professional-jaywalker

10 ways to describe my therianthropy

Tue, 03 Feb 2026 13:14:21 GMT

Inspired from a writing exercise on tumblr that requested for student to write on a theme of their life in 10 sentences, again and again, never the same exact way. The author mentioned it made for better writing as it went on, so I am curious to apply it to such a theme. Don't expect very good writing.

1. I am a bird.

I was born animalistic.
Throughout my life, I experienced instincts my peers did not, I felt wings my peers did not, I felt like my body was not fitting right in a ways other children did not. I drew self-portraits dressed in scales and feathers, and I viewed myself through the eyes of dragons in stories I read. For very long I thought I was alone in this and prayed for something to put me rightfully back in another skin. While a teenager, I discovered communities of people who thought they were dragons and wolves and many other beasts. I also discovered many of the ways what I thought was wyvern-like was strangely bird-like, but not like any bird I knew of. I met many birds, from crows to falcons to cormorants and macaws. I met many other things too, flying and swimming and running but unlike me. I searched for something like me, cross-toed and sun-loving and feathered and fast.
Geococcyx californianus.

2. Absence of a bird

Today I woke up with no feathers to preen and no wings to splay to soak up the heat.
I did not need to chase movement to catch an insect or a careless reptile in the stones.
I did not coo, I did not clack, for there is no one who can answer.
I do not leave cross-toed tracks in the mud, nor do I see the warm toned dirt, the joshua tree or the red tailed hawk.
I feel no breath through my whole body for I am half choked by this strange body of mine.
I cannot raise my crest at you or pin my eyes, so forgive the impoliteness of my absent design.
I am the bird that lives in the negative space left in the corner of the eye.
I exist only in what I lack and what I miss;
But do not feel sorry for me, for I will still exist just fine.
With my nowhere-beak and my nowhere-calls, I am the nowhere-bird in human-shawl.

3. Are you even human?

Define human. I am a person. I am bodily Homo sapiens. I have two prehensile thumbs, I wear clothes, I listen to music and I make art. I love, maybe, I try. Yet I do not feel human. Can you feel human ? Does anyone feel human ? Is it not, by design, a human characteristic to be able to choose, to reject, one's species ? The question passes; I am a bird anyways.

4. In Memoriam

On March 2020, or perhaps 2021, I tried to kill myself. My view of time has been somewhat hazy ever since. It was an act of rebellion against life, against god, against every prayers I'd made to wake up in a body that is mine and a life that feels real. I stubbornly live and I stubbornly continue to refuse my body. I will hack at it and I will distort my skin and bones until it feels right, I will bring the scalpel to my skin in mock autopsy until I reveal all the synapomorphies that connect me to what I should be. Do you hear me ? I say to nothing and no-one, to what never answered. Do you hear me ? In another book, Sappho says "someone will remember us I say even in another time". Do you hear me?

5. Xerocole

It is 40°C out, and I thrive. The air smells of burnt dust and heat, the air is heavy against my skin, almost like swimming in water. My tail sways left, to right, to left, to right. I can feel the top of my crest startle up as a lizard skitters past, fleeing. I hesitate, but do not follow. There are plenty of things for me to chase here. No one can tell, that my beak is half open in a gape, that my wings flutter as I perch upon a stone. It is my secret. I pause, cock my head rapidly, as all birds do. Here, in the summer heatwave, for a minute, I feel whole.

6. Play pretend

I am twelve at the time. I boot up minecraft. I create an egg in beige terracotta, filled with water. I lock my character inside it, and start holding my breath as I switch the game mode to survival. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 8, 9, 10... I imagine myself in my eggshell, my lungs aching for a breath of air i've never taken, burning, instinct taking over. I break the shell. I gasp. My lungs hurt. I do it again.

7. Taxidermy

As a child, I was fascinated with parasites. I still feel fondness for them, who can survive only through other things. Later, I would start collecting feathers, almost by compulsion. I'd stare a little too hard at dead birds. I couldn't describe the feeling in my heart when I saw them. Perhaps curiosity. Perhaps jealousy. If I cut you open, dead bird, will I learn what's inside of me? Will you become part of me, dead bird, I feel like a patchwork of ill fitting things, can you replace the parts of me that were never meant to be? I can only know you in death, I harm any of the wild things like you by touch only, but perhaps, in your stillness, I will learn how to live as only me.

8. Brood Parasite

I have a brother. It is curious for a bird to be born in the nest of a human, but Greater roadrunners are occasionally brood parasites, say ornithologists. I search articles upon articles to explain how a bird can be born with human skin. I learn of Ceyx and Alcyone and of the Swan Maidens or Philomela and Procne. At 7 years old, I wonder if I must die to gain my wings. At 23, I still do not know. I look at my brother, and I do not recognize the traits he shares with me. I wonder what he thinks of me, if he understand, on some level, that I am not human, or if I have him duped as any good parasite should. Can a nest parasite feel guilty, of the family it has duped to be born? I read articles.

9. "Truth"

I am a therianthrope because I am. I do not need to explain it. Even if I had never written a word of it, even if it had been my most well kept secret, even if I had never known the word, I would have been a therianthrope. I cannot imagine a way for me to be alive where I am not a therianthrope, because I was always a therianthrope, and the yearning in my chest has been a constant throughout my life. I will be a therianthrope when I do groceries as much as when I stalk lizards. I will be a therianthrope even if I die a human. I will be a therianthrope even if everyone I meet deems me a liar. I will be a therianthrope even if I give up one day, and decide to bury it in shame, because I was a therianthrope even before I learned that I had the option not to be ashamed. Therianthrope, therianthrope, therianthrope. I will be a ~~therianthrope~~ even if i repeat it until it loses meaning.

10. Finale

I am writing words on a screen. It is very much not what makes me feel most bird-like, yet it is the majority of what anyone else will be able to consume about what it means to be me. How do I transcribe into words things I struggle to even explain logically ? It is an obsession, to be able to capture what I mean when i say "I am a bird", into a way that someone who is not a bird could comprehend, to be heard, to have someone say "me too!". Would I even accept someone saying they were also a roadrunner, 23 years into being the only one ? Does it even matter, to think about it. Three sentences left. Two. Once this is posted, I will get up, and I will go outside, and I will sun myself. I will feel my feathers ruffle in the wind, and I will feel happy.

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Therianthrope, heavy on the -anthrope

Wed, 03 Dec 2025 16:06:49 GMT

In 2025, particularly on tumblr and on tiktok, from what I can see of it, there is a peculiar detachment in the nonhuman part of alterhuman communities from the concept of "being human".

While historically, being a therian or otherkin was often understood as being an animal or mythical beast stuck in human skin, there is now a whole movement for removing that distinction, of being physically nonhuman, either by reclamation of the body as itself nonhuman, by transition, by belief, and probably many other i'm not thinking of.

This has been a very popular change. Many people who have experience just like me now call themselves physically nonhuman for a reason or another. I can understand the mindset : it was never uncommon for therianthropes to reject their human body, to hate it. We are, whether some like it or not, the species dysphoria, species transition community. Many, many therianthropes and otherkin have wished, or tried, to physically shapeshift.

But truth is, it bothers me.

I've got many qualms with parts of how that community puts itself in place: it is one that is often dangerous to the stability of my perception of reality, as a schizospec person, with many, many untagged psychotic triggers. It rubs salt in the wounds that i now see people claiming they "have never met a psychotic person who had been hurt by untagged physical nonhumanity". Yeah guys. because we fucking left. For our own sake. As you told us to do.

But that's not really the point of this post. It mostly bothers me because it has been concurrent to a mindset in the therian community where reality has no impact. People are only their avatar online. Their experiences are solely the ones inside their brain. They can feel they are a falcon/a dog/a unicorn/a pokemon. In fact, they're typing with their paws right now. Let's make a pack on discord where we all roleplay running into the wood with our real forms ! Less and less long form essays, more and more shallow memes. People shouldn't have to write, they can just feel. Being a therian is just feeling. feeling, feeling, feeling, in a void, devoid of all outside yourself.

I'm studying for a master's degree. I am an adult, with my own money, my own choices to make. I'm balancing my birdhood with my very real human life. My therianthropy isn't just feelings. It has consequences. It will impact where I live. What job I do. Who I love. How I love. How I socialize. What I care about. What I do about it. I don't. fucking care that you're a dog online frankly.

And frankly, that one isn't even the fault of the actual physical nonhumans ! I see many who are in fact talking about the problems of living as something perceived as human while not being. But it has given an out to all the people who were desperately searching for an excuse to completely negate this very border line that makes the alterhuman community who we are. Many, many people have tried to remove any connection to humanity from therianthrope, alterhuman, and other community, but the truth is i don't think it's possible and i don't think it's interesting.

I think the best conversations about our lives will always revolve around how we are not humans, in a human world. We cannot absolve ourselves from living in reality, because if we do so, then we just... stop talking about ourselves. People complain over and over and over again that the community doesn't feel like it used to, doesn't feel like a community, like helping each other, but it's because the biggest part of it has sanitized the very paradox of our existence into being borderline taboo to mention. So for sure it feels completely shallow.

Old forums are ripe with people discussing real things. Jobs. Family. How to find a home in a place that feels like territory. How to deal with ugly instincts. How people found each other and loved each other despite the odds. Political views tied to feeling like an animal and wanting our future to be better, both for us and our theriomorphic counterparts. Growing up. Deaths. Real way to alter your life to feel like you. Real goals for nonhuman transitions. Spiritual beliefs and worship. There is something you can hold, you can cling to. Helped by the fact it doesn't just fade away, for sure. You go on a forum, and some guy-wolf from a dozen years ago shows you the forest past his backyard. There is a "people lived here, people still do" feeling to this. One that made me think perhaps I could figure it out too, which is painfully absent from particularly the tumblr community and part of what made me leave.

At least the tiktok kids are actually outside doing shit. What's a dog even doing online. That tells me nothing about you. You are no more like me, by posting pictures of cute dogs, no more relatable, than any orthohuman who does. In fact the orthohumans also posts about paws and ears and whatever. Because that is in the fact the shallow side, the easy side. It's the fun side. It's not the one that makes us therians. The fantasy is not what makes us therians. It's living it.

I think we should go back to calling ourselves therianthropes, heavy on the -anthropes. I think no one is fully nonhuman in a human world we are forced to participate in. If you're physically nonhuman, then you're still socially human. If you manage to flee to the most unknown place, undisturbed by any human presence, you will still have been marked by humanity. We are imprinted animals, to our cores, and i think denying that is just kind of avoiding the question of why we even need a word. If you're all that nonhuman, fully untouched by humanity, then there should be no difference between you and a theriomorphic animal. But there is. that's what the -anthrope is for. I think the real important part about the -anthropy part of therianthropy was never whether it's human skin or socialization or whatever. It was about coping with a human world that sees us as human. That's what's partially human, why we are weres. Because we're animals moonlighting as humans whether we want it or not.

As a closing note, i'm sure many would dislike this. Because being human is icky. Because we don't want, or don't perceive ourselves to be human. Because some of us have been harmed by humans, or "being human", or pretending to be. Well, godspeed I guess. Hope that gets you somewhere, because from what we currently see, i'm not optimistic.

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Queer as in i need some kind of powerpoint for this

Mon, 14 Jul 2025 15:21:30 GMT

Trying to keep my dreamwidth posts a monthly thing, as part of my touch grass initiative (which... i probably should remove tumblr from my phone while i'm at it. i'm fine with scrolling on computer, but perhaps it would make me less likely to reach for my phone for those Dank Memes).

Honestly I don't have much to say since last post in term of therianthropy, so I will probably not tag this post as such. I've been in an internship (ant lab shenanigans), and by virtue of Doing Very Humancore Work on the computer, my bird instincts have not been particularly titillated. We've been having heatwaves however, so while everyone is kinda going through it, my xerocole (just discovered that word) ass is thriving. Even made a shirt about it. My one personality trait is loving high temperatures.

I've been having a bit of a rough time in term of queer identity. I've been identifying back and forth between bisexual and lesbian since forever, mostly due to being nonbinary.
It's a very odd place to be in. People who have never touched twitter discourse are somewhat taken aback by the "lesbian who is not a woman" thing. People who live on the internet have a thousand way of telling which part of my identity is wrong or right, and who's grandma i'm murdering by doing gender wrong. It isn't helped by living in a country without the butchfemme culture, so leslie feinberg will not save me this time.
So periodically, I give up and call myself bi. I find this partially incorrect. It kinda implies i'm being hetero about things sometimes, which in my experience isn't really accurate. It makes people think I like binary men, which, sorry to my ever expending list of depressed metalhead men who want me to fix them, isn't the case.

Technically, I'd be something like enbian and sapphic. i guess? or one of those trixic things. Even I lost track of those nb specific microlabels. I suppose nblnb + nblw is the better way of wording it.
Quite frankly I thought that slotted in dykeish just fine, after all everyone and their mother was saying that lesbians loved women and nonbinary folk who felt it applied to them. Turns out, however, that this is often code for "women and nonbinary people I can pretend are women". People don't really like when it includes multigender folk, amab nonbinary folk, or anyone who might get weird looks in a woman's bathroom. Even cisgender butches are on thin fucking ice if they're genderweird enough sometimes. This is unpractical to me, person who likes first and foremost other nonbinary folk, and sometimes genderqueer women (be it a butch or an hyperfemme person who's full circled back to doing femininity wrong).

Other than debating over which flag I should buy for my gay little stickers, there's been the problem of being aro. I'm still pretty good at being aro. However good lord. Queerplatonic relationship are hard to explain to allos, and the only aro ive ever met was the "i want to live alone forever #thriving" kind, which, slay, i adore you, but isn't helpful to my plans of one day having SOME kind of living-together partnership. Quite frankly, 80% of my motivation for it is that it is dreadful to cook for one person. Perhaps I should start hanging marriage proposal around town for the only purpose of splitting two-packs of chicken breasts.

However god has been merciful to my aro heart recently, and has made every friend I had who was in a mid-at-best relationship break up. So I suppose I've got that going on for me. Cheers for divorce.

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Webscape pondering

Tue, 27 May 2025 10:33:06 GMT

I'm a bird of the internet. I was born during the 2000's, raised with progressively better computer technology, in an ever growing internet landscape, by a father who is a computer nerd. Then, when I grew, I got attached to the furry fandom, renowned for being 80% IT staff (only half joking), and discovered the therian community, that only existed from my french perspective as words on a screen until very recently.

I've experienced forums and their harsh grilling, although I have been able to sidestep a lot of that unpleasantness by virtue of being an animal that people know a bit less than the habitual canine. I've experienced 2016-2020 tumblr and its messy mix of fluffy roleplay, vitriolic hate from random trolls, and strangely creative satire. I even tried amino, when i was young enough to tolerate the repetitiveness of its content and its low age demographic. And yet I think it's now that I kinda give up on the wider community.

This sunday, I went to a convention in my city, centering anime. There, I met another french alterhuman for a quick hi. I learned that another person a friend knows appears to identify as a new age therian (i'll say a tiktok therian, for simplicity. I do not know what definition they use, just the codes they use to flag themselves, so we'll see). I saw kids with masks playing with each other on all four. Animality is becoming a strange little counter culture for teens in a mall goth way. Will therian be the new alternative fashion after egirls ? Somewhat of an amusing, yet perplexing thought. We've gone full circle on teen wolf packs.

Then, yesterday, I went on tumblr. The internet landscape has become somewhat complicated to navigate for me. I do not do well with algorithmic websites and short form content, which explains my white knuckling on the tumblr space in spite of every dubious conversations that happens there. But even for me it's becoming too hard, and I cannot block enough of physical nonhumanity, which appears to have taken over the space. Attempting to discuss the conflict in needs between folk who do not want to tag their content, due to this being taken as reality checking, and psychotic folk, who struggle to avoid content that can harm them, resulted in an overall very unpleasant response from folk I was probably more optimistic about than I should have.

The whole thing was quite a mess for me. I'm in a bit of a poor state currently, and probably should not have made that post. Honestly having made it probably was a sign I was not quite doing great, as it was somewhat out of desperation after encountering yet another psychosis trigger I didn't manage to avoid even with my miles long blocklist. I have not slept much. I am unmedicated due to issues with medication in my country. I have dropped below 45kg for no reason I can remember. And I'm wondering, is it worth it? Is my time online, in that sort of community, worth it. I have always enjoyed discussions, and one reason I have not left the wider community was because it was the only way accessible to me to chat with other nonhumans. But now, I am starting to be able to find some in real life. Yes, maybe not birds. Maybe not people who enjoy writing as much as me. Maybe people who do not care as much. But between getting my sense of reality fucked with, and a mildly shallow conversation over drinks, I think the choice is easy to make.

I'm not entirely sure I even want to call myself alterhuman anymore, simply to avoid the connection to the wider community, and have my own nook. I don't think I can let go of therianthrope just yet as a label, even though i'm unsure of its use for me sometimes when trying to express myself, when the word seems to take on a life of its own to mean a variety of things that I would need to explain anyways. These days i'm starting to find a fondness for the concept of furry lifestyler. My fursona might not be strictly my species on the serious level of therianthropy, but perhaps it is a good thing, perhaps it would be better for me to focus on something I find fun, more than on the hope of my writings being useful to a community that has becomes inhospitable for me.

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"Bird transition"

Thu, 01 May 2025 15:09:21 GMT

Due to recent posts, I feel compelled to share some ways I know avian nonhumans around me (and me, obviously) have customized their way of living (whether it is body modification, clothing styles, wording, social changes, etc) to feel more appropriately avian. I personally have complicated feelings on calling myself specifically transpecies due to my disatisfaction with current ways of appearing nonhuman societally, but these are, for all intents and purpose, currently available things to transition to Bird, i suppose.

( Read more... )

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Bright gender thoughts [23/04/2025]

Thu, 01 May 2025 15:08:22 GMT

Thinking about my identity as a bright (gender identity) again.

I think being a bright for me is inherently an identity born from the fact I'll never Actually experience being a male roadrunner. This may sound paradoxical for an identity that is "being the Show-Off in a pair in a usually male bird way" but like. Being a bright for me is chimeric.

The word itself kinda embodies it. It's a word borrowed from a sci-fi comics about alien. Bright was never about real birds. Bright is a xenogender borrowed from fictional bird aliens. It was never meant to be an entirely truthful parallel to the "gender" I'd have had as a theriform roadrunner. It's inherently colored by being a sophont/sapient, inherently colored by culture, and inherently colored by being a sort of stereotype of all the ways we look at bird genders from the perspective of being a bird who never got to be a bird and approximates with learning too late.

Something I relate to over and over in ornithology studies I read is that imprinted birds never quite learn to be birds right. Roadrunners who were raised without other roadrunners vocalize much less. Imprinted raptors struggle to form courtship bonds. Imprinted parrots are aggressive and territorial.

I think being a dunhen or a bright is an imprinted sophont bird thing. It's being a bird, who's been removed from being a bird, looking at being a bird from an alien perspective. A paradox of self, learning to be your true self through playing pretend as something fake. I guess in a way it's drag, crossdressing. Never learnt to be a bird naturally, so now I'm picking and choosing bird gender markers and I'm making my own.

I think it's why it doesn't bother me this much that my bright-gender isn't.... That roadrunner like. Sure, I've got a lot of stuff that's impacted by instinct : Bright-ness for me involves being able to cook or forage for other as a gender affirming thing (bringing back prey as a courting gift), it involves being able to build furniture and create decoration (nest building material is foraged by males), it involves specific calls, that I know for myself are male-coded, even if humans wouldn't really register them as such. It involves skill being a very important component of showing off, for me, maybe the most important.

But then I also have the colorful-ness. While roadrunner get bright skin patches during mating season, it's not a bright trait. It's shared. But for me, being bright colored or at least black clothes instead of brown is in fact Bright, because I see galliformes and I see blackbirds and I go oh! So that's what being a male bird is. I'll never Just be a roadrunner in my way of being a bright, it'll always be something I pick up from a bunch of species, because I never actually learned to be a roadrunner. I'll always be imprinted, and that's fine, at this point.

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Paradox of perspective

Tue, 25 Feb 2025 23:02:33 GMT

I do not talk about my arthropod experiences much. I am arthropod-hearted, that much is very blatant about me from what I study to how I spend my time and what I love to read about.

I do not consider myself a spider. I could have. A lot of my experiences line up with the average therian; I feel shifts, I've felt phantom limbs, once or twice, similarly few to how my bird phantom present themselves when I don't coax them out, I've had a similar "rightness" to some kinds of spiders (and a few other arthropods) that roadrunners, and things that look like roadrunners, elicit in me. However, I am not a spider. I'm a few feet to the left of being a spider, and if I squint and tilt my head, perhaps I could have been one, or perhaps have been and that's a bit of leftover from that time past, if souls exist, but I am not one, not in the way I am a bird. And while I would choose to have feathers if I could, I am fine with now observing spiders as a separate entity to myself, more than a reflection of what I should be.

However, I still know what it feels like, to be a spider. In fact, it is from this experience that I started to amuse myself to see if I could also provoke shifts from other arthropods I enjoyed learning about, a stepping stone into shapeshifting as an amateur hobby. I'm not sure in what box to display that spider. Not a kintype. Not a linktype, as it is the only one of my arthropod experiences that was not voluntary. A little bit more than what's typically expected of a heart-type. If I got fancy, I could call it an antea-type, a past life still leaving a mark, but I am not very spiritual, so that feels shallow as well. I suppose it will stay "the spider".

There are few arthropods around. Not none, I've talked to a few, most notably a cockroach, a few moths, a few wasps, at least one centipede, and a variety of chimeric insectoid monsters. A few spiders, as well, I think, but never enough to compare my experiences to. I've found it unsatisfying, to try and seek out arthropod experiences, as a lot of it tends to simply stay in the clear water of the experience : rudimentary "I looked at that picture, and it felt right", or "I felt wings, and it was similar to a moth". Not that it's a bad, incorrect way to experience it, but it doesn't tend to leave my curiosity sated. So here are all the notes I've had about being a variety of arthropods, from my spider, to the ones I shed into at my leisure, to others like me who like unnecessarily long descriptions of Being.

First of all, title drop. Why a paradox of perspective? To me, the red line between all earthen arthropods (and affiliate) I've been is that alien feeling. Yet the world very much is not! It is all things I can still interact with, still find if I try. Noemata of being a spider involve a complex, labyrinthine world of crossing shadows and movement. Noemata of being an endoparasite involve warmth and pulsating rhythm. The centipede was mostly touch and speed and grasp in lush-moist hidden places. When I try to depict them, to a human scale, I easily end up with fantastical worlds. The rotten vale of Monster Hunter, for the filarial worms that migrate through the body. More decayed, but I feel in it that pulsating warm rhythm, although perhaps there are better analogues. Pandora and it's web of vegetation are a human-sized version of any small woods, when you're a half a centimeter long predatory beetle. Being something so small does feel alien, when I am now part of the megafauna. Every snapshot I get, when applied to human size, becomes gargantuan and unfathomable to see on earth.

Maybe that's one reason why they're so rare. How do you realize you were something so small, when it feels so grandiose. It's hard to drop to your knees, angle your eyes, and realize your Yggdrasil was never even the biggest of its kind. It is why I love becoming insects, though. It has a way of making you treasure the small.

When it comes to being a spider, I can only approximate. I have not chosen, so I must piece back what I was given. It was also shared with a long gone person who shared my mind, so I can only keep what belonged only to me. Some pieces were rather vague. I could not explain why I know I should have venom. I just knew it was how something like I was, killed. Perhaps I would not even, at the time, have known that's what it was, really. Simply a part of life. The sun lifts in the sky. Water is wet. My chelicerae pierce and liquefy. It wasn't really even the most important part of the hunt for what I was, just the finale. My hunt was not making something delicate and vicious that would ensnare for me, nor was it a brutal rushdown. I was mechanical. A biological bear-trap. Becoming More Spider meant patience to an inhuman degree (although inhuman is to be expected), it meant reactive more than proactive. I only had bribes, but it was almost meditative, to be a spider, and I quite liked it. In symbiosis with that other-mind, I could feel his phantom book lungs (like gills upon my ribs), and the phantom pattern of his eyes upon my face (not that much vision. shades mostly, clear and dark. movements.). Long, grasping limbs to each side, set apart like a jaw (strong, sensitive, like a gun-trigger). Able to fold itself flat, to become the wall it stands on (pneumatics of inner workings, fluids in and out). Whatever it was, it liked shade and coolness and moisture. It disliked movement above it, but did not exactly flee it, it simply hid better and waited. It could be fast, when it was time, but for the most part, it was simply silent.

It's a bit hard, to make a whole from bits, especially something I'm not all the time. With being a bird, I can simply reflect on myself anytime, and that is simply what I am. With the spider, I kind of had to vivisect bits and pieces when and where they happened, and that was kinda all, unless I provoked more of it, which is what I ended up doing.
I played dress up with a variety of creatures that felt similar enough, to see what felt right. I tried tailless whip scorpions, but while the grasping of the forearms were right, and Feeling more than any other sense was too, the long thin whips were not quite something I'd felt before, and it lacked that inherent Venom that my brain informed me I should have. Huntsman and wolf spiders were fun. So fun that I kind of hoped that would be it, for a long time. They were something very interactive to be, perhaps not as much as a jumping spider, I've never tried that, but a lot more of a rush than mystery spider. But that feeling of being something fast wasn't right, and the feeling of grasper, while more right with Heteropoda, did not fit wolf spiders at all. I actually realized the most likely culprit pretty recently, while watching the woods near my house. There is in fact all matters of little lethal biological bear traps littered all over the flowers, like decadently dressed death angels for bees and flies alike : Flower crab spiders. I adore them, now that I know where to look for them. I've lived near these woods all my life, yet I'd never spotted them. Thomisus onustus, Synema globosum, Runcinia grammica, Heriaeus hirtus and probably more I've not met yet. I don't quite think my mystery spider is one of them, but almost. If I had to guess, it was some sort of Xysticus, or something analogous. A ground crab spider. I might be wrong, this not an exact science, it's hard to interpret what could very well be figments of my mind. But I am quite satisfied with that answer, at the moment.

So that's arthropod number 1 I've been, the one I've been the most and the one who taught me how to shapeshift.

It takes me some time to manage to decent attempt at something I've never even slightly been. It's easy to have parts. I can feel a wasp's ocelli, a dragonfly larva's mandible or a pair of earwig wings just fine, as long as I have references for it. It's just a matter of visualization, really. I draw as a hobby. I see provoking a shift in myself just like drawing, just with sensations. Take a mantis's raptorial limb. Pull up an anatomy drawing. My upper arm becomes a coxa. The elbow, the trochanter, then the forearm, the femur. My hand fuses, and becomes the tibia. I cannot fold it right, but I can feel the weight of the spines along the ridges, I can feel where it should fold and lock together like well oiled machinery. Then the tarsus, which currently feels like it should erupt from my middle finger, feeling strangely appropriate to type with. Too short, in a human body, but similarly bendy, lacking the two hooks at the end. It's a vague one, and as I am writing this, I can simply shake it out and come back to a more neutral state of human-bird confusion, a more comfortable mix when it comes to operating a keyboard.

It tends to become tricky when it comes to adding everything up. I can have a mantis's arm, but then I must maintain it, and add it's head, with its complex set of mandibles, of antennas, of eyes-made-of-eyes. One limb needs to become six, and my body starts to glitch. A bird, a tetrapod, is already somewhat complex, my human arms are both wings and bird feet analogue. What's an analogue to that third pair of limbs, where do they go? I tend to prefer to lie down when I figure out how to optimally place and draw those feelings, eyes closed, so my human feelings do not overlap too much. Even better in the dark. Once it's set, I can then usually trigger it again later, and it'll put itself in place naturally.

It was easier with something as simple as the Filaria worm, although highly dependent on me doing... not much. I did not really need to focus on phantoms then, just on the mind. The mind is not something you can easily find reference from, and to be honest, I would say whatever I feel is most likely a simulacrum of what it's like, after all I do not stop having human neurons during the experiment. But that's not really the point, is it, the point is just that it's fun. The Filaria, amusingly enough, I provoked out of loneliness. I wondered what it must feel like, to be something that is never lonely, because it lives inside something else, constantly surrounded by both it's peers and the thing that nourishes it. It was mostly sensations, what I felt, strangely easy to slip into, perhaps because I have experience with writing parasites for myself.

Back when I was not medicated, I would see the world breathe, sometimes, pulse and writhe, walls tensing and releasing, floor moving beneath my feet. The nematode felt something similar, in my mind. Warmth all around, each heart-beat a pulse, world around you contracting flowing writhing singing. Many-many others around you. Forward, without reason. Not much with reason, simply following the song. It is honestly one of the most pleasant shifts I've ever had. No fear. Nothing to flee. Death is simply a possibility of the world that also nourishes you. You cannot escape it, as there is no other world to escape too, and you are simply here, and you must go forward, and that is all. So no fear. It changes nothing. Blissfully nihilistic. The only glimpses I get are of the stage inside the body, perhaps another would be a different tune, but I'm satisfied with what I saw.

I'd say the mind will be easier to reach for writers than for visual artists. You can cross-reference, after all, since I do consider I am channeling a soul, I do not find it particularly less interesting to build that mind through readings of scientific papers that, too, try to imagine what it is like to be something else. To go back to the mantis, I suppose I chose an easy one for me to be. It is once again something that stays in wait. However, it is a lot more active, a lot more visual, than my spider. How would that feel? What colors would I see? Where are my sensors to the world in that body? What would I fear? What would I seek?
That's when having the body down gets handy, to me. I simply provoke it, sometimes I do little rituals, to tie it to certain accessories or knick-knack, as I find it helps me focus. Shapeshifted, feeling the foreign limbs and foreign sensations, I find it easier to slip into a foreign mind. Everything becomes new. The woods near my house are discovered for a thousandth time with new eyes. The spider sought out moisture and shade, and silence. The centipede sought warmth, long coiled body spanning meters, then a hunt, but everything was too small, so it waited, touch-tasted, inquisitive. Perhaps the mantis would seek an elevated zone, with luxurious foliage to hide itself, and would observe. I should try it sometimes.

Perhaps my experiments with arthropods will help some new people attempt more impermanent forms of linking, quite frankly i do not think it is the time spent that makes the serious of an identity, but it is hard even for me to separate the two sometimes, with how tied they were in old forum culture (not even touching on the idea of, gasp, voluntary identity and experiences being worthy). Honestly, I recommend trying it because it is fun. So a little challenge to readers : I would love for you to pick something, become it, and come back to tell me about it. Bonus points if it's some flavor of arthropod-like. Good luck!

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Roosting, first year's sunbath, and plant-studies

Mon, 03 Feb 2025 16:36:17 GMT

A general life post once again.

I'm settling into my new apartment ; It's a pretty nifty roosting spot, honestly. One story up with a nice balcony, and i've been furnishing it with wood-and-iron type industrial lightweight furniture that give it a very pleasant "hidden through the branches" feel from the night side. The day/work side is quite near the window, and i'm not quite used to it, feels exposed, but i'm excited for summer and being able to open the balcony up to let air in.

Honestly, for my idea of a cozy bird's nest, i'm pretty close ! I've been looking at plants, possibly, but with my own botanical skill and the northeast window i've not seen a lot of "desert-ish" plants that'd thrive. But I've also not looked that long.

My bearded dragon also finally got out of her brumation : 12 years and counting ! I wish I could relocate her to my new apartment, it's a pain to have to delegate her care to my parents, and i'm not satisfied with it (it's not their job, and i'd rather be able to watch out for behaviors they may not catch). But ah, still nice to see her move around again. Plus she picked a great week, the sun's been a lot more present compared to the frigid temperatures a few week back, and my sun-bound soul is singing. Now if I could properly sunbathe with a spring temperature that'd be great, but i'll take what i can get.

I've also started my botany semester. Not much to say, it's very fun, but we're pretty much doing the basics. A lot harder to follow through than zoology : plants are quite annoying in their capacity to look nothing like each other even when related...

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Vermin

Mon, 18 Nov 2024 16:12:22 GMT

A short essay about being bug-hearted, and killing bugs.

I think one of the most cruel thing to love might be invertebrates. Insects. Arachnid. Worms. Pest.
With any other animal, it is seen as unreasonable to want to eradicate. Some insects do manage to earn human's favors, bees (but only the useful ones), moths and butterflies (but only the cute ones), and if you're facing a true bug lover, beetles and dragonflies and perhaps even spiders and centipedes and scorpions. But not all, and it's still simply reasonable, to hate even seeing them.

I've loved bugs since I was a kid. I think it felt wrong not to, because people didn't like them, and people didn't like me. I don't think I've ever understood what in how they move felt less alive for people than a puppy. Still now I love bugs. I love mosquitos and I love botflies and I love hornets and tiny annoying ants that crawl through the windows and cockroaches and the wasp that stung me on the thumb when I accidentally grabbed a stick she was resting on when I was 9.

You cannot possibly live a human life without killing countless things. It's impossible. The most vegan, most peaceful human, refusing to walk on grass to not harm the grasshopper that didn't jump fast enough, will not be able to live a life without killing an insect even accidentally. It's something I have thought about a lot overall. I'm not vegan. I've thought about it. It would make sense, I don't see a lot of difference between my own flesh and the flesh I eat. But somehow it feels even more insulting, to be something that kills, and to pretend I don't. I eat insects, too. I wouldn't be able to tell you exactly how I feel about it all.

Maybe it makes me an hypocrite, to be so perturbed about the way people treat insects when I still eat meat. But it's, I think, in the end, the fracture between someone seeing a dead cow, and a dead fly. Most people wouldn't have the courage to kill a cow. They would feel guilt. In fact, a lot of people already hide the fact that meat is flesh and is, strictly speaking, part of a cadaver. People who refuse to eat a fish with the head. Pork, not pig. Beef, not cow. I hate that too. But insects ? People kill a fly without even thinking about it. It's annoying, then it's dead. A dead fly doesn't elicit guilt.

People expect me to be the same. Even knowing I love insects, it's seen as amusing that I acknowledge them as more than a mindless automaton, and, if I can, if it costs me nothing, avoid killing them. I have killed countless insects. I've had to, purposefully, many many many times. But it is, in fact, killing. I just want to be allowed to recognize that.

I work in a lab, on ants. We dissected more than a hundred, ovaries, poison gland, brains, understanding how they work, how differentiation happens and how they communicate it. Reconstructing brains to evaluate changes in different structures, measuring how many proto-egg each individual has post-dissection and correlation to dominance, reading articles and articles about theory.

These specific ants like shallow humid grooves for their nest. Today we tested a large foraging arena, brightly lit for the cameras, dry, wide, open, empty. Ants panic after being picked up even with the least harmful tools we have. When in an unfamiliar space, we've had them in the past run until they died of exhaustion, unable to find the entry of the nest to hide. Two of them were placed in the foraging arena to test the cameras, test if we could read the tags they have on their back. Again and again, they like to follow the walls, possibly because it feels less exposed. And again and again, they stop, groom each other, and calm down if they meet, huddled into each other.

I can't claim to know what's going on in ants brain, whether they feel things similarly to us. But it's hard not to project.

Ant tagged 16, and ant tagged 12, close, unmoving.

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Avian Expectations

Fri, 15 Nov 2024 22:45:38 GMT

A short-ish text about what it means to me to be a roadrunner amongst my bird peers : how i connect, how i do not. "Being a bird" is a simplification a lot of us do, but it does not mean much in the end due to the sheer variety of the Aves group. Being as atypical as a terrestrial bird is, do i even count in what the non-bird therian might associate as "bird traits" ?
( read more )

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Mundane [5/10/2024]

Sun, 27 Oct 2024 18:18:58 GMT

First posted on tumblr, so i'm adding it here.

It's kind of interesting to start hitting a time in my life where... i've kind of said most things about my identity at least once, somewhere. Not that i don't have things left to write, reword, say in better prose, or again because the first time was a passing thought in a chat with no archive.

But i'm not anymore, in the phase of joining the community, and rediscovering my every angles and needing to word it. It's mundane now, when I feel something bird-like. It's not a "ah, so that's what it was all along!", it's just me. It's a double edge, because I then sometimes forget how complex that web of experience is.

Today was mundane. I was just me, just a bird. Nothing much to say, from my perspective.

Today, I woke up later than usual. The sun was already up. I'm not used to this, as I usually wake and sleep with the sun, but i stayed up later than usual yesterday. Diurnal, like roadrunners.

Then I was quite pleased to see it was actually quite sunny. I wanted to sunbath, so i took out my bearded dragon in the garden, and sunbathed with her. She took on darker spots to soak up the sun, i wore a black shirt to mimic the patches of skin roadrunners show to do the same.

In the afternoon, I helped my family clean up my grandfather's house. I sent a message to another bird, inquiring whether she, an owl, would be interested in one of my late grandmother's owl statue collection.

I remarked how strange it felt for my neck to not be able to look upward how i wanted to. How bizarre the human activity of cleaning up spider webs felt, my arms-wings-talons straining to reach the roof.

Tonight i'm eating sushi. The raw fish always feel particularly birdy to me, I think it's the sensation of it. If I didn't stop my bird side, I'd want to swallow it whole, as birds do.

It's all so mundane. it doesn't even register as a particularly bird like day to me. I didn't do anything that made me shifty, that brought out the roadrunner in a way that supersedes the human. So many things that I just forget to mention, after a while. Obvious to me and only me.

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Quick note on gear

Tue, 24 Sep 2024 08:23:14 GMT

There's something really bizarre about dysphoria sometimes. I've been obsessed with how my mind thinks running something over my beak should feel like. Running it on sticks/stones to clean it. The sensory input from holding something. The "weight" of it when chattering. It's something so utterly pointlessly specific, but every time I wear my masks I just end up running my fingertips over and over the beak, convincing my brain to try to phantom feel it as if it was really there. It's weirdly heartbreaking when you get so, so close with gear, that it somehow tears yourself open in a whole new way.

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Heritage

Tue, 24 Sep 2024 08:22:07 GMT

I've never known my grandmother on my mother's side, she died from cancer before I was born. Honestly, considering what she did to my mom, I'm not particularly mad about it. She's not an evil woman, but she was not a good mother.

This grandmother however had an obsession with owls. When I went to my grandfather's house, I remember spending hours looking at them. In general, my grandfather's house is where a lot of really bird-like stuff I did in my childhood happened. It's where I caught lizards. It's where I sunbathed, with a specific spot where the walls reverberate the heat in the most pleasing way. I climbed trees, and we'd stack branches in the fig tree trying to make a treehouse in a decidedly bird-like manner, with my cousins and brother.

In my mind, I've always, if genetics were involved, somewhat attributed my bird-hood to this dead grandmother, if anyone. I'd never met her, but because I never met her, she's an owl, like all of the ceramic owls she left in her wake, in my mind. Perhaps I never actually cared much about my human grandmother at all. Perhaps the owl statues themselves, in a way, were my grandmother.

We're selling the house, now. I can't save them all. I can't take them all home, there's dozens of them, everywhere. But I hope I can take at least one with me. In a weird way, it's the only family that I have that is a bird like me. There's a big one, quite ornate, sitting above the piano in the main room. Most are stylized, but that one always felt quite lifelike to me. I don't have a story of talking to it, I don't even have a story of feeling particularly close to it before my awakening, but its this one that always come in my mind when I think about the owl statues of my grandmother. So I hope I can save that one, if I must save only one.

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Bird Movie List : a personal project

Wed, 10 Jul 2024 16:38:37 GMT

For a while I've been searching for animation and movies that has a bird as its center piece. Mostly birds as protagonists, but also sometimes animations or movies tied to the concept of birdhood.

I've decided to try and share it, in case I wanted to link to it for a fellow avian enthusiast.

List below the cut.

( click here )

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Cockatrice

Thu, 04 Jul 2024 17:35:54 GMT

I've been thinking about my draconity, lately.

Since the disappearance of the Voice that was mainly an eldritch dragon, I've lost a lot of the feelings of western draconity, mostly associated to the more modern fantastical dragon. I was myself always more wyvern, already more bird like, but it has intensified. Now instead of being a bird like dragon, I am a dragon like bird, a cockatrice.

I don't really identify with the folkloric cockatrice per se, but it's pretty logical in a way. A cockatrice is a draconic rooster. I am a draconic roadrunner. It seems normal I'd have differences. Moreover, my cockatrice identity is, paradoxically, something I got from my human life. Being a dragon is being the Adversary of humanity, the other. I find there is a lot of parallel between draconity and werewolf-hood, in that way. One is the transformation of human into beast, the other the mythological summum of the adversary beast, both antithetical to the civilised human in different ways. I think I wouldn't have become a dragon had I not been a human, and I became a dragon specifically due to being a failed human. Like the lindworm prince I was born with something othering, and I grew into my coils when other grew into their skin.

My draconity builds on most human things in my life. My psychosis gives me ties to hallucinogetic venom, to illusions and tricks. Being born in the mediteranean region gives me fondness for the Aspic, and I often imagine the reptilian side of me as a sort of viper. I found comfort in monstrosity because monsters in myths were sweeter to me than my peers.

I'm quite content, to be a cockatrice. Honestly, it might even suit me better than wyvern. It's an old word, cockatrice, european folklore to the core, a way to connect my animality, so so far away in a different continent altogether, to my cultural roots.

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Summer update

Mon, 17 Jun 2024 13:29:20 GMT

A pretty general post to kind of update this blog with a variety of things.

I'm doing a bit better mentally i think ? It's hard to tell, I'm still a disordered person with somewhat poor coping mechanisms, so even my "normal" isn't super super great. I tend to need something to take off my mind of things to feel functional, and anything goes if it can get me to not think too much.

On the bird side of thing, it's summer.
Not my most intense nesting season, but i'm feeling it alright. I have a strange set up where I only feel interested in a partnership in summer, and am a lot more apathetic to the idea when it gets cold. It somewhat follows the nesting season of roadrunners, be it by coincidence or not.
So like usual i've been playing with the idea of courting another human being, since talking sapient birds haven't yet been discovered in our solar system.
I consider myself aromantic : i've never really had a crush, never been in love, never been in a relationship. I've had obsessions a bit similar to crushes, but these never really included being interested in actually dating the person, and i've had passing interest at seeing if i'd be compatible with someone, but those never really went anywhere, as we were not. I believe i'd probably fare best in some sort of queerplatonic relationship. i don't know if i am polyamorous, or more precisely, I am monogamous, but I don't know how I feel about having a polyamorous partner or not. It seems only fair, and I don't actually have a huge jealousy issue about it. I'm just kind of insecure about starting a relationship with someone who already has someone, as i'm discovering everything, while they'd have a fully functional partner already there for them.

The bird in me is also pretty selective in term of humans. It's kind of funny, as it's pretty known by now that birds do find humans attractive, with ostriches, parrots, raptors, pigeons and cranes flirting or taking human partners (with the human handler sometimes allowing it for the sake of the animal's wellbeing or with conservation in mind, in the case of raptors and walnut the crane. It's not very recommended in the case of parrots however, since it drives them neurotic to not be able to have the true partnership a parrot is supposed to have.) But it seems for me, humans are kinda strange looking and drab. I'm mostly attracted to people with very flamboyant or atypical presentations : very femme women who dress in maximalist styles and bright makeup, alternative styles such as goth, with painted faces and strong contrasts, dyed hair, or even better, actual bird-inspired presentation. I was very fond of these full face, elaborate make-ups that were more meant as pieces of art than as true makeup, for quite a while. I also joke that i'm just attracted to bright color, which is close enough to true ahah.

So I've been kind of chatting on and off with people. Nothing much yet, but who knows. I'll admit i'm not super optimist. I've been looking on and off since 2020, and it seems I both am an acquired taste, and am so selective that I'm almost utterly aroace in how little people truly interest me.

I've also been working with a team as an internship on a study about pollinators in cities, specifically my city in this case. It involves a lot of catching bees and flies, then identifying and measuring them in a lab. i'd have thought it would have made me shifty, after all, going bug hunting with my naturalist club is probably one of the things that make me most shifty. But the thought process is actually quite different ! There's a lot of human interaction, a lot of things to write down, when out catching stuff it is timed, so human brain definitely takes over. When i'm with my naturalist club, we tend to talk very little to not spook animals, tend to separate depending on what we're looking for, usually stick to a location for more than an hour... it's a lot more likely to trigger bird feelings because i don't need to do human things, i can just focus on chasing moving objects.

And on a final unrelated note, now that I've participated in a howl, I guess I can cross that off my list, but I feel somewhat... Unsatisfied, due to having met no other bird yet. The one bird i knew, an owl, has simply... left the community and is on bad term with the rest of the active french community, and there just is no mainly bird therian or otherkin. One has a banshee type, but he is much more of a hyena or a chupacabra than an ikran, from his vibe. I'm just a bit sad that even amongst my peers, I tend to be lonely.

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Parasitic

Wed, 06 Mar 2024 10:28:11 GMT

For a lot of my life, I've had a pretty strong obsession with parasites. It wasn't very impactful before I entered the field of biology, but now it's come to be one of the things I might expend my studies on, and specialize in. No promises, but a possible reality I could step into.

It's funny, to be obsessed with parasites as a cuckoo. When I say I love cuckoos, in real life, a lot of people first assume that I adore cuckoos because they are nest parasites, as I tend to collect affinities for parasitic animals (botflies, solitary bee nest parasities, Meloe beetles, parasitoid wasps, inquiline ants... the list goes on, even including things like crustaceans, annelids, although admittedly few non animal organisms like viruses and bacteria, due to not knowing them as much). Quite ironic that i'm a kind of cuckoo with no recorded behavior of nest parasitism ! I do also love the cuckoos we have here, in europe, but it feels quite a lot more subdued compared to the sheer strength of my tie with roadrunners.

But there's also a weird sort of nonhuman connection with parasites that I have. I don't really care to label it as anything else than perhaps a heart-type, but a lot of characters I make have traits of parasites. Similarly, in power-fantasies, I often take the traits of a parasitoid organism with a haplodiploid cycle : an entirely parasitic first cycle, simplified worm organism living in the bodies of hosts without necessarily harming them much, that usually simply reproduce into a new cycle of that worm cast. But sometimes, due to no individual of that second, diploid cast being detected in the location, a switch to reproduction leading to that second cast. Second cast that is parasitoid, one host one grown individual that kills it to get out. I can't say why this cycle brings me comfort, it's simply something I think about a lot, but it's definitely something I create on purpose, lovingly deciding each parts of the cycle.

However, I can't shake the feeling that, if I was a parasite, I would be a filarial worm, a type of roundworm known in human for river blindness, for exemple. Amusing that this type of parasite particularly affects birds.

I can't really tell why I feel that. It's just as natural as saying I have a beak, feathers, and a long tail. If I was a worm, I'd be that. I'm not that currently, I can't tell if I've been that before, but I'd be that.

I've tried to imagine what it'd be to be a parasitic roundworm. Unlike some other arthropods, from which I get cameo shifts that are comprehensible if a bit alien, worms have brought an almost nothing. The spider is mechanical and patient, more akin to a bear trap than an animal in some ways. Only moving with purpose, almost melting with the background even in mind power. Not entirely mechanical : still fear of things bigger than it eating it, still need to find another to produce more of itself.

The roundworm is warmth. Not a lot more. Barebone animality. A roundworm is not evil, does not take down it's host with purpose. It swarms with similar body colliding writhing into each other into pleasant warmth that is not a being more than a world. It does not need to fear : there is nothing to flee, and the world itself is what both nourishes and perhaps kills you. You have not much to say about either of these states. A lot of roundworm migrate, but I seem to only ever get glimpses of the final state, of this strange being-unbeing. It's pleasant, if a little jarring compared to current occupations. It's not a cameo shift I tend to notice unless I really meditate into it. The only real effect it has on me, when not paying attention, is that strange warmth.

But that's a human brain imagining a worm brain. I'll never truly know what it's like, hell I do not know enough about roundworms to even fully understand how they work at all. Still, an amusing cameo to have experienced.

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Bird solidarity

Mon, 19 Feb 2024 14:11:13 GMT

original description : Today a magpie was yearning extremely hard for a discarded cheese sandwich in a bin, so i obliged. and then doodled about it.

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Dimorphism

Mon, 19 Feb 2024 13:59:25 GMT

Sexual dimorphism seems pretty rare in cuculiforms, which is a shame, as it's one of the only thing really missing in the roadrunner that bothers me a bit. Feels like what i am should have some sort of dimorphism, and the koel (Eudynamys scolopaceus) portrays something familiar to me pretty well. High contrast with a black plumage and strong accents. It feels familiar. If one day i find a dimorphic ground cuckoo, might give the roadrunner a run for it's money in term of theriotype... But ah, the rest of the koel is pretty far fetched compared to my instinct, while the roadrunner fits everything else remarkably well.

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The paradox of studying what you are supposed to inherently know

Mon, 19 Feb 2024 13:57:11 GMT

G. californianus is widely present in mexico and the south of the USA. Today, one of our teacher spoke of his experiences in mexico, specifically in a region where Peyote, a hallucinogenic cacti, grows and is cultivated/used by the Huichol, a native group.

Some of the descriptions absolutely thrilled me, other less. I knew roadrunners coexisted with zones where cold and snow could be a thing, but it always somewhat bothers me. I suppose that if i had a past life, it was not in one of these zones. I fare much better with warmer winters. It's always interesting, when in my studies, someone mention my specie. It's a strange little secret and i'm always afraid of being almost... arrogant, in seeing myself as an animal while studying them. I see my nature as psychological, a strange neurotype i developed. How could i claim to know enough through my own personal madness to see myself as an animal? Each things i get wrong when talking about my theriotype feels frustrating, because i should know better. I suppose it's just something to let go off, i dislike seeing my therianthropy as mimicry, as much as i find it unrealistic there's something so comforting about the idea of a truth, a spiritual you that you can claim thoroughly.

It's why i can't fully decide between spiritual and psychological, I think. Just can't let go of the possibility i was more right than i even claim, even when faced with the fractures in the facade.

The chihuahuan desert, one of the places i feel most connected to.

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Escapism : Sci-fi oc drawings

Sat, 20 Jan 2024 12:25:22 GMT

Bit of a general journal entry because i'm struggling to complete anything big. I'm so... bone deep tired these days, and it's making me tilt a bit into mental health stuff. I'm not looking forward to potentially having to up my med dosage and becoming even more tired.

So here's a bit of a lighthearted post, even though I think not many people will read this.
I'm really into the work of Jay Eaton, particularly Runway to the stars (jayeaton.site/RunawayToTheStars/home), so I've been doing a few drawings related to this world.
I like a lot that it lets me imagine a society with very different cultures from humans. I enjoy avians the most, aesthetically, obviously, but honestly in term of society all of the big three sophonts are interesting.

My ocs, missing the two centaurs.
The six ferrets are married roommates. The top three are engineers (more later), Flashbang is a dye-artist and hairdresser, patch is unemployed and does the upkeep of the house (they otherwise studied medecine, but chronic illness made them stop, for now), and ghost is a computer technician who either tags along with the engineer team or does remote work.
Witatiw (Skimmer bright), is a tailor, and tiktik (pygmy/arctic dun) is a materials engineer.

I've placed them on a space station, and they've met each other either through work, or through a shared passion for fashion (flashbang, ghost, witatiw and tiktik particularly).

The centaurs, awgle-te and noutentaw, are not on the station and communicate with the group via forums. they are a bit more removed from this group of ocs.

More about beetle, espresso and peachy. This drawing was mostly a way for me to kinda grasp bugferret features. The white band on each of their necks is a sign of their shared family.

Old art of the bugferrets and witatiw, who in this doodle was wearing carnalist clothes, which is basically a punk subculture of avians.

Unfinished doodles of tiktik in lolita inspired clothings.

The centaur couple. This piece was meant to show off a theatrical dance that represents fighting between two character.

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Fledgling Blues [15/07/2023]

Mon, 25 Dec 2023 19:32:20 GMT

Fledgling Blues [15/07/2023]

[457 words/2 min read]

Every year there's fledglings in my patio.

This coincides with when my brain would see fit to find a partner and nest. This is sometimes strong, sometimes not so much, but always a somewhat disconcerting time. I've tried to fill it with a variety of occupations. Some trying to appeal to the bird, with fake eggs, fake nest, fake courting stories drawn and written, some to try the human equivalent, a game of dress up and dates that usually go nowhere.

And, like clockwork, hatchlings show up in my nest, technically. But they're not mine. Not my own specie even, but just close enough for a pang of familiarity. It used to be blackbirds, a quiet few with a disgruntled face. Now it's redstarts, the parents aggressively calling out my presence every time I dare enter their vicinity.

It's a strange feeling. They're not mine. A part of my brain, predatory bird, opportunist, recognizes these as easy prey, especially the redstarts with their noisy, flighty nature compared to the blackbird hatchlings, who mostly stayed still when they spotted me.

But they're still hatchlings in my nest, and I cannot help but get frustrated I cannot help. Worse, any interaction, even looking at them, signifies stressing out both the fledgling and their parents. It's like a sly mockery of the fact I cannot have my own brood. So close, yet so blatant in the fracture between us through every possible reaction.

All I can do is watch from afar. I hear them chitter and chirp still in the nest, out of reach. I catch a glimpse of them on the ground, panicking as I walked into view, and make a mental note to feed the dog inside. I quietly mourn the hatchlings that don't make it. I don't get sad, really. It's a fact of nature some die. It is more of an observation, almost a critic of the adults in my innermost self, jealousy for not being able to do it myself. I celebrate the ones who make it, too, watch them grow and learn to feed and search, watch them from the window follow their parents steps. I thrive in seeing them become a true bird, living vicariously through seeing them acquire some of the skills I feel in my blood but cannot replicate in my flesh.

I can't shake the feeling of wrongness though. They're still so differently shaped, so foreign acting. Like a coyote seeing a dachshund, there is a familiarity overrun by strangeness. Too small, too flighty. Head shape wrong, sounds wrong. Adds that disconcerting prey drive that never lets me attach myself too much.

It is bittersweet. Not mine but mine. Too far to truly recognize but too close to not notice.

[Birds of Great Britain illustration of a trush, simply because it is a quite beautiful artwork. Specie also known as Turdus philomelos, the song trush.]

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Draconity [07/2022]

Mon, 25 Dec 2023 18:50:36 GMT

Draconity [07/2022]

[1537 words/6min read]

My identity as a dragon is a chimera, not a singular entity but a patchwork of everything I have imprinted on due to my avian identity. As a child, wyverns were the first birdlike creatures I encountered, and had the advantage over actual birds to be very cool and interesting to my dinosaur obsessed mind, and therefore all my instincts got thrown into imagining myself as a wyvern. It is an identity I share with Sunahbii, although on their side it is more apparence wise than truly earthen myth inspired. Without further ado, here is a timeline and explanation of my experiences regarding draconity.

My obsession with dragons started as a child, apparently from my parents' point of view as an extension of my dinosaur related shenanigans. Dragon toys were my favorites, and like I adored dinosaurs documentaries, I adored dragon related movies. One of the oldest I can remember is Dragon : a Fantasy Made Real, a mockumentary where I particularly enjoyed the first segment, following a prehistoric wyvern in a world of dinosaurs. It would differ from my later identities by the fact it spit fire and ate minerals, but the wyvern body type, brighter pattern (here an ocellus, a pattern that stayed on my mind still to my adulthood), and sonorous screech were all traits that I already related to, and possibly where my identity incorporating them started.

Around 9 to 12 yo, perhaps more, I started to have an inner world full of wyverns, particularly I liked transforming fictional characters I enjoyed into wyverns and adding them to this inner world as part of the flock. Usually very colorful, with two horns and frills, with varying powers due to the fictional character sources, although I was myself venomous, a trait i had associated with my dream selves since the start (an easy thing to verify as I still have the little note books in which i wrote my flock, drew them, and other stories where I appeared including one with super powers where my persona had venomous claws). I recall the name of one of my hatchlings of that era, Jouheika. The other one has sadly slipped my mind, but they are both still in my heart in a sort of strange, real but not quite way. They are my hatchlings, and I see them as such, but it's a hard feeling to talk to with anyone due to the nonexistant quality of that world. In parallel to that, I also roleplayed as a wyvern in my solo worlds on minecraft, particularly in building flocks with the mo'creature wyverns, another of my imprints.

Then, around 12-15 probably, before our french equivalent of high school, the black drake, sunahbii, appeared. It is... a complicated one to talk about, and I will go in more details on him afterward. Both myself and not, he was i think at first a sort of paraself, as I had slipped into maladaptive daydreaming, an avatar i used in my dissociative fantasies. But soon enough he could talk to me. I have tried to end him a few times, as his existance in my daydreams was riddled with things id rather not have existed, especially to my partially delusional self that had a hard time deciphering what was real, and what was not, and therefore guilt-ridden by things done in daydreams that I had thought real. Perhaps it is that need to dissociate from him that created him as a different entity from me. All that I know, is that he can talk now, and has his own consciousness. More on that in a later paragraph, as his draconity differs from mine.

Again in parallel, I used minecraft to cope with specie dysphoria since a young age. I had modded minecraft to be a good foraging and hunting experience, with a mod that added wings to me. I think mo'creature had become too buggy in later versions to use, and I did not have a flock with me at this point, although I missed that experience.

This period of my life was difficult social wise, I remember mostly the daydreams, and not much of real life. I was bullied from what I know, and retracted into my mind. I recall I had the belief I would shapeshift and escape my human self one day, fantasy that mixed with violent urges as a way to avenge myself from my peers. I was quite misanthropic, in a way a lot of nonhumans are when faced with being othered by ones they don't recognizes as their peers due to specie incongruence.

When I found the otherkin community i was still in the equivalent of middle school/early highschool. My first instinct was obviously to label myself as dragonkin, as it was the symbol of my nonhumanity all the years. However, I did not trust the community : I'd always been rather careful online, and my distrust for people extended to the online world. I made a fake me, mixing my own traits with things I simply invented. Even then, my fake draconic counterpart was quite similar to my avian self : a desertic dragon that could only glide, gold and bronze (not too far from brown and beige), without any sort of breath power. It was quadrupedal however, and had an affinity with water like a crocodilian would, things I'd invented because it made sense for a sort of canyon dweller in my mind to hunt in the river below, closer to speculative biology than introspection. I still like that little critter, but it was never me and more of a fun facade to test the water of the community.

I was first on kinmunity and tumblr. Tumblr i'd approached first due to the cringe compilation featuring the weirdest sides of nonhumanity, but even through that i could see kinship, finding some of the less obviously satirical posts not all that strange.

From my first moment on kinmunity, I started to approach my draconity under the alterhuman lense. My first debuts were on amino and tumblr, where I posted messy attempts at explaining and simplifying this identity, craving for it to be something "more", something spiritual, something that couldn't be "just a psychological thing". I tried meditation, past life regression, invented and reinvented myself altogether in an attempt to make sense of Sunahbii and the differing traits of my wyvernhood.

Then i just dropped it altogether when I discovered myself as a bird. Obviously the draconic experiences were just a way to make sense of my avian nature, and nothing more! And sunahbii? Well, let's not talk about it.

I called myself dragonhearted for at least a year, before I dived back into that identity of mine. But the experience of Sunahbii and mine were so different that I kept switching views, a venomous, colorful wyvern on one side, an eldritch, soul eating beast on the other. I only managed to make sense of it after a particularly bad mental health episode in 2020/2021 made me realize just how autonomous and real Sunahbii was, and that it was, although linked to me, another person altogether (the times of directly talking to him had somehow not clued me to that conclusion).

Since then, I am neither dragonkin nor dragonhearted. Or perhaps both at the same time. I call myself simply draconic, the range of experience I have regarding dragons being too wide to fit a more precise term. Sometimes it's kintype like, in the ways I feel like i should have venom, the ways i've felt crests and colors and flocks and still miss them nowadays, but these things I have grown into, not inherent to my being but accumulated over the years. But how could I tell whether there was an inherent part of me that resonated with those, or if i created my identity from the things I liked, and truthfully, does it matter? Other times my draconity is more detached, in my special interest in myth, the way I love seeing art of draconic creatures, the way they are easier for me to relate to than humans, but sometimes not at all the same kind of creature as i am, such as in books where the western quadrupedal, fire breathing depiction, sometimes magical, is most often depicted.

Amongst dragons i am unique in my animality and fluidity, but it is still amongst dragons that my experience makes the most sense. Nowadays I have stopped racking my brain. I am just whatever my brain tells me i am today, be it a monster hunter creature, a wyvern, or simply a bird. Sometimes i share the shape of Sunahbii, sometimes we are so distinct I wonder how we are twins at all.

My draconity experiences tend to ressemble fictionflickers. My "base" identity as a dragon is a colorful, venomous wyvern. I have facets of identities from the world of minecraft, monster hunter and pandora, and have a particular attachment to those worlds. I also feel connected to a lesser extent to dragon: a fantasy made real, httyd, age of fire, and golden treasure: the great green.

[a piece of art made to represent my base draconity; it is highly inspired from mo'creature wyverns]

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Sunseeker [11/07/2022]

Mon, 25 Dec 2023 18:42:44 GMT

Sunseeker [11/07/2022]

[306 words/1min read]

Where the myth of the lycanthrope ties metamorphosis to the moon, my own shapeshifting follows the sun.

Spiritually, it is the light and the warmth that calls to me, that makes my skin tight and the sky beckon to me. The winter is my time of dormancy, and my time of pain, psychological issues layering above the lethargy I feel during the colder months.

When the Sun starts to emerge again, I feel once more alive. It has always been the time where witchcraft and the unseen calls to me.

I am a desert bird, so it is rather logical that my heart belongs to the heat of summer and the smell of burnt dust. It's however rather rare in the community for therianthropes to feel this reversal of the usual myth, with the Sun replacing the Moon, and it has become something very personal to me in my beliefs. I truly feel powered by the sun, like my vitality itself depends on it.

In general, my facets tends to be from warmer climates, but I don't think one symbolizes my reverence to the sun more than the roadrunner, who bathes in it and evolved to withstand it. It's own plumage seems suntouched with burnt white hot tips and the colors of the desert, the eyes adorned of the red orange glaze of flames, and the gaze itself crowned of sheer gold like an eclipse.

I use the sun heat and its light in spells, to purge, to vitalize, to be reborn in that way of folkloric bird who fly to It to be born once again from their ashes. It is as psychological as it is spiritual, and my faith sways from one to another without impacting my constant tie to the Sun as a symbol.

[An anthropomorphic roadrunner reaching for the sun, by me]

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Bird Butch [21/03/2023]

Mon, 25 Dec 2023 18:37:43 GMT

Butch as a Bird [21/03/2023]

[2381 words/10min read]

For most of my childhood, gender wasn't really a thing. I was a girl, because people called me a girl. That was fine by me, although I did not quite understand the cliquish desire to separate by that arbitrary trait that some of my young peers displayed. I was raised rather "gender neutral", aside from a few attempts at making me like dolls by family members at christmas (the only barbie doll I asked for was a princess, as after all, my dragon toys needed a meal). I wouldn't have called myself a tomboy, since I didn't particularly like sport nor copied traditionally male values, but I was the weird kid that liked bugs and dinosaurs, a sort of common class for little girls to end up being sorted into.

The whole "being a girl" thing really only started to be a bother when it came to appearances. I despised long hair and dresses, despised pink at that time due to the cutesy, too sweet aesthetic associated with it, and didn't like other girls because they were mean and scared of mantises. Thankfully, I was allowed to dress how I wanted, which at that time meant "with a complete disregard for aesthetics and a purpose driven mind".

At that time, my nonhuman identity had also started, although I'd argue that at this point in my life, I could have turned out not identifying as anything else than human, since it isn't that rare for children to pretend to be animals or other creatures. When I open up journals of that time, "I want to be a dragon", "I want to be turned into a dragon" or "deepest wish : being a dragon" was something of a rather reccurent theme. I collected pieces of clothings that matched my obsession, collected toys, and imagined what I'd look like by doodling my traits under more reptilian tendencies (which, quite frankly, is probably the reason i took so long to even try to draw humans. Why would I, when everyone looked better as a dragon?).

The start of my gender issues started with puberty, around 10 to 12, as it often does, particularly once I was presented with the idea of partnership, sexual and romantic desire, and all of those dances involved in human courtship. I wasn't really interested in my peers, but I was quite a lot in some imaginary characters I favored. Particularly, most of my settling into puberty was through daydreams of wyvernian courtship, where in substitute to silly things like "dates", "kissing" and the boresome nature of human boys (whomst my girl peers, that group i was supposed to relate to, were starting to get interested by), I imagined my favorite fictional characters dressed in colorful scales and fanciful crests and displays of wings. At the time, I still imagined myself as a female wyvern, courting male wyverns, but it was not really like I had a good grasp on quite what I prefered.

Then came the period of intense dissociative episodes I experienced, which leaves me with not much to note outside of my budding taste for homosexuality probably being due to the presence of Rugby Girls in my class (they sadly did not like me very much, so my pining was not really considered worthwhile by my mind, even without the added disconnect from reality brought by my mental health), and the growing discomfort with more mammalian female traits, such as breasts and hips.

This leads us both to my entry into high school, and my actual entry into otherkin communities (I had already spent time on kinmunity by that point, but never with my actual experience, making a fake account to read other's experience and general documents about the nonhuman experience). High school was my first introduction to fellow queers, and the actual, real life possibility of being such a person. At the time, I'd labeled myself a lesbian almost immediately : Never had been interested in boys even though one or two had been interested in me, and I was quite sure I found women hot. Plus, people seemed rather ready to call me a dyke anyway, and using that has a label made the annoyance of fighting off crushes from boys, both real and mock ones made to hurt me, almost null since there was a new jucier thing to talk about behind my back, one that i didn't actually care about that much.

But then something else started to bother me : most other lesbians (save one, who had somehow perfected the archetype of the jock lesbian, to the general delight of most other sapphics around her and to her own great success) were rather pleased by their own femininity, and although meant as a joke, jabs about having small breasts or other unfeminine traits did happen. I personally rolled with it as it secretely pleased me very much to be pointed at for my androgynity, but at the same time it felt like I was missing the point somehow. My own human form bored me, and in my mind I much prefered imagining myself as an anthropomorphic male bird, lamenting the lack of feathers and flourish of my naked skin. This masculine form wasn't necessarily male in a human way however, and although the desire for a flat chest and to be seen as male paralleled the experience of trans men online (a type of person i did not have the luxury to talk to outside of the landscape of the internet), the lack of desire toward a beard, extensive body hair and a certain... under the belt anatomy still separated me from that group.

I spent a good amount of time in that blurry identity, without much means to explore anything due to the still relatively constricting life of high school and lack of possiblity toward socializing outside of my own classmates. Flip flopping between bisexuality and homosexuality, unsure if my dislike of the masculine side of things was due to the poor choices presented to me in that environment or a true distaste of it (at my current point in life, I would call myself some sort of homoflexible. I am not disgusted by men, but much prefer women and do not seek to date them, but perhaps willing for a fling with an interesting enough individual). I knew butch was something that existed, but in the same way i knew a drag show existed : this sort of fabled community of the old, that didn't seem quite inviting toward a novice such as myself. I'd looked with envy at leather daddies at pride, but never saw a woman in that role. Were only men allowed to be gruff and dangerous and thrilling? Were lesbians only supposed to be marketably androgynous, devoid of freakish sexuality and kink? The online communities seemed to correlate that bias, much of the sapphic space online being devoted to coy handholding and yearning for a one true soulmate.

That bias toward desexualized lesbianism might have led to my discomfort with human womanhood, something that still today leads me to wonder whether I would call myself a woman, had it been presented to me in a more relatable form where the only allowed shapes were not something for men to fuck or something sexless and therefore harmless for other women. It does not erase my experience of also wanting a more traditionally androgynous body without feminine features such as breasts or hips, and a more muscular, masculine body structure, so in the end, I would probably have ended up using male pronouns and general masculine presentation anyway, but it is still something to note.

On the other side, though, my avian nature was becoming more and more decidedly male. I craved to be flashy and aggressive and a show off, to show my skill and be chosen for it. It is amusing that I come from a specie that is very much not sexually dimorphic through the human eye, yet very much crave more male galliform like traits such as showy crests and colorful feathers, spurs and loud calls. Perhaps it is the fluidity of my avian nature at play, perhaps it is overcompensation for feeling so childlike and unnattractive as a human teen, all in tern browns and beiges and strange, strange forms, perhaps it is just personal taste. After all, some scientists have figured out that even cosmetically altering male birds to be more flashy seems to work wonders for them to court, so perhaps even a non dimorphic specie, if given human sapience, would seek to alter themselves to be more and more flamboyant.

I've never felt the need to lay eggs, but felt the need to incubate, in the way male roadrunners are expected to do, developping a brood patch and sitting on the eggs at night. I started feeling nesting seasons, and started fake courting friends from time to time just to indulge in the need to show off hunting and building nests (lizards and sticks are not gifts most appreciated by humans suitors alas. I however showed off every little shiny trinket I found to my hearts delight, and posed awkwardly in ways somewhat mimicking male roadrunner courting "dance"). My romantic and sexual impulses are a bit nebulous, I sometimes struggle to differenciate a friend from a partner from a fling in the ways I feel about it, all somewhat go under people I appreciate, but never really people i would see myself a constant romantic partner of. It does not help that my tastes in partners tends to be birdlike, and therefore rejects a lot of traditional human presentation and fixating toward showy clothes, loudness, and dyed hair, in the same way I was drawn to those traits for myself, which makes figuring out if i am aromantic or simply very, very picky hard to tell.

Now onto the present. I see myself as a nonbinary butch, after reading Stone Butch Blues and relating to the description Leslie gave of an in-between, somewhat trans, somewhat gnc, feeling kinship to the lesbian community but looking to men as inspiration and models (springsteen was a renowned butch symbol). I am also a male bird, or at the very least a male behaving bird. Symbolically, I relate a lot to the concept of rooster-behaving hen : A female bird losing the function of their ovary, which changes their plumage and behavior as the organ develops into an avo-testis, and produces male hormones, to the point it is a core part of my fursona. I am not sure about my own hormonal transition : I do not really crave some sex characteristics testosterone brings, but overall still crave some of the more constant changes : voice, body hair to an extent (facial hair not so much). Some other perhaps i could acquire through hard work, such as a more muscular body, but it seems that my organism is reticent to work toward those changes.

As a male bird, I'd somehow have expected to want to be a man, and for a while I thought that my intrensic male feeling, the conceptualization in my brain that I should be the one to impregnate and not be impregnated to go to the basest definition of it, meant that somehow, secretely, i wanted to become a man! After all, in human society that is what a male is. Perhaps my lack of desire toward the more mammalian traits of it was just a fear of change. I'd never met any butch in my life, and trans men were the ones I related the most to. It was a logical conclusion to come to.

But the truth is that a male bird does not have the same gender as male human, very much so. The base definition of gender (a simplification, i will precise) tends to follow the line of being the expected behavior and appearance following a certain characterisitc, traditionally sex. But now compare what a bird would see as masculine, and what a human would. A bird would perhaps be inclined to see bright colors and flashy displays as masculine. In human society, colorful clothing and makeup are seen as feminine. Men are supposed to be stoic, not talk much. Male birds are vociferous and loud. This might not go for every avian individuals, but even in less dymorphic species it is here : birds of preys are remarkably similar but even then the males are the smaller ones, and the females the bigger ones, again a reversal of mammalian expectation. There are also, for sure, ressemblances, aggressivity and territoriality is usually seen as male oriented qualities in both, for exemple.

Obviously, due to the added sapience of humanity, even human genders are quite blurred, with certain tendances appearing, but nothing being a true male or true female behavior. Things are not black and white, but many, many spectrums of colors impacted by cultures and eras. Sometimes I wonder if there even is any sort of behavioral sexual dimorphism in humans anymore, or if it is all societal by now, just a product of tradition. If so I could have been a man, had i wanted to; but since male mammalian traits are not ones I primarily desire, I am not particularly too fussed about that specific word anymore, although I consider myself transmasculine.

And so I am the rooster butch, the crowing and spurred bird who is a bit in between, shedding my drab plumage for spikes and color. I still also favor other birds with flamboyant dispositions, seeking it in my human peers : my liking for women stuck, as queer sapphics are most often the ones parading in the traits I affectionate, although I am more than willing to stray from my path if I find a particularly interesting individual. I wear my bird nature with pride, not hiding anymore to be unseen like a chick camouflaging from predators, but well grown into being boisterous and vibrant. My neon hair and my clothes are as much a part of me as a man's beard and in the mirror, even if not perfect, I am finally me.

[A trans rooster, drawn by @funkfizzles on twitter]

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