Just as a quick aside: today, I woke up to a permanent ban on Reddit. Why?
Sexualized Harassment
This was very interesting. For the first two bans I received, I came back to two comments that seemed to have been edited. People were responding to shit I didn’t say, which was interesting. And then I realized that I was being targeted by a Reddit admin, or some sort of moderator who was moderating one of the top subreddits, based on the behavior exhibited.
In particular, I was targeted after I left a single comment: “Good”, on a thread in which a super-aggressive dog breed got banned in the U.K. And that’s when it started. And it was, yet again, as you could probably guess: yep, it was World News.
For the second comment, I have no idea what the fuck happened, as they don’t even show you what comment they ban you for. But this one, I’m telling this story. Because even though I don’t give a shit about Reddit, you don’t get to accuse me of sexualized harassment. You don’t. Fuck you.
Last night, Subreddit Drama (again: this is probably where the fuck the ban originated from, some admin or someone high up in that group of subreddits) had decided that a woman was not even a human being. And I took issue with this.
Usually when I get banned from places, I think, ooh, maybe I did somethin’ wrong. Like, even when I got banned from a Sailor Moon community when I was a kid, after I pointed out that the 30-year-old (almost 40, really) was grooming kids, and that’s no good, when I got banned from there? Until now, even then, I would sometimes wonder if I had done something wrong in another way, ‘earning’ me that ‘ban’.
When I was threatened with a permaban on World of Warcraft, for reporting a pedophile actively grooming a child (the GMs threatened me; even banning me for a second, to ‘show me what it’s like’), I thought, have I erred in some way?.
No.
This time, I have realized that it is you who is full of shit.
When I got banned the first time on Reddit for saying “good” to the news article that talked about a dog breed being banned in the U.K., the ban was for “racism” or some shit. Which was fun, because, it’s a dog. They’re a dog. They tried to make it out as being some sort of anti-black comment. It’s not. I’m a black people. Get fucked.
The second time, it was similar bullshit: they accused me of threatening someone. I did not.
Now, you’ve accused me of sexualized harassment.
I won’t accept that.
Leaving a nice paper trail
I’m leaving this here because I’m marking the wall. I’m gonna tell everybody what happened, and that’s not a threat, nor a promise. I’m leaving this here because you’re full of shit and I’m not going along with whatever shit you’ve just pinned on me.
The comment I think I got banned for (because it happened directly after), was telling a bunch of people in Subreddit Drama that they weren’t treating a woman like a human being.
The situation is thus: there’s a lady who has a Patreon. She has a web comic, and everyone has decided to harass her. They suggest things like leaking her nudes off of her Patreon, and everyone there was saying of her, such bullshit like, ‘well, she needs to get a thicker skin’.
The fuck, you stupid dickheads? No she doesn’t. Leaking nudes is a crime.
I got banned from Reddit, permanently, for telling people that leaking nudes is bad.
I got banned from Reddit, permanently, for telling people to stop harassing a woman.
Nope. I won’t accept that ban as legitimate. Get fucked.
I won’t use the website anymore (quite frankly, the thing did nothing but piss me off); and when the time comes and someone asks me for an AMA, I’m going to have the distinct fucking pleasure of telling them why that won’t be happening.
But of all my bans, I think I might actually wear this one with pride.
Hi, since I’m getting e-mails about my work that was used in the Isaac Caret HOAX, I’ve decided to write this to provide quick information that I can link to on my Twitter.
First and foremost, I am busy pretty much 24/7 for the foreseeable future. Factor that in to the equation. Not to be rude, but unless you’re paying something more sustainable than a hundred dollars a day, I’m not going to be able to help you with your personal projects. I am not being mean: I’m just saying, my time is limited.
Outside of paid work, when it comes to unpaid, if you’re some sort of journalist or writer and you’re interested in some aspect of my work, this or my books, then send me an e-mail (icze4r @ gmail dot com) and I’ll see what I can do. This UFO / space alien shit is getting pretty crazy, and I can find the time to inform someone, if they’re willing to attribute me. Don’t contact me if you’re not willing to give me credit. Journalists, in the past, have asked to use my work without attribution, and some have. I’m not going to talk ethics at you, but, that’s a no-no. Do not contact me also if you’re going to pretend you’re not a journalist.
People occasionally send in fan mail. I read everything, which sounds like bullshit, but I do. I may or may not choose to respond. I will not respond if I think that the person trying to communicate with me is mentally impaired or underage. This comes with the territory, due to it both being the Internet, and me being an ‘Experiencer’ (I hate that term). I did, in fact, get abducted by aliens. I do, in fact, realize what that used to sound like, and I also have very quickly realized that I am surrounded by people who are not mentally well. I would prefer to not communicate with people like that, for fear of making their mental illness(es) worse.
Thank you for understanding, and have a great day! c(◕ᴗ◕✿)
So you’ve probably noticed a change in my personality.
It’s not, really. This is what I used to be like.
After a quarter of a century of trying to be someone I’m not— after helping people, raising 5+ million for random assholes on the Internet, and being as giving and caring as I could be— it came to me, upon a midnight clear, that I would be alone at the end of this.
I surrounded myself with people who clung to me, selfishly, and they required far too much upkeep from me to keep them sane. Energy vampires. And they gave nothing, and they did nothing for me. They didn’t even act as my friends: they were just… there. Taking up my energy.
And they kept sending me porn I didn’t wanna look at.
I started to get sickened. You tell them to stop; they only stop for a little while.
And then there were people who didn’t even really see me as being a person. There was a white guy, who, once, when I was talking about how racist white people had abused me, he decided to stick up for the white race.
Oopsy-daisy. Once I see the real you, that’s it.
I’m not naming names, because I don’t want to hurt people’s feelings, or make them feel scared. I just want to tell you why.
Let me tell you the story of why this happened.
The night my Mom almost died
When it comes to my family relations, you’ve heard the in’s and the out’s of them. My father beat me nearly to death when I was about 4 or 5. My mother protected me. But, we’ve had our back-and-forth’s, and I’ve had moments where I didn’t understand my mother, and she might not have understood me.
But then, she got cancer. Stage II, Multiple Myeloma. And my world began to change.
And then, after a Zometa treatment, she got sepsis. (The doctor says that Zometa couldn’t have caused it. Me, I’m the one who had to see her like that; I will forever tell her never to take Zometa again.)
In the middle of the night, not knowing who to talk to, not feeling any real connection between my other family members, I reached out to my online friends. I started to say things to people.
And I said things to a few people in private, and, one of them just said something like, “yeah, RIP”.
I said, ‘my mother might have sepsis’
And they just went, ‘yeah, RIP.’
I’ve told my mother about what they said. And my mother, God bless her, gave all sorts of excuses: that my friend didn’t know what to say; that they lacked the appropriate amount of tact; and so on, and so forth.
But the reality was, my friends knew what to say.
Comfort. Actual comfort.
Somebody who actually gave a shit about me.
I learned who my friends were, at that point.
In the middle of the night, when my mother’s lactic acid rose and she had to be super-hydrated in order to survive,
I suddenly realized that I didn’t actually like many people on here.
What’s the point of this?
I’ve been shadowbanned on Twitter, and banned from ever being Verified, ever since I defended an acquaintance from a dude who was perving on her. I’ve caused so much trouble online that it’s kind of funny.
I don’t… care anymore. I can bypass every ban; get around every shadowban; penetrate the Heavens; and it doesn’t matter.
None of this matters.
When I thought that my mother was going to die, it put everything into perspective for me.
People on here tried to control me. They tried to fuck with my brain. They tried to make me think I was stupid; that I was wrong; that I was narcissistic (in actuality, I have such a problem giving a shit about myself that, only recently, did I even try to start taking care of my own health); and so on, and so forth.
Last year, in February, when the ‘Chinese balloon’ was over that nuclear base, the world began to change for me. And I’ve accomplished things that I never dreamed could have even been possible.
I liked fucking around on the Internet. I was filled with a deep and horrific sense of dread, though, that I was wasting my time.
And I was.
And I was.
And so are all of you.
Where I go from here
I have something I have to do.
I have a lot of something’s that I have to do.
My mother’s fine. She’s going to live for a long time. I thank my real friends for donating to help her, and I am sorry that it had to come to this. I feel terrible that I even had to ask.
Now, though… I have a purpose. And I have things that I must do.
And I am falling away from this. I can feel it. I am drifting away from the Internet; and, one day, pretty soon? I don’t think I’m going to be able to stomach it.
For it is a silly place. Filled with horrible e-celebs, fashioning themselves in the image of whatever they thought I was; trying to provoke the anger of idiots and morons, all towards effecting a future that truly does not matter.
I think my Fear of Missing Out died when Twitter became even more of a ghost town than it had been before. I don’t feel like… saying anything on Twitter anymore, has any real effect.
I’ll keep it, to talk to my friends.
But I’m not going to pretend like I don’t think that everything is over. For it truly is.
In happier news, I’ve concoted a plan to have my mother retired in record time. So far, it’s going well. And, after that?
One day, you will see me on TV, giving that speech.
But this is it, Luigi.
The Internet’s dead, and its rotten corpse is filled with assholes. And there is no more fun here to be had.
It won’t even be fun to cause trouble after First Contact. Because, I mean— when I’m sitting in a Castle, fucking tweeting isn’t going to be on my top 10, or even top 1000 of shit I’d want to do.
I bet Twitter won’t even fucking survive that long.
~See you Starside! Margaret Gel (icze4r/TheBattleAngel) May 14th, 1994 — September 22nd, 2024 (11,089 days on the Internet) (That’s Internet tenure. I’m not dead. And I’ll be back, but, y’know.)
Post-Script
I want to point out something, because I’m going to write something a little more involved at some point, talking about all the good things I experienced online. (Super Junkoid was really cool! (◕ᴗ◕✿))
The Internet was only good when both my parents were alive. Because— I could have fun, and then tell them about my exploits. I wanted to be entertaining.
On that night, when I thought my mother was going to die?
I have never felt so alone.
I don’t think I’ll be using the Internet as much, when the day finally comes that she passes on. I don’t think my heart could bear it; this place has been soaked with so many memories of shit that my parents were doing, at the time, that I think, at that time, I’m going to have to truly leave it.
The other thing was, I wanted to use the Internet as a way to disseminate information about space aliens. About the people who raised me. And, the reality is, there is nothing left to do. You all know.
There’s nothing more I can do.
You’ll see them soon enough.
My mother might live 10 more years. 20; or 30. But the reality is, she is old now. And I want to spend a lot of time with her; and I want to spend no time with people who only glommed onto me because they wanted comfort, selfishly.
I love my friends.
I have about five of them.
And that’s all.
An Explanation
After thinking about this for a while, I’ve come up with a better way to explain this.
After 11,089 days on the Internet— a little over 30 years— and with my father already gone, I have realized that, as much as I was trying to figure out my own emotions, as much as I was flailing, there are important things that need to be done, right now, and I don’t want to go to the end of this and realize that I haven’t spent enough time with my mom.
I spent all the time I could with my dad, and even though it feels like I did all I could, I don’t know. I don’t know. I had all the time in the world with my dad, and that’s all I wanted. But…
… this is the best way I can explain:
At the end of this, I don’t want to come up for air after I see my mother die, and have someone in my DMs telling me, ‘yeah, RIP’.
In the past, I’d probably open up this whole thing by saying that I’m a weeb. But I’m not: my interest with anime is very minimal. I see a good character design, I like it. And I like Michiru Kagemori. I have relatively little desire to see the anime, because I’d rather just use the character as some sort of roleplay ‘shell’, and imagine what kinds of adventures and hijinx she gets up to.
That being said… I really do feel like she looks. So, I wanted to get these perfumes. I will probably never purchase the Shirou Ogami one; because, quite honestly, I bought the Nazuna one, the nun, whoever or whatever she is, and it smells like an old nun’s pussy. Now, if you’re into that shit, sure. But it smells like mothballs to me. Bitch be straight Napthalene, son.
Themed anime parfums are more common than you’d think. There’s even a brand called FAIRYTAIL (フェアリーテイル）, who specialize in these things.
This was a thing before that, though. People have been making scented products inspired by anime characters for a long time. I mean— I grew up in Japan, and every kid over there knew what the bubblegum Sailor Moon shampoo tasted like. It was strong like Hellfire, and it cleaned you like acid. They even had themed Sailor Senshi perfumes over there– my step-Mom wore the Usagi one. The Mars one was pretty good: fiery, caliente!
Which, if you don’t speak Nihongo, says something like:
At first glance, this frragrance seems subdued; however, if you put your nose close to it, the change from a fresh Freesia scent, to a deep musk, is reminiscent of an attractive man.
The silver wolf, who has the power of immortality and lives for 1,000 years, and the martial and gentle man, who protects the beastmen.
You can feel the man, Shiro Ogami, who protects the beastmen.
Top notes: cycalmen, freesia, rose
Middle notes: carnation, white lily
Last notes: golden osmanthus, musk, tuberose, amber
This perfume is based on Nazuna Hiwatashi, from Brand New Animal.
The gorgeous scent of cherry blossom and rose expresses Michiru’s best friend, Nazuna, who dreams of becoming an idol.
The deep scent of musk shows Nazuna’s true desire to be the emotional support of the beasts.
Top notes: cherry blossom, rose. Middle notes: peach, jasmine Last notes: lily of the valley, musk.
Safety warning: Keep out of direct sunlight.
Wasn’t that insightful? We’re learning! The pain means it’s working!
In all honesty I can smell every single note that this perfume lists. It’s just– this shit smells a lot like mothballs, dude. And, believe you me, I have been around a lot of old ladies, and… this is just their natural scent.
Like. They bottled 2-nonenal. Well, probably not really; but, it smells!
It smells.
NEXSHT
Michiru Kagemori: The Goated One
She prolly turns into a goat or some shit in the anime.
I don’t watch anime anymore. I haven’t since, like. 2000.
This is the scent of an energetic girl, inspired by Michiru’s cheerful personality, who is active in Animacity.
The refreshing scent of passion fruit and the softening scent of amber and musk express Michiru’s kindness.
Top notes: apricot, mandarin, pineapple and grapefruit Middle notes: peach, ginger, lily-of-the-valley bouge and freesia. Last notes: peach blossom, white musk and ambergris
Far be it from me to suggest that the reading of 優 is wrong (it probably is ‘kindness’; my brain is reading it as ‘gentleness’ or ‘grace’ but whatever, I’m probably wrong), these are very nice notes to add to a perfume.
It smells like piss.
It smells like Tanuki piss.
For its price, the smell that you get out of this is absolutely fantastic. I have two bottles, birthday presents for myself that I bought… Hell, it was two years ago. It’s well-worth it.
But it smells like piss.
Which is fine. I mean, I smell like piss.
So it all evens out.
Reality
In reality the Michiru Kagemori perfume is one of the best I’ve ever had. My other go-to perfume is Viva La Juicy Rose, which is one of the most-expensive perfumes I’ve ever owned.
The Michiru Kagemori perfume smells like a spunky young girl. It smells sporty and fresh and rejuvenating. It reminds me a lot of how I felt women smelled when I was first getting interested in women. There are hints of what I feel about my Wife in this perfume.
And there are, too, in the Nazuna one. I’d say my Wife smells the most like Jovan Musk for Women, the oil. But, the Nazuna one, it’s spicy. It’s intriguing. If you get too close, though, there are moth balls, and that’s not my Wife.
Very good perfumes. Love them.
I’m sad that I will one day run out of these, but She put them in the replicator.
No great loss.
Previous Notes
I intended this to be a static webpage, but, Hell. Here you go, mate!
A few funny notes:
… the flavor profiles I took from the eBay listing I purchased it from were either wrong or from something else entirely, because Nazuna’s perfume’s description is complete bullshit.
She smells like moth balls.
She smells old.
Think about what unaired-out 20-year-old nun pussy would smell like. It’s that. It smells like nun pussy juice (Ed. note: I began to actually get myself sick at this point)
Oddly, this is in direct contrast to what Michiru’s perfume smells like, which is, best as I can describe it, piss. How nice. What a nice treat. For me.
Margaret Gel’s Discount Whorehouse (y Carnicería) is officially closed. I’m not going to pretend that I know when it was first started, but it was something like November 23rd, 2023. Ostensibly, it lasted a long time.
I have closed this for a few reasons that I’d like to make public.
A.I. Art has moved so far ahead of me that I genuinely cannot keep up, nor do I want to. People have come to me and told me that I was the one who got them started in this, and they have all gotten better at this than I am. Most of them were better than me a month after they got started. I simply do not have the tools to continue to do this, nor would I even continue this, as, to put it quite simply, I don’t feel like fucking around with this anymore. There’s largely no point left to it, either, as everybody else is better than me at it.
In America, the thing about hosting porn is that it’s both very expensive (I’m beginning to pull something like a gig per day of traffic, and sometimes it gets really bad), and the laws are constantly changing. At one point in time, Rotten dot com had porn on their website. The laws changed, and they had to remove it. (At some point, a site called “The Gaping Maw” had bestiality on it, if I can remember correctly. That had to be removed.) My problems are much less than theirs are, and mine are entirely not self-inflicted. I have no desire to catch a lawsuit or something because the hillbilly politicians in Yankeeland have decided that anime tiddy is verboten. Already, Pornhub is illegal in several states, though those laws are being overturned by judges in their right mind(s). All it would take is one judge not in his right mind, and I don’t need that kind of trouble right now (as I’m currently taking care of my mother, who has cancer).
I have no great desire to be a ‘pornographer’. It’s not exactly that I fear the public, nor fear being in the public eye. I am nearly 40 years old and my life is changing, and I am more-interested in being left alone and not raising the stakes of my life by presenting unprotected loose ends that other people can pick up. I want to grow tomatoes, fix electrical issues, and become more fit. I have no great desire to give people things to jerk their fucking dicks off to.
If this disappoints you, I understand. I, too, have often asked why artists would pull down all their work, and I know the pain of losing some of these things. I don’t want that for you.
Occasionally I’ll probably get a ‘wild hair’ (Gods, I hate that term) and post some of it again. Keep in mind, however, that, in my time, I generated over 100,000 images. Some of these, you may never see again. Others, perhaps.
That’s it.
The other thing is, the Coppermine Image Gallery system seems to draw lots of fucking robots, and boy do they want inside my server’s ass. No thanks, Samuel!
Later.
Margaret Gel’s Discount Whorehouse (y Carnicería) ~October 28th, 2023 — July 6th, 2024 (252 days)
Addendum
One thing, more than anything, that I want to say, is that I fell behind because pornography is the thing that leads technology in the human world. If you’re not killing each other, it’s sex. It’s this.
And I knew that. I knew that. And I wasn’t interested in it. I am not interested in trying. I have tried too long, and I have gotten not the distance that I expected. I will not try anymore.
I would have had to prostitute myself to even get anywhere, and even those people got nowhere. I’ve watched the rise (and fall!) of sexual V-Tubers, these people who are, pretty much, going from emotional prostitutes to just regular-ol’ prostitutes. And while there’s nothing wrong with being a prostitute (believe me, I’ve been there), I don’t intend on selling anything of me, ever again.
And that’s what this is. It doesn’t help that my first image that I made, it got stolen, and the person got 7,000 followers off of it. Those should have been for me.
But it never was. It never happened. And, now, posting all of this porn, there’s no point to it.
God help you if you’re anyone who draws anything but the biggest-titted women imaginable. They’re so after lolisho artists that there was porn I did, hentai I made, where the woman had normal-sized breasts, and wide fucking hips, and I was afraid to post it because you never fucking know who’s going to come to take your head off because they think that everything anime is ‘loli‘.
I guess that’s sad. But I wanted to see the inside of this— this was but another mountain that I wanted to climb.
And now I’m here. Or, rather, I was there.
On to something else.
Or maybe not!
Addendum 2: I wrote this as I was going through the website, and, damn, I actually made some good fuckin’ art.
Still, it’s going down.
I don’t fuckin’ need a gig being pulled from this server every single day.
Before you say, ‘well, why not accept money for it?’— again, don’t wanna become a pornographer. Think about the laws that America has set up. I don’t want MasterCard up my ass.
One of the best things about A.I. art is that you don’t have to deal with a person.
Artists tend to think that that’s a problem. They want to be involved in the creative process, even if you’re not doing anything with the art but looking at it. Part of this is because some of them are up their own asses and they’ve decided that, because it took them a long time to get where they’re at, they are now the gatekeepers of this ‘power’. Some people talk about ‘theft’, which is comical, because they also say that the art produced with this thing is also in the public domain anyways. Others are just assholes. Overall, it doesn’t matter.
For about 20 years, I commissioned artists. The overall experience I had is that you give money to a person who is not going to produce anything for about a month, at least, and they will be upset if you e-mail them once a month, asking for progress. Today, with an A.I. Art generator, I can have the result I want in the span of an hour. For free. Without someone hurting my feelings on purpose.
Whenever I complain about ill treatment, people always like to blame me. Human beings love to blame the victim. Despite me not having to defend myself from any accusations whatsoever, I do want to tell you: I didn’t treat them poorly. I was business-like, and polite. Overly-polite! And I always paid upfront, the full amount. No halfsies; no half now, half later. Because I respected them, and I wanted to be a patron of the arts. I wanted to help them. I felt sorry for some of them.
Most of these people did not have their shit together.
Out of about 102 artists commissioned, I met about two artists who had their shit together. The rest were either late, or so ‘forgetful’ (there are things that happened that make no sense to me, even to this day) that I never received all of what I paid for.
I get it: you draw. It’s hard. I’m currently working on some things— I understand. Drawing for money is one of the worst things ever.
But you chose this. You chose this; set a price; and I paid it. And now, you’re acting like I’m the monster, because I ask if it’s finished every month.
You know, these days? I hear that commission wait times, for some artists, are 3-4 years out there. How does anybody get anything done, relying on these people? I have a pretty healthy lead time, and even paying hundreds of dollars, like I did in the past? Yeah. These motherfuckers were in no hurry.
Again: I get that it’s hard. You draw and you don’t want to give me the original copies through the mail. You don’t want to pay for postage, and you don’t want to deal with me like that. Fine; but I was upfront about all of this. My terms were clear: I give you the money, I e-mail you once a month to check to see if you’ve done it yet, I don’t pester you beyond that. In fact, to say that I ‘pester’ someone by e-mailing them once a month to see if they’ve completed a drawing is just fucking stupid. It’s not ‘pestering’. It’s an e-mail.
Occasionally I received back commissions that were just plain insulting. I have no idea whether or not the person I was talking to was mentally ill, but I deeply suspect that at least 3 of them were. Like a French guy who, upon hearing that I was American, told me to kill myself. That was interesting.
One moment, he’s giving me 3 sketches without me paying upfront (which I found odd, and uncomfortable, as I had told him prior that I would pay him before he even laid pencil to paper); the next, I ask if he can snail mail me the things. And then when I give him my address, he tells me, in no uncertain terms, to fucking kill myself.
The problem with commissioning artists is that artists are people, and people are cruel. I’m glad I didn’t commission them in the era where people were trying to cancel others on social media. Because some of them would have tried to get me killed.
Again, people will blame the victim: they’ll say, if you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.
I’ve been screamed at for doing something that I was told to do.
I’ve been screamed at and shamed for trying to save someone from killing themselves.
I’ve been screamed at and shamed for fundraising for a year, for a person’s sick mother, who had cancer.
I’ve been screamed at for trying to give money to someone so they could buy food.
I’ve been screamed at for helping raise money for charity, after people have asked me to. That lady was nice— we raised $5,500 or such for her to get a chair lift, because she was disabled. (Probably still is disabled.) And when she got the money, she immediately insulted us. Said that we were nothing; told me that my voice sounded like a backed-up toilet. Yeah!
I’ve been screamed at for something that the other person thought that I had thought. That’s right— they yelled at me because they said I had a thought that was insulting to them, but they had no way to know what I was even thinking. (At the time, even I had no idea what I was thinking.)
I’m sitting on the tail-end of raising over 5+ million USD for various charitable causes online, and you know what I think?
I’m glad it’s over. And I’m glad I won’t be purchasing commissions again.
I stopped doing commissions the day that I started painting again. I painted a portrait of a space alien, over a commission I got from a friend. That was the day that I realized that I didn’t need artists’ help anymore. That was the day I just started painting— and I got a portrait even better than anything I could ever pay for. Even now, even with an A.I. Art generator, I can never get an image as good as what’s in my own head.
However: nowadays, when I want some throwaway art, some shit I don’t care how it looks exactly (fanart, etc), I ask a computer. Right now I’m using an A.I. Art generator, running off my own little computer, to make a nun with big fucking titties. I don’t have to ask anybody to do this for me. I don’t have to do it myself. All is well.
A lot of these people were very useful to me. Some of them are friends. They provided me with a greater idea of what the space aliens looked like, when I couldn’t even remember their faces. And, eventually, I started painting the space aliens myself. So, they were a means to an end. They helped.
But that’s over now. The way that things are, I don’t even have to fucking tell people what I’m doing. And I don’t have to show them.
Forever and ever, until the end of time, I can just make this art. I don’t even have to try.
And I don’t have to get yelled at by human fuckers, nor do I have to pay them to draw anything for me, just to have them ‘forget’ about the commission for a full fucking year,only to do it in 45 minutes when I e-mail them a year later.
I don’t have to deal with Frenchmen telling me to kill myself for asking them to snail mail me the beautiful drawings they’ve done for me.
I don’t have to deal with people taking money for a commission, using it as a short-term personal loan, and then asking if I want a refund months later.
I don’t have to deal with three separate shipments where an artist keeps sending me unrelated things, but never gives me the drawing I actually paid for.
I don’t have to deal with people judging me, yelling at me, hurting me or my feelings.
I can make art by myself, now. Without any cruel human being trying to control me, or hurt me.
And thank God for that.
The Future
The future of all of this technology is going to be like that one science fiction story I saw, then lost. Where people stayed in their apartments, and talked to each other on video chat. We do that now, on Discord, and Twitch. We’re there, man. We’re the Beautiful Ones now.
Overall the reason that this technology exists is because human beings are cruel and don’t want to deal with each other. I’ve learned more from ChatGPT than any human being who was paid to teach me. The A.I. explains eloquently, and it is kind, unlike a human being. It can break down things and I actually understand.
Gemeinschaftsgefühl is a glue of civilization. You have none. Your ‘society’ unravels before your very eyes.
And you blame A.I. But really, the reality is, it is your cruelty that is destroying your world.
And it is the reason that your species will eventually be alone.
There’s something kind of comical about the Internet. If you weren’t here for certain eras, you just weren’t there. It’s impossible tro explain it to you, what we were onabout. But I think I can try.
Ask Pinkamina Diane Pie was a Tumblr Ask blog. It’s something that I think could’ve only existed on Tumblr: you have an inbox, where people can send questions, and you can respond to them. Publicly. Automagically. It was all set-up, in Tumblr’s software.
Terrifying.
There was some sort of thing in the fandom where it was alleged, or at least joked about, that Pinkie Pie was a murderer. Cupcakes were involved. Scootaloo is a minor, in the show’s continuity. They’re friends.
I’m not interested in ponies. I also cannot draw. (At the time, I was still affected by how my father traumatized me; as such, I did not want to draw.) So, asking me what this was all about, it seems like an unlikely crossroads.
I fucking loved this Askblog.
Keep in mind, Ask Pinkamina Diane Pie took place— or, rather, was created— over something like a 2 week period, in August of 2011. August 6th to August 18th, if the Ask dates are actually reliable. Sadly, they are not, as, I remember this going on for months. But whatever; I remember Arcadium lasting until 1999. I’m sure my photographic memory is just faulty.
Why’s that date important?
Franken Fran ran from 2006 to 2012.
This period of history was particularly amazing for human content creation. Or, should I say, art. Gore was heavily in style. 4chan pretty much had every kid’s ear when it came to art direction. So, what was in, was in. Mix My Little Pony with Franken Fran; you got dis.
Interestingly enough, Hannibal would not come out for another two years. The tone’s pretty much the same, even if the situation isn’t.
“I challenge you to a staring contest.”
Now, looking back on this something like 11 years later, it’s easy to see it and go, oh, wow, so edgy. But it wasn’t. At the time, the humor involved was pretty much on the fringe of what we considered normal; but it was bleeding-edge. It hit a note, struck a chord, severed a vein. People liked it. They still do.
UPDATE as of June 10th, 2024: As with everything, when I search for this on Google, now, it’s going out of style. Or, it’s simply not being indexed anymore. And the old ways are falling out of use.
In the interest that you all do not forget the face(s) of your father(s), I am, once again, re-uploading this entire article, and updating it, a bit.
Back to what I was talking about: The limited palette; the characteristic square brush, that no one could really emulate; and the combination of the artist’s being, with the relatively-new PaintTool Sai, produced something no one had really seen before. And it was good.
For whatever reason, the juxtaposition of cute pony cartoons for children and horrible serial killer just clicked. And, as you can see, above, there’s some shit in it that just wouldn’t fly, these days.
Interestingly enough, all the murder, fictional as it might have been, wasn’t really what riled people up. Or, at least, as far as I heard, that wasn’t it.
It was that Pinkie Pie kissed Scootaloo in a comic.
Be it true or not, the story I heard was that the artist, or somebody who people thought was the artist, ended up getting plagued about this, in real life. Phone calls; that sort of thing. It was my first experience witnessing what happens to artists, online: they eventually kinda get driven away, if they get popular enough. And, for a time, that seemed to be what was happening, there, too.
Oh, why was it bad that Pinkie Pie kissed Scootaloo?
The idea people had was that Scootaloo was a child, while Pinkie Pie was probably, or definitely, an adult.
To be fair, the mention of rape, as far as I can remember, also received significant backlash. But they seemed to weather it, just fine.
Ask Pinkamina Diane Pie is an interesting part of Internet history. I feel like it was right at the cusp of the Internet becoming very, very reactionary towards ‘unacceptable’ adult subjects. How we went from Deliverance being somehow acceptable to be released theatrically, to I think it’s problematic when a villain does bad things, I don’t know. I really fuckin’ don’t.
Interestingly enough, the acceptability of unacceptable adult subjects, depicted fictitiously, is something that’s still argued about, today, on Twitter. (Tumblr’s audience has largely moved onto Twitter.) En generale I see it as a natural progression of the Human psyche: puzzling out what it wants to deal with, and what it won’t accept.
What do I think about its subjects?
They’re fuckin’ cartoon horses, kid.
I don’t give a shit. I didn’t draw ’em.
And if I did, I’d be absolutely cheesed that my style infected the new show.
An Addendum
Since this entry was deleted off of Margaret Gel’s Apocalyptic Log (due to what I felt was a conflict with my ‘professional’ identity— I’d prefer to leave that blog as something else now), I felt some sort of great and terrifying need to rejuvenate it. People liked this, right? Or at least those two weird kids who were stalking me, thinking that I was Crooked Trees, liked it.
There are a couple of things I need to say. Once again, I am not Crooked Trees. Human beings online have always had this desire to believe that any vehement insistence of mine that I am not someone, is, in point of fact, just the opposite: if I say that I’m not somebody, then I must be.
I’ve gone through being stolen from, before. It’s not nice. It’s not nice to let this happen to somebody else, either. And I’m fully aware of how this fucking happened— it’s the same order of things wherein someone once thought I was JonTron, of all people.
There was a time in my past where I needed to lie, tactically, specifically, to protect my ailing father. I didn’t want what I did online to follow me home and affect him. But he’s been dead for seven years, now, and I no longer have a great and abiding need to conceal my identity. I am, in point of fact, now a published author, with copyrighted work. Hiding doesn’t help me anymore.
If I were Crooked Trees, I wouldn’t hide it. It would enable me to do much more than I currently can. Por ejemplo, it might get me animation work. I might be able to make a movie. I don’t know! I might be able to do something wif it.
But I’m not them.
Years later, after this whole dog and pony show was quite fucking over, I saw an 18 and a 19 year old duo, this pair of kids, who were wildly in love with each other. Whether or not they were LARPing, who’s to say? I’ll never know, maybe. But they seemed to be in love.
And they had taken the part of Scootaloo and Pinkie Pie, from this comic, and were playing it out, quite overtly sexually. And they contacted me, and they asked me—
icze4r, are you the Great and Wonderful Crooked Trees?
