hope the extra funds help @staff
you're doing great <3
#global feed
also: ##The Cohost Global Feed, #The Cohost Global Feed, ###The Cohost Global Feed, #Global Cohost Feed, #The Global Cohost Feed, #Cohost Global Feed
V. A. Isobel
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Vivian Ada Isobel, aka Moira Campbell, (they/them, xe/xer, she/her) is a chronically ill transgender poet, artist, game designer, and musician. Frequent themes of their work include pushing language past established meaning, exploring disability and complicated bodies, love, antihumanism, and otherness.
They are also a master's student in digital humanities, with a particular interest in programming, computational linguistics, data science, and exploring the use of technology in art.
See also:
Poetry
Diatoms: A visual poetry zine of collaged and original text, exploring (in)humanity, disability, and my relationship with language.
The Trans Body is a Palimpset: An interactive, expanding poem about information-seeking and obsessive thoughts.
First Protocols of Actias Luna, or Mothgirl Survival Guide: A zine of blackout poetry and visual collage about therianthropy, isolation, and transness.
Games
Pieces of Me: A small lyric-ish game about being newly disabled and relearning how to live that asks you to tear and repair your character sheet.
I want arms long enough to hug all my friends: A silly-bittersweet solo journaling game about long-distance relationships and sacrificing to be with those you care about.
Ash Carrying: Interactive fiction about navigating mourning, cultural imperialism, and how the way you view a loved one can be very different from how others do.
Music
Ixiv: Two short pieces bookending a long track which moves from minimalism to glitch to folk to black metal to harsh noise to plunderphonics to ambient.
And the Moon: Dreamy nighttime ambient, plunderphonics, and drone.
X-Ray Ghost World Shimmering: Dusty plunderphonics, sometimes ambient, sometimes rhythmic, sometimes distorted.
Links
Itchio: My poetry, games, and zines are here.
Bandcamp: Music is, of course, here.
Ko-fi: As I am disabled and don't have an income outside student loans, if you'd like to just directly donate to me it's very appreciated.
Other Cohost pages: I post about music, one of my primary special interests, @mothwaves and I post microfiction @BellsRinging.
Creative Pals
@bigstuffedcat: Do yourself a favor and experience the expansive, beautiful, and mind-expanding poetry, games, and writing of my wife Hy Libre!
@HypatiaPhoto: Do yourself an additional favor and put your eyes on the stunning photography of my wife Hypatia Alexandria, including macro- and astrophotography!
@theirAtlas: I am going to suggest that if you like my poetry across otherness and transness you will probably like the work of my always-inspirational friend Atlas.
@eaves: Lovely and unique storytelling games and play tools that make the brain tingle.
@mousie: Vital and raw games about magic, danger, and community.
@phantasmaCora: A fantastic variety of art, game design, music, and writing.
my wife is still asleep.
i can't wait until i get to see her. i will give her so many cuddles.
No. Cohost is fundamentally designed against popularity. Popularity is a negative experience, actually, on Cohost; when I have had a post get popular, its just meant I’ve seen my own post multiple times in a row on my own timeline.
I don’t want that, I’m here for everybody else’s posts.
I am on Cohost for exactly one reason: to meet interesting people and talk about Star Wars with them as friends. It’s working out well! Please comment on my posts, I want to hear your thoughts!
But popularity? Fame? Calm? I’ve given up all chance at influence. I’ve made my account a sunless space. I share my posts with ghosts. I wake up every day to an equation I wrote two weeks ago from which there’s only one conclusion: I’m damned for what I do. My anger, my ego, my unwillingness to yield, my eagerness to fight, they’ve set me on a path from which there is no escape. I yearned to be a savior against injustice without contemplating the cost, and by the time I looked down, there was no longer any ground beneath my feet. What is... * what is my sacrifice? I’m condemned to use the tools of my enemy to defeat them. I burn my decency for someone else’s future. I burn my life, to make a sunrise that I know I’ll never see. No, the ego that started this fight will never have a mirror, or an audience, or the light of gratitude. So what do I sacrifice?