Mental Masochist

Here's a mess of thoughts, drabbles, sketches, paintings, shameless plugs, favorite quotations, and a ton more.

[minusthemasochist]

This is the first I've ever publicly wrote about you. I suppose because all I ever did was tell you what was wrong and I was tired of being misunderstood.

This is the first I've thought of you in a while. I suppose because I've been feeling down and it reminds me of all the times you mocked the way I smile.

This is the first I've heard from you in 6 months. It was only to return some clothes and a small tupperware I left once.

This is the first time I'm glad you're gone because it hurt all those times you'd stay just long enough for me to hope you'll change.

This is the first time I don't hate you for what happened

This is the first time I'm happy in a long time. It's because I've met someone who appreciates everything about me that you hated.

This is the first time I'm hopeful of a new life.

This is the first time I feel loved properly, fully, and wholly.

This is the first time I've ever longed for someone more and more each passing day.

This is the first time I've loved someone without doubt.

This is the first time I've felt truly safe.

This is the last time I'll meet someone new.

And this is the last time I'll think of you.

- to my ex

[minusthemasochist]

Have you ever felt like you belonged somewhere even before you've been? Like in another life you must've been here, but not a life you consciously lived. You were someone else then - someone you never knew. Someone you'll never know. But the same energy radiating from that place is attracting you to it, like magnetism. It's pure physics. It isn't a matter of the soul per se. The soul could simply be what we call the particles of energy we had left over. It is something we have yet to define, to understand; why some remnants of energy, of matter from whatever you may have originated from elsewhere that courses through you like deoxygenated blood making its way to your lungs. There is something about being- simply being- that makes so little sense, yet such a harmonious experience. I do not mind living my days and reaching an inevitable end to my conscious thought, because we can never be destroyed after all, just transformed

[kavillapol]

[minusthemasochist]

Here's something I did earlier this year when I was in Paris. I was also catching up on Money Heist so I figured I'd sketch Tokyo in Paris.

Funny story about Paris: I was having trouble ordering at one of the restaurants and had to call up one of my friends who spoke French to act as translator. I had done the exact same thing when I was in Korea, I dialed up another friend who acted as translator. Hopefully, one day, I repay them if ever they find themselves in Spain.

[kavillapol]

[minusthemasochist]

I am also honest to god proud of this one because I’ve never attempted this comicbook style before, and being a fan of spiderman and marvel I decided to paint this up.

[kavillapol]

[minusthemasochist]

Here’s something I did for the Black Lives Matter movement. There are a ton of political issues other than the ongoing pandemic that just fell on 2020. It was overwhelming hearing about all this so as an outlet and desire to show my support to the #BLM, here’s the result

[kavillapol]

[minusthemasochist]

Here’s one of my first attempts at watercolor painting! I hope you enjoy it! This is the first time I attempted realism with a different medium too! Do be gentle.

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A few sketches from a few years back that I haven't gotten around to posting. I've always been curious in anatomy; hence the theme

By K.A. Villapol

[minusthemasochist]

Never been one to need space because I figure things can be resolved through talking, but some people aren't worth talking it through.

[minusthemasochist]

You shouldn’t have to feel taken for granted. 

You shouldn’t have to feel rejected. 

You shouldn’t have to feel you aren’t worth the effort. 

You shouldn’t have to feel hurt. 

You deserve to be loved properly. We all do. 

Find someone willing to love you the way you love them. 

You don’t deserve to be a drunken mess begging for affection - begging for something you were once given plenty of. If they no longer want to give you what you deserve then find it elsewhere. 

We need to talk. 

[minusthemasochist]

Sketch by K.A. Villapol

[minusthemasochist]

I believe that it is difficult to kill an idea, because ideas are invisible and contagious, and they move fast. I believe that you can set your own ideas against ideas you dislike. That you should be free to argue, explain, clarify, debate, offend, insult, rage, mock, sing, dramatize and deny. I do not believe that burning, murdering, exploding people, smashing their heads with rocks (to let the bad ideas out), drowning them or even defeating them will work to contain ideas you do not like. Ideas spring up where you do not expect them, like weeds, and are as difficult to control. I believe that repressing ideas spreads ideas. I believe that people and books and newspapers are containers for ideas, but that burning the people will be as unsuccessful as firebombing the newspaper archives. It is already too late. It is always too late. The ideas are out, hiding behind people’s eyes, waiting in their thoughts. They can be whispered. They can be written on walls in the dead of night. They can be drawn. I believe that ideas do not have to be right to exist. I believe you have every right to be perfectly certain that images of god or prophet or man are sacred and undefilable, just as I have the right to be certain of the sacredness of speech, of the sanctity of the right to mock, comment, to argue and to utter. I believe I have the right to think and say the wrong things. I believe your remedy for that should be to argue with me or to ignore me, and that I should have the same remedy for the wrong things that you think. I believe that you have the absolute right to think things that I find offensive, stupid, preposterous or dangerous, and that you have the right to speak, write, or distribute these things, and that I do not have the right to kill you, maim you, hurt you, or take away your liberty or property because I find your ideas threatening or insulting or downright disgusting. You probably think my ideas are pretty vile, too. I believe that in the battle between guns and ideas, ideas will, eventually, win. Because the ideas are invisible, and they linger, and, sometimes, they are even true. Eppur si muove: and yet it moves.

“The View from the Cheap Seats: Credo” by Neil Gaiman 

[minusthemasochist]

"Cup of Joe" by K. Villapol

Follow my instagram for more on my personal life and art: @kathleen.pine

[minusthemasochist]

There's something wrong with me, but I don't want to fix it. It hurts to undergo such surgery. First they'll open up your soul, then they'll eradicate whatever has latched on to it. Then they'll stitch it up, and let you be with antiseptic solutions, antibiotics and this feeling of being a little less "me."

You're healthy, they'll say while you're healing. But all the while you're left with empty thoughts and ignorance being bliss instead of glow in the dark stars and terrors sprawled over the ceiling.

You'll suddenly remember that the chaos was a little bit beautiful, because at the very least you had something to be happy about when boring days came. So you try to find it once again- this disease, that's ever so deliciously painful. Because why would you ever want to be plain old and simple.

[minusthemasochist]

I've never felt more like a disease and less of a human being than when I'm with you.

[minusthemasochist]

Human

"I prefer them when they were in the closet. We went to an all boy school and any time someone was remotely effeminate, the guys would beat them until they were men again. They're an abomination to the human race."

These were words spoken to me by my own father one car ride home. I kept my composure and calmly replied;

"They're more human than any of us."

My father then said God created man and woman and that was all. To which I replied "Human sexuality is a spectrum where male and female are on either side, and you can fall anywhere in between. Those in-between those two extremes; those 'outliers' are more human than you'll ever be. They're more human because they don't abide by the idea to multiply to love. They don't feel the narcissistic, biological need to reproduce to love. They don't need your approval to love. They will love nonetheless, and they have loved since long before you were taught to hate.

Whatever threat you perceive them to be toward humanity is simply your own fucked up mentality on what tiny thing that threatens your masculinity."

Now, I'm not a homosexual. I'm not bisexual either. But I have been in a closet before; hiding from my father when he would carry his belt in hand waiting to discipline us.

I've been in a closet hiding from my brother who would ask me to do sexual deeds for him every time my parents were away.

I've been in a closet hiding from my mother on what she would have to say for herself that she let her daughter live this way.

I've been fearful all my life, worried that one day they'd find me. But I'm no longer just going to hide away. Because this isn't going to be one of those stories where you pity me.

I'm not merely going to see through slits of closed closet doors. My father stopped the car and I continued with;

"Your mentality is shit, and the only thing that separates us from animals is our humanity. Where's yours?"

[minusthemasochist]

Engineering poetry

I've mentioned countless times how math is a language.

How arithmetic is its syntax

And algebra its semantics,

Geometry, trigonometry its poetry

And calculus its spin off dialect that only a few people understand, let alone use.

But much like any dialect, there's a ring to it. There's a basis, a different rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless.

I've always been fascinated at math, much like how a child is fascinated at a painting: They don't understand it, but it is indeed beautiful.

And as I delve deeper into the topic and learn what this color means, and how this complements this, and this equates to that...

I realize that I know less than I did when I began counting.

The absolution is ironic considering the countless uncertainties we have, but that's what beautiful about it, isn't it?

That we've drawn answers from nonsense?

Imagine scaffolding. There's a structure to it. It exists in order only to assist in creating something else. Then the buildings, bridges, and towers begjn.

That's where the design comes in.

Playing around with the capability of the structure to merely stand on its own-

that's what makes it beautiful.

That in spite of the rules, we try to rule out the sound of monotony.

We play with the length and the rhythm of the words, all still following proper discourse and grammar.

It's poetry.

The rules that are set have enough space between them to play with.

That is the very reason why a blank canvas is the greatest hindrance to creativity.

Too much freedom impedes the will to break, to diverge, and to pursue beauty.

That's what's beautiful about language.

That's what's beautiful about math-

It isn't just a compilation of laws or rules to follow, but an avenue for creativity.

So for those of you who think math is boring simply because all you've known of it are the fundamentals,

Much like any language: It has rules,

But much like any language: It can create poetry.

[minusthemasochist]

O Wendy

Some days it feels alright

Then you wake up right before midnight thinking to yourself whether it would be best to die tonight

Morning comes and you see the sunlight stream between your curtains and your left laying in bed wondering what happiness must be like.

Not the sort of happiness you feel at a glance, or the happiness you feel looking into a calm scene and a family's life is unfolding as though you weren't quite there and it isn't quite real. But the happiness you're convinced you have when with him.

And even if it's grand, and he may just be the real thing; that's not what this story is about. He can't save you. No one can. He isn't going to be able to help if you aren't willing to either. But how can you help yourself when even you can't tell what's wrong.

And it only seems right to assume that you're just not in it today, or last week, or last year...and here you are again; wishing you wouldn't wake the next morning because even if you've got what people think it takes to be happy: There's a lot more left to overcome.

How do you overcome something that makes you ache every day even if it's already been done?

How do you truly love when half your heart longs for fun and the other half is reaching out for a gun.

Pull the slide back; take the bait. I'd advise you to be careful on who you may hurt, but you're too hurt to be able to even see straight.

You may hurt the one thing you hold dear, which may not be so bad because it could push you to put the barrel to your ear and finally fly away from here.

And never ever land.