My main reason for wanting points is because I want to actually be able to buy those fancy badges for people to give them on their birthdays and such. I feel bad giving them another llama badge when they probably have gotten a bazillion before.
Other reason is I want to donate points to other people. Might as well share the love, am I right?
So, leave anything you can if you so choose. Every little bit helps!
I am an aspiring writer and photographer, selling illegal poetry on the streets to fund my photo addiction. I am also a Pantheist, a history nerd, and I have a lot of cats~
-I deliberately ignore pop culture on a regular basis, so don't ask me about any recent songs or movies. I have not seen or heard them, and I do not care.
-I will sometimes go several months without any postings. I am not dead, this is normal for me.
-I have the attention span of a gnat on meth. If I stop messaging you, it doesn't mean I don't want to talk to you. More likely than not, your message is still sitting in my inbox, waiting for me to reply.
-I will talk openly about my religion, so feel free to ask away! However, I hold no real political standing, this is the topic you want to avoid when talking to me. Any political conversations I engage in end very badly
-Name a period in Europe's history, and I could probably rattle off a few facts about them off the top of my head.
-I'm a dork, a geek, a nerd, whatever. And I'm proud.
-I cannot draw ANYTHING to save my life. Any request made to me must be able to be done in the form of photos or literature.
-Speaking of which, that picture I'm using for my profile? My sister drew that: her name is BrookRiver (Disclaimer: We are not related by blood as much as we are spiritual twins who got half of each others brains).
-I also have a younger brother, but he never uses his deviantArt.
-Call me Ruse. It's my nickname.
Commissions are open! As of 2/16/16, there are 3 slots open.
I too was fourteen at a time
I’m 20 years old now, in my second year of collage and perusing teaching, and still look back at my fourteen-year-old self, in all her Gothic, Scenic Weaboo depression, and I can’t help but feel a flavor of nostalgia. That part of me was so influential in my life it may be partially responsible for where I am today.
First, I’ll acknowledge the P R O B L E M A T I C aspects of the infamous weaboo. It’s generally not good to take an entire culture of people and thoughts and feelings and boil it down to unintelligible sounds and colors. The concept that Japan’s soul export is anime is especially p-word. I imagine if someone said America’s sole traits were obesity and traumatizing elections. It’s true we have lots of those here, but we also have academia and Hollywood and the principle of individualism.
I’m reminded of when my former club vice-president told me she didn’t want to expand the club into cultural activities and instead continue watching anime at lunch. She didn’t care about Japan as much as she did anime, and that’s pretty problem-causing. She later moved to Texas and I moved ahead with my own plans, but that concept hasn’t gone away. I think that’s the biggest complaint about weaboos that I remember.
Now let me destroy my reputation by defending them.
Most weaboos are young. Like I said, I was 14 years old when I encountered a Japanese club at my school, but this phase began when I was 12. I was just starting Middle School and later High School and these are big transitions in the life of a child. Anime, at least in the west, is a perfect mix of real enough to identify with but psychedelic enough to use to escape, and it was very much both of those. I got into my first anime, Rozen Maiden, because I identified with the main villain and her feelings of bitter worthlessness. I got into Black Rock Shooter because of the concept of a friendship that would never end, though plagued with violence and pain it may be. I got into anime because it was like someone had painted my life in a way that made the pain beautiful, instead of just unbearable.
Yes, I was pretty uninformed and even borderline racist at times. But the good thing about weaboo culture I saw was at least a small portion of it took their love of anime and used it to learn about a people that would be strange and foreign to them otherwise. We studied their history, we read their poems, we played their games, all the while looking at how they live their life this way. How they make it day to day. How it’s so different from us but so similar.
What I’m saying is, you can’t avoid the weaboo stage. It’s going to happen at some point, especially if you’re young. But you only fail if you let yourself stop there; use your obsession with anime to propel you towards something you might like. In studying Japanese culture, I discovered my love of Anthropology. Use it to grow.
And to those of you who knew me when I was 14…hi. Glad you’re still around.
Keep Taunting MeI hate how well this mask fits me. I've worn it for so long.
It's fused to me, becoming more me than I am.
Who I've become is not what lies beneath.
Who you see is not who rots beneath the mask.
I want to tear it away.
Even knowing the flesh will tear with it.
Pulling away every layer and those that lie beneath.
Leave nothing but the bone, cracked and broken.
Every inch of me is hatred.
Every part of me is fire.
I want to burn it all.
I want all to feel the rage.
But. . .
I'll keep it on.
I'll wear it for some time longer.
I'll bear it for another day.
But know... this is what lies beneath.
This is what is all what I keep chained up.
In that cold. Harsh. Dark. Horrible dungeon of the mind.
Held back on the leash, that may only hold so long.
So keep taunting, for the truth is...
I don't want to hold it back anymore.
It never leaves you, the addiction.No matter how long you live, you never stop being an addict. Once you have become one, it never goes away. Once you’re labeled an addict, you will always be one. Some people may forget, or you may move away someplace where nobody knows your past, but you yourself will always know, and you yourself will always remember. You never stop being an addict, the illness is tattooed all over your body, your insides, your brain, it's everywhere. It's slavery: being a slave to your self-soothing medication.
Everyone always says that admitting you have a problem is the first step into recovery, the biggest step. They never tell you that the hardest part has yet to come. You can admit you have a problem ten times a day, but still let yourself give into temptation after each and every admission.
Withdrawal is its own circle of hell. The misery that encompasses your life when you’re in withdrawal eradicates all desire and motivation to fight. If by some miracle you manage to get past it,