Kytherine
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cynicalism.bsky.social
Kytherine
@cynicalism.bsky.social
110 followers 150 following 56 posts
Transversive Writer
Anarcha-feminist
She/her, ⚢
Critical theory, Philosophy, & digital art.
I walk the crossroads.
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cynicalism.bsky.social
'Waterfall' #DigitalArt #AbstractArt #Poetry

Down whence thee came,
oh water's gilded edge of guile.

A rushing blade that weathers,
carving stone and earth into paths.

Winding and constricting,
till in your meanders you break.

In this prove your flows truer,
and preach it out of your mouth.
A lurid and bright crackling of patchy colours forming a sort of rusting or breaking-apart like effect. A large central streak of white expands out with other patches of white, creating a negative space that stretches and subsumes. The colours present are, burnt purples, rich blues, toxic greens, and oranges which merge with reds. Off centre to the left, to the white scar in the middle, is an obscured part of a human skull; an eye socket being just about visible. it is hidden inside a black streak with firm edges. It is made up of those oranges and reds.
October 18, 2025 at 12:57 PM
cynicalism.bsky.social
Nightmares, good for exposition and for torturing your characters with.
Body of text reading as follows: The trees sway gently with sounds of peaceful ignorance. Moss covered trunks, verdant greens of ferns and grasses, and rich browns of the fertile soil. The earthly smells of the bogland is pungent but not offensive. Rather it is homely, welcoming. Everything is warm. Carrying a basket, myself and Amala fidget through the bushes and shrubbery. Amala? There you are. Don’t leave me. “Hey over here, I saw something” Her whispering voice calls me over to the edge of a pond. Pointing at a dark shimmer in the water. I stare at what has caught her attention. Dragonflies buzz over the water, diving with amazing maneuverability at smaller insects. Waterboatmen idly row themselves across the water’s surface. One lazily strays over the darkness underneath it. The murky presence grows. Water shaking around it. “Wahh! Ha ha ha ha” my dear sister laughs. Startled by the sudden surging rush of a fish. Splashing the water as it gulps down the foolish sailor. Smiling, I watch her try to make out where the fish swam off too. Her head bobbing around before settling on something else to look at. A loud crack. Jolting me, I turn to see what could have… Nothing there. Nothing there. She was just there. “Amala! Where are you!” damn it! No! Another crack? The snapping of twigs underfoot, that way. Ah, a glimpse of her dress disappears between the trees. That way I run. Like a dog catching game, I sprint towards that momentary glimpse of her. "Alt Text Continued" “Amalasuintha! Don’t run off!” There she is. Standing in a small clearing. An unnerving mist weaving between the trees, rising to meet the fall of night. Everything is cold. Trudging over leaves I grab her arm, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to shout but I’m looking after you here and its dangerous for you to…” She jerks my hand aside. In fact no… I stumble backwards. Amala’s entire body starts to jerk. To twist. Contort. The oak brown of her hair rising upwards. “Amala?” Please no. stop. The smell of the bog’s life is overtaken by an overwhelming stench of decay. It fills everything like the languid haze that blocks vision. “But , you weren’t looking after me” A voice like thin metal eeks out of her mouth like preordained guilt. Her face. Her face was always so full of life now… just a hollow writhing mass of things unseen. But a grin is there. Horrible, horrible grin. Stretching endlessly across her. Each tooth the collapsing of time, the distance never walked. AMALA STOP! Please! An arm distends from her, snapping incoherently into being and direction. “You were looking at her…” The cabin. The woman in the cabin. Everything is cold
October 4, 2025 at 12:36 PM
cynicalism.bsky.social
Leucocholic Kinaesthesia

'To be aware of constant diversions in bodily movements.'

A digressive body of essays and writings. Growing itself organ by organ through wherever the flow of desire takes it.

#writing #philosophy #criticaltheory #art #poetry #blog

leucocholickinaesthesia.wordpress.com
A headless drawing of a woman's anatomy with symbolic diagrams imposed in a glowing white. Luna phases tied to Hekate and witchcraft adorn the throat, A diagram that represents the Rhimzomatic concept developed by Delueze and Guattari is at the lungs and heart, an occultic representation of Hegel's philosophical system attaches the arms to the groin, and Lacan 's graph of desire follows the digestive tract down to either the groin or the anus.
September 6, 2025 at 1:57 PM
cynicalism.bsky.social
Wrote a couple more paragraphs to this. Rounding it out to 1200 words.
“Shall I fetch the maps my lady?” The nun attending me asks. I do not look away from the dryad before me, answering her only in a silent nod. She scampers away. My nuns are well trained. Ever eager to please. Their devotion to me can be aggravating at times but I require their service and in turn I offer them sanctuary. “They attack with earthen things? What do you mean by this?” The last thing I need is to be dragged into another war. Victorious as I was, this would be different from my insurrection. Certainly the major kingdoms will have reacted to mine usurping of the throne. Some with angst, most with indifference. This is but a small province of a country after all. I cannot show my hand. What survivors there are, are already threatening to spread knowledge of my doings. They’ll be but rumours and myths. That I am already known to some as ‘the dread queen’ amuses me as much as it worries. If I made such myths realer in the minds of man then surely each king will proclaim a god given duty. I notice now that its feet are rooted into the earth. The roots stick out from the sides and curl into the soil. So they communicate over distance like this then? “These.. constructions of rock and metal, like boulders which move on their own. But not downward, as were off a cliff but as if it was a person itself. Stumpy legs, arms with stubby fingers. No head but a faint glow the holes in its chest.” its expression takes on a deep fear, one that is almost totalizing. It must not be her expression alone. “They lumber forwards, metal clad knights and tree fellers in tow, decimating the forest. We are but westward of you, their advance heads east.” I parse my lips at this news, “I see”. My attendant returns, her chubby cheeks are red and she is very out of breath. “My lady, the maps” She huffs. ”You didn’t think to bring a table to put the maps on?” I tease. “Ah oh.. sorry my queen I can, go now and get...” I will not wait, I’ll reward her diligence instead, “No! You shall suffice. Bend over before me.” She hands me the maps and does as she is told, “My pleasure, my lady.” I lay a map of the kingdoms upon her back, I stick a dagger of a finger onto the location of my lands, “We are here dryad. Which means your forests that are under siege, westward… are these, no?” I draw my finger firmly along the nuns back, she twitches a little. It walks closer, roots detach and recede into her feet, “hm, this is like our mycelium maps, though those are a network we connect to rather than an object we observe…” She trails off on an interesting tangent but a tangent nonetheless, “Answer me!” I command. “Ahh yes that should be it, yes.” Her face is nervous? I wonder what other emotions it is capable of producing. A plant with emotions. I call it a plant but I fear I may be being too dismissive, particularly of something that may be more biologically complex than a human is. It should stand to reason that these dryads are not merely animalistic in consciousness. If as it says, it is a go between, presumably when rooted, then they have a networked consciousness alongside individual functionality. I am not unfamiliar with this but they perform it naturally. I have much knowledge to take from her but… Tsk its obvious. Look at the innocence in its cerulean eyes, juxtaposed against the trembling of her orchid purple lips. I clearly scare her but so does an existential threat. A doe can run from a hunter but does it know to approach another predator and ask it to prevent its own extinction? Evidently I find myself called to walk the crossroads again. Then so be it.
September 1, 2025 at 6:06 PM
cynicalism.bsky.social
Woke up with the need to write which I won't complain about. Though it isn't what I am currently focusing on but it makes a nice change of pace; good practice at writing in first person which I haven't done in ages.
Each evening I pace my gardens. They are unkempt. Forgotten about. Maintaining them is a waste of my attention, yet I remember their splendor. The beauty of towering rows of roses, topiaries shaped like various animals, and flower beds arranged to paint vivid colours against a canvas of aromatics. Greens that were not as they are now. Dead, dull, and dismal. I pace my gardens not to reminisce on what I had only once seen from afar. There is a bud of a flower, growing amongst the detritus. That such a thing could make itself a residency here, takes a residency of fascination in my mind. I pace. It grows feet and legs. I pace. It grows a stomach and chest. I pace. It grows arms and hands. In my last pace, in but the passing of a week, it stands before me. This thing of nature takes a human shape but is distinctly inhuman. A lesser person would call it mockery, that’s not to call it flattery. No. I know of the tale and rumours of their kind. The forest nymphs, the dryads, these things that are viciously defensive of their forests but undisturbed are peaceful. How true the various claims are remains for me now to see and I am eager to take from it what lessons I can. Before me this thing, clad in nothing but its own being, being adorned with flesh of leguminous green and growths of deep brown bark, bathes in what light this forsaken land can give it. Its slender arms lower down to be beside its rounded hips, my eyes ever attentive note the moss in its armpits which is not dissimilar from that around its groin. How such a creature can grow on itself other plants as though itself were a garden is something else I must discover. Indeed its hair looks like a tangled bunch of weeping willow, it sweeps around and down her right side onto the top of her bosom. There’s small flowers dotted in her hair. I couldn’t name the genus but there’s a variety of colours, pinks, yellows, whites. Do they hold a symbolic quality? Something functional related to insects? All in due course, I’ll extract what I want from it as I see fit. For now though it appears to be? “I intrude on your land, nay we have walked this kingdom before but your kingdom now on it I stray uninvited…” It looks at me with eyes that are unnatural, for what use would a plant have for eyes? Yet this thing has them as natural as any human would. Under my gaze it seems to hesitate. Expected. “I... I bring ah, a message from the forest.” “Oh do the trees wish an audience with me?” I can infer what it means by ‘the forest’ but I must test it regardless. “No, no… from us, the dryad collective. Well I’m more than just a messenger, I’m a direct go between. Uhh, between ourselves and you." It speaks like delicate petals. I could rip those petals off, one by one. “Out with it then” I snarl. It recoils against my wind then rights itself, “Each month the neighboring kingdom cleaves more of our forest dead, takes our precious woodland, attacks with earthen things. You have felled a kingdom, so we seek the dread queen’s aid.”
September 1, 2025 at 10:54 AM
cynicalism.bsky.social
'Fervent Aurora' #abstractart #digitalart
A lurid cosmos preaches in colours of turquoise, reds, oranges, and greens. Imposing its teachings onto the oily gray and black of the night sky. Beneath which disjointed buildings are displaced onto themselves with darker tones of purple, teal, and grayish blue. Many points of light descend violently, streaking to the earth and flashing in reds and whites. Bottom left is faint text which are my two handles.
August 29, 2025 at 3:17 PM
cynicalism.bsky.social
I haven't really been posting much idk here's a high effort shitpost.
Mock propaganda poster with a scourched orange war torn background. Top text reads "TRANS WOMEN!" below it "Kier Starmer (in red) wants to stop you from exercising your right to pilot mechs!" In the middle of the poster is the trans flag with metal gear rex over it. Bottem right is a grayscale image of Kier Starmer tugging his collar. Bottom left is whit text reading "Sign up with Queers Sans Frontieres Today!" Underneath that text is the Philanthorpy symbol from MGS4.
August 12, 2025 at 10:04 PM
cynicalism.bsky.social
Bit of a half-realized ramble as usual when I write these but I do want to post more than just the occasional bit of art. Though that I can do.
A composition of superimposed images of Keir Starmer, Wes Streeting, and Rachel Reeves made to look disconcerting with primarily red colours. Same content with muted colours. Same content with purple and green colours.
March 11, 2025 at 7:49 PM
cynicalism.bsky.social
Here's some various whatever it is these are which were made in the past month or so that I haven't posted yet.
#digitalart #abstractart
Indiscernible nonsense featuring some guy I don't remember the name of on a cow statue, minimum of three of the same orthadox priest lounging at the viewer, a bemused couple taken from an old newpaper, a helicopter in the background whose pilot on the right there has a bird head for whatever reason, text that I can't make out myself which is strewn across the middle reading "what parents can do, reading tips from kids", and a chap ordering food from a The Log Cabin Snack Bar. Literally just visual nausea consisting of blurred squires that fracture a warhead that was on display at some munitions expo thing. There's also some indistinct figures present and things that might be mechanical parts but idk. A geezer in a geyser, a geezer geyser, a geyser with a geezer in it. From the Geyzer emerges horrifying colours, not that those people in the bottom right of the piece who are taking photos seem to notice or care. A ship is stranded on a field of red and yellow flowers, as the forest beckons in the distance. A lady sits applying moisturizing cream to her hands as upon the horizon a basketball player rends asunder the sky to advise the coming of Coca Cola.
January 13, 2025 at 9:48 PM
cynicalism.bsky.social
'Astral Snorkeler'
#digitalart #abstractart
They breathe the drifting stardust,
tumbling between broken earths,
in machines of turbulent wanderlust,
praying it grants them safe rebirths.
Abstract piece of a field with houses and a brook, that has a helmeted and gas-masked figure imposed on it whose air pipe ascends upward like a spinal column.
November 22, 2024 at 7:54 PM
cynicalism.bsky.social
'Tunnel Works'
Just a quick single image edit.
October 27, 2024 at 2:03 PM
cynicalism.bsky.social
'Parataxis'
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"A relationship of grammatical equality between two linguistic units."
"The placing of clauses and phrases one after the other, without words to link them or show their relationship." (Two Oxford Dictionary definitions referenced)
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Towards constructing an imminent Syntax of communism.
October 18, 2023 at 9:14 AM