chainsaw teeth


Guess who finally has something specifically votive on their altarspace? Me! I was at a local fair with a lot of smithing and knicknacks and I spied the bull before the crocodile, on the same stall. After some deliberation, I snagged both, because it’s going to be a while before I get or make full sized, proper votives.

It feels good to finally have some specific things for these two, even if I don’t see the Bukhis aspect of Monthu that often. It’s also apparently worked super well because someone will not butt their nose out.


Creepy dolls? Teeth walls? Chainsaw ants? 

All the ingredients for a lovely night in TIMORE INFERNO!

Just Sobek Things...

Decided to do some free weights last night after talking with a friend and feelin’ the urge to get back into it after depression kicked my ass outta shape. Was minding my own business gingerly doing some pec flys when…

Is he like this for everyone?! Honest to skies, he’s literally my noncorporeal PT. Godanged godphone is back in connection for no less then a day and he’s right back at it!

Modern Aesthetic - Sobek

“Sobek is passionate and aggressive about self care and wellbeing because it is exceedingly difficult to help others unless you yourself are strong and capable. Sobek turns you into a soldier, one with chainsaw teeth, thick skin, and the capability to snap at those who deserve it.” … “He will bite and tear at the parts of yourself you don’t need, the extra things weighing you down, until you’re clean and light. He wants ‘the meat’ of you and nothing extra, none of the fat. And it’s for your own good, even if it’s painful at first.”
- lavenderbiscuits

camjpark  asked:

Hey silvermender, what would a chalkurite that primarily lives underground be like?

I am so sorry I haven’t responded to this or the previous aquatic one!

But here, ANOVA WORLDBUILDING for your patience

Chalkurite wereforms are geared towards what is -required- of course, specialization takes several years to be reached. Take note, chalkurites keep their ylem/radiation forms strictly separated from their biological designs

The word used for special shifts is exaptation, or in chalkurite glossary a ‘redesign’. The word chalkurite is in fact rarely if ever used amongst chalkurites, instead referring to each other by respective ranks. The word 'Architect’ is a preferred term especially by non-chalkurites. can best describe it using the mascot chalkurite to exemplify (and not spoil things)

This is usually employed with inexperienced chalkurite that have fairly easy shapes such as Pint and Hector for example. Their level of practice with their wereform isn’t as advanced as senior chalkurites who have complex designs such as Floyd for example

For a break down, this is how complexity works

Take Pint. He’s practically one of the easiest, frankly his only complexity is his head which is an excruciatingly stupid design because when he bites anything he’s risking getting his eyes gouged. His brain cavity is really odd too. Not particularly useful but remarkable for other chalkurites in terms of how well he’s able to keep together the semblance of a cute face with 2 meters of teeth behind him.   He learns how to shift his design further as he ages, and in fact! He uses big big dunkleosteus teeth as he’s able to sample more ancient genetic traits.

Now, Jericho

He’s a weird one, but he’s had plenty practice. His design is much more special and the silhouette in comparison to Pint is significantly more inhuman. In combat it’s probably one of the weirdest things you’ll ever see in action, bringing into the fray devastating kicks, radula chainsaw teeth and viper-quick strikes with his secondary scythe arms. Of course, you can’t really tell he’s got all of this when hunched over like a big jerboa straight out from satan’s hole

Complexity usually but not always dictates the proficiency of a chalkurite. Pint learns how to exaggerate his design and touch on more subjects for his bauplan, such as multiple limbs, placoderm features, etc. He’s siege-oriented however, and gears his strength to simple but brutally efficient quadruped gorilla tank designs, rarely coming out of his comfort zone.

Within the circle of chalkurites, a complex and working design brags of architect rights. Such is the case with brood mothers, all grand architects that morph themselves to suit the occasion rather than the fight 

Take Lalatre, one of the main brood mothers (empresses within Frontier)

and this is simply her being cocky and not bothering to turn around from her task to talk to those who manage auditions with her. These forms can be used for combat but do so in a way that displays authority, status and grace by going all out extravagant with their shifts. Stomach mouths, intestine weapons, an insane amount of limbs, hip-bones restructured to look like thrones–she does this all, and if someone disagrees with her there’s always the front. Amongst the brood mothers Lalatre is infamously known for being best spoken to while she’s giving you her back, -actually- facing her otherwise means instant death

Primarily flight/water/cavern oriented, etc chalkurites are all redesigns as no chalkurite can ever access an extremophile or hyper-specialized design for their wereform from the start. 

Redesigns are adaptations, exempt from the main silhouettes of chalkurites though they are accounted for the skill of the shapeshifter in question.    I have a big post of them from a while back you can browse under the wereform tag, but here–anyhow, examples

You could say they almost look the same save for certain features such as sleekness, wings, gills etc though these don’t interrupt with the base form that much. The same can be said for more complex designs, though brood mothers are usually made an exceptions since their range of shifting is incredibly vast. I hope this helps answer those questions!


Things that make You go Hmmm…

My cloud of anti-discernment persists, and the Sirs are finding new ways to get messages through. Most recently, it’s the “from the blind side of nowhere” approach, as demonstrated here.

Scrolling through my dash, flicker across this post by igamuinacra. Completely unrelated to anything and *ahem*. Both of them, at the same time, staring hard.

I am way too hard on myself (thanks mental illness) and They know, and They won’t let me forget it.

Starting Something

Whilst I was typing up the ‘Liveblogging with the Netjeru’ post I felt the Gentlemen’s* attention focusing on me. Truthfully I almost didn’t post it, dismissing it as silly, informal, ridiculous. But Chainsaw Teeth thought differently: I’m here for your fears, and if you’re scared of posting this, I’m here telling you to take the plunge and post it. I get a serious nudge to post the darn thing, put the kettle on and get ready to not sleep.

So I do it.

Keep reading

Jaden Smith Tweets Deconstructed

1.) If Newborn Babies Could Speak They Would Be The Most Intelligent Beings On Planet Earth

They would be fearless.
They would have no idea of originality
and be unafraid of repeating ideas.
Imagine standing mahogany still
when faced with failing.
No one has told them the truth
of how the world works.
They climb without knowing
what falling is.

They tell you

2.) Trees Are Never Sad Look At Them Once In Awhile They’re Quite Beautiful

I get jealous of my friends who have
limbs that hold hands with the sky
to soak up all the sunlight because
they found out that this
is what they are here to do.

I envy people who have their shit together.
The ones who know their path.
They understand the finish line
and are on their way to cross.

3.) People Use To Ask Me What Do You Wanna Be When You Get Older And I Would Say What A Stupid Question The Real Question Is What Am I Right Now?

Frightened mostly.
A lot of fear is mixed into this trembling
twig body, scared of staring too hard
at my hands and figuring out
everything I could never be.
That I’m made up of mistakes.

4.) Most Trees Are Blue

If you look hard enough.
You can see who is great at bullshitting-
who pretends to have it together.

You can tell because we have gnarled stumps.
We have decay and holes in our bodies.
Even our carefully constructed homes
are jigsaw earthquakes.
I, juggling disaster.
I, jumbled calamity.

Each piece falls apart,
soft, rotten boards
litter the ground
and I’m afraid to rebuild.
I’m terrified to look.

5.) You Can Discover Everything You Need To Know About Everything By Looking At Your Hands

You study hard enough at the freckle in your palm
and the universe opens up for you.

6.) Unawareness Is The Only Sin

But I don’t want to look.

7.) People Hate What They Don’t Understand

8.) But Everything Can Be Understood

And I understand this:
My hardwiring of action,
all the synapses that collapse onto
something bigger than me.
My want for something more than me.
This need to make words curl at their edges:
it doesn’t matter.

That, this mouth
unable to bark or snarl,
this tree is more weeping than willow.
Cracked spine, ready to fall,
arms splintered branches
and my hands
stubbornly try to cover
jagged chainsaw teeth that
cut me down.

9.) If You Want To Understand If You Search For Truth

It will eat you alive.
Grind you alive.
Swallow, spit, and leave you alive.

10.) Once You Go In You Always Come Out Alive

Failure always leaves you alive.
Failure always succeeds at that.


The holy impressionists’ followers, our adored and lovely, numbing,
failling anonymousnesses, whose eyes are down the paths of corona
attributes in joyless fashions—stagnant karmas—stigmas of perfections
—societal hyphens blended in the shocking monochromatic integrities:
Recapitulated thoughts in the sickened minds, austere rays centering
bellies of common roans’ glassy Suns onto depressed scavengers,
O’ the lies, O’men, how brittle are the owners of em’miscreant rants?
Warders putting on hats, clocks, risking masks of vengeances hiding,
laughing at worldwide injustice sharing prison tells to justifying colonists,
who claw their tongue-fuls of salivas over bricks of Marx’s, sparing,
cleaving beards, reaching half way to rich dawgs’ orgasms masterbating
to unsettling scenes of truncheons touching shrunken brains [vibrated],
ordering for lifted knees over shadows’ interstices—made by our ones,
and onlies, the artless avant-gardes who killed parts of geniuses’
—to the dissonantly placed blocks of, what was, once actively forming
architectural crises’ wet dreams:
endorsed, branded,
among timely dosages of screams and chaotic mumbles, pats n’ kicks—
Glistening repetitions overlording their naked thoughts of escapes,
unillustrated, uninspiring, selfish, careless, idiotic, lame, unoriginal,
thought and done in embargoed’ times as our melting lights illuminate
what’s left of plans in a shared darkness with lacks of candlesticks—
He’s mural figures alright, eyeless, he’s sentences that are breathless:
Fourth walls before poor perceptions, irises stretching for luscious sighs,
dare scream and shout, good men, clouds are cascading to the edges,
dare speak and weep, sad boys, study ecclesiology for sakes of liars,
break down and die, adored infants, monthly caveats for the wide world!
Corpulent mentalities at the touches, lewd thoughts of chainsawing,
teeths barely ran, wanderlusts rarely seen, boners hardly erected,
mitigations in gladiatorial movements of war-crying, wrecked trundles,
kneeling for masters’ pleasures whispered by sensational goosebumps
their pathetics are witnessed through engraved holes of vomitting airs!
O’men, the smells! Unimaginable fragrances, indeed! Ones even
advocates of Asian socialism despise! Grounds are becoming mellow,
antitheses are heading towards directioned idols’, yet questions lifted,
yet what orders they are needing, yet what lives they are wanting, more?
Hues are umbraging and percolating [yes, gods of canvases, certainly],
shat on by cockroaches, by sweet clunks, writing speechless articles for
essays-loving oligarchs’ auctioned vacancies ‘bout reckoning gens past
filled with fluorescent eyeballs [imprisoned, though] staring em’ to bases,
the bare and pointy blacknesses/whitnesses of the clueless noirs!
Alas, how so cynically convenient, how terrific! Please spread some
more, pray more immortals for our so interesting experiments, just look,
words of Bibles are infiltrating their minds, rambling about dark skies
and hopelessnesses in the waits, in the grasps of Hell’s Satans!
Though, bear in mind, is there even Hell? Are there true experiments,
for these neverending circles of sadistic walks? Plaintiffs are alive,
societies are out there and insulting, he’s vacillating, greedy creatures
with immutable fates, syncopations among errored notes, self-boasted,
self-wanted and self-needed he’s thinking of our artificial chrysalises,
lost, coughing, all leaking through veins destructions on biospheres,
wanderers of senses and infinitely negative numbers of realisations—
Grown kids soaring in the damns, again and again juxtaposed, mashed,
exposed to maturing inspections: Cups of coffees still good in their
mouthy vaults, hot, sharing flames of loudnesses at will, into the guilties,
through the sordid chinks of the whatever fleshes, through aisles of
poetic rhythms pestering homeless philosophers not yet put in asylums,
sensing hopes and groping em’, squeezing em’ to squared oppositions;
Mortalities: Our endlessness— Cursors in sparkling images of the ruined,
coupled doves are swinging in for special treats of monkey-ish aromas,
of the sicknesses in the heads—all very pervasive, preaching curves of
neighboringly monstros bones—rousing, shouting chips at the cornered,
punching great many antiphons in low volumes onto frozen waves of
consciousness— It can’t be saved, it can’t be undone, the die is nigh,
the die is forced by watchful cretins into the dyings, it’s out of breaths,
it’s enhancing shots of linguistic silences. The die is wounded, dead.

Influential brushes / dropped / skyscrapers in the mornings.

- The Conquistador

Artwork: The Round of Prisoners by Vincent Van Gogh