I believe in remembering the good and being thankful

I think he just loved to make people happy, screw the politics or civility.

A true storyteller.


When I was really young I found the Dragon Ball manga buried in the back of our city's library children's section next to Adventures of Tin-Tin and a series of barely translated Pokemon Adventures, around the time first Gen came out. We didn't have cable or any sort of paid programing growing up, so I had no idea what an anime even was... But the big smiling face of this goofy monkey-boy just drew me in like he wanted to play, plastered across the cover as if to just burst out of the paper.

I was still a slow reader and was immediately confused; The front was on the back?

It took me an hour to puzzle out how to read the panels in reverse, when I got caught laughing too loudly the librarian was afraid I was making trouble back in that abandoned dark section.

After meeting Goku, I was tempted to prove her right!

🥹

Thank you Mr. Akira Toriyama

Do what you can,
Even if it is just spreading the word.

https://www.furaffinity.net/journal/10758204/

There is a contradiction inherent in vocabulary.

As language is a tool for communication, being able to relate to others through words is inherently required for effective application. Yet as the command of a language grows, as you find a plethora of ways to concisely express yourself, you distance yourself from that very goal.

It is not as if you can simply reject the language now enshrined within your mind, it becomes an extension of you just as a hand enables the arm to grasp at the world around you.

At some point the language becomes a mask, concealing your face from others who can only see the painted text and traumatic images of alien concept.

That which is familiar is comforting,
that which is not a threat.

And so we place a mask on the mask,
a mirrored sheen to reflect whatever is facing us.
Just speak as they do,
use their words,
echo their thoughts...

Or be left in the cage of our own making.

~Nithophis

Sharing uncomfortable truths
can be a way to find common bonds
with others who know pain.

I often find myself wanting to unburden all the weight in my heart;
let it flood out over others just to see
if it hurts them just as much as it does me.

But I am selfish.

I am a coward.

The fear of being alone is greater to me
than the fear of never being
understood.

So I hold the gate tight,
For my own sake.

~Sigwion

When <Social>;


If [You] then Not [Me]

If [Me] then <Define>
If [You] then Not <Define>

When <Define> Call [Identity] and Extract [Flags: Identifiers]

If [You] then <Respect>

When <Respect> Call [You] and Request [Flags: Identifiers]
Decompile [Flags: Identifiers] and Execute


!Error!

<Define> Call [Identity] of [You]

If [You] then Not <Define>

Terminating <Define> [You]

*Opens a can of cranberry sauce and slowly lets the contents jiggle out with a series of farting noises until the pillar of crimson gelatin plops onto the plate...

Just... wobbling there...*

-

A wise teacher of mine taught me a valuable lesson long ago:

In a real decision someone always gets hurt.



To elaborate: should an individual have the responsibility to determine outcomes, then there also comes an ethical obligation to generate the most mutually beneficial resolution for the most individuals involved.

Who is considered an ethical responsibility is dependent on perspective, knowledge, and beliefs of this "judge", making it an inherently subjective and biased resolution due the very nature of individuality; if they knew everything and everyone all the time their presence would no longer fall within the bounds of a individual or even relative cognition at that point.

With those limitations and morals in mind, resolving a choice can come in two forms: there is an evident and apparent way they can satisfy ethical obligations or there is not.

If they can satisfy them, the choice is simply to accept ethical responsibility or not to.

If they cannot... THEN they have the responsibility make a judgment in which the outcomes will always be unethical.



There is no right answer.

A real decision.



Happy Halloween

~Nithophis

*Stealthily eats my cake...*

^_^

(Disclaimer: I have atypical perspective and am expressing curiosities in observed behavior.)

The declared goal is to be treated equally, which is not being treated the same.

Differences are announced and labeled using complex series of pronouns, acronyms, and developing grammatical systems.

While obeying the systems presented it needs to not be a priority in the person's evaluation of another or otherwise change or alter opinion.

I am different, treat me the same.


I cannot process this logic and do as I have always done:

You are person;
I am person.

The details of the individual can be learned as we socialize, not before.

I just had a brilliant idea.

You get a black shirt and have "Black Shirt" printed in bold white letters across it, with a second tiny line of white letters beneath reading "with white text".

You then get a white shirt with "White Shirt" printed in bold black letters across it, with a second tiny line of black letters beneath reading
"with black text".

You give these out for free in an urban area.

I just...

I am tired, frustrated, angry, and sad.

I asked for help.

I swallowed my pride, played their game, followed the rules, faced my flaws...

It hurts.

~Nithophis

Trust and faith...

I do not know how to trust anymore, to logically conclude that events outside of my influence will resolve positively.

But I can try to have faith, to eschew my more reasonable understanding and just choose to believe they will...

It is... hard to do.

I had a dream about being tested for some kind of position I wanted in an auditorium with other people. They presented us with a complex scenario in which there was a gun on display at a showcase within a VR-like game which killed an attendee without leaving it's stand. The victim was one of the programmers of the game. There was a bunch of other specific details, mainly dealing with how the crime was unsolvable.

We were then left to reflect on the scenario for a short time before having to be cross examined by the proctors one at a time. I spent my time helping someone sitting next to me review all the facts. They were tested before me and the proctors seemed pleased. I was tested last and they were smugly impatient to end the testing, saying they'd only ask me two questions. The first was "What day of the week was this crime committed on?". My response was "I never considered that relevant." in a relaxed and cheerful tone. This seemed to annoy them and they asked "Care to yourself?". "Because I figured out who the killer is."

I proceeded to explain how the entire scenario only worked because any variable relating to evidence was well within the control of the murderer. That in of itself was evidence of who committed it, by process of elimination combined with deducing who would actually have the motive to do so and the knowledge of the capacity of this VR weapon to actually kill.

It was obviously the programmer of the weapon themselves who did not reveal the ability of the gun to be displayed as a method to prove a point after being dismissed on their capacity to affect the real world through a VR game. I continued that I would not consider the individual who activated the weapon the killer as with cases of accidental manslaughter the intent to do harm would need to be established, and since this scenario had created such an organized series of events involving security it couldn't have been negligence on the game companies' end, in part because of the virtual nature of the showcase granted them ultimate control over the variables.

Therefore it would have had to been the person who supplied the data composing the weapon to the staff orchestrating the event. Who pulled the trigger when and how ceased to become relevant at that point. The proctors looked angry and started trying to drill me on the extra details insisting they are important, but I just respond: "I answered your two questions.".

I only got 4 hours of sleep.

Cool, creamy, smooth, and sweet...
Flakey crust; a delightful treat.
Sugar, cream, pumpkin spice,
Finished piece; you feel quite nice!
Tummy starts to gently plump,
Then so too does your rounding rump.
Thickened thighs, fuller cheek;
Your chair lets out a feeble creak!

Delightful gourd, sugared meat,
Your belly rumbles as you eat.
Waistband tightens as shirt rides high,
Now exposed; you feel quite shy!
Your growing hunger is yet sated,
And so another slice is slated...

Fluffy cream and flakey crust,
Taut buttons start to bust.
Never full, hunger grows,
More and more your middle shows!
Softness spreads throughout your form;
A pleasant coat to keep you warm!

Groaning strain, chair leans back,
Your dinner throne begins to crack!
Belly rising like fresh dough,
Your balance begins to go!
Happy thoughts as the roof flies by;
You finished off that Plumpkin Pie!

~Sigwion

Are they self-aware

Whether they are or are not.
That specific question we ask ourselves.
This disturbing uncertainty.
The spreading insecurity of faith in society.

Are they self-aware

~Nithophis

Update

NEW!
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Your Fault
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Keep Up
Your Fault
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Tired
Keep Up
Your Fault
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Pain
Your Fault
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Faster
Adapt
Adapt
Failure
Your Fault
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Failure
Adapt
Adapt
Pain
Failure
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Adapt
Failure
Adapt
Failure
Failure Failure
Failure Failure Failure
Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure

~Nithophis

What Sets Them Off

Lists
Explanations
Cleaning
Having Items Moved
Feeling cluttered
Open space
Feeling ignored
Recordings
Being stared at
Loud speech
Whispering
Passive aggressive tones
Identifying terms
-Cultural shorthand
-Religious positions
-Genetic nationality
-Gender or sexual roles
-Mental health
-Political affiliations
-Philosophic stances
-Historical interpretations
-Unknown terminologies
Implied familiarity with known groups
Introductions to unknown groups
Rephrasing questions
Repeating questions
Finances
Certain foods
Dietary suggestions
Medical experiences
Family relations
Relationships
Various animals
-Ducks
-Specific insects
-Types of dogs
Reminders

~Sigwion

Counting
---

The first impact is always hard, creating a tremor that is felt even within the enclosure. The source of brutal strength was only revealed during the brief glimpses of amber light when the roof is torn open and a mass of leathery muscle abducts another victim.

The second is a soft slice, not felt but barely heard... followed by wet dripping and a distant crash of something soft. The smell had been fresh at one time but now the scent permeates and clings to the stale air so thickly it deadens the senses.

Third; the effortless crunching of bones. Whether it was a single action or many, it all merged into seamless continuous cacophony. The others whined and shivered in the dark, but you counted and waited. You were not going to die here.

Fourth was the swift clinking of metal on metal, a familiar yet still alien sound you had yet to visualize beyond some kind of tool being used. The pounding of blood in your veins becomes so intense that you have to take a deep breath lest your balance fail you.

A pure high pitched chiming of a bell pierces the suffocating tension, causing tense limbs to twitch against your will. You can do this, you will survive.

The roof begins to tear open, the light blinding as you spring towards it, to freedom!

The hand casually grasps your small form, as if it had expected your attempt. The deep rhythmic rumbling of your captor reminds you of laughter as your claws and bite with futility into their scared ancient hide. Crushing weight slams you against the stained wooden board, blasting the air from your lungs and blurring what little vision had come to you.

A glint of metal, flexed muscle...

The first impact is always hard.

~Nithophis

I think...

Nithophis is my ambition.

A starving dragon I have been demonizing because it hurts. Some version of me clawing at my existence from beyond the Void, hating me for being so disappointing.

A part of me that has become so bitter at the world for denying me, and at myself for not overcoming it.

I really do not know how I have not realized it before: the only times I have created something of my own was when I was in such a negative state I couldn't resist the urge to be "greedy"...

*Blows on a party favor*

---

It isn't fair.

Every perspective is unique due to the base nature of individuality, Doxa. We can be right next to each other and never see the same thing. We can imagine, make mental constructs, and rationalize ourselves into believing we understand one another.

But ultimately, it is just a game. A dance. A masquerade.

We are isolated in a crowd.

And so lonely it hurts to speak.

Emotions are not logical, the fact they conflict with our logical structures is why they are so disruptive.

You cannot explain emotion, just experience it. You can figure out what lead up to feeling them, but not stop them from occurring with such knowledge. Knowledge is helpless in the face of raw experience, and experience can only do so much to numb you to it's sting.

Being jaded in of itself is conflicting with our own expectations, yet it is more comforting than a fresh pain.

I wrote Nithophis's experience without realizing how tied it was to my own. I do not want to restate it all, and I do not expect you to remember it, but that feeling of being cut off and eroding away in a painful yet numb darkness... while somehow being someone else that can connect with the world... someone else who can make sense of the insanity.

Sigwion and Nithophis, the same but twain. Never to be on the same plane, but inseparable.

How caustic this modern media is: no one is responsible for opinions or perspectives, just victims impulsively spreading whatever loud noises catch their ears. Echoing cacophony of ignorance, and no memory of where we started.

You are righteous if you explain your guilt away, and guilty to question excuses.

"Who gave you the right to...?"

We don't want to listen, just to be heard...
and knowing we are not brave, we steal another's voice to yell instead.

I wrote Nithophis's experience without realizing how tied it was to my own. I do not want to restate it all, and I do not expect you to remember it, but that feeling of being cut off and eroding away in a painful yet numb darkness... while somehow being someone else that can connect with the world... someone else who can make sense of the insanity.

Sigwion and Nithophis, the same but twain. Never to be on the same plane, but inseparable.

I cannot even feel rage anymore... just frustration and pain. I want the pain to stop.

I want to attack that which brings pain. I want to silence the noises. I need to rest, to sleep.

I want darkness.

Then you hear the silence, the maw of the void. You are alone and a new pain is borne. You become afraid once more, and you cannot even make yourself stop. It grinds away, breathing hurts, your chest heavy, your eyes burn.

With shaking hands you try to keep living... but why?

Why are you living now? Why live with this crushing weight, the pain?

So I cry out, not knowing what to say, at the mercy of my own emotions. The need to be heard, to not feel alone. The echos start again, and I hate myself for adding to that which I fled.

Self Awareness is a curse.

I am but a part of a larger tale, yet my story is only my own. While giving context for what has transpired does not excuse them, it can offer at least the relief of individual truths being known. With this in mind please do not forgive or forget the trespasses wherein, as no narrative belongs to a protagonist alone.

A great deception had just been unveiled due to the rejected son of Void disrupting a plot of man on his quest to prove his own worth. The long hidden Dragonshaven became known to the Kingdoms it had always perched over among the clouds, ancient fears resurfaced with the taboo broken. The former Slave-mate of Void, a woman abducted and transformed in a forgotten past, offered the last unborn child to become a mediator between her human birth race and the Dragons she now resembled. Through arcane art and mythic designs the egg was drawn somewhere between. The child of both dragon and man.

My mother was given time to bond and rear me until I could eat on my own, then guardianship was granted to the impatient and fearful lord below. Dragonhaven was not to interfere in mortal affairs so long as my wellbeing was kept, but so too was the nobility to not act against the haven. An unsteady truce built on mutual mistrust was thus formed and my existence as a symbol created.

I am thankful for the etiquette and wisdom my mother was able to impart, yet nothing can prepare you for the inherent cruelty of indifference. A prop, a trophy, a showpiece… While I was ready for searing hatred, the frozen apathy cut deep.
Even misplaced curiosity can be a most blessed thing. An eager desire for acknowledgement spurring my youthful thirst for knowledge into a dangerous obsession I carry to this day. This endeared me to the scholars, sages, and visers as I passed from lord to lord, allied that served me well in shielding me from the crueler whims of their masters. This also granted them prestige through discoveries relating to dragon-kind.

Decades passed as I watched men wither and grey while still in my youth. As I slowly matured my presence became more a simple formality and less an exotic spectacle. Generations had come to know me as an ally, although I was ever cautious to speak my thoughts in court. Then, before even the agreed upon century had passed, I was free. The Kingdoms made peace with Dragonhaven.

I could go home.

For the first time in my life I spread my wings in the sun without permission, my mind dizzy from all the places I could go… all the things I could do! This remains as one of my dearest memories and I think even Nithophis would agree.
In the end I realized there was only one place I wanted to be, one thing to do.

I flew off to see my mother.

---

My blood does not feel right.

It is not as though I would normally notice,
not as if my veins flow any different...

But my blood does not feel right.

Just a small cut, a scratch really,
from being a bit careless with paper.
The line of red grew thicker and stung,
I tensed a little and flexed the skin
causing a tiny streamlet to form.

It doesn’t feel right...
just a bit too thin,
a bit too slick...
too heavy.

I can be wrong, probably am.
I am usually so careful.
I do not bleed often.
And yet...

My blood does not feel right.

Is there a doctor? Should I even?
It’s not like I am in distress...
The wound is already closed,
the droplet dried up.
It wasn’t all that bad really.

It’s not right.

No, I can’t.
Mom would just think I’m silly,
Dad has enough on his mind.
My friends would make things worse...
I won’t, things are fine.

Don’t worry.

~Nithophis

Tryst

A strong proud hunter,
toned bronze-scaled neck and pecs flexing as their angry hisses accuse me...

Their words lost to me as I am still dazed by the sudden onslaught in the public bathroom. Two onlookers, uninvolved, watch with amused persecution as we all stand nude... our genital slits visible within the privacy of the walls surrounding the toilet stalls. At a casual glance our genders seem uniform, although the one vocally assaulting me just inside the entrance is the most fit and muscled... my enamored gaze unwillingly drawn slowly down over their once sculpted abs as a awkward bulge of four ovals protrude from their middle in a painful "V" formation, the egg-bound state being the origin of the claims of my own negligence.

Despite the leering audience and the obviously pained onslaught from my former lover, I silently express my concern and tenderly navigate us into a cramped empty stall together, carefully latching it closed behind us as I manage to straddle them on my lap atop the toilet. They continue to complain, although now hints of their fears and exhaustion seep through as I lovingly knead and nudge the forms of the eggs I has stimulated around so they may pass... part of me disappointed that none of them bore life even as I remained mostly relieved. More than both; I was terrified that they has been pushing themselves so hard while still unable to pass our clutch! But I did not voice this, simply accepting their pain and anger as the eggs finally shift and the soft splash in the water between our legs announces the successful beginning of laying.

Relief shudders through their body as they begrudgingly slump against my less impressive torso... muscles flexing rhythmically as shell after shell is forced out, some broken with a dangerous stench as the yolk smears across my thighs as I hold them up so no more damage can be done within...

I realize I had been awkwardly aroused since my brief partner had barged into the restroom, thankful that my own slit never everted to reveal it as clearly, although it is likely obvious as we sit loin to loin in the narrow space... they had finally passed out, my arms rubbing their exhausted back as I ponder how long I can just embrace them here...


(My muse woke me up at 5am, a half-remembered dream needing a form.
I hope you enjoy.)

"Mandrigili"

What does that mean?

No idea; just a phrase an artist came up with
that has spawned a little world for his creations.

It's a peek into a mythos inspired fantasy
that hosts a broad range of characters,
each with their own dreams and challenges.

Magic and technology,
war and peace,
the wild and the refined...

He is inviting others to visit
to both explore and help build
this little world through his Blog:

http://mandrigiliartblog.tumblr.com/

Do try to keep it polite,
although any reality can get harsh...

He also has started providing commission services!

http://www.furaffinity.net/user/scorpiogustavo/

Give it a look,
you may be surprised!

^..^