirling and spilling and automatically recorrecting all of your work in dark red marks even though 

  (they have always been the ones who are wrong)

   god is dead, i say, in church. 

   i killed him with my own two hands,

   back in my last life, 

   when i decided that i didn't want any blessings. 

   i killed him in the silence of my own breath

   after i figured out that immortality sounded more like a death sentence than it did a paradise

  

   (i do not want to live forever, ma'am, 

    i said to the receptionist. 

    is there no way out of this?

    no way to let the curtains fall, 

    no way to fade to black?)

god is dead, i say in church. 

   he screamed at me. 

   told me i would go to hell, that his sons and daughters would make me hurt

    i smiled back. 

    a little more hurt won't make a difference. 

    ive lived through enough already. 

    he breathed his last words through shallow inhales. 

    through a pale pool of blood, seeping into his clothes, turning them dark and grey and cold. 

     "you can't get away with this," he said, from the floor. 

      oh, but haven't i already?

god is dead, i say in church. 

      but he was not a liar.

      his sons and daughters made me hurt,

      fingernails clawing, my skin peeling (it peels away in small strips, and my skin feels like something else, something other)

      (my skin feels like it might be an orange, citrus and shaking)

      (i can't tell, by now)

god is dead, i say in church. 

       i laugh, and laugh, and laugh till my end, 

       and pretty stars fill my gut, 

       fill my eyes, 

       fill my throat

       (it's like some technicolor drawing, 

       done by a child,

       over the edges,

       done with heart)

god is dead, i say in church. 

       and i am dead too.

       i cannot feel the nothingness. 

       i cannot feel my abscence, 

       my abscence of eternity the principal is due to report

god is dead, i say in church. 

       i think (i don't, i am gone and dead by now)

       if i could feel (i can't, i am gone and dead by now)

       it would not feel like aching (aching is how i imagine immortality to be, like something white and hot, pulsing just below the sternum, breaking away, breaking a p a r t)

      

     it would feel so pleasant. 

     (it is.)

     (i did not want to be immortal.)

[godslayerfrog]

i want to sit here,

with my back to the ground,

my mouth to the sky

(open wide,

to swallow passing bits of rainbow universes,

and the

inversely reacting expansion of moons and space and time)

(chunks of stars scrape down my throat,

and i spit up (and out) (oozing blood and the rest of what's left of me and letting all my vitals out)

my heart pumps, slow.

it's getting slower.

(is this the oxidation that consists of dying?

it feels so soothing)

(maybe even death can be redeeming)

i want to sit here,

with my back to the ground, and i want to forget

(the improbable existences of gravity and the significant magnitude of inertia (spinning and spinning around the earth like a mind with a thousand anxieties)

is it bad if i cannot quite think of how to derive?

not quite.

not yet.

this is my soul, after all, so could you leave it alone?)

i want to look up

but

have it be down,

and i want to be able to tighten the grip of my fingers to touch the wonderful feeling of freefalling into wind (into moons and space and time)

(id like to meet that shining door of death,

right here,

floating,

among stars)

my heart pumps, slow

it's getting slower.

stars and space and impossible sky

(impossible science created by errors and zeroes and (oh, the stars ache))

(i fall, facedown, and it coats all my edges, it sticks down and drowns me from inside my lungs,

where all the little butterflies go (and die))

ive always wanted to fly.

my heart pumps, slow.

it's getting slower.

(the stars would look so soothing

except i can't see them anymore)

[godslayerfrog]

it's like:

      sad but on the darker side of the moon

it's like: 

      bony claws scratching at your knees

it's like: 

      im choking in fog and the sensation of dying

      and im so goddamn sad and i want to exit out the door (for maybe a month? that'd be nice.)

       what's the solution to that, scientifically?

       how do i grant a temporary death, just as a vocotionial vacation?

       does it have to be so all or nothing?

it's like:

    dragging

      im dragging everyone down, and the worst part is i don't want to stop

it's like: 

      it's overwhelming, all consuming, to the point where feathers of fear blossom along my spinal cord, itching and aching until i want to punch something, i want to scream somewhere

it's like:

      im so sad, and i decided so long ago that i don't want to be sad no more, so why am i still so sad?

       can i ask why it's so hard again? or is that another forbidden question?

      

       hey, look, can't you see it?

       there it goes. my silvery sliver of happy i somehow left to slip out my brain, spooling and swirling onto the floor

       i think i'd give chase, but i think im too tired. 

       too sad.

       too trapped here as i am, on the darker side 

             of the moon.