I somehow have recovered the lost information necessary to regain access to  novabuttz

When I find the motivation I will pick up shop and transplant myself. Basically planning to abandon , it was only ever meant to be a placeholder account anyhow. I Kaiser Soze’d the username from a bottle of whiskey and some cheese.

The new :novabuttzicon account will only contain A-sides and B-sides of any previous work seen on this account. and all new C-, D-, E-, F-, G-, and H-sides will start being submitted to the new  novabuttz account.

Covid-red-rover send immune-system-response right over



💀

Goodnight pipe. Goodnight lighters.
Goodnight simple things that make my life brighter.
Goodnight baggies scattered all over the floor.
Goodnight to piles of ashes galore.
Goodnight to my boxes of munchies and feed.
Goodnight bowl. Goodnight weed.

Comic/Animation idea:
EXT. WHITE HOUSE
INT. OVAL OFFICE
*distressed man in a suit bursts into the Oval Office. The president is staring out the window, obviously troubled, presumably by matters of state.*
G-Man — “Madame President! *pauses to catch breath* It’s worse than our estimates led us to believe.”
President — *sighs wearily* Then you know what we must do.”
G-man — “Ma’am?”
President — We have to wake her.

INT. SECRET UNDERGROUND CRYOGENIC FACILITY
*the President, the G-man, and a small cadre of scientists and high-ranking officials pass through a set of swinging double doors (like the kind of doors that lead into an operating room)*
*in the center of the laboratory is a mysterious 15-foot tall, irregularly-shaped, transparent blue crystal that is mysteriously very cold despite not being powered or connected to anything.
*Inside the crystal is a mummified figure that slightly resembles a frozen Austin Powers, but with equal parts preserved and decomposed flesh. The female figure trapped inside the crystal almost looks like a zombie—ribs are showing, an eye and ½ the mouth is gone, etc.*
President — (to scientist in charge) Do it…now.
*scientist wordlessly nods and flips a giant ‘Frankenstein’ power switch with all the strength he has in both arms. Once switched, the floor directly beneath the crystal begins to glow red hot. It sweats, then starts melting at an alarming rate. The room is engulfed and soon mired in steam, obscuring everyone’s view of the process at hand. The members of the cadre all look at each other with some fear in their eyes.*
*a shadow begins to emerge from the steam, suspense builds*
*it’s Nøva, immaculately dressed to the nines in clubwear and as tall as a Swede wearing heels 👗👠💃🏼.*
*there is no flesh missing, no dehydrated skin or exposed tissue...she simply looks..uh like she’s ready for a weekend of raves, clubs, drinks and drugs.*
*Everyone is very confused, but a little less afraid at least. Nova takes a slow scan of the room while carefully plucking the dried tears of sleep from the corners of her eyes without mussing up her eyeliner.*
*Nøva stretches upward and bends her neck side to side*
Nøva — I //definitely// had too much Ketamine
President — Ms. Buttz?
Nøva — Gesundheit.
President — (pissed off, turns and power walks to the exit alone) Put her back on ice!
*sotto voice* I immediately regret this decision.

If you’ve ever wondered if cryptids have nightmares, they do. I’ve had tons of them leading up to the holidays this year.

All of these meaningless space pics and no narrative or even context except the astronomical phenomena I try to emulate.

Ive thought about it—I haven’t even tried it yet—but I haven’t even attempted to try and make any sort of space painting for Lignamira and it’s host system Humucera. Like what are you afraid of Past- and Present-? Committing to the details? Future- is going to have to take care of it, like usual, and fucking Present- has no way of weaseling out of this either. It doesn’t even have to be arranged like an orrery, just produce one establishing shot/image and move on. Solidify its existence.

Start fucking writing again, you goddamned dunce.

Anyway…all these space paintings, at least the Firsts, may inadvertently go into this children’s storybook I had an idea for. Seconds, Thirds and Compost may end up getting sold, stowed, sacrificed or set ablaze. We’ll see what my mental state is like when that time comes

Glass Animals has been my musical obsession for a few years now, with the exception of 2020, being as it was the year without a soundtrack(I didn’t listen to any music at all).

Some time around my birthday, early this year, I started listening again and all was good. But with the recent drop in the temperature, the petrichor, and cronchy leaves on the ground has left me in a deep, nearly pitch black pitfall of melancholy. Cold made colder by that familiar feeling of isolation and the bipolar depression that holds its hand. The upwelling of emotions and the yearning for things that were lost; the things that changed and the things I cannot, has left me…well reminded me that, like kintsukuroi, I’m still a plethora of broken pieces loosely held together by cheap gilding that is already starting to chip away.

My life is heading in a decent direction, things are the best they’ve been in over 10 years, over 15 even. Despite this, that cancerous, mood-crushing black spot on my soul constantly oozes a thick ichor of doubt, regret and self-hate. It builds up, gets into every crack of my being and I’ll never be able to clean it out. Broken things can be mended, but they are also easier to break than they were before.

Glass Animals captures these snapshots of melody and harmony that force a mirror on myself and I am saddened and ashamed at the … corporeal thing that I am.

The art show that I mentioned before is the same annual art show (that I had gotten 1st place in two years ago) that eventually led to the theft of my prize money (and several bank cards and checkbooks of mine) and the subsequent severance of one of my longest friendships. My friends are the closest thing I’ll ever get to having my own family. I love all of them, we’re kin. To remove someone who was the /closest/ was a traumatic experience. I thought he was my soulmate, for lack of a better term.

i. was. devastated.
it. was. volatile.

Its echos still haunt me psychologically—such are the gifts of the clinically narcissistic drug addict. Two years have passed since I last spoke, since I forcibly jettisoned Damion Robert Miller from my life. Two years since I wrote dozens of Future Letters to myself— that were written for specific dates— encouraging me to stay the course and reminding me of the myriad reasons why I took that action. It was the lies, the stealing, the abuse, the constant gaslighting and…
the fucking psychological mind games….

I ended it.

Why, the fuck, does it feel like it hasn’t?

Tar dragon - heroin - lazy, goopy, narcoleptic. Makes a fucking mess all over anything it touches
Crystal/gem dragon - meth/crack - rocky/crystalline, energetic and destructive
Lysergic beast/acid dragon - LSD - spits acid
Inter-dimensional dragon - DMT - glitches and phases geometrically in an out of existence
Fungal dragon - shrooms - has fruiting fungi growing on its body
Cactus/spiky dragon - peyote - prickly?
Vegetation dragon 🐉 - weed - green, frosty, naturally camouflaged

….not sure how to conceptually include cocaine or MDMA (other than behavioral traits, i.e. cocaine=nose to the ground and mdma=cuddlesome/maybe cute and fluffy w/ big eyes?)

Paint/graffiti dragon - spray paint “breath”

The panicked bow-legged speed-walk off the dance floor towards the bathroom.

lol

I will receive my replacement Apple Pencil today; barring any stupid phenomena or distractions, that is.

Manufacturing guns is my best shot at living comfortably. Moral reprehensibility aside, someone would have my job if I hadn’t set my sights on it.
But I went ahead and pulled the trigger and now all I can think of while @ work are the myriad artful ways of killing myself with firearms kind of like how OK GO has their music vids.
.
Förstår vs förstör
There’s a motto of mine that I came up with years ago. “Destroy what understands you”
.
iirc I created it for a drawing because it was random and sounded profound, but it has strangely haunted me. It runs through my mind whenever something bad happens involving two things or individuals that have a history together.
.
I never understood if the phrase was optimistic or not. It certainly seems negative. But if there’s one universal constant that I’m conscious of, it’s that destruction is necessary for creation. That could mean something as small as the slow destruction of a pencil as its lead is used and it reduces in size like a candle. Candle! A candle creates light by holding a flame thereby destroying itself—or it could be on a grander scale like the asteroid that destroyed the majority of life on the planet when it killed the dinosaurs; billions of genetic lineages snuffed out and destroyed so that mammals would gain dominance.
In these ways I feel like the phrase “destroy what understands you” could have a positive connotation. But the “what understands you” part haunts me. To understand is to have conscious thought. Am I referring to those closest to me? I’ve no fucking clue, but I know I would never intend for it to mean “murder,” so rest easy fam.
.
Could It mean to destroy their spirit? That’s some manipulative codependent shit that I’m not about to subject to anyone. Likely the tail end of the phrase is a reminder to myself that the more someone understands me (read: gets closer to me) the more necessity to destroy the relationship grows. Statistically it’s those closest to us that end up hurting us the most, whether intentionally or not. And that infliction of pain goes both ways, I’m no angel either. But to destroy such a strong relationship between friends or family...what in the seven-layers-of-a-burrito kind of creation will this fucked up alchemy result in?
I’ve removed many people from my life, and (excluding quality of the person) I’ve yet to see a clear result on the other side of the equal sign in this subtraction problem.
.
Yesterday as I was mulling over this dumb phrase, I translated it to Swedish because I’m slowly trying to learn the language. Interestingly enough, with the exception of one letter, the two verbs in the phrase have identical spellings and nearly identical pronunciations. I don’t know why, but I’m mounting in suspicion of this four-word phrase, ‘destroy what understands you.’ This sequence of words was meant to be a throwaway edgelord nonsensical piece of bullshit on a sketch, hidden inside a sketchbook but it hides inside me instead and I don’t know what to make of it.

A giant drags its heels leaving scars in the terrain.
An eagle cries fowl of a meal and the promise of a storm closes in,
The lightning clashes the ground all around,
No one reacts as more of us are struck down

After having immersed myself, during my free time, in the research of ancient Egypt for a solid two years, I feel like I can more fully appreciate the tremendous discoveries made in the last decade. Currently enjoying the new docu on Nutflix.

i don’t get adoptables, as I’ve mentioned before.

It just feels a little too much like...selling out? It’s definitely in the same vein as prostitution and whoring oneself, and that’s not meant to disparage sex workers, they’re far more courageous than the average human. I guess it’s just adoptables are more or less meaningless to the content creator except, maybe, creating adoptables as an act of honing one’s drawing skills.

I would much rather see an artist’s gallery full of work that they are passionately proud of, with narratives behind the subject matter and rl anecdotes woven through the process of a work’s creation. Instead after a 10 year hiatus I return to see FA is victim to the western capitalist manifesto†, it’s oozing at the seams with hundreds (thousands?) of very talented artists trying to supplement their income by subjectively devaluing their art and selling their creations, combinations, amalgamations, automations, and acquired skills. There just doesn’t seem to be any heart in it.

That’s not to say that the buyer of said adoptables is somehow getting screwed. I mean if you’re willing to spend you’re hard fought(or not) expendable income on a character/creature design—and it may even mean something to said buyer—that’s not to say it doesn’t subjectively hold any value. But it certainly never and likely will never appear to hold any value in my eyes, except maybe from a conceptual standpoint.






———————————————————————————
† I always admired the furry fandom because it was never tied to a single company, corporation, game developer, movie, production/marketing agency or any other shill of an entity that hovers over literally every other pop-culture fandom in existence. Ie, Star Trek fandom had the shows/movies, the reboot was fracking the teat of long-thought dead cash cow. Star Wars had the movies and massive merchandising campaigns, and now Disney owns it, that point proves itself right there. Comic-Con has many hands in the cookie jar rooting around for money that consumers will throw at their favorite show/movie/comic/g-novel/book/etc (how many goddamn superhero movies and tv shows do we need and we certainly don’t need a ½ dozen Spider-Man and Batman reboots in roughly 20 year span; how many do there have to be before that shit becomes a low-key religion? Have you seen how ridiculously zealously comic fans debate over the minutiae regarding the canon of superheroes?). The furry fandom does, from time to time, focus on the various cash cows (Bolt, Zootopia, MLP, etc.) that fall under the genre of furry media/merchandise, but it was never governed by those Mooooo-lah makers. I feel like that’s something that’s changing, and ironically enough, not by any corporation or company hungry for money, but from within, by its own denizens.

I’ve backslid a bit. But I’m keeping it at measured, unchanging, small doses.

I’ve been mourning the loss of my support system. But after ousting all of my toxic, narcissistic friends I have to remind myself I never had a support system. And this isn’t a cry for help, so don’t treat it like one. But I can only imagine how bad I’d be feeling if Trump had won the election—offing myself just feels like the next logical step. Ugh, but then I’d still be stuck with Lignamira being unfinished business.

I wish I wasn’t always in such a goddamn hurry whenever I’m able to crank them out because there’s always some small details or mistakes that drive me up the wall. Tonight’s issue(s) was incoming rain, losing the sunlight, and the hordes of mosquitoes that dined on my neck, face, shoulder-blades, back, thighs/calves/ankles, arms and pits. I normally only say this when I’m in recovery, but it’s gonna be an itchy weekend.

I don’t know what that’s all about tbh. But it used to worry me that certain parallels might be reached, that’s just statistics. But I’m not as worried anymore because most of the adoptables I see are only stylized. If Teryl Whitlatch has taught me anything its that a made up creature has to interact and socialize and exist in its environment in a logical way. And that’s not something I’ve seen too much of in the adoptables. The “why” of the creature is just as important as the “what” because it informs the “what.”

What?

I did something. I returned to something I thought was dead and a distant yet fond memory.

I returned to Lignamira. The fictional world I was creating lives again and now grows once more. I had abandoned it, after working on developing its foundations, it’s geography and biology for roughly 10 years and then James Cameron released Avatar. That movie derailed much of my motivation but not before flattening the coins of concepts resting on the rails of fiction. I think I’m passed that, for the most part, leaving wreckage behind me to tramp on foot towards completion.

Over the years, on occasion, I would have an idea, a spark, and put it into my FLoaBO to be referred to later should I ever return to that place. Last night I was cleaning out my room and organizing old art stuffs while I had company over and came across some notes and drawings laden with background and exposition relating to a potential plot. My friend asked me to share what it said/meant. As I started reading, I had forgotten many of the ideas I had at one time. As I read I came up with amendments and additions thanks to my life experiences since that time when I gave up. And a strange thing happened, it came back to life. The birdsong could be heard, the wind underneath the stilted cities rushed through the blackness of the caverns beneath, lehnadrads leapt from tree to tree in both play and war. I could see it again.

I wanted to hold onto it.

On a whim, when I woke up the following morning, I started writing again. Mayhaps the drawings will follow.