Okay so imagine humans being the only ones with hobbies? Other alien cultures might be diverse, but you kind of just do one thing with your life? The aliens find what they like and specialise in that particular field for the rest of their lives? Which by the way can span centuries.
Meanwhile, humans might work as garbage collectors but also be really good at music? Work as baristas but spend the rest of their time writing a novel or dreaming about acting? Or work three jobs so they can afford going to med school or law school? And maybe even play a sport fairly good on top of that, like tennis or rock climbing or whatever? Or be really good at building stuff or painting or do math or sing or play video games?
Imagine the human being bored in mess hall and start drawing their crew mates.
“Human Dana, I thought you were in charge of communication?”
“I am, why do you ask?”
“Human Dana, you are clearly pursuing the art of painting. Did something happen that made you want to change your life around? Do you need assistance?”
“Lay off, I’m just doodling.”
“Human Dana, I have never heard of anyone doing two careers at once. It is not safe!”
“Look, I always doodled, since I was a child, okay?”
“This is highly unusual!”
Dana catches the eye of another human waving in their direction.
“I have to go, me and Sam are going down to play basketball in the holodeck. Wanna come?”
The alien spluttered. There must have been some kind of mistake. Only engineers were allowed on this flight. Painters and athletes had no place there. And yet, Human Dana did their duties as part of the crew. There were no doubt they were an engineer.
The alien sighed. Their command had warned them that the humans were more than they seemed. They just hadn’t said how much more.
November 14th. In the coffee shop, the man in the Make America Great Again hat smiles at me, so I take this as an invitation.
“Pardon me, but I have to ask— do you think Trump’s ideologies keep every person in this country safe?“
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Ma’am, I can’t get wrapped up in identity politics, all I can worry about is how I’m going to feed my girls.”
At my 40th birthday party, an acquaintance asks why we have “so much Mexican art in the house.”
“It might be because I’m Mexican,” I say.
“No,” he laughs, “you’re not Mexican.”
“Yes. I am.”
“No,” he continues, reassuringly, “and if you are, you’re only, maybe, 17%.“
The winter air stiffens between us. An old, familiar pain.
There was a time when I would have thanked him.
The early years, when I wanted only to pass, to rid myself of my last name— the dead giveaway, its muddy lineage
crawl out from the burying shame that held me down every time my father picked me up from school in our shitty car, his bushy mustache & brown face magnified by the sun.
A local white woman posts a photo of her new tattoo: a Mayan god etched eternal on her flesh. When I point out the disrespect, she assures me she speaks Spanish fluently, spent three years in South America.
For the next six hours, I argue with her friends. They demand I quit being so divisive. Judgemental. Close-minded.
“We have a racist running for President, and you’re complaining about a tattoo?” asks the white boy, who spray paints murals all over this city with impunity.
O, to be permitted the luxury of only worrying about one thing at a time.
O, to be white in America, to wake up knowing every god is your god.
When you never see yourself, you search for yourself all the time.
You know the white girl in the sombrero isn’t you. The bro dude in Calavera makeup isn’t either, not the ponchos and glued on mustaches, not the lowrider Chevy in the Disney movie or the hoochie-coochie sex pot on the Emmy award-winning television show.
Maybe you are only this:
the scorched bird pulled from the chimney, covered in soot. Not the actual bird, its velvet sack of jigsaw’d bones, but the feeling of recognition.
The ash of knowing.
A white comedian tells this joke: “I used to date Hispanics, but now I prefer consensual.”
The audience laughs. And you do, too. Until the punchline hardens, translates into a stone in your throat.
You swallow it, like you always do.
You don’t change the channel, but you also can’t remember a single joke she tells after that.
A few months later, the comedian’s career blows up. She’s so real. So edgy. Such a hardcore feminist. When someone writes an essay on her old stand-up routines— noting her blindspot when it comes to race,
her response is:
“It is a joke and it is funny. I know that because people laugh at it.”
If two Mexicans are in a car, who is driving? A police officer.
How do you starve a Mexican? Put their food stamps in their work boots.
What’s the difference between a Mexican and an elevator? One can raise a child.
What do you call a Mexican baptism? Bean dip
How do you stop a Mexican from robbing your house? Put a help wanted sign in the window.
What do you call a Mexican driving a BMW? Grand theft auto
What do you call a Mexican without a lawnmower? Unemployed
What do you call a building full of Mexicans? Jail
How do you keep Mexicans from stealing? Put everything of value on the top shelf.
What do you call a bunch of Mexicans running downhill? A mudslide.
Why don’t Mexicans play Hide ’n Seek? No one will look for them.
What does a Mexican get for Christmas? Your TV.
What do you call the Arizona man shot to death by his white neighbor, screaming, “Go back to Mexico!” Juan Varela
November 29th. For weeks, I’ve avoided eye contact with strangers. My face is a closed curtain. My mouth, the most decorated knife. I pay for groceries, grab the receipt & let my half-hearted thank yous trail like smoke. I no longer want to see who refuses to see me.
Anyone is everyone.
December 1st. I keep waking up. There isn’t anyone white enough to stop me.
Pantomime the living until the body remembers: wicked bitch. Bloodwhirl. Patron Saint of the Grab Back.
Still. Still. Still. Still. Still. Still here.
I etch my own face upon my wicked flesh. I am my own devastating god.
Sorry for the late post. I wanted to post it when we hit 17 mil, but you know I’m shy about my art and also I slaved over this for two days please be gentle
This was a pretty fun one to work on. My health is the same as always, so straight lines are absolutely still not a thing I can do, but I’ve been trying to embrace the messier aesthetic and I’m really quite pleased with how these turned out.
I know it still leaves a lot to be desired, but comparing it to similar things I have done in the past, like the 7 Million Sub art (which also has a dog) or the unholy mess that was the 8 Million Sub art (which I’m trying to give myself a pass on since I was at the hospital that day, but c’mon guys, that was bad) I am definitely improving.
If you’ve followed me for a while, you’ll notice that my art and myself dropped right off the face of the planet for a year, almost two. I had no confidence in myself or in my work, and I let that take me away from what I love to do. It was Mark who brought me back into it. As I mentioned in this post, a lot of things changed for me after I watched the video where Mark talks about how he is excited for failure, because it helps him to grow. Directly after that, simply because one of my roommates put it in the queue on the Chromecast, I watched Mark’s Draw My Life. Although our circumstances are very different, I saw myself in him. I saw myself in the lost person who switched college majors all the time and didn’t know what he wanted. As weird as it sounds, that gave me some hope, which is something I desperately needed. If he can pull himself out, why can’t I?
So here’s the truth: I am in school for advertising, but what I really want is to be a writer. It’s my dream, and my passion is art. I quit both for a very long time, because I couldn’t accept the fact that my illnesses are chronic. I couldn’t accept that I will never “get better”, and that made me stop trying, because why live a broken life, anyway? But just because I’m fractured doesn’t mean I have no value. My brain thinks some terribly sad things, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t write beautiful ones. My hands may be unable to draw straight lines, but that doesn’t mean they can’t draw pretty ones.
So thanks for helping me learn that, Mark. I know you’ll never see this, of course. I’m not delusional. But I’d much rather have a thank-you unheard than a thank-you unsaid, y’know?
So thank you.
Because of you, I’m trying again.
As always, you can find these pieces of art on my Redbubble here. (x) (x) (x)
If you made it this far, thank you for reading my ramble. I know it’s irrelevant to you guys, but it helps knowing that I might not just be shouting into the void.
re: artists working themselves to death and why the HECK is this the standard
the entire thing about the death of an animator in japan due to overwork is exactly why i am completing chapter 1 of 1989nk in months, not weeks.
this has been one of my biggest fears getting this project off the ground. the standard for work output by artists is set so fucking high nowadays. we’re ALL expected to perform at the level of the outlier. (This was apparent to me as early as in Art School, when we were all treated like we were absolutely fucking useless for not being able to do an entire 5 minute 3D animated film all by ourselves like that one guy in our program.) Artists who overwork themselves and overachieve (whether by perceived necessity or choice) unfortunately create an illusion to consumers and employers that their level of performance should be the standard. It creates a nasty cycle, because more artists start trying to adhere to that standard and it gets passed on and on and on.
i’m honestly fully expecting my deadline for chapter one to be too long of a wait for some people. “This other artist got their 30-40 page comic done in 6-8 weeks, why is yours going to take 6-8 months?”
listen, its because i don’t want to not be able to draw for the rest of my life at 30. I dont want to destroy my wrist and make myself ill and make the quality of the comic suffer because i have to live up to the vicious overwork cycle that’s completely blanketed the digital art/media/comics scene. If another artist takes only a few weeks to do their comic? Fine, but you know, theyre most likely suffering BADLY for it, and even THEY shouldn’t have to do that. They really, really shouldn’t. Overwork and over achievement frankly needs to stop being praised and heralded, because its not only extremely damaging to the artist themselves, but it also creates that cycle i mentioned.
Trying to keep up with the immense production quantity and speed that other artists seem to be doing has never, ever been possible for me and I’ve occasionally tried, only to seriously break myself. Even the amount of work I do is considered a lot by some, so then how is it that to me, it always feels like chicken scratch? It feels like i’m STILL not doing enough, ever. Even with the amount of work I do, I still feel like a lazy sack of shit and feel crippling guilt when I’m taking a break to do anything else but draw. I constantly feel like I’m losing the race. That isn’t right. That isn’t fair.
i just really, really hope that people don’t see my production time for 1989nk and go “that’s too long, artists don’t take THAT long to do work” because. well. honestly, they should.
my biggest problem with the art school au designs is, that I am pretty basic by myself :D
But yeah, even tho Keith is a very expressive charcoal artist, he is also an athlete (does material arts as a compensation) That’s why he’s mostly running around in sweat pants. Sometimes he wears his glasses.
That’s when Miss Maria Reynolds walked into my life, She said, “I know you are a gremlin of honor, I’m so sorry to bother you at home… But I don’t know where to go, And I came here all alone…”
Anyway, I realized that I drew all the gremlin!Schuyler sisters, but I forgot Maria, our beautiful cinnamon roll (who actually did nothing wrong)! Another fanart of @sleepyeule‘s gremlin AU! Seriously, it is so cute ! And perfect to doodle when you’re procrastinating! (wh o ops)
dayum dawg, das a lotta hoomans watching my nonsense blog.
but anyways yeah!, thank you so much for the follow y’all :D 14k! didn’t think there’re gonna be so much peeps supporting me and my art! like, its buhzonkers<<is that even a word? it is now.
y’all are probably wondering, “who the fuck is that guys next to ye?” “and why is he calling u a fish?” well, he’s a school friend of mine! or should i say my bro/home boi. recently, he told me that he is going to a college that is waaaaayy beyond where i lived. that being said he’s going to rent somewhere there, and i can’t really do much about it, other than cry because i’m both happy n sad. i am very grateful to have a such supporting and accepting friend like him, the best 3 years of broship, and i wish the best of luck for him. :)
P.S. his name is chips. we’re both called “Fish n Chips” in our school…. dunno why-
Today I, being the pun-loving, shit-posting, tabletop-playing weirdo I am, was infected by a random insidious thought:
Is there a D&D or Pathfinder bardic school dedicated to harming people with terrible puns and cringey wordplay?
We’ve established that bards can encourage, enchant, and distract with their voices, so why not given them the power to make things so awkward and uncomfortable that it literally starts physically hurting people?
The deadliest sub-faction to the Bardic Schools of Pungeoneering: The Dadists. They practice the forbidden arts, and are capable of emitting an aura of constant awkwardness and inflicting countless status ailments with their judgmental words and uncomfortable, probing questions with terrible timing.
I can imagine a combat scenario now…
Enemy:*BLOOD DRIPPING FROM THEIR EARS* “Have mercy! I’m gonna die!” Paragon Dadist: “Hello, ‘I’m Gonna Die.'” *VOICE DEEPENS AND EYES TURN BLACK* “I’M DAD.”
A/N: Here’s another imagine from Aja’s long list. I am happy to say that I’ve almost made through her list and I might post two imagines tomorrow. Who knows? I am hoping. Anyways, I hope that you like this imagine. I hate myself, because I keep on coming up with sad endings. Sorry. HAHAHA. A massive thank you for your support guys and I love you so much. I am happy to receive some positive feedbacks from you and your nice comments really make my day complete. Thank you so so so much, really! Enjoy this imagine!
P.S.: I am not accepting part 2 requests for my prompt imagines. Sorry.
“(Y/N), I need a muse for my Arts project, please.” Tyler, your best friend, insisted for the millionth time as he wanted you to model for him. He was the professional photographer of your school and he took pictures of everyone, but he has always wanted to have his own personal muse.
“Ty, I know that I’ve always been your muse, but I am busy this week. C'mon!” You answered, miffed. You explained him for more than thirty minutes why you were turning him down that time, but it didn’t seem that he understood your point.
“Damn!” He unleashed a heavy sigh as he watched you getting the things you needed for your Science class in your locker. “Who’s going to be my muse now?”
“I don’t know, Ty.” You shoved your books in your backpack and you carelessly shut your locker’s door. “Sorry.” You’ve never declined his offer, because you always had fun during your photoshoots with him, but you were really busy and you really felt sorry for him.
“Can’t you think of anyone who might accept my offer?” He desperately asked and followed you along the hallway as you started to walk towards your class.
You didn’t want to disappoint your best friend and you knew how paranoid he became when it came to searching for his muse. He never had this problem, since you’ve always accepted his offer, and he didn’t know what to do, panic was surely occupying his emotions.
You knew Tyler and he would always stick to only one subject for his school projects. You surely disappointed him, but he couldn’t blame you, because he knew that you had your own life too.
“Ty, why don’t you ask Jessica or Sheri?” You suggested as you stopped yourself from walking, which caused you and Tyler to bump into each other, fortunately not hurting yourselves.
“Alright, but you owe me one.” He was offended, but Tyler was a sweetheart and he understood serious things quickly. He was your best friend because he knew how to cope with you and how to respect your own decisions.
“No, I don’t!” You playfully replied, giggling as you saw him flashing his sweetest smile.
“Of course, you do.” He winked at you as he fidgeted with the cameras dangling on his neck. You both laughed, nevertheless it wasn’t really a big deal.
“I need to go, Ty.” You flashed him a smile as you thrusted your head to your classroom’s direction. He nodded with a big and wide smile on his face.
“Take care, okay?” He reminded you and you just nodded as you started to walk again, increasing the distance between the two of you. “You owe me something, remember that!”
“She doesn’t!” You heard a deep voice along the hallway and you perfectly knew to whom it belonged: Montgomery, your boyfriend.
“What do you want, Montgomery?” Tyler’s shaky voice demanded for you to turn around and to check what was going on between them. The hallway was almost empty and some students were already in their respective classrooms. “(Y/N) is my best friend, I have the right to talk to her.”
“No, you leave her alone.” Your eyes widen and you quickly ran back to Tyler and Montgomery as you heard a sudden loud and sharp bang against the cold metal locker doors. “Freak!”
“Monty!” You stopped your boyfriend, but he just grabbed Tyler’s midnight blue button up shirt and tightened his grip as much as he could.
“Fucking leave her alone.” Montgomery threatened your best friend with his angry voice and eyes widened, showing that the sight of Tyler talking to you displeased and vexed him.
“These are thousand dollar cameras.” Your best friend tried to defend himself, protecting his beloved cameras. He really loved them, because photography was his life and favourite hobby too. You stood in front of them and you thought that your presence would have stopped Montgomery from pushing Tyler against the lockers behind him.
“Oh, yeah.” Montgomery nodded as he looked straight into Tyler’s eyes. He was struggling a little bit as Tyler was little taller than him. “I’ll break them on your face.”
“Montgomery, stop!” You pushed your boyfriend away, pulling his fist off Tyler’s clothes.
Montgomery was acting up, because he was jealous of your relationship with Tyler. You surely knew Tyler longer than you and Montgomery did, so he was afraid that you would leave him for your best friend.
“Threatening Tyler with your useless shit wouldn’t help you to ruin my relationship with him, okay?” You fiercely looked at your boyfriend’s eyes as you let him understand that he was doing the wrong thing.
“Don’t worry,” Tyler blurted out as he fixed his crumpled shirt. “your girlfriend hates me too.” He pointed out as he was referring to your action before, declining his proposal to be his muse. He shrugged his shoulders off, trying to assure Montgomery.
“Cut it off, Tyler!” You rolled your eyes. “I can do this on my own, go to your next class and I will see you later.”
“Alright, fine!” Tyler guiltily responded as he walked quickly through the empty corridors of your school. You watched his silhouette disappearing slowly from afar and you turned yourself to your still-miffed-boyfriend.
“Let’s go, de la Cruz!” You grabbed his forearm and you dragged him to the main entrance of your school. “We’re talking about your behaviour, because I am starting to be fed up. Okay?”
You heard him unleashing a long sigh and he foresaw the trouble that he was into. He was just afraid to lose you and you couldn’t blame him, but he was overreacting and he was menacing someone who meant a lot to you.
You both sat down on a bench, putting your school materials aside, and you inhaled some fresh air first, before you let the happening sink in your mind once again. The rage wrapped your body one more time and you looked at Montgomery, trying to catch his gaze.
“Fuck this silence!” Montgomery threw a fit and he stood up from the bench. He seriously considered your eyes and he saw your dull gaze. “I’m sorry, okay? I was just jealous.”
“I know, Montgomery,” You unleashed a deep and heavy sigh. You couldn’t believe that he was still jealous of Tyler and you were already dating for almost five months, five long months. “but you couldn’t keep on threatening my best friend whenever your jealousy takes control of your good and kind heart.”
“Of course, I can.” He bravely objected your statement. “I’m your boyfriend, he’s just your best friend.”
You knew Montgomery and he was a tough guy. He would do anything to protect you and your relationship. He would fight against people to maintain the bond between the two of you.
You loved him even though he was like that and you were trying to let him understand that he should stop worrying about your relationship, because your heart beat only for him. In fact, he was the perfect boyfriend that you could ever wish for, but all of us had our own imperfections. Montgomery’s imperfection was this: his inability to control his anger and his jealousy.
“It doesn’t work that way. Do you know that?” You remained calm as you fidgeted with your long dark sleeves. Finally shaking off the thought that you were skipping your class for a pointless chaos. You tried to not to cry, because you had to be strong. He had to listen to you and you knew that he wouldn’t if you just broke down.
“He is obstructing our relationship, (Y/N). I would be worried if I didn’t care about what he was doing, you know?” He debated, not getting the real point of your opinion. He was a hard-headed guy and you sometimes despised him for being one.
“No, Montgomery!” You protested, standing up from the bench. “You know what is obstructing our relationship?”
“Tyler!” He stated as he raised his voice, still convinced that the real cause was Tyler. You shook your head continuously to let him know that his answer was wrong. He wasn’t stupid, but he was blinded by his jealousy. Of course.
“Wrong!” You whispered as you leant towards him, diminishing the distances of your faces. “Your trust, Montgomery.” You poked his chest with your index finger as you ferociously pointed out. “Trust.”
“Okay, I had my doubts, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t trust you.” Montgomery lowered his voice as he calmly explained his thoughts, but you thought that they were just some sort of excuses.
“Your doubts?” You questioned him. “You had your doubts again?”
“Yes!” He bravely answered, almost shouting against you.
“And you want us to be together, nevertheless your doubts?” You asked him, being sure of what he had in his mind. Tears were about to escape, but you stopped them. You needed to be strong, remember? You couldn’t believe that he doubted on you once again, even though you never missed any chance to make him feel that you loved him. He doubted on you and it seriously hurt you.
“Yes!” He repeated with a sure and convinced voice timbre. He didn’t notice that you were hurt and he still kept his pride, shielding himself against your opinion.
“You know what those doubts are doing in our relationship?” You mumbled, the words were almost couldn’t be heard.
“No.” His feet suddenly became more interesting than seeing your face. His voice died as he honestly responded to your question.
“They are wrecking us.” You weakly blurted out. You couldn’t imagine your life without Montgomery and it broke you, everything broke you. “So, if you don’t want to lose me, start shaking off those doubts, because I love you. You, only you, and no one else, Montgomery!”
You grabbed your backpack and your books from the bench as you slowly walked away from Montgomery, leaving him with his mouth ajar. You decided to head to your Science class, although you were already late. It was always better to be late, than never. Right?
The journey was hard and heavy for you. The love that you were feeling for Montgomery was pulling you to bring you back next to him. You wanted to let him know that he would never lose you, no matter what happened between the two of you. He would never lose you, because you didn’t want to lose him either.
You loved Montgomery so much, but he doubted on you. It was heart-breaking, because you didn’t expect that he would doubt on you again, the first time was when he didn’t know that Tyler was your best friend and he thought that you were cheating on him. Sad, right? But he was excused that time.
You walked away from him and you let your tears to run down your face, letting your resentments out. Tears were slowly burning your crimson red cheeks.
He had his point on being jealous of your relationship with Tyler, but doubting on you? That was wrong, because, after all, doubts were the one who ruined relationships the most.
Montgomery hurt you and you would always forgive him, he just needed to realize his mistake after you opened his eyes.
It was better to be safe than to be sorry, right? Right.