Terminus
59.20261028
helo. i am balaur
28±3 years
training therapist
always listening to music
very furry
cares
mostly gay
very anxious
adores creatures
no longer sad, but still trying :)
always nurturing fixations
infinite projects
unfortunately elusive
bicycle cryptid
i actually want to make music, but i haven't figured out instruments yet
Cloudy eyes,
thundery chest.
I give it all
and wish for the best.
Will there be another life?
Could we be free from strife?
Find it hard to breathe.
I wish we could believe.
I can only grieve,
what oceans gladly thieve.
If,
I disappear too,
could I maybe find you?
Waiting in our dream,
cozy by the stream.
I can hardly breathe,
it's not your time to leave.
I was so naive.
I wish you were with me.
I can hardly breathe.
That weathered creature, upon prominent scars feature,
they traced a dark past.
Found at his worst, unworldly pain cursed,
and no cure that could last.
He wandered lost and alone, fur ragged and wind blown,
he knew not what he was.
I walked by his side, his shuffle to my stride,
to aid the burden that is his.
Captured demons tear asunder, upon a quaking soul the clap of thunder,
and slim hope he'll survive.
If touched when ravaged, while mind driven savage,
two will cease being alive.
In the glimpses of happiness, quickly sheds feral snappiness,
a magnificent self is revealed.
Vulnerable and caring, courageous and daring,
what a wonderful being was once concealed.
He had grown so much, once scared of the slightest touch,
our fights ceased to draw blood.
We knew each other's pain, joined in our shame,
a constant in the other's flood.
Here we are. Apart. Deeply scarred.
Nought but the destruction of all.
I don't know what we were. I clutch bloodied fur.
I loved him.
I was a fool.
That weathered creature, upon prominent scars feature,
some of which fit my claws.
He took what he could endure. His suffering is no more.
He deserved happiness, despite his flaws.
'Hear ye hear ye', croaked from a crow,
corvid caws on fresh footed snow.
Focus shifted for a brand new cryptid.
Licence: Unrestricted.
Accounts are full of plot holes,
no one can agree what we're looking for.
Ectothermic, might've meant psychopathic.
Reptillian, maybe just a skin condition.
Whatever it is, it's foundationally fractured,
old photos disappearing in a haze of dithering
like it honestly wants to be forgotten.
Last known contact is now lost media.
Last last contact scrawled in a poet's dead hieroglyph.
Further back is a rumour tapestry,
ending in words like "Love," "Humility," and "Tragedy."
Dig up rabbit holes, interrogate voles,
here we hunt for yet another lost soul.
Boom!
Flicklock answered by yelp, yelp smothered by yell.
'Bring the blunderbuss, I need help!'
Runes muttered under breath,
mages tracking squirrels to their nest.
Hounds turning gophers into feast,
yet still no tracks,
where the hell is that beast?
Each day is the Ides,
Marching, gladly to Elysium,
dozing, waiting in valerian.
The elil miss their mark,
just slash on slash
and dash through the dark.
One more scar, the course for the par.
Trailing ichor, downing liquor,
shambling carcass a crosshatch knitwork.
How much longer can it keep up?
Heart and hunt and Will and won't,
right or wrong or feel or don't.
The ultimate particularly,
impossible to express articulately.
It's loss on loss and lacking lack,
take what's scary and hack and hack.
Sightings starting rare.
Sold! 2,000, one tuft of hair.
Next on vendue, severed appendage.
Might be a finger? Might have a claw?
The labs won't make sense of the lore,
the chromosomes are too occupied in civil war.
Dust glinting in setting sunbeams,
lullaby set to lost dreams,
lying too early.
Beat unsteady and fast,
visions unreasonably vast,
alone, defenceless.
Not now, why now?
By instinct, head bows,
through gaps it leaks free.
Tap, tap, softly on the bed.
Plush held in courage's stead.
It doesn't need to make sense.
The lullaby repeats,
gradually softens defeats,
the worst is past.
The dust continues to pirouette.
The day's not over yet.
This won't define you.
Second breakdown.
The train is still running.
Marching to the slaughterhouse.
I gave you everything.
It comes in waves.
The drugs don’t help.
The taste of blood.
Incisors staple in the yelp.
“I gave you everything.”
Grip tightened,
Sky splinters,
Earth fractures,
Niagara falls.
Everything ends.
I have nothing.
The train has stopped.
Off to work.
It's quite strange, really.
It's a conversation I will replay a thousand times, full of warm delight, the sound of rain, the setting of the sun.
It's a pitiful whimper that escapes when no one is around.
It's a cause to drink!
It's an unstoppable agony that permeates my bones and crashes me to the ground.
It's a motive to beat the first morning chirp of the birds.
It's a night spent mouth wide, eyes fixed to a different realm, trying desperately to survive one more moment.
It's a thumping drum that underscores my melody, creating a woven fabric of colour and smell.
It's a cause to drink.
It's a soulful cry of all that could have been, kept alive only in the echoes of our arrest.
It's a flutter in the chest - or, is that the stress?
It's a disfiguring wound that reopens at the slightest touch. Self inflicted.
It's a fatal flaw in my construction that will be my grizzly and prompt demise.
It's a brilliant promise held up to the light, scattering billions of possibilities.
It's fucking hopeless and I can't keep it up!
No one was at your funeral.
I guess you had what you wanted.
I wish you could have been.
-
Sleepless again. We're talking again.
Play our old tunes swept in time's dunes.
Scared of starting anew.
-
Some of these days it seems
I'm more you than you've ever been
and the flame in my soul will
simmer just a little bit dimmer.
You're not doing good. It hurts.
I once saw someone I'd do it all for.
Something I wish you could have seen.
-
Sleepless again.
Scared of starting anew.
-
Most of these nights I feel
I'm disassembled into raw veal.
Chest a gaping hole while the
sinner takes his toll, a knife to their dinner.
Erased, replaced,
clamp the hose, crisis froze,
fade out into the night.
No. Here I am,
poem who-fucking-knows,
another mirror to fight.
Here's to another year.
How many are left?
It's just what I feared.
Another temporary death.
Each time it hurts less.
See you soon,
Citaa.
An orchestra in sympathy;
Six years of beats,
once missed.
Fluttering of a swan-song.
An Evensong of one, a plea for the heavens,
body of a waning spirit,
descending to-
A vortex of fear and forced relaxation,
of fated to-bes brought to be.
Farewells whimpered to no response.
Fossiliferous
That's a nice name.
When did you claim it,
can I still call you, you?
Winnicott changed everything.
The collar was meaningful now,
and you said it was important,
and you were as happy as a boulder,
and when they touched you,
you were cold,
and you were as safe as stone.
This time it's different.
This time it's instinctual,
your pulse is steady,
no good memories flicker past.
Chekhov's hero.
Predator! Protagonist!
Cannibal!
Hey,
it's just something about me.
It's just something about sheep.
It's just how it goes, isn't it?
It doesn't matter that it was real,
or that this one isn't.
You can make up anything,
you can choose how you feel,
you can be just as meaningful
as a rock.
I hold your hand,
and the tissue is wet
because it's not yours.
I'm bleeding in you,
but last time the hills yelped
when we shot the gales together.
The word Fossiliferous refers to a rock that contains something organic inside of it.
The story is about the struggle between the "true" and "false" self after a traumatic experience. The true self, mortally shot and yelping, is encased by the stony false self.
The true self resents what its life has become. It sees an emotionless husk taking over the life it once lived, sees all it worked for dying away, and it can do nothing.
Still bleeding inside, barely alive, it anticipates that it will not last long. Death by blood loss or by being crushed within its stony cocoon.
This was written at the end of 2025. I had my worst depressive episode at the start of the year. A few months later in March, I had the worst experience of my life. A few months after, it happened again.
I stopped caring about anyone. For most of my life, my reason for doing anything was other people. Every action was conscious of whose life I wanted to improve. I no longer felt that.
When I wrote this, I had overcome my despair, but I still was not able to feel anything for other people. I tried forcing it, but even those I had loved made me feel nothing.
I was unsure if not having emotions was such a bad way to be in the life I had.
I changed my birth name and my alias at the start of 2025. Hearing my birth name always made me instinctually tense up. New names for a new person.
But with that change, I had lost a lot of who I used to be. During 2025, I lost what innocence I had left. Undeniably, I was no longer who people had known.
Winnicott was a psychologist who coined an idea of the "true" and "false" self.
The true self is unrestrained, emotional, fluid, easily harmed, it's unappealing and flippant, impulsive.
The false self is built atop, designed to interface with the world around them. It is protective, it is communicative, it is understanding of the environment in a way the true self is not.
Without the false self, the true self will die from the pain that is living. Without the true self, the false self will be hollow and without purpose, autonomously going through life as a husk.
With Winnicott's theory, I now had a pseudo-scientific justification for killing the parts of me that were vulnerable. As I saw it, my true self was too vulnerable to persist in the life I was given.
The false self guides the true self like a leashed pet. The true self naturally resists this, but after what I experienced, I was consigned to accept that my true self needed to be leashed.
I wrote this section, with its many excuses for the situation and its repetition of "and", with the idea of the narrator getting overwhelmed by their thoughts and feelings. They're anxious, scared and angry.
Boulders are large, potentially very destructive, and it's easy to imagine them taking glee in crushing the things they roll over.
But a boulder doesn't really feel anything. It is just doing what it must.
The stony exterior is not malicious, it doesn't delight in what it does. Nor does the false self; it's a mechanism of survival.
I wrote the narrator as though they were trying to make excuses for why this was the right thing. The narrator is trying to accept their confinement and impending death, to believe that it will make things better.
But they resent their captor, even if that captor is the only reason they are alive.
I was imagining this stony exterior in the act of strangling the narrator, and the narrator realizing there was no chance of escape because of how cold-blooded they had become. Detached, disinterested, not even a raised heart rate. This death means nothing to them.
Ties in to the surrounding lines. This uncaring violence was now instinctual, there are no memories that make them regret or hesitate. They have become a pure vessel.
Ties in to the earlier line about the collar, and a later line about sheep. I often see myself as prey, but now things had switched. I saw so much of the people who had hurt me in myself, I'd taken on their mannerisms and approaches to life. I was now a predator, and I was terrified of myself.
Tying in to the idea of the hero, by assassinating the narrator, the stony false self had taken over the role of protagonist in the body.
Referencing the predator line, the first prey of this new self was the self. Cannibalism is widely seen as negative, a sign of violence and heartlessness. I imagined stumbling upon a great beast caught consuming its kin.
The narrator is talking to the stony exterior as though trying to console it, or reason with it. But the exterior by design does not care, and the narrator knows that. Really, it's just trying to comfort itself.
There was a moment when in this state where I realized that this was really happening. I usually think that I'm exaggerating my feelings and things aren't that bad. But I realized this time, I really did feel absolutely nothing about other people. It might never come back.
I tried to make myself feel anything, but even those I cared most deeply about before did not register at all. I felt fine, I wasn't sad. But it was impossible for me to care anymore.
Chekhov's Gun is basically foreshadowing. A gun shown in chapter 2 is fired in chapter 5.
In this case, the gun represents times I'd been hurt, had told myself that I shouldn't trust people, but recovered. An emotion threatened many times, now actualized.
"Hero" because that gunshot into the true self, weakening it so it could be overcome, was the only choice to save myself.
Around this time I was listening to this furry post-rock album from the perspective of a sheep. I'd long seen myself as prey to those I loved, and after the crude butchering I experienced, I had come to accept that fully. There's motifs of this in a lot of my poems.
Rationalizing that I'm meant to experience this made it easier to cope with. Someone had to take this suffering so they could get better, and I was uniquely suited to accept that. To be butchered is just what is expected of me.
At this time I was thinking a lot about perception and suffering. Suffering does not care what is real or not, it will create its own world. Often I tried to discount my own suffering; it's surely not that bad. I can think of dozens of mitigating circumstances, and times others had it worse.
But it still nearly killed me. I felt responsible for that. I chose to feel that way, and now I had chosen to not feel any way.
To cope with my experiences I'd been working on a text adventure to express my feelings. It was pivotal in my recovery, but at the same time it felt that it trapped me in a loop of reliving my trauma. I had made a perfect, condensed location where every corner of my agony had been perfected. I could channel it at any moment I wanted. It wasn't 'real', it's a fictional story. But it was intensely painful for me to be around, in a way that I felt I deserved.
In spite of all it has suffered, the narrator still has kindness. It is trying to find the right thing to do here, whether it should recover or die, whatever will help the most.
There were a lot of wet tissues at this point in my life, for many different purposes.
I would occasionally uncontrollably cry for no reason. I ruined meals I was cooking, I hid under beds and desks, I held my mouth closed at the back of classrooms. I often felt nothing during this.
I bled frequently. I looked at porn often. Alcohol was spilled, mixed with stomach acid. My bins were regularly full of nothing but tissues. None of them belongs to the false self.
Here, I imagined a pet dog being taken out back of a barn and shot, imperfectly so that its screams echoed into the hills as it bled. No one would know the reason.
I was in a forest when it happened. It was too dark to go anywhere, and I would not be sleeping. At points I was terrified and hopeful that I'd be torn apart by wildlife. At others, I could not restrain my sounds. I laid in that state for about seven hours until it was bright enough to leave.
The memory of that night was what I kept coming back to whenever I stopped feeling numb. It seemed that if I allowed feeling to return, I would be immediately on that floor again, beside that cliff, and I would not survive a second encounter.
A play on "shoot the breeze", as in to casually hang out and talk. For me, the last passage is mostly about the visuals it paints. Maybe I could have gone into it more. I picture an apocalyptic scene here, juxtaposted to memories of a comfortable countryside.
I’ve finally caught you.
It’s been a long ride, these two dozen seasons cracking the code:
A near death experience,
The ultimate sacrifice,
And half a heart borrowed
But now I’ve solved you, caged you in a circle of conjuration,
Finally it’s time for *me* to feel some elation.
It was a gentle autumn breeze and a night of physical fun,
When it all started,
you crept into the sky,
and snuffed out the sun.
Though there were infinite stars you could have chosen to consume,
It was mine you picked, my world you had fated to certain doom.
And you were not yet done, not by a long shot,
There are dozens of incidents that I’m sure you forgot.
The final straw was a simple one, really. Nothing absurd.
I was forsaken.
Destitute.
And you stood in the shadows, without speaking a word.
Now it could be a coincidence, all you’ve done to destroy my soul.
That in your wake was left nothing but a hellhole.
And oh, how I would love to slay you where you stand.
My hand,
Your throat,
Protests slipping through in measures of half-note!
But I won’t. I can’t, not really, not now.
And not just so I can be holier-than-thou.
I understand you, at least, I think I do, after all of this.
Through the blood,
Through the fears,
Through the scars,
Through the tears,
If you were gone, there’s nothing more I’d miss.
After it all, I believe, truly, that you are not to blame.
Now, that is not an exoneration of your ocean of shame.
You’re cursed with the soul of torment and pain.
And working alone, I fear, you will find nothing to gain.
I realise now, my powers aren’t a panacea.
I can’t fix you.
At best I can support.
But there are many people on this great Pangea.
So seek out the wise men!
Seek out those that will help you senselessly!
Seek the ones who feel compassion, love, and empathy…
Go! On your way, I break your chains!
I pray that all I’ve said will not be in vain!
Be changed, be free, share in my apogee!
Live life to the fullest. Please. For me.
Today I stole the meat from the skin of a struggling rat,
From the wet sharp maw of a mis-abused cat,
I told him you will be something beautiful and expressive,
You are loyal,
You are tasty,
You’re pathetic.
Then I let him go.
Oh…
I was cleaning off my claws,
I was licking dry my maw,
Pupils scan the horizons for beings that dare soar.
I need something to set my heart racing,
Something to fill me with thrill,
That’s the moment I strike, go in for the kill.
They feel it as well,
I can taste it in their lust,
They take joy in the teeth that tear as they thrust.
Today I picked a flock of vibrant swallows from the crystal blue skies,
While their tunes drowned in their horrified cries,
I told them you will blossom into something new and important,
You are handsome,
You are cherished,
You are safe.
Then I let them go.
No…
It’s another haunted night,
Spirits drinking ghosts away,
Vortex of a soul being shredded without a fight,
You were there in the demons,
You were stalking through my halls,
The hunter became the hunted the night the void calls.
How long were you trailing me?
How long have I been dead?
I’m pulled up by the throat and bounded into its bed.
It’s just what I wanted,
Exactly what I deserved,
See how far we can make this spine curve.
Today you pulled a great beast of yore out of thorns and blood,
Where the wild blue roses fester and bud.
You told him you will grow to be someone happy and exalted.
You are special,
You are loved,
You are faulted.
Then you let him go.
Please keep away from me.
There'll be no take three.
Don't cross the sea.
You had your chance.
You played us like a game.
Not the last you'll maim.
You made a name
none will say.
Nowhere to turn in need.
Look at who you keep.
When will you see?
They're the same.
There's no one left to blame.
It's a shame.
It's your pain.
Could you change?
Your best friend made it free.
One hitch in your spree.
Who could you be?
I won't know.
Naive, innocent, and a little annoying.
He excitedly bounds up to you,
A "Yip!" and "Yap!" that can't be ceased!
You mean the world to him,
Your loyal loving beast!
Not all is as it should be.
The play fighting is difficult,
And leaves a pain that can't be eased.
He's trying his best,
Your loyal loving beast.
He doesn't realise what's happening.
What a wonderful outlet.
The last of his innocence you have fleeced.
What did you do,
to your loyal loving beast?
You taught him an important lesson,
"You are broken."
Deserving what comes next,
He offers all he has left,
A feast.
an old poem
i don't remember who for
-----
So quickly, I came to adore everything about you.
Duty calls!
Oh my rerr~
A thousand little quirks I would never deter.
The way you wordlessly do what you think is right.
The way we'd bond as we'd cuddle each night.
I'm no stranger to crushes but...
I knew it was something more to me.
But what if it's not meant to be?
Someone so amazing doesn't come for free,
And I couldn't forget, you had the poly.
No, I think we'd all agree,
It's best to stick to the guarantee:
Just an amazing friend.
Your confession of affection shot me like a bolt,
The rhythm in my chest failed to resume.
You... felt the same.
Ten days, and it was clear this was more.
And for the next eighteen days, that we would explore.
Could a bond really be this effortless?
Never before have I been so at peace.
Your presence, a haven where the thoughts cease.
We match or complement in every way.
I grow closer to you with every day.
I'll never forget that night.
We laid in bed together.
We were a mess of emotions.
It had been time enough,
And with faces buried in pillow fluff,
We broke the final barrier:
"I love you."
I couldn't stop shaking.
All of these memories we've been making-
All of my time you've been taking,
After the years of hiding and faking,
After the aching and soul breaking,
The snaking from not-quite-right to not-good-enough,
Finally...
I'm secure.
A kindred spirit, matched to my own.
Happiness, simple and pure.
And as we approach the unknown,
With these feelings set in stone,
I know it doesn't have to be alone.
So, Crystal:
It is the dawn of our fifth week together.
I love you.
And I need you in my life.
Will you be my partner through this strife?
one of my oldest poems
-----
An alien comes from space,
And to this human race,
It teaches something new.
No, not for the masses,
No, not for the important,
But only to you.
Not power nor technology,
Not conspiracy nor astrology,
Could match what he has gifted.
And it's you,
The lucky you,
Who's been chosen, uplifted.
With words soft and divine,
With form avian and cervine,
His arms are like a scarf.
Without anger or oppression,
Without force or aggression,
He eradicates a world of wrath.
Evenings of joys and laughter,
With love and passion after,
And eye of hopeful glint.
He guides the future of one,
He solves the problems of one,
A love from beyond: Clint
most of my writing gets put to games i don't release
here's some small standalone stuff
my only positive writing. excluding the love ones, and i do
i wanted to see if that was something i could do!
-----
At the rim of this valley I can see the entire suburb.
The pale blue sky is streaked with the contrails of man-made comets, made orange by our rising star.
Cotton tufts speckle the crystal ocean above, not quite full enough to block out the blue.
The eastern horizon is a hazy amber, not yet fully alerted to the beginning of the day.
A cloud swoops through the suburbs, tips of antennae and chimney poke through.
The moon hangs low, offering a last moment of support before its departure.
The earliest birds are excitedly bouncing around the frosted grass,
The laziest still puffed up, or stretching their wings on barren branches.
The brisk wind carries no smoke nor fume,
The civilized arteries carry no metal nor plastic,
The metal staffs pollute no light,
The manmade colony utters no words.
It is only the heavens,
The birds,
Zephyr,
And me.
For the last time, the sun sets. What is usually over in moments seems to last as long as the age it brings to a close.
"I'd love to move on."
The toppling remains of a civilization struck linger in the distance. They've kept their distance from it. It's why they can talk at all. The ashes have not settled.
How long ago had this all started? I suppose it's only been weeks. Mere weeks ago they sat at this very overlook, discussing years into the future, as though the scene would last for all eternity. They had picked their house, they had picked their last name, they had decided against children and knew the date of their wedding. They felt, for a brief moment, that the entire world were in their control, that seas would part at their feet and crash behind them, and the sun would rise at their command. They felt immortal.
At the very least, this annihilation, this eradication of so much has left the atmosphere thick, and the swan-song of the sun majestic. Each degree it dips shifts the heavens a new hue as different aspects of a dead world gain the spotlight.
He received no reply. It was the kindest response possible.
It doesn't blame itself.
It screamed while being forged.
Its scarred flesh is its purpose.
It did not want to become this. But this it is.
In the wrong perspective, it is a torturous weapon.
It feels self pity.
It is not happy.
Even if it experiences a moment of joy in the absolute control.
While it schemes the next trick it will pull to make a new puppet,
It is deeply sorry.
It is good, because every so often it lets one go.
profile
nearly everything I've done is open source and permissive
everything else isn't important, isn't finished, or isn't mine.
source and its backend
#3
i have particular philosophies with how i'm designing this site
first, robust. i minimize using my backend as much as possible, even if it means i use abnormal structure
as much of the site as possible should be static
anything i can host myself, i do. i host my own font files for example. i wanna get my experience as consistent and reliable as i can, modern PCs and internets can handle it
this also means i have limits on how responsively i design my site. i try to make it work on mobile, but that's mostly by forcing it to emulate desktop rather than altering design
i focus on minimalism. if i can cut information or words out, i usually do. this is also my writing style
Terraria source - Anti-Idle: The Game source
i love the idea of Tool Assisted Speedruns, but i always found rigid input mapping or human-improving tools to be a little dull to make
my idea with ATLAS runs was to make a speedrun tool that used more advanced logic to make decisions during a run
the terraria one, i successfully made it analyse the waveforms of fishing to be able to fish automatically
for anti-idle: the game, i think i was working on something to do arcade games automatically, but i don't think i got far
in general, i really like the idea of making a program that has to use the same info we do as humans to play a game - vision and sound
source
bot originally made for a sort of music video
became full of dumb commands like tictactoe you couldn't win, or random e6 tags
core of my community for a while
source
a program I made to help me with cooking more regularly
calculates cost, has a database of available ingredients, and a tagged list of my recipes
i should have made it for mobile instead
source
generates database of messages, and a website to easily look through old memories
will only discuss this with a therapist
source
gui youtube downloader
it was bad, just use yt-dlp
i make command line programs now
source
an old friend and i found the concept of braille on computers very funny
they used to make little ascii-like art pieces out of braille characters, so i made this tool to help them
source
i got really in to Pilotredsky's music and art, and tried to make a filter to imitate the sorta vibration their animations have
this filter gave me the confidence to do more art for a while
source
tetris implemented in Go
tetris is my go-to for learning a new language
fun 3 day distraction
none of them are actually playable
source
a walking sim about suicide made during the darkest few months of my life
full of memories i seek to forget
they're in Assets/That Binds gdd.txt.
source
inspired by photography as a hobby
a collectable gathering, stylized realism, import-your-3d-models furry game
i still like this idea a lot, just need more confidence in art
source
Fez inspired hacking game
i'd just recently made a couple languages with antlr3. had ideas for fun puzzles, how each language was limited, etc.
partly, i was working on it for my crush who loved Fez and comp sci
still like the idea
source
up to 4 multiplayer chess game with custom boards, jank and modifiers
made for a uni application
they told me to go to college instead
source
game about controlling a space rover from the inside, programming every function
inspired by Duskers, Outer Wilds, and the Opportunity rover
topped when I learned about Iron Lung
i can't link this one because it doxxes me
similar to That Binds but much earlier. game about suicide, you would explore the room and especially computer of someone who has gone missing
inspired by Return Of The Obra Dinn.
my "big one", my default project since 2019
it's gone through four major stages that could each be considered its own game, and i might revisit some of those older concepts sometime
if you've heard me discuss volcanoes, ice ages, a private wiki or Hyper Light Drifter, it was this game
link
mostly RimWorld mods, a few kenshi mods i don't think are worth mentioning
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a few more mods for Stardew Valley and Casualties: Unknown
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game's crafting logic is terrible and its codebase is too but it was fun to work on
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another owo mod. no video this time
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yeah.
the idea came from a funny moment while playing
a return to modding after a 3 year break
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rim Math!
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allows you to use mathematical formulae as the inputs to fields, including many variables and functions
first large coding project i did
i would write pseudocode on my phone during the 16 hour bus up to scotland
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just something that got popular
i liked building river-side dwellings in RimWorld, and i wanted my characters to enjoy the view
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an event to get rid of a colonist while making everyone involved happy
i felt bad turning people down, but preferred smaller groups
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the commissioner ghosted me on this one, but I was passionate about it
would record inputs and world state so you could rewatch your runs
did not finish
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make research a resource that could be gained and lost, physically tied to people
makes old people have more value
did not finish
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silly mod, but very heartfelt. the codebase is stuffed with poetry and thoughts and feelings
also made a dumb video for its release
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i didn't release this one. it was an ambitious mod that reworked the crafting system from the ground up, because i found it very clunky and rough
to memory i nearly finished v1, but there was a scheduled update that would break everything
they also completely ignored my job application so i was bitter
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more paper-based maps for the game
i love annotating maps
i don't like auto-maps
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improved logic and settings for character randomization
i try not to min-max my characters
i print/laminate stickers to decorate my city
stickers made:
i printed out a map of my area, and every time i put up a sticker i mark it. i wanna mark every neighbourhood, every street in the borough. seeing the map get slowly filled in channels that completionist drive from games
inspirations
i got in to stickering inspired by a street artist here called waow. to me waow stands out because it doesn't really want anything from people. they're not trying to upset anyone, push an agenda, sell something, gain followers, they're just something that becomes part of the local culture; they're actual street art and done in a way people appreciate, hitting spots that most street art can't
there's another artist called ribbit who popped up in strong force too. similar to waow, but their tag is a lot more detailed, and they hit more impressive spots. they've been good rivalry, giving me a challenge to one-up the places they get
i produce my own stickers
process
create art - i make sure mine follows metric paper aspect ratio
create sheet - arrange art into a grid that can be printed
choose substance & print
(optional) handwriting - for stuff like the waow stickers
choose & use laminate
cut stickers - tailor scissors are fast. long sharp blade
create batch - i use an RNG for the order of my stickers, to minimize repetition or droughts
i usually make batches of 50-200 stickers at a time, containing 5-10 design
costs
a high quality a8 sticker costs me ~0.048 to produce. low quality ~0.009
the two most important parts of stickers are, what the ink is printed on to (which i'll call substance), and the laminate. prices are for 1 a4 sheet
substance
paper: 0.10 per sheet
vinyl: 0.44 per sheet
substance should probably have an adhesive backing (be a sticker)
your sticker's substance affects its cost, its durability, how it peels, and how its colours come out
i use vinyl for most stickers. vinyl is ~4x more expensive, but boasts immunity to water and better colour. they do peel off more easily, though
paper is good for figuring out what spots, art and routine work, but it will be battered by weather damage. if you really need to blanket an area short term, paper is good
there are more options, but i haven't tried them. i've seen someone use transparent vinyl, glow in the dark vinyl, kraft paper
laminate
heat-sealed: 0.05 per sheet
holographic: 0.33 per sheet
glossy: 0.3 per sheet
laminates protect your sticker from damage, and also provide a visual flare beyond flat substance and ink
heat-sealed laminate uses laminating pouches put through a heat roller. a roller costs about 15, but the pouches are dirt cheap and laminating requires no technique. they're also very weak and short term. because you need to cut them, the edges are vulnerable, and the heat seal will peel off after a while
holographic effects like glitter, shatter, stars can add a nice accent to a sticker and make it stand out, especially on sunny days!
non-holo laminates are good, tend to be thicker/more durable and cheaper
most laminates i use are stick-on. there's a technique to lining them up and smoothing them out. i'll make my own video eventually, here's one for now
ink
doesn't matter for me. some inks are water or uv resistant, but your substance/laminate will have way more impact. i use an ink tank printer, so my ink costs are so low that i can't calculate them. i'd put it around 0.05 per sheet
size/shape
i make stickers on a4 paper and cut them down to size. i used to do a7 stickers, i now do a8
smaller stickers are easier to put up, hit more difficult spots, less likely to crease, cheaper, and gives more space for other artists. i go as small as i can while remaining easily visible
keeping them rectangle makes them trivial to cut and mass produce + i think it and white paper is a striking style
firstly, dangers to you. are you going to be seen putting this up? are they going to care? you can and will be fined, and you don't want to be on the police radar for something as silly as stickering. have an escape plan, look confident, be quick, don't get identified
are people gonna hate you for this? consider what message your sticker sends
when making stickers that'll be outside, there's a few threats:
defacing, unsticking, scraping, uv, water
defacing: markers are popular for this. most markers can be removed with isopropyl alcohol, most easily from alcohol wipes. laminate your sticker to protect it from absorbing marker, or being damaged by the ipa
someone could also stick over your sticker. the only people who have done this to me used really shitty paper so it wasn't an issue
unsticking: pretty simple, if your adhesive isn't strong, or gets washed away by a bit of water, the sticker comes off. test with brands to find something good enough
ensure you smooth your sticker down with your nail. press firm, get the edges. you can stick to glass to see on the opposite side what parts have been pressed down properly. it takes me about 5 seconds to do, but expands the sticker's life by weeks
different surfaces are better or worse: porous, uneven crumbly surfaces like rock are awful. unfinished wood isn't great but can manage for a while. flat surfaces like metal, glass and plastic are good. bonus points if they are slightly rough but don't break apart
scraping: there's two main ways people do this: finger nails and blades. a blade is very effective, but leaves marks on the surface and looks really sus in public, so not everyone will do it. you can protect against this with a mixture of positioning and technique
you can use a blade once you place your sticker to cut it into very small separated pieces. this prevents someone getting a good peel with a lot of sticker on it. the more pieces, the more effective. i do two diagonal passes, one perpendicular to the other, to cut my stickers into tiny squares. high quality stickers won't appear damaged at all at a distance. this takes me about 10-30 seconds
for positioning, see placing stickers
uv: uv from sunlight breaks down the pigments in most things. if you're fancy, you can print using a uv resistant ink, though i haven't looked into it. maybe better though, you can laminate your stickers
lamination offers a lot of different kinds of protection: against water, scraping, staining, peeling, and a little uv. some laminates are specifically uv resistant
you can also just put stickers somewhere they won't see sunlight! this depends dramatically on your environment and targets.
water: water can damage three parts of your sticker: the adhesive, the paper, and the pigment
adhesive: if damaged, it falls off. use a different adhesive that isn't so water soluble
paper: if damaged, it will tear easily. different papers are more or less resistant to water. laminating the paper helps, but because you need to peel a sticker, the edges will still be vulnerable. vinyl papers are much less vulnerable to water damage
pigment: if damaged, it will smudge, blur, and lose colour. a lot of inks are water soluble. someone i know uses markers for their stickers, which hold up a lot better to water. laser printers solve this i think though i haven't tested. printable vinyl paper will also protect against this
the most fun part. where do they go??
first some rules, mostly the same as graffiti. as with all rules, there are exceptions: every sticker is a push and pull of reasons
1. avoid private property. cars, houses (apartments not so bad), businesses. if there is a specific person who will want to remove this, consider if it will make them hate what you stand for.
2. avoid public goods. charities, information points, maps, water stations. stickering is seen as disrespect. you don't want to give the message these things are unappreciated
3. don't cover other peoples' art. stickers, graffiti, posters. unless you specifically want to send a message, give them space. usually better to just remove harmful stuff if you can anyway
so how do you choose a spot? each spot is a confluence of variables
+ trusty lamp post, classic target. metal adheres well
+ brown is a good contrasting colour for my white/purple stickers
~ quiet residential area. could stay up for ages and be appreciated, could go down immediately
~ this spot gets direct sunlight. good visibility, but reduces lifespan
- stickers don't last as long on curved surfaces
- this one's kinda gross. there's visual clutter, not pleasing to look at
not a great spot, but it's okay
+ black contrasts very well with my stickers
+ high traffic spot where people have nothing to do but wait
+ very visible: people have to look here to press the button and see the signal
+ this spot is barely bigger than my sticker. it will fit here pleasingly
~ this plastic is okay for adhesion, but makes them easier to peel off
- existing sticker debris. implies they get removed, and will impact adhesion
this is a very good spot, i will usually place one here if i can
- rock is very bad for adhesion. it won't last long, will come off easily
~ in a corner that most people won't look at. may or may not last long, but won't be seen by most
+ "no drawing" graffiti is pretty funny, worth associating with
if i have too many stickers i'd spare one for this spot
there was a place i used to volunteer at for a couple of years. it was the center of most of my communities around here
one day they banned me, citing 'serious safeguarding concerns', and after months of trying to be told what i did wrong, i still don't know
i was put on a strict no contact decree, and i lost every friend i made there
if it were just me i would maybe accept i was just weird or something, but it happened to another person the same day same time, and i don't know anything they did wrong
so, i dunno. i guess i just got betrayed again. my issues with authority have never been stronger
i love music more than anything. still trying to find ways to express that love in a way i can share with other people. i've been on/off working on 3d animated music videos, maybe some day i'll finish one
i can play guitar, piano and the ocarina, and would love to play more
i've made a few instrumental melodies. i like them, but they're not too impressive
i would love to learn to make music, but i'm scared of trying in case i learn i can't reach my goals
i have pet rats, rey and tapp
they will get their own web page some day.
i set up a server from old computer parts. it sort of acts as a NAS, sort of acts as cloud storage, runs the api for my website
started to fuel my obsession with archival
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it runs headless debian, with snapraid to back up data
the physical drives are merged using mergerfs into three blocks:
a public block, which has any non-personal data like music, movies and books
a private block, which has my personal data
a user block, which has storage i give to my friends
right now i don't have any remote mirrors of the data which scares me. when the bubble pops and storage device prices drop i'd like to set up a mirror of my data with a friend, while letting them do the same on my server
i also want to get an SSD to store data that needs regular high speed access, like code or photos
i connect my devices to the server using sshfs. except my phone, which i haven't rooted. for my phone, i just use rsync to handle pulling or pushing files as needed
the api runs django/gunicorn/nginx
i try to document and backup anything that i find personally important
every photo i've taken, every project i've done, every song i like, every message i've seen or sent, games i liked, books i've read. i write journal entries about discussions that were important to me, and photograph scenes where i felt something
these get put into varying depths of storage and organization, ranging from an unsorted pile, to a tagged, structured and redundant library
that links in to running the home server
cycling is the most consistent way i clear my mind
there's so much nuance to how you can cycle, it helps me express my mindset. if i stick to the suburban sprawl or if i go to the countryside, or the city, or the waterfront, somewhere new or somewhere familiar. if i stop to take photos, or if i challenge myself to go fast and react quick.
i think cycling helps me get out self destructive feelings
it's also a major player in putting up stickers. i can get around and away quick, and i can stand on my bike to reach places others can't
for maintenance, i've done all the work on my own bike since i got it. it's scrap at this point, a decade old, and it was left outside uncovered for about three years at one point
i keep hoping it'll break in some major, expensive way so i've got a good excuse to buy something new. while i can fix it, it feels immoral to just toss it. but it's also immoral to make anyone else ride this
i've adopted disposed bikes i've come across from work and friends and restored them to life. they all work better than my one does
every so often i do a large refurbish, and it works amazingly for a few months and reminds me of how much potential the thing has, before another part of the braking system gives out
i'm studying to be a therapist, and i am passionate about the field
i do archery sometimes, and also have a slingshot. hunting cardboard boxes is pretty fun
i have a 3d printer and used it
i handmake books sometimes, and i like reading
i made a few rings out of wood, wanna get back in to it