And I'm worn out right now, but I've got more to say potentially..
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I felt safe. I wasn’t sure how I liked it.
There was a, man I forget what it’s called, it’s like Mexican tarot, or something, only there’s a whole lot more trump suits and it has nothing to do with tarot and the fact that there’s even a “the world” card is sheer coincidence- 52 cards, I think, but in sequence and each is themed, like the tarot suit in that regard. And the art night had recreated that, card by card, with imaginative reimagining and recreation of the cards, with the original posted up next to it, on the wall, 3rd floor of the Spori where art is posted up.
This time we’re working on a flip-face book, like the amazing faces book that’s split up into slats and you can flip and change the character’s nose, or eyes, or neck, or hair, in any combination resulting in some really unique and interesting faces. I work on mine. My guy’s got three noses, a unicycle for an eye, city for hair. There’s a couple of guys talking about DeviantArt.
- What’s that trend called, [the one guy says, the one more leftish to where I'm over my drawing,] I’ve been seeing a lot recently, where it’s like human/dog hybrids for some reason?
- It’s called “being a furry.”
That is 100% the real quote. The other guy doesn't seem to have ever heard of that. In some corner of myself, I thought, and here comes the mocking. But it didn’t come. He just… explained it further.
-The animals themselves are called -- and he stumbled over the word “anthropomorphized.”
His sister draws that kind of thing, and does so well and adorably. So no mocking. Bad Sonic fanart was brought up, looked at, laughed at, but even then it was just the bad stuff, the good stuff was genuinely respected. When I missed all those posts, the 23rd 24th 25th, I was watching porn late into the night. Not necessarily porn, maybe Indiana Jones movies or something, but the narrative’s “cleaner” this way if I say it was porn (quotation marks because irony.) I’d gone for two weeks without, saying I could allow myself porn later, I’m going to masturbate again but it’s going to be exclusively furry stuff- trying to wean myself off. And it worked. I went without pornography and masturbation for two weeks, until the weekend of the first week of school, which was my scheduled time for it. I don’t even think furry porn is hot- I mean, it’s hot, but I don’t find it arousing, and I’ve only ever masturbated to it to say that I did, and later on wishing that I could say that I didn’t. So you’d figure it’d be perfect to wean me off. So I did that. And after this, I said, it’s going to be three weeks, and I’m going to allow human stuff. But after allowing myself to masturbate once, after those two weeks were up, for a day- and it was a vaguely defined period of time, or at least I made the excuse that it was- I just kept doing it. There’s this 1975 French erotic fantasy film called The Beast, I’m not going to say it was the first mainstream furry porn because even the Fritz the Cat sequel had come out by this point (9 Lives of Fritz the Cat, which reportedly both Bakshi and Crumb hated; I haven’t actually seen that one yet…) but it’s way hot, and I definitely consider it yiff because the climax is literally werewolf(-with-horse-penis!) rape, and there’s gobs of cum, and it’s consensual by the end of course (at which point there’s even more cum, like seriously, there’s so much cum in that movie, and she’s rubbing it all over her chest and he keeps on spooging it on her and it’s sooo hot.) Ryan out of town again, I stayed up all night, pulling an all-nighter in my room masturbating to girly stuff on YouTube- I’d long ago, by this time, dropped the stipulation that the pornography need be furry. I didn’t orgasm, then, because that’s no fun; it just kind of wound down but I nabbed maybe 15 minutes of sleep after the sun’d already come up, and woke up, and jerked all the way off, just in bed there. And was overcome with tremendous guilt, and a realization of how far I’d sunk. I still should go see the bishop, but after my purging shower I deleted all my files of human stuff, including the The Beast stuff since face it most of the hotness from that is human, but I kept all my real yiff; there’s a very good reason that that’s still acceptable which I’m going to explain hereafter, so yeah I kept that (somewhere along the line the first image in my yiff file folder got set as my desktop background, and I’m rolling with it; cutsily, I clothe her in desktop icons.) And instead of feeling sorry for myself all day, I went to go to Big Jud’s, and I’ve already told the rest of the story. But keeping the yiff- I’d already drawn some softcore yiff in my brand new sketchbook, in commemoration of my then-upcoming goal to keep it furry from then on, and I drew a bunch of hardcore stuff here now during the still-furry part of the, autoorgy, masturbathon, fapfest, whatever. Wankapalooza. And it cooled my jets a bit, like looking at the cats instead of the breasts when you masturbate to kittiesntitties.tumblr.org. You could spend hours and hours there, on that site, because whenever things get too hot you can just look at the kitties instead. It was like that. Only, different, as well. On my mission, I drew this horse, anthropomorphic horse, huge penis, like, huge, huge penis, large enough to fit a couple of anthros in his peehole themselves having sex with each other in there. It was based off this dream, this idea of this horse from this dream, “feral” but still as well-endowed to put that image of possibility into my head, and I’m like, hmm, good idea, and I drew it in the sketchpad that I had then. And I should have felt guilty, I thought, but instead I felt the spirit, which confused me, and was the subject of much prayer, pondering and journalwriting. And I still feel the holy ghost when I look at furry porn- that’s not possible to fake, right?- and I think it must have something to do with a spiritual witness of how sacred procreation is, even if I’m watching it being depicted done with a bunch of male huskies climaxing all over each other, or anything else that would be in itself considered outside of the bounds set by the Lord. So even after the masturbation, and by after I mean even without masturbation, I’ve got yiff to replace it, something I can do, drawing that instead of twerking my turkey jerky. It's good, but is it right? I can't see any other option. It's some kind of sublimation for those thoughts, and celebration of furriness allows me to feel accepted, avoid addictive behaviors.
He shows us some of his sister's stuff on his phone- like I said, she's well and adorable. One of the reasons I showed up to art night, so intrigued, is some of the card art from the Mexican thing, the first card's a rooster if that helps any, that pinged my furdar. There's a girl who comes here, I've seen her around, who'd done that; she speaks in a Greek (?) accent which I'd forgotten about. She's briefly mentioned in the conversation as a potential furry artist present, as I guess the convo winds down or switches to other things, other strange fan art on the internet after the Sonic stuff.
Safety. Acceptance. And I don't want to feel safe because too much feels like enabling instead of acceptance, it feels like you shouldn't be accepting this. I find the Star Wars cosplayers freaks, I wouldn't dress up like that, wear normal clothes act normal acts do normal behavior, but, I'd wear a fursuit; don't let me feel safe. I'm no great fan of whimsy and yet I love this; don't enable me. I stand against tattooing and piercing like what's wrong with your body it's fine unmodified, yet I picture myself with a fluffy tail and pointy furry ears as I walk to class. It's our own form of worship, our own God, don't let us worship at these idolatrous altars, just force us to fit in like everyone else; there's no great difference between something righteous and something sinful, and you can't tell it and I can't tell it. All ethics is is playing by the rules and you're telling us to stand out from the crowd; it doesn't matter if you can't see a square inch of skin on us it's the ultimate immodesty. Everything about it feels hypocritical and wrong and I feel safe here, where there's creativity and instruments and assorted cheeses and well-read books; why is it that the educated ones are the most creative and artistic, does that make sense?
It's like there's a paradox there.
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