Broadband Terrorist and Sasha's boywife.

IN REBELLION AGAINST A SYSTEM THAT FAILED HER AND AGAINST PEOPLE TO WHOM SHE OWES NOTHING IF THEY ARE NOT ON HER SIDE. DIMA, CHILE, VILLANA ATEMPORAL.

[sasha--nein]

My World Wide Web Identification Document

Now this place is kind of abandoned, you can stalk here. and in Tumblr on here: @the-operating-room

This was my diary, I still post sketches, I used to interact with internet friends.

Call me whatever, use whatever pronouns.

My DMs are always open but don't expect me to stay for too long.

I only warning tag photosensitive content.

[sasha--nein]

Can we have acts of torture as a love language?

[germanpostwarmodern]

Talking about Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s Glasgow School of Art one cannot help but feel sorry: hit by two devastating fires in 2014 and 2018 the building still hasn’t been rebuilt and recent news don’t raise much hope…

The second fire also heavily affected cultural historian Robyne Calvert’s book „The Mack: Charles Rennie Macintosh and the Glasgow School of Art“, published by Yale University Press in 2024: originally planned as a documentation of the building’s resurrection, the book in its final form is more of a detailed history of the building that also includes a prospect on an uncertain future. With regards to the former, Calvert’s book is a real treasure that succeeds in providing a very readable and beautifully illustrated narrative of Mackintosh’s undisputed magnum opus: built in two stages (1896-99 & 1906-09) the building falls into Mackintosh’s most productive and successful phase that established his reputation as a leading architect and designer of Art Nouveau. As Calvert established, the GSA wasn’t conceived as a proto-modernist building but in fact represents an amalgam of many influences and ideas that fluttered around in Mackintosh’s head and which he synthesized in the school’s design. With this in mind, the marked differences between the original building and its later extension don’t surprise at all but reflect Mackintosh’s progress and growing self-confidence. As Calvert elaborates, Mackintosh tied the two building stages together on the inside with a continuous flow of interiors that despite their many quirks satisfy the architect’s striving for a Gesamtkunstwerk, a goal he undoubtedly achieved with the GSA.

But even though Calvert states that after the 2018 fire things turned ugly, the period between the first and second fire yielded significant research, instigated creative projects and in fact provided the basis for a successful restoration. Unfortunately it seems that the latter is unlikely to happen….

Yet even though prospects aren’t very bright for Mackintosh’s brilliant building, „The Mack“ stands as a comprehensive and profoundly researched homage to a masterwork that faces an uncertain future. Warmly recommended!

[robotomia]

me

[sasha--nein]

I seriously can catch a break.

[sasha--nein]

I felt a sudden blow of need to continue the Sasha askblog as more of a comic thing with some questions in between but I suck at narrative stuff, I work "better" with specific moments for illustrations but I don't really know how to hold a story.

[sasha--nein]

I've been on the victim end of a emotional incest dynamic for years and I didn't know it was a thing until today and now I'm spiraling on my memories and feeling sick.

[sasha--nein]

I'm "fuck it we ball"ing through shit I shouldn't.

[sasha--nein]

[sasha--nein]

Each time my art gets hate my heart shrinks and hurts but I'm just glad that there has been people whose my art helps them on a personal level and I'm happy to have found people who struggle with the same issues as me, there's nothing like hugging another person who has suffered just like you, I'm grateful I get to be understood and to understand very unique, misunderstood individuals with complex stories that are deserving of recognition and tenderness.

[sasha--nein]

I do with Sasha as 4channers do with Gondola, I just put him in places, he's just there, it rarely follows a well distinguished narrative, he really going places.

[sasha--nein]

I know 99% of y'all don't care because I'm mostly a yap and drawings account and almost no one here is close to me, but I will leave this under the line because I have nothing to lose.

It has been the first time in a lot of time where I've seriously considered ingesting all of my medication at the same time, I haven't had any reason to feel genuinely bad over anything in a while, it was just a sudden whiplash of feeling disgust and hopelessness about life, I genuinely feel an unstoppable nausea about living, I've vomited a little over it. Ever since I started all of the medication bullshit life has just been delaying the promise of life until a magic solution arrived, having to be dragged into horrible health symptoms that have rendered me the shell of a human. Today I looked at myself in the mirror, I don't know why it triggered this, I haven't seen myself too much as for lately, I took my reflection for granted whenever I was near a mirror. I don't feel disgust for myself, I feel sad about the constant abuse and the lack of autonomy I have, how I will never want a normal life because that's delusional to seek for me.

I just hope the electroconvulsive therapy fixes this, my psychiatrist got me the prescription of it today, now I just have to wait until the hospital says I'm good to go.

[aarchval]

Thomas Ruff, L'Empereur, 1982.

[sasha--nein]

From his university window to my exit from high school, we walk together down a posh street in a city where I’ve lived for more than half my life and he for only three. The street is full of small, colorful stalls run by independent makers; he stops to look at a mug while I watch. It’s a ceramics stand; he studies the object intently while talking to the vendor about how the greatest challenge for designers was reinventing the mug, as he held that piece of craftsmanship from the collection, its handle a solid semicircle, unlike ordinary handles. His knowledge, so distant from my intellect back then, made me feel small, diminished, and in his hands, like the mug. I watched my grandmother working with her calloused hands on a bobbin lace piece, tossing the bobbins with agility. Months of work now rested in the middle of the dining room table, set with Blue Onion-style earthenware plates, that white ceramic with blue patterns that always haunts me. My great-grandmother cursed me to cry every single time I see one of those plates, and I suspect the textile lace on the table, neglected by the family for some time now, is going to become part of an endless list of things to feel guilty about not knowing how to care for. When a system loses its core, it doesn’t die immediately; instead, it replaces that core with the nearest substitute to carry out its tasks, until it simply becomes unsustainable. Back in high school, I was waiting for one of the staff members in charge of logging tardiness; the sound of the door opening as I was inspecting a bottle among the decorative objects in the tiny office startled me, and the bottle shattered into tiny pieces. I don’t know why I cried; I broke the core of my curiosity, and the staff member told me not to cry. Her kindness was the substitute; the system keeps running its course until it is no longer sustainable. Today, in my cupboard, there are only plastic cups. I sit on the kitchen floor; outside, everything is blue and white clouds. There is no fine china, no textiles to forget, because in a way, I made myself forgotten. Irretrievable, I don’t need to be redesigned. The little mug is no longer in his hand, nor am I.

[sasha--nein]

5000 precious hearts on the main drawing account which I won't share as the milestone post in the original account because I DON'T WANT TO.

[sasha--nein]

No tablet no good Sasha, take this trash man.

[sasha--nein]