Jul 29, 2025
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I need tips
This is my sketch for a final project
How can I be better? More realistic? More dramatic? How can I shade better? How do I draw texture?
The story is this guy who was so filthy he turned into a cockroach!!
But ofc he doesn’t want it and is rejecting this change so he went to the kitchen to cut it!
People often mistake it for other insect so I added a roach there, also I have a hard time to show filth without adding too much elements bc I don’t have much time before final deadline among tons of other school projects
And this are two sketches before that one I tried to make the pose more dynamic and more anatomically correct
The Metamorphosis...
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Metamorphosis by Kaftka but instead of becoming a bug he becomes a catboy.
we have to bring back letter writing!! because how we're going now, we won't have any 2025 version of the "letters to milena" instead we've got like. texts to milena.
A Mistaken Case of Identity
I don’t know how Kafka put it, or anything for that matter, but something similar is happening to me. A thing that happened to him, or some part of him - which foretold the reality of this occurrence.
I have become a cockroach.
Cockroaches relay frequencies back and forth to each other. A crossfire conversation exclaiming electric code.
Our thoughts are jumbled.
It started in my dreams, as always. I was sinking into something. A voice careened for my attention. Turning - I heard it. It said one thing:
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP - BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
Walking forward with eyes out to the world, when you see a sparkle shrilling in a corner you doubt yourself sight. Back and forth you tilt your head to recapture that gleaming occurrence. I tilted my head and I couldn’t deny - that cockroach was talking to me. Communicating the only way it’s linguistic orifice masticated sound. A transmutation of binary code.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP - BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
The weight of every Roachian thought and idea is carried in that perfect circumference. An eight sequence snake backing into itself, and the circuitry wrapped my brain.
A message. A whisper of a recurring sequence fissuring at the walls of my brain, extending outward. I was at the place an idea springs forth when I heard it; floating on the periphery of consciousness, the meniscus of osmosis transfusion. At an impasse, the decision being what to do next - I simply gave up. Delivering the slice of personal real estate to the voice now speaking to me in my head, I signed over my right to quarrel about identity. With a second voice now occupying my brain there was a jumbling of neurons that had never been. Rivets made in the swathes of previously unaccounted for territory. What had been a gloopy conglomerate of firing tissue now held noisy howls, scattered about no idea where which one came.
What would have been a jarring experience was dissolved in an apathetic solution. I pushed myself out of my mind, and into that of an observer. Peering over the edge of my eyelids, a lab report inferring a conclusion.
I learned that cockroaches are an emergent species. Their actions springs forth from the decisions of those around them. It goes on like this until one, I’m assuming nestles itself cozily in an outsourced agenda. They are social creatures following a pattern, making waves in places much like that of a mind.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP - BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
Each cockroach knows where they stand in an eight beep cycle. Neurons creating disturbances to communicate, make decisions, grow, change. When you’re introduced to an eight beep cycle, you become a 9th beep - a deviation. Chaos ensues. There’s a mathematic necessity to forward expansion, with momentum orienting the whole. For a time. Then it stops. Semantics filling buckets, spilling into the next. Rube Goldburg euphoria when what’s tipped turns into the next pivot, a point. Then a hallowing thud.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP - BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
My autonomy had been swept up into a dizzying spiral of uncoordinated events. My want was integrated to every cycle, then the interval repeats. There’s a fate in capitulating to circumstances you’ve created. An illusion of independence to sway the pendulum, the purview capturing only the back and forth swing. The oscillation of the whole, obfuscated by a lack of purview - a loathsome uncontrollable agenda. A sight.
Was I ever in control? Before this sight pushed me from the drivers seat, deluding me of my own subconscious. Sight, like time is a spacious component in a claustrophobic box. A brain in a skull, biology redacting metaphor. The illusive transgressions of our ancestors and the minute agendas of history. A want accosted by fate.
The unaccounted for variable of a brain occupied by an adjacent member. Unwilling to depart this neutral territory - I’ve, become a cockroach.
One reason I love Kafka
"The Warden of the Castle was asleep, but a deputy warden, one of the deputy wardens, Here Fritz, was there." -Kafka, The Castle