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July 2021

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Paradox of perspectives

An essay about a variety of my arthropod experiences, and how I go about linking / provoking temporary cameo shifts.

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 a 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's 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 to 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 it's 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 it's 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 limb, where do they go? I tend to prefer to lie down when I figure out how to optimally place and draw those feelings, eyes close, 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 warms, 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!

Shout out to those of us who awakened as adults! I didn't realize I'm a bison until I was almost 18 and I didn't have my fictionkind awakening until I was 21

I’m done with all the shippable packages! Here’s my little bonus thank you for my backers!

One to use for breathing today.

I saw

Fueled by soft moonlight. 
 © Nona Limmen Webshop / Instagram

All rights reserved  by Даниил Коржонов

Territory, and What it Is to Be a Dragon

That last essay I reblogged got me thinking about what being dragon really means to me, what the core of it is, so here I am writing.

(Obviously my experiences of draconity and what it means to be a dragon are not going to be universal. When I say "dragon" in this post, I mean specifically my species of dragon; I just don't know what we call ourselves in our own tongue, so I only have dragon to call it.)

Disclaimer aside:

What is it to be a dragon?

Dragon is many things, many small things that come together to form a larger picture. Or at least, that's how dragon-in-human-skin is.

Flight, for one. Flight is the first thing I remember wanting so badly that it hurt all the way down to the core of my bones. What is there to say about it? It's home, it's life; a grounded dragon is a dead dragon. Flight is hard work, yes, but the sky is where we are safest, where the only thing that can touch us is another dragon, and it's difficult for even them to approach unnoticed. Hunting from above is the safest and most effective way to do it. Patrolling the territory is easiest when one doesn't have to contend with any obstacles but the currents of the wind.

I have to concur with Rook (@/words-of-wolf) in that aforementioned essay; the violence in me does not come from the hunt, it comes from the territory. Dragons are viciously territorial creatures, more often than not willing to die for our claim, our lair, our hoard. But the hunt... the hunt is swift, and lethal, and does not strike dragonbrain as particularly violent. A hunt isn't a fight. I don't know whether dragon!me thought of my prey as beings capable of fear and pain; we were sort of sapient (enough so to have names, at least), but only sort of.

Territory, though. Territory is core to being dragon, for me. A dragon needs to claim things and places as mine, and it will, whether or not that claim is appropriate. Much like a parrot, if it doesn't have an appropriate outlet, it will make an inappropriate one (and sometimes it will do so even if it is given an appropriate outlet - despite having an actual territory my brain likes to claim any room I spend a significant amount of time in as mine, even if it's technically shared space, and I've almost lashed out at a coworker for the crime of turning the fan off in my room when it was just as much his room as mine). There is a certain amount of possessiveness to a dragon that is inescapable.

My mother often questions why dragons hoard gold. I can talk about courting behaviors, I can talk about how it theoretically proves you're able to protect something precious to a mate, but in the end, the answer is simply because we must. Hoard is core to us, as much as allogrooming is to a primate or hunting is to a cat. My hoard serves no purpose now; I have no other dragons to court even if I wanted to. But still I am driven to hoard nonetheless, just as a cat is driven to hunt no matter whether it's actually hungry or not. Dragonbrain only sort of cares about why territory and hoard are important, how they feed and protect and offer mating opportunities. It just knows that they are important, and that it will fight to the death to defend them - why only sort of matters.

This is, I think, a lot of where my draconic pride comes from. Draconic pride is something we talk about in draconic spaces with some regularity; whatever the kind of dragon, there's more often than not some amount of pride and vanity associated with being a dragon, any kind of dragon. It's instinctive for many of us. It's probably culturally learned for all of us. But there is also a sense of natural pride that comes with this is mine, none can take it from me, I think. Pride, too, is core to draconity, in all its flawed glory, but it is integrally tied with these things, and perhaps that's why it's so core to draconity. (Perhaps that's why it's so common as well - I've rarely met a dragon who isn't some degree of territorial.)