misterwillow

Hypnos

Often, Morpheus is considered, or referenced as, the god of sleep and dreams. However, he is only the personification of dreams, and is the son of Sleep, that is, Hypnos, from whose name we derive all terms related to hypnosis (or Somnus, in Roman mythology, from whom we derive somnolent, somnolence, and, most common, insomnia). 

Son of Nyx (Night), he lives next to his twin brother of Thanatos (Death) in the underworld, in a cave—at the entrance of which grow poppies, and through which flows the river of forgetfulness, Lethe—in a mansion which never sees the sun and which has no door, so that he is never disturbed by creaking hinges.

I chose to depict him on a rain cloud, both because of the metaphoric, and unmatched, comfort a cloud would offer a sleeper and because of the penchant rain has for lulling people to sleep.

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misterwillow replied to your post: siivetdemigod replied to your post: i’…

Sounds like Pantheism, Panentheism, or Animism, depending on how one views the makeup and influence of a spiritual dimension on the physical world. Very similar to my views on the matter.

no. i am not any of those things. i do not worship any gods, not even the god of “the interconnectedness of all things”. i respect the interconnectedness of all things, i do not worship it. it is not a god. it is a universe. isn’t that enough?

5 Random Facts About Me and My Life

I was tagged by the marvelous cristheweirdo  (thank you!!) 

These things are kinda fun…

1) I really hate green toothpaste. I find it gross and just jdfgnkdfg I do not like it at all. 

2) Pigs are and always will by my favorite animal. (besides cats) 

3) I have seven brothers and each time I tell someone new, I get the same shocked reaction from people. It’s humorous. 

4) I have a jar of “pickled bums” on my bedside table. (its scented and it actually smells lovely.) 

5) Hnnnnggguuuhhh…I used to torture barbies and hang them by their necks as a kid. (i might have been disturbed)  

I taaaaaag these pretty peoples: 

simplyringrose

three-of-a-perfect-pair

misterwillow

coffee-cats-satan-and-spells

deathunknown 

So.

Yesterday I went and saw Godzilla (which is great, you should see it if you haven’t), came home, sat down, started drawing, and nothing I did looked right (it happens every now and then).

And instead of doing nothing, I started scribbling, just let my hand wander, making little lines and shapes and textures and things, and it somehow turned into this.

It’s not supposed to be anything or represent anything, just a bunch of squiggles. 

Hopefully today will be more productive.

But my very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss, face down, with his cloak spreading out around him like great wings. At first I could not believe my eyes. I thought it was some trick of the moonlight, some weird effect of shadow; but I kept looking, and it could be no delusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp the corners of the stones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of years, and by thus using every projection and inequality move downwards with considerable speed, just as a lizard moves along a wall.

What manner of man is this, or what creature is it in the semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering me; I am in fear—in awful fear—and there is no escape for me; I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of…

Dracula - Bram Stoker (1897)

Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell,
But every night I see the rubbery things,
Black, horned, and slender, with membranous wings,
They come in legions on the north wind’s swell
With obscene clutch that titillates and stings,
Snatching me off on monstrous voyagings
To grey worlds hidden deep in nightmare’s well.

Over the jagged peaks of Thok they sweep,
Heedless of all the cries I try to make,
And down the nether pits to that foul lake
Where the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep.
But ho! If only they would make some sound,
Or wear a face where faces should be found!

Night-Gaunts - H. P. Lovecraft (c. 1930)