Just Rambling Don't Listen To Me - Blog Posts

God taps the window of your cubicle, shaking your enclosure, wondering why its creation is so sad.

It is not the god that you worship. It is the one that is here, it is the one that made you. It is your mother glancing worriedly at her phone. It is your father staring at your old bike. It is your friends wondering why you have been so quiet. It is that part of you that looked at the world with wonder, but has been hidden for so long.

"Get back to work" the beast says, "You want to eat don't you?"

You tune the tapping out, and serve your "betters". Just as you do every day. Just the same as the poor creatures around you.

...

The Beast scratches at your phone, vying for your attention, wondering why its servant is absent.

It is not the beast that hunts you. It is the one that is a true threat, it is the one that already has you trapped. It is the one that sells away your health. It is the one that extorts your hunger. It is the one that wrings you dry. It is the one that told you your wonder is "frivolous".

"What's wrong?" god says, "Would another pretzel bite help?"

You ignore the scratching, and hold god in your hand. Just as you do whenever you can. Just the same as the poor creatures around you.

It's not something I've experienced much myself, and I am hardly a historical scholar, but I can imagine how genocide or oppression can hollow out a culture and leave the survivors with only the worst parts of it. How they only remember the way their people would run and fight and hide. How they only remember the jackboots in the streets, the insults hurled their way and the friends left to die. How no one remembers the way they celebrate because they haven't done so in so long. How no one remembers their stories because the ones who told them are dead and their books burned. How cruelty strips everything away and much of what is left must be cruel in kind.

But they still sing. They still dance. And they do so because joy is stronger than those who would see it stamped out. Because they are still here, and no amount of hate can change that.

Thinking about lambs, whose culture was joyous and loud and vibrant. Lambs who had a dance for everything and a song to match. Lambs whose caravans could be heard marching melodies across the planes. Lambs for who even a combat was done in step to a waltz.

Thinking about The Lamb, who only knows the mourning songs. The Lamb, who only remembers the dances that require a blade in their hands. The Lamb who whispers sad melodies as they walk hostile lands. The Lamb whose only connection to their lost people is in the way they would spill blood.

The Lamb who sings and dances anyway, because while everything else may be gone, they still have this.

Thinking about lambs, whose culture was joyous and loud and vibrant. Lambs who had a dance for everything and a song to match. Lambs whose caravans could be heard marching melodies across the planes. Lambs for who even a combat was done in step to a waltz.

Thinking about The Lamb, who only knows the mourning songs. The Lamb, who only remembers the dances that require a blade in their hands. The Lamb who whispers sad melodies as they walk hostile lands. The Lamb whose only connection to their lost people is in the way they would spill blood.

The Lamb who sings and dances anyway, because while everything else may be gone, they still have this.

My most successful post is entirely based on other people's work. This is less a dig at myself and more a comment on how other artists lift me up and inspire me by being Just That Good.

Pro tip! Instead of doom scrolling for 8 hours at work, doodle your favorite lambs! Then hide them from your coworkers so they still think you're normal!

Artists are: @stychu-stych, @theshepherdshound, @bamsara, @aveloka-draws and @ane-doodles.

A bunch of misc. doodles. Some is me trying to figure out how to draw a lamb, some is drawings of D&D OCs. Indavidual doodles below the break if I did this right.

Lamb. Lamby Lamb. Forever trapped between wanting a round sketchy art-style, a clean angular art-style, and not having either.

Pyre. Masked guy with a big sword.

Hephaestus. Man's got terminal RBF

He might be blind, but he can still see you.

Creature???

Call me a contestant on Hell's Kitchen that is being yelled at by Gordon Ramsay because I'm cooking up some Shit.

Making a fic about this, but to get to the existential horror we are going to have to go through some regular horror first.

Lots of people depict ascension to godhood in cult of the lamb as a horrifyingly dehumanizing thing. There are some cases where the lamb completely loses themselves or even becomes something more akin to a force of nature rather than a person. This is often foiled very well with Narinder learning how to be a person and enjoy the world around him. It results in the potential for a very interesting plot where the lamb is doomed by the narrative while Narinder can be saved by it. It does beg the question however:

What if they say no? What if they decide the story doesn't get to end that way? What if they break divinity over their knee and pull their still-beating happy ending from the open chest of the narrative? What if they never stop fighting for that life they never got to have, even if it is against the very thing that saved and enabled it? A narrative that seeks to doom them against a lamb too willful and stubborn to let that happen.

Lots of people depict ascension to godhood in cult of the lamb as a horrifyingly dehumanizing thing. There are some cases where the lamb completely loses themselves or even becomes something more akin to a force of nature rather than a person. This is often foiled very well with Narinder learning how to be a person and enjoy the world around him. It results in the potential for a very interesting plot where the lamb is doomed by the narrative while Narinder can be saved by it. It does beg the question however:

What if they say no? What if they decide the story doesn't get to end that way? What if they break divinity over their knee and pull their still-beating happy ending from the open chest of the narrative? What if they never stop fighting for that life they never got to have, even if it is against the very thing that saved and enabled it? A narrative that seeks to doom them against a lamb too willful and stubborn to let that happen.