Ondřej Trhoň

Searching for the lost spectacle. (⁠づ⁠｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠づ♡

[ondrejtrhon]

 Poetic, semi-ironic map of the contemporary condition.

Quite proud of this. I have a deck of cards and a divination guide/weird ironic contemporary condition glossary, now digital. Includes viewing and print-ready PDFs.

Contains 74 cards, three brochures. Cards are free, guide is cheap:

Milennial Tarot Cards + Divination Guide (Digital + Print files) by Ondřej Trhoň

A poetic, semi-ironic map of the contemporary condition.

[ondrejtrhon]

Outline of a monstera leaf we cut off ; masking gum (aggressive) and watercolor

[ondrejtrhon]

The Doom Tower from my Millennial Tarot deck.

[ondrejtrhon]

Serial Experiments Lain (1998)

Some screenshots from my Serial Experiments Lain rewatch. Still kicks ass.

[ondrejtrhon]

A dream come true: heavyweight sustainable t-shirts with my design are here. A parasitic entity coming from outside of the human time.

Ships everywhere, dm me

Whole gallery and more (CZ) at avatarstudies.cz/merch/

[ondrejtrhon]

Dreams coming true: a serious clothes merch to go with Avatar Studies II: horror reader. Design by me (digitized drawing toyed with in PS) digital print on heavyweight relaxed sustainable shirts. Just gotta figure out label ideas. Model: Nela. Our dog for scale.

Www.avatarstudies.cz

[ondrejtrhon]

My first riso printed zine. Doors of Resident Evil, 40 pages, two colors. Czech-only, English soon, if there’d be interest.

[ondrejtrhon]

Illustration for Avatar Studies 2: Horror reader I am publishing soon dubbed "creature". One out of several, made by tracing a scan of hand drawing in Illustrator and applying effects in Photoshop alongside layer that was wave deformed and masked.

Thinking about making some prints of it.

[ondrejtrhon]

Terminally in love with Resident Evil Remake doors

[ondrejtrhon]

"Millenial tarot" wip. More to come. Precarity, existential dread, online hyperreality included. Hand-drawn cards I was making since last spring.🧚 Thoughts? #gamedev #indiegamedev #indiegame #indiegames #gameart

[ondrejtrhon]

Serial Experiments Lain S01 - moody soup and spoon reflection moment / dinner with emotionally distant mother

[ondrejtrhon]

The future of feels like a lesson in boring futurist dystopia

[ondrejtrhon]

Today morning I cut myself while shaving At 3 pm, just before lunch and the sun outside already giving me that judging looks

I feel blood And bruised skin Nivea men lotion didn’t help Or is physical pain (or resemblance of) The last fake vestige of authenticity that the Silicon Valley and our thumbs left us

(we talked about how you don’t get the nosebleed filters yesterday)

you describe your lsd trip and I cry in my ikea office chair in front of my gamepad

(we talked about I don't get all the rave highs yesterday)

Today morning I couldn't get up At 12 pm, just in time for lunch and the RGB backlight shines bright

like diamonds in the sky

[ondrejtrhon]

The quest for the lost meaning, never to be fulfilled and I feel as the wizard on an artisanal print on my wall smirks, click of his fingers summons a bright green flame I feel enveloping my hours and my minutes and my seconds, settling in my belly, burning just enough that it stings but never too much to make me scream.

The more I read the more I despair, caught in the endless search for the mask I should put on, the role I should play, reading poststructuralism and writing about self-dissolutions only to be met by my internalized conformity and traumas. Heteronormative (queer theory et al) or not, the despair without object, the living with hollowed out core filled by occasional glimpses of hope (happiness is not a word my brain knows any more, most of the time).

The limits of human-to-human understanding set by the hardened ego I rock every night to sleep. It's hard trying to talk your feelings out of themselves when you lack the baseline upon which to judge anything - thanks dad thanks school thanks any ideal of success (measured not in money but in self-composition) hautning my every afternoon.

Who would have thought that raves are my trigger.

Tinnitus and hyperacusis (or OCD, the line begins to blur ) as the base, HPPD (link) as the catalyst, the mixture too potent to handle by my psychoterapist, set afire by feeling them too close, skin-to-skin, thanks to you. I read interviews with ravers and unwillingly scoff. I listen to 140 bpm tracks and think about all the substances in the dark-lit rooms unwillingly repulsed by the FOMO and disgust and moral panic and I conjure up a metaphor, of little anxious crystals growing in my insides as I want to run away, unable to turn the blind eye, vivid image of me thowing a glass against a wall, shattering and pure rage being the image of a little relief my mind can make up.

The wizard-poster stands still. I envy their deep-red coat. I wish world was straight-edge.

OCD teaches my I am not my thoughts and that my thoughts are not necesarilly true. Because what person with low self-esteem needs is a little more salt to the wounded sense of self-worth.

Your autonomy versus my fight-or-flight response, in the face of the world (raves) that I could very well be oblivious too. A few lines of coke half a year apart can't make empires rise and can't make them fall. I feel like losing you to the Pale (Disco Elysium metaphor), somewhere I can't reach out, moral judgement (small town, I know) mixed with jelaousy (hello there) and what I think is an honest dread (I'm using this word on purpose) of the uknown, the Instagrammized image of too-cool parties where there are different rules. Existence unearthed, the limits of my recluse lifeworld crumbled, the dark sky lit by neon tubes where monsters hide.

When I hear you recount your transformative (often MDMA-infused) experiences from your past, I can't feel any joy for you. Only crystals soldifying and nervously rattling.

My ego thirsts. It's looking for things to latch on to, to build its sandcastle of spectral solid ground with exclusionary remorselessness. Mutual understanding forbidden by the crumbling pillars my self balances on, like a raver at dawn before the venue closes.

I can't or don't know how to follow you there, for here be lions.

[ondrejtrhon]

you pop a lyrica you put tofu on the pan and wonder why youre longer afraid when alcohol hits the synaptic membrane I write with typos but earnestly to all my top contacts

I hug you with a gif I saved into folder on my desktop as I am a millenial

Steampunk label of my beer makes me think of all the futures and pasts that never were and never will be with next rent to pay and empty head lying in the light of blossoming apple tree in the courtyard with a few empty bottles and untended grass where that homeless guy went yesterday and blasted Black Sabbath loud while I tried to work oh tried to work tried to work work work work work work work sleep and I feel like I am failing in being adult

you pop a lyrica age of empires II: dose of nostalgia and distraction work with anxiety you have to work with anxiety work through anxiety

you pop a lyrica I prefer Pfizer's earlier work I wonder why I am no longer afraid will it last? My knuckles are havy and carpal tunel shrieks

I take my phone and another tik tok appears on the night sky

[ondrejtrhon]

I feel: as a trespasser in my own life I watch HBO and miss the sea beneath the waves of my nearly twin bed at 12:11 in a new apartment, the sea is the grass cutter in the street and the old fridge's fan

[ondrejtrhon]

Granularity Of our desires Spectrogram Of half-naked heart beats Seens and Reads Stickers on: nipples and Facebook

Hole left  by a sudden departure  of any sense of self (briefly) Pull to refresh Are you still there? Breathing gently into my voice mail

Dial Say your name I meant Twitter nick I’m a loveback whore