graphic gore ★ genderfluid ★ three eyed crow

Dark red. Crimson. White. Vale only needed three paint colors and a single paintbrush to make vis art. Did it matter that Vale chose the outside of the black temple for their art? Not particularly. It was black, and that’s why the three eyed crow chose it for vis mural. Because. Because the need. Throw all thoughts into the void, the blackness, and whAT WAS THE TEMPLE IF IT WASN’T. If it wasn’t. If it wasn’t a canvas?

What was anything if the any thing object wasn’t to be played with and toyed around? What use was anything on this world? Really. Really, nothing, no point to anything. Vale thought nothing wasn’t the point, but the point was nothing. For life assigns meaning where there is none; stupid thoughts from stupid brains, really, that’s all that meaning was. Reason. Logic. Nonsense! Everything is nonsense.

So Vale created. Created. Chipped away at the meaning inside vis soul. Cracked it open and put it inside. Because. Why not? Everything is a performance. And there are so many eyes in this world. Vale knows, oh HOW VALE KNOWS, Vale remembers! Remembers being born a human and the pressure of conforming; oh, how the pressure bubbled and boiled, fit in, wear these the clothes we say to wear, memorize these religious nonsense ramblings, pray at night, keep your mouth shut when OOPS WE DON'T TALK ABOUT MEN THAT WAY. Well. Vale learned the lesson. Learned how the primitive brain thinks, yes, Vale learned that from firsthand experience.

Reality is nothing. But nothing is not real! It does not make sense, Vale thinks, to say that nothing is real. Because nothing is simply nothing. So many things are meaningless and drivel and utterlY POINTLESS, isn’t that true? Isn’t that true? “DON’T YOU SEE?” Vale cawed—screamed, more like—to vemself as ve cawed, cawed, cawed. Art is a process. Art is a creation. Art is the only thing Vale thinks is worth anything at all in this sea of nothing. This void of nothing. This nothing of a void!

Humming. Vale worked. Vale worked, so hard, yes. Vale worked so hard and diligently on this mural, this hours long endeavor to coat the black pyramid symbolizing nothingness with the proper meaning. The proper meaning of the void. The void watches. The things with squishy little brain bits watch. And Vale watches! Vale is the void as much as the void is Vale, oh yes, Vale knows this.

Vale does not think the work will ever be complete. No, there will always be new eyes to add… new words. New meaningless meanings to throw onto this perfect black mural. And when there is too much paint? Scrub it off. Reveal the void underneath. How poetic, Vale thought, that this paint is as meaningless as the rest of an existence. And it peels off the same as flesh. The void is the same. Everything is the void. Under the paint, under the skin, at the end and the beginning of the universe, everything becomes the void.