Jodaeic Creationisms

Today, for the first time in a shamefully sized temporal chunk, I worked on follower artwork.
I didn’t complete anything!
But I made progress. I will start working on this and getting all of your art to you as of now. All my personal projects will be set aside. 

Now, if you’re on my raincheck list, the reply you gave to my “Thank ye for followin’!” ask is probably hopelessly buried in my inbox. Send me another one with what you want me to draw you and it will get done! (eventually™)

 Here is my progress:

Umm… hello! It is a pleasure to be up here giving a speech in front of you guys, my fellow Aulticians. We’ve spent a year together… a year of existentialism, vocab, and nonconsensual brain rape. We arrive here, in the final week of our high school journey, to share our experiences. Maybe it’s just me, but I think that’s pretty cool.

          My first few years were heavily academic, and although they did get progressively better, they don’t measure up to my senior year. I think all of you can agree with me on the fact that this year was the best by far. It was enlightening, liberating, and overall more social than any other year. For me though, senior year was life changing. I came into the year feeling as if nothing had changed, but then a series of events happened and my reactions to them and the choices I made came to define me as a person.

Things were all set in motion by my conversations with an adult acquaintance of mine, Pat. I met Pat during my freshman year, and he was a really chill and awesome sort of teacher. He was one of the few teachers I’ve had that I added on facebook, and he was one of the even fewer that accepted my friend request. Now that may seem weird and unimportant, what I’m about to say may seem completely unrelated, and what I’m saying right now may be confusing you even more, but bear with me here. So a couple years later a buddy of mine from the internet talks me into buying a game called Starcraft II with him at the midnight release. At the time I had absolutely no idea what the game was about, whether or not I’d enjoy it, or why I was spending $60 on it, but I did. I get home and fire it up a few weeks later only to notice there was an add facebook friends feature. Guess who it picks up: my old teacher Pat from freshman year. I get really excited because this really cool teacher that I almost forgot about plays video games, specifically this one, and in all my excitement I ran off to facebook to see how he’s been all this time. Now here is when the story picks up: I get to this guy’s profile and see that his entire wall is links to gay rights news articles. This was shocking because at this point in my life I had known that I was gay for awhile, but I really hated myself for it and denied the fact to myself at every opportunity. Here was someone that I knew in real life and looked up to, someone who was not only gay, but also capable of speaking of it and accepting it and whatnot. It took me a few weeks of nervousness before I manned up and sent him a message. For the next few nights we talked, although it was mostly me monologue’ing about how bad I felt about myself and how ashamed I was. I couldn’t even call myself gay initially, as if those three letters were the hardest thing in the world to type. A listening ear can be the only thing you need sometimes, though. Once I got it all out there I felt better about myself. He gave me a lot of pushes in the right direction, too: away from self-hating mindsets and instead towards self-acceptance.

After a few weeks of talking Pat told me of National Coming Out day, the upcoming Tuesday, October 11. I got really panicky. It was too soon. I didn’t think I could do it. When it finally rolled around I was nervous as hell all day. I couldn’t think straight. After 5 periods of a back and forth “I think I can,” “No, I can’t” I talked to Cameron about it. He gave me some advice, namely that I should take baby steps and save telling the most important people for last because that’s the most difficult. It was good advice, but I didn’t follow it. That day after school I told my mom. She started crying and I guess it was contagious because I started crying too. We hugged for whatever length of time it took for me to stop crying and start wondering when the hug would end, because holy cow. It was at least five minutes.

In the weeks and months that followed I managed to tell a handful of friends. All of them were really cool about it, and I was honestly surprised that nothing changed at all. They were still my friends. I guess I had expected everyone to leave me and for me to get beat up and to spontaneously combust or something, but none of that happened. Nobody cared. It took a lot of courage, and I was really scared, but I told my dad eventually. He was silent for a long while, but then he made it clear that he still loved me and that he had absolutely no idea how being gay works (he thought he could “show me what I was missing” to change my mind).

Awhile later I changed the little “interested in” section of my profile on facebook to ‘Men’. I made a second facebook account so that I could play around with the settings to make absolutely sure that facebook wouldn’t make an announcement of it. I figured that the people who needed to know would see it, and the people who didn’t need to know wouldn’t be digging through my profile in the first place, but I was wrong. I think in the month or two I had that up, only 2 people actually saw it. In the meantime people were still making assumptions about me, because everyone is straight until otherwise stated for whatever awful reason. So I go and draw a picture. And then I went and posted this picture to facebook. In case you haven’t already seen it, here it is.

Now you most likely aren’t gay, but I’m sure there’s an aspect about yourself that you hide. Maybe you’re ashamed of it. Or maybe you just tend to bottle up your feelings. If I’ve learned anything from my experiences in high school, I’ve learned that each and every person in this room, in this school, and on this planet is different. Difference, for whatever reason, is an intimidating thing. There is an overwhelming pressure to hide your difference, to feel that you belong. Lying to yourself and others in the interest of conformity is a very easy thing to do, and as scary as it is, it often happens unconsciously. I’d like to tell you all that there is absolutely no reason to pretend to be something you’re not so that you feel like you belong, because if there’s one thing that we all have in common, it’s our difference. As we graduate in the days to come, I hope you all leave with a little piece of this speech. If there’s anything that you take away from this, I hope it’s the knowledge that it’s okay to be yourself.

chainerstorment:

My eyes burned with  the glare of the sun. I looked down at my boots, they were worn, beaten. And simple. I was dressed as a commoner. The voice broke into my skull like a hammer, the unfamiliar voice pounding into my consciousness. It was NOT my Magus.

My hands swept to the side, and I closed my eyes. This stranger had made a fatal mistake. He had left me in an ocean of Sand; my Art. I clenched my fists and focused. My heart beat faster. But nothing else. I opened my eyes in shock. I should have been swept up, riding atop a cresting wave of sand, but my Art seemed to have fled. I attempted to send out a pulse, but to no avail. It was as if i was… A bilge-blood, one without even a scrap of the Art.

“What power could do this?” I hissed softly. “Reduce me to this… lump of worthless, common flesh?”

Hearing no answer, I began to trudge towards the city, a speck in the distance. One step at a time.

It was long work. Hard work. Dune before dune stretched before me. With no food, no water. But finally, after two days of nothing but walking in the sun-scorched sandscape that was Aerhop, I stumbled up to the gate. My skin was blistered. My lips cracked. My legs felt as though they were lead. Another step. Almost to the guards. Help. They could help. I collapsed, face first into the dust. I felt certain I would die here. “W..at…er.” It was all I could muster.

Things were black for a long time in my little Noble puppet’s Elsewhere. My left limb, the one channeling his surroundings, was heavy as stone and difficult to move. It was wise of me to settle in the spotty shade of a fruit tree.

I focused hard on the condition of the Noble. I wanted at the very least to watch him progress, if not pull a few strings here and there.

Miles upon miles of sand dunes stretched through my mind’s eye before honing in on a heap of tattered robes before a manned gate.
The guards rushed to collect his scorched body. It had been decades since the last visitor came to Aerhold from land. Aerhold was a prosperous port city, but it was entirely dependent on its imports and exports: being surrounded by 180 degrees of endless sand dunes had caused that. The city was a young one, founded little under a century ago by the explorer Igual Berthman IV. The mainland was plagued by overpopulation and a declining economy, so an exodus to anywhere was sanctioned. Although within a harsh environment, the plot of land that became Aerhold was rich with natural mineral deposits and exotic flora and fauna. The trade routes established between Aerhold and the mainland generated markets for these new resources and stimulated the naval industry, so because of this it was fairly common for newcomers to arrive by sea. The noble was the second person in nearly one hundred years to arrive by land.

The first to arrive by land was called Arven. Arven emerged from an abandoned mine shaft one day carrying nothing but an empty lantern. It claimed that it found an entrance out in the desert, and entered on necessity of shelter and the chance of finding water. It (as referred to by the cityfolk, Arven didn’t seem human) was in a near state of delirium from lack of food and dehydration, and was nursed to health much like the Noble was now. 

It was a few days before the Noble woke again. He had been given water and a place to rest, but could not be fed while unconscious. Food, coincidentally, was the first thing he requested (in an irritable manner) upon waking up. The nurse scurried off to the hospital kitchen to fetch something substantial as a guard slithered over to the Noble’s bedside. This particular guard, for whatever reason, never left the Noble’s side in his unconsciousness. It was of particular relief to him to see the Noble’s eyes flutter open earlier that afternoon.

“What a gift to see you are finally in eyes, wanderer. Are you of sound condition aside from hunger?”

mindofjode:

Thadeus was really unhappy with his life.
He wanted to change things, he really did, but then he got hit by a car and died.
His final thoughts were something along the lines of… No. Not now. Not yet. I’m not ready to die.

Thadeus awoke in a room of pure white. The details of the following moments are unclear, but he knows that the White Room is giving him an opportunity. He must write, paint, carve, draw, play, imagine, etc. (create) a world where he will have another life… he will live on the world he creates as an immortal until the world comes to a natural end. He comes to the realization that the world he came from, Earth, could have very well been authored by someone who came to this very same White Room that he finds himself in, and that one, many, perhaps all of the beings on the world he creates could find themselves in the very same place. 

So his “world” that he creates is two objects. A book and a remote. The book is a constantly updating list of every available world, a brief description, and a code. When the code is entered into the remote, it will take him to the world, giving him immortality until the world comes to a natural end. But before that happens he leaves to a new world, and thus has voluntary immortality. 

Robbed of the only mortality he will ever have, Thadeus’ lust for life fuels him through an unfathomably lengthy existence until he reaches enlightenment. He realizes that in all those years he was greedily chasing after life, experiencing everything there is to experience, he was never truly living. Life has no value without death. 

Thadeus sits atop a cliff and witnesses for the first time what can only be described as a nuclear sunset— the end of a world. It is the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes upon.

Snow and sleet of the freezin’ season
Knees of the weak be beat in the street
Legs and feet in the trees of the creek
Be caught in the weeds for multiple reasons
Thorns! He’s cut up bleedin’
Sheet
Poison spreads from his head to his feet
He needs treatment or he’ll be dead in a week
But then he blacks out…
Falls asleep
sleep
sleep
sleep
sleep
A hospital seat is where he awoke
His head was cut up
And his arm was broken
Nobody knows him
He’s cold and alone
And his thoughts go back to a place called home
But it’s hopeless
His spirit is broken
And he chokes on words that remain unspoken
He’s hopin’ 
He hopes and he prays
That he won’t fade away by the end of the day
But he’s uncertain:
The hurt and the pain
Collaborative forces that work on his brain
To destroy him
Drive him into the dust
This taste on his lips is the taste of rust
He’s bleeding
Blood from his eyes
And his soul leaks out as he cries
as he cries
This hole in his chest leaves him breathless
The void of his death disrespected neglected
A reflection of truth
He was the best of the best in his youth
But on his deathbed he is useless and broken
The words in his mind go forever unspoken
He tries to speak, but only manages to croak as
He chokes on the blood in his teeth and his throat
He is weak and defeated
And the blood is seeping
With increasing speed
As his breathing is creeping
To a close
It would seem that
It would seem that
It would seem that all hope is depleted

Well when the nurse walked in as shy as a sheep
And spied the old man in his bed, asleep
She knew he was dead, but he looked like a dream
Except for the blood on his eyes and his teeth
He was a regular Gregor, a Winston, a Piggy
To feel for this man would be downright silly
So the nurse left the room in a jiffy
To fetch the mortician who’d have the place spotless and pretty
In an hour flat had the room lookin’ spiffy
Looked at the papers and the man’s name was Jimmy
Tricky
He’s poor and he’s homeless 
No one to pay for the grave or a tombstone bonus
No family plot to bury his bones
So he’s off to a morgue for his whole postmortem
A few nights ago he died cold and alone
In a cold hard place where nobody knows ‘im
His fight unheard of
His life unknown
Beautiful bones on a bleached white throne
On that night he died cold and alone
But his hospital room became a place called home to him

—

A rap thingy by Jodediah
Made for the beat Why Like This? by Teebs

Expect a recording of this soon.

feuerkind:

Ooo… I’m going to have fun drawing these!!

But you need to draw your own, remember? D=
I wanna seeeee themmmmm 

chainerstorment:

jodediah:

Reblog this or send me an ask with a character name and I’ll give you their story!

Thats why you picked the pumpkin, isnt it?

Yep, haha. Pumpguin, the penguin with the pumpkin head, has been one of my favorite little guys since I created him back in middle school. I haven’t really come up with much of a backstory for him, but I feel like he’s an outcast of some sort.
I’ve put him in the Poko/Otto/Wado adventure squad before, but I don’t think that’s where he really fits.
If he were to find himself in any sort of dangerous situation, he uses confetti as either a smokebomb, distraction, or concealment for hardcore ninja daggers. (The confetti thing was a bit of a joke when I first came up with it, but it stuck.)
His lantern head lights up in the night. 

Reblog this or send me an ask with a character name and I’ll give you their story!

chainerstorment:

I yawned softly, slipping off my Longstride boots before approaching the tree. Didn’t want to take a step and end up a full league away, after all.  I carefully set them atop a stump, then turned to consider these objects.

I scoffed.  Broken. Or Useless. All of them.

“What is the point of this, Magus?” I called, but received no answer.

I sighed, eying the sword first. It was Iron, and even with the rust I could tell it was of sub-par craftsmanship. This guard was much too short, and the decorative knob at the end of the hilt would have unbalanced it into almost uselessness. No wonder it was rusty.

The lantern was filled with water. Other than that, it might have been useful, once.

The dress. Something flashed through my mind as I gazed upon it, but it was fleeting. Elusive. The garment was torn, and silk, while expensive, is difficult to mend. It wasn’t a color I found attractive anyway. 

The Goblet was tarnished and dented.  I suppressed a chortle. While gold in color, a discerning eye could tell it was not the precious metal. And I have a discerning eye.

I passed up the quill as well. Fine as it looked to be, I am warrior, not a scribe. If my brother were here I am certain he’d have taken the quill.

But I am not my brother. I strode forward, shoulders held high. I reached out and grasped the handle of the lantern, lifting it off the bough.

The beast’s eyes widened as a particular marking on its wrist lit up with spectral flame. The Noble had chosen the lantern. In several rapid motions, the beast kindled the spark in such a way that it grew and changed colors.

By now the Noble would have observed, in shock, the lantern burst into an inferno of the same spectral flame. It would have spread up his arm and consumed him, but it would have been painless. This fire was not heat, it was consciousness. The beast’s consciousness, specifically. The Noble lost himself in the flame in the next few moments, finding himself in a land reconstructed from the beast’s memory.

This place was a panorama of desert. The Noble was beaten and worn just like the items from the tree, a genuine lowly traveler. He was without his longstriding boots and the lantern he grabbed and any other luxuries that may have been on his person. The beast’s voice came coarse and omnipresent: ”Welcome to the sand dunes of Aerhop. In the distance you’ll see the port city Aerhold, and that is where you must go. Learn the story of the lantern and then you may leave this place if you choose. Until then, however, this is your reality. You will not hear from me again, Noble.”

ELSEWHERE
The Wise Beast - Part 2

I nod to the beast, tossing a few coppers at its feet and waving dismissively. A Noble like myself would do nothing more. After reading the note I move in the direction of the lake. It must have been from my Magus. No one else would dare be so bold as to message me in public.  I reached the pond in little time. Longstride boots will do that. And with great curiosity, I eyed the items hanging from the tree.

The beast clawed the coppers from the dirt, a jagged grin passing over its face as it picked up on the Noble’s thoughts. Bold, you think of me? No one else as bold as I? A twisted snicker escaped its jaw as it stepped into the shadows of a nearby building and emerged in the shadows of the blackwood tree by the crystal pond. We shall see how bold you are now, Noble, it thought as it began to hang items from the strongest branches of the tree. There was a rusty iron sword, a lantern filled with water, a torn silk robe, a tarnished golden goblet, and a fine quill made from the feather of a Groltyn.

It stepped back into the shadows of the blackwood tree and emerged in another shadow miles away. It kept a close eye on the markings on its wrists, waiting for the Noble to make a decision. 

Previous episodes:

       The Special Day

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4
• Part 5
• Part 6
• Conclusion

       The Wise Beast

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4

Postscript: chainerstorment started following you