I Used To Be A Powerlifter

Me for real,

Her name is Emily and she's the only way I can sleep now 🥰

sad? no...mind with blahaj

posting this only because i want to get showered with compliments so i dont like pass away or something/silly

Look at this nerd doing an intro post out of boredom.

Hi I'm Katherine indeed or just Kat

I'm a bisexual, transfem person who just kind of exists

She/her please, they is fine too, but try not to rely on it

Things I'm into right now

-Chonny Jash

-Ace attorney

-bluey

-dropout

-snapcube

-writing

-tomska

-jelloapocalypse

-epithet erased

-Hbomberguy

-bumbles mcfumbles

-HLVRAI

-Will Wood

-Tom Cardy

-ultrakill

-musical theater

-gothic horror (yes, the whole genre)

I'm probably forgetting stuff so I'll update this

I do mostly writing so expect some Grammar mistakes due to me sucking at that.

You can disagree with me on stuff as long as it's not about obvious bigotry (racism, transphobia, queerphobia, ableism, etc.) Or if you're being an asshole about it

Just be kosher, please

🇵🇸

Heart, mind, and soul au, but their just the 3 stooges.

@darrelsnumber1fanboy credit or whatever

writing and transness my two favorite worldly desires.

I don’t know why I always gravitate back to writing about being trans. On one hand it is quite the unique and different experience and I would add it’s fair to say it’s pretty all encompassing in my life whether I like it or not but it’s not like I don’t have anything else in my life to write about. I could write about my weird need to be independent or how differently I act by myself versus with even my closest companions. I do try to write about those things but then I get distracted and before I know it a week has passed but something weird happens when I write about being part of this strange little group. I’m able to let the words just flow out and almost nothing could distract me from finishing. If I had to guess why this happens I would presume it’s because of how inescapable it has felt in this point of life. I’ve barely just completely grasped my transness about a year ago (though I've been questioning since 10) and I’ve only really toyed with my name which didn’t take long considering I’ve always been weirdly drawn to the name Katherine. Recently for the first time I've had good enough friends I can tell and they’ve been wildly helpful yet still I feel as if I haven’t had enough initiative in a year of fully accepting myself. For make-up I’ve tried lip-stick once when my family were somewhere for a few days and I’ve been doing my nails more frequently but that's about it. I shave my face almost everyday to keep it at bay, but I don’t really have the tools for shaving anywhere else. And for clothes I have done zilch. It’s not like I haven’t done these things out of lack of effort, it's just hard to do them when in a packed house, when in constant fear, and having a lack of expendable income in a slew of more important expenses. With all this writing is my way to express these feelings I can’t in daily life. I’ve never been adequate at drawing and while I have been doodling more, I don’t think I care to really put a ton of work into it. So with the physical medium out of the way that leaves words. I’ve always been very creative with a lot of thoughts yet I’ve never had a great way to express it. I always thought I hated writing. Always forced to write a long drawl of something I truly feel passionless for. The odd free writes were always fun but the piles of essays and grammar mistakes were always there to make sure I always hated writing. Thank the stars, that recently for the first time I had a teacher who made me realize the joy that can come from writing when you care. Sadly that was last year's teacher but the essays don’t feel as grueling to get through and when we’re doing a paragraph on occasion they feel fun. Now with both these discoveries of late, both from last year interesting enough, I have been going through a bit of a change in how i am. For the first time in my life there is a very clear goal to why I should keep going to get out of this house. 1) so I can be who I want to be 2) so I can write. I've promised myself at the very least I’ll try to get myself there. No matter the obstacle no matter the strife I have to try because in the end memento mori.

Pelted by an image in my brain I needed to draw

Tom Cardy was my favorite artist before I knew about Chonny, so finding out this exists fires up my neurons in a way I can not describe

cruel world

happy 1 year anniversary to ain't no rest for the wicked!

as a bonus here's a comic that I was too lazy to finish (smokin' joe design in the first panel taken specifically from this amazing official art by the wonderful galoo!)

(I'm sure you could guess what the og second page was gonna be lmao)

Thinking about doing Jashtober but as writing prompts instead of drawing ones. Thoughts?

The chonny jash brainrott is real istg

Like I can't even see red blue and purple kind of close to each other without going "IS THAT A CHONNY JASH REFERENCE??!?!?!?!?"

My friends hate me for it/j

Jashtober day 7: Moss

 I look upon this world and I see beauty. It is finite and it is easily defiled, but it is beautiful. A set of random events caused one single-celled organism to evolve and split into a system of complex webs and ecosystems. Each animal, plant, and bacteria rely on each other to prevent their lives from falling into entropy. I was formed from the cosmos. Perhaps from a dying star or a collapsing blackhole. Maybe even the big bang. Whatever it was has long ago left my memory. I’ve seen every dwarf planet and neutron star, but this– this is amazing. I learn of the humans’ fascination with space and find myself confused. They talk about space's vastness compared to the earth’s tiny nature in the grand scheme. I reply: the desert is large and the oasis small, but that doesn’t make the oasis any less brilliant. The simple and elegant greens and blues that twist and entwine. The water and greenery bring life to everything around it and in return the animals bring their own life to sustain the greenery . Much more interesting than the grains of sand we call the universe. As strange as the humans’ ideas may be, I can not help but find peace and familiarity within the little creatures. They’re like microcosms of myself. Loving and hateful. Hopeful and nihilistic. Elated and bored. A being of gorgeous inspiration and disgusting shame. They see the same love in nature as I do. Well, some of them do. They might even be better than myself. They've created things I wish I could claim to be of my hands. Noises into music, shapes into art, and symbols into writing. I’ve collected as much of it into myself as I can and it’s wonderful. To be human is to be everything that is the oasis, right on the cusp of finding the mysteries in the desert. I suppose I would be those mysteries. I hope they never find me or any other of those mysteries. I am not grand, not as grand as the moss that grows on the trees. Not as grand as the fungi sprouting from the dew. Not as grand as flowers that sprout despite a prison of concrete. Not as grand as mammals that manage in the water. Not as grand horrors that creak in the darkness. Not as grand as the animals that once ruled, forever entrapped in rock. Not as grand as burrows that keep warm during the cold months. Not as grand as the web perfectly crafted by a spider. Not as grand as each painting, ballad, and sonnet I intake. Not as grand as this oasis. Perhaps I shall learn from the humans and start a journal. First entry: legend of the moss.