Tag Archives: yaoi

150% Done NSFW (kinda??)

Don’t you sometimes wish you could go back? Rewrite every shitty story you ever wrote to erase the evidence? Redraw every spooge picture that seemed so kickass at the time? But isn’t there a point where you have to stop and say: This is what it is. It COULD be better, but I will let it be a mark of my current imperfection. There *is* something beautiful about this earnest, crappy innocence….

I read this by Zora Neale Hurston and thought, yes. Yes. Bleeding YES.

Bolds are my bolds.

She said:

I wrote “Their Eyes Were Watching God” in Haiti. It was dammed up in me, and I wrote it under internal pressure in seven weeks. I wish that I could write it again. In fact, I regret all of my books. It is one of the tragedies of life that one cannot have all the wisdom one is ever to possess in the beginning. Perhaps, it is just as well to be rash and foolish for a while. If writers were too wise, perhaps no books would be written at all. It might be better to ask yourself “Why?” afterwards than before. Anyway, the force from somewhere in Space which commands you to write in the first place, gives you no choice. You take up the pen when you are told, and write what is commanded. There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you.

Ok, ok, ok, ok.
Kissy break!

Someone kiss me, I got shit done! Nothing says celebration like tongues...

I’m so gonna regret this picture later, but nothing says celebration like wet tongues <3

You want to congratulate me?
Give me a little celebratory pat on the bum?
Or say, ‘Good job, have some ham’ just to be nice to me?

Why, you ask, why do I have to be nice to YOU, moof?

Because….. the agony is over and the untold story has been told in all its imperfect but earnest glory.
That’s right. ::preens:: ::swishes::
I just finished my book. Like, yesterday.

Yep. I’ve been wrestling with that bugger like Jacob wrestled with the Lord for two years now, but I got Old Testament on its ass and finished my second novel. Do you know how hard it is to finish a book when you have a small child around snapping at your ankles? Imagine trying to juggle a hot pie, a sizable roast and five turned-on chainsaws while ravenous baby alligators try to circumcise you. That’s about how hard it is. But I did it *AND* I didn’t kill my child!

::pumps fist in the air while softly whispers::
Yesssssss.
I love it when I get shit done and no babies had to die…

I can’t blame the baby completely though.

I was doing the thing. The thing Zora N. H. warns against…

When you write a book, but each time you near finish, you realize you are a better, and more experienced writer than when you started out so you say, well, I’ll just take this extra knowledge I now have and  add this thing, oh and change that thing, and  just rewrite this part and redo that part and this part and that part, and change the transition here and rewrite the POV  to this and dammit, and shuznut and each time you realize that you are growing so you keep fixing and futzing so as to not leave a carbon footprint of your own idiocy upon the world. That thing.

(Presuming that anyone will even read your book, that is.)

And I got to the point finally where I said, well yeah–fuck it. It is what it is. I had to get it out, I’ll probably look back on it and cringe a little, but I tried my best and I have to move on, so ::shakes dewflaps vigorously:: I told the story I had to tell and now I’m ready to do the really fun putting salt in your butthole trying to get published process… ^____^

I think one writer wisely said that the real work  begins not when you start, but when you FINISH writing a book….

Wish me luck, moofs <3

Bister or RIP Shaniqua

I haven’t posted in a million years, but people still come look at my blog ;____;

Hey, hey, I’m not dead!

Detail from a picture big enough to cover an entire wall.

Detail from a picture big enough to cover an entire wall.

The Merman Loves the Boy in the Concrete Boots (portrait of my life right now)

The Merman Loves the Boy in the Concrete Boots (portrait of my life right now) ((I thought I was the one with the concrete boots, but then people were like, hello, you’ve got the white hair?!?))

These last few weeks, I’ve been drawing literally like someone is whipping me o_o

I got a bottle of an ink color called ‘bister’ (like someone misspelled ‘blister’) and the color is something that might come out of a blister–more watery and red than sepia, and quite pigment-dense: once I made a mark on the paper, bister was NOT moving anymore–NO blotting. No take-backs.

Klimt (or at least a fictional character representing Klimt) said once that a painting is like a chess-game; you must plan out your moves. Maybe this is why I can never be a painter, I hate planning, but bister made me change my game a little, because if I wasn’t careful, there was no going back.

There was an enormous picture hanging in my living room that I had drawn eons ago lovingly named once by a slightly tippled friend ‘Shaniqua. (I think because the girl in the picture reminded him of a girl called Shaniqua’. Anyway.) It was a drawing of a beautiful lady, but the hair!!! was so technically awful, that I couldn’t look at it anymore. It was like poor Shaniqua was starting to become a symbol of every shitty picture I’ve ever drawn. So I turned the lass over some weeks ago and drew a drowning person with beautiful hair on the fresh, clean side of the paper. ::ahhhhhhh::  The hair is still shitty but BETTER shitty.

And that reminded me of how much I love ink, so I made some other pure ink pictures….

god is busy

God Is Busy – Traditional black ink, which is much more forgiving than bister…. I’m sad cause there’s all these cool freaky eyes and mouths and whatnot in the background and the picture quality is so bad you can barely see them >___<

nightmare3

Nightmare III -(diluted) Red and Black Ink

nightmare2small

Nightmare II – black ink

Ok, ok, you get the picture. I like ink ~______~

It’s getting cold moofs. So bundle up, draw with ink and HAPPY OKTOBERFEST!!! <3

Japan Rules (kinda NSFW)

Some rules of note of the Japanese people. ^^

1.If you blow your nose in public, lightning will hit.
2. If you wear Crocs, lightning will not hit.
3. If males make out, snow falls.

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See? I’m not making it up….

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It’s really strange, but true… Don’t think *I’m* weird, this is a Japanese rule, okay??

I haven’t posted in eons moofs, but I’ve been drawing and writing like crazy. And I’ve been wanting to draw snow-fall yaoi for ever. [Because it's summer in Munich which is like winter in normal places.... >___< ] But I had obstacles, namely acute time lack and lack of knowing how people make sparkly beautiful snowy highlights on paper when using graphite. Like how?? I’ve been using graphite for years and years. Generally just HB, H and then some super soft like 4B or something. I blended with my finger (leaves finger-oil sometimes, buttfuck it). Blended with a stump or q-tip (makes the paper a little wooly after a while and wears the paper’s tooth down, whatever). Figured it was collateral damage, an offering to the god of shading and blending. Never could make those glistening highlights unless I cheated with white oil pastel or white acrylic/gel pen overlaid on the graphite. Not that I considered it ‘cheating’. If it works, it works, right? I’m no art elitist. If you can make a phosphorescent highlight by smearing butter-toast on the paper, ::fist pound::. But still, I gnashed my teeth. Because though 99% of me agreed that it is not cheating, the 1% wanted the paper that was neither wooly nor oily… How do they do it???

Now I know! You use a soft brush! ::weeps:: Here, I write it down so nobody else has to suffer years of not knowing like I did…

1. With a very sharp pencil apply thin layers of graphite to the paper and layer….

2. With a big soft brush, rub the shaded areas hither and tither. This will eliminate the shading lines and make a subtle shimmery perfect blend WITHOUT rubbing the paper like a stump does or adding finger oil like fingers do.

3. And then just pick out highlights with the kneaded eraser! ::dances:: All those pictures you had in you of males kissing in the snow, you can finally express them!

<3

 

 

Is Lincoln to Blame?

Da-yum, when is someone going to pay me 1,000,000 bucks to sit on the beach, get high and draw hentai? …..Not yet?

I wish I could blame this picture on an early morning visit from Lincoln, but no, this time, I’ll take full responsibility! For every tail! For all cat ears!!

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Boys with Tails II

A friend asked for a picture. I was skeptical…

“I don’t do ‘finished’ stuff, you know this right?”

He said not finished was fine.

If possible, the drawing was to contain the following elements:
-him
-another boy of equal or greater physical attractiveness
-them engaged in some way … (hopefully, an erotic way, not an I’m pouring you a glass of lemonade way)

I was like… ‘Hmm. Doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever done before, but I’ll give it a whirl :D”

Tails! Cat ears! Ruffled underpants! Tentacles… I threw those in gratis.

I drew another nice pic this weekend but alas, as nice as it is, it is not appropriate for WP ><

In other mews: We were in Berlin to visit the new addition to the family. I guess ::grumbles:: she was kind of cute. Not sure if she’s a Nazgul though, time will have to tell. Like with our baby, maybe we’ll start hearing of bodies lying in the streets of Berlin like empty husks… Ahh, we’ll whisper then knowingly. Another little Nazgul after all.

In other other mews: Starting some new anime series as soon as I’m done with this post. And I’m going to try to draw…. curly hair. 0_0. I don’t do curly hair, it scares me (to draw, that is, it’s fine on someone’s head) but a certain picture requires it…. Anyway, I’m rambling.

Hope you guys had a wonderful Easter ^^

The Secret Life of Translators II

'One step too late and I never told you...
That I can't take another disappointment...."
Boys <3

[PS: In my next show, I want this. -see picture above-]

I realize I have not written anything on my poor blog for more than a good week now.

Where are you?! A few people have asked. I guess they figure something must be horribly wrong if I don’t have anything to say : D But I don’t, sadly. I want to write you moofs a blog entry full of sex and violence, but my life right now is so fucking boring >< And I am a little down…

One thing to be up about though is that this season for shows is done and I get two new shows. A fresh start! New beginnings! Regeneration! Spring is here!

What shows am I babbling about? Anime, that is to say, Japanese animated shows–we’ve been translating two of them and both have certainly been contributors to my down spirit…

Oh I don’t know… The first show had a wonderful style and characterizations and a really hot main character, just his name was so nice and long, I liked to type it in my Notepad file… ‘Miketsukami’…. prettyyyyy. Miketsukami was a blond, dog-spirited youth with… many tails. 0_0 (You know my tails thing by now, dear reader, surely?!)

So! This show had a pretty guy with a pretty name and and pretty bushy dog tails and interesting side characters and good style in general. But Nothing Ever Happened. Literally. The main plot of the show could have been resolved in about two episodes–the rest of the time, I was translating a 30 minute episode in which the main conflict (no joke) was how does the main female character ask the main male character out to drink a coffee with her?

I waited desperately for scenes in which the male character is at least semi nude, but they added up to about 20 seconds in an entire series >___< Not much to keep me hanging on, let me tell you.

But the other show was even worse. This show began in my mind as ‘Zero’ and later devolved into ‘Louise the Whore’, but not because nothing was happening. Oh no, something happening every other second. Magic! Dragons! Airships! Elves! Hot Young Pope! Hot Young Pope Gets Eaten By Dragon! (Yep. You read that right… ) Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! Ahh, the boobies should have been the tipoff that ‘Zero’ was a member of that fine genre of anime I absolutely detest. I don’t know what the genre is actually called (It is a common trope, so I’m sure it has a formal name) but I myself call it ‘Too many boobs on the dance floor.”

The gist of the genre is this: You have a young guy. He is usually pretty ordinary, but also pretty decent and for whatever reason, has fallen into an extraordinary world (or somehow into a situation outside of his normal circumstance at least) where he is surrounded by beautiful women. They all have ridiculously large, Demi MooreStriptease-era bazooms that bounce like wet balloons at a child’s party. (Side-note: Often, the main female character will have smaller breasts, and this will make for her complex for the entire show.)

This hapless, but ultimately well-meaning young man is thrown into this new environment complete with Sea of Boobs and while he is defeating the Evil or whatever the Fuck, he is always running into these boobs, or tripping and falling on top of one of the girls, getting his face deliciously mashed into her Boobmeat etc. etc. (Did I mention our clueless hero is totally accident prone?) The girls then beat the shit out of him and call him a pervert, but they are in fact all hopelessly in love with him and are all trying to devise a way to confess their feelings (but by the end of the show, he will get together with the small breasted heroine who has won his heart with her fucking annoying high pitched voice.)

This is the genre “Too Many Boobs on the Dance Floor” and if I were King, I would have it banned. It was invented by an evil Cabal of ordinary Japanese men who wish they could trip through their life, knocking their ordinary but well meaning selves into boobs and  having a coven of babes fight over them while they finally pass their high-school exams or defeat the evil dragon (whatever the tedious noise in the background passing as ‘story’ happens to be.)

Boys, take it from me: Never Going to Fucking Happen.

The part where the Pope got eaten was definitely worth a rewind though….

Abraham Lincoln Says: Draw Tails

 

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And if I were you, I would listen to him.

My art lessons won’t start for another two weeks or so, but until then, I have been instructed to draw ‘real’. Don’t stylize. Don’t prettify. Draw what you see. I decided to try that out this night with a little sketch of two guys in communion with each other, telling myself–okay, don’t make them FANTASY guys, you know, just normal pretty :D and there I was, feeling pretty happy with my quick sketch when who would come visit me at one in the morning in my living room?

Yup. You guessed it.

Abraham Fucking Lincoln.

Holy shit! I thought to myself, seeing a vision of him at 1:06 AM… That’s Abe Lincoln!?!? Mark Ryden, my art hero, gets visions of Mr. Lincoln too! How fortunate must I be to see the very self-same apparition! And then Mr. Lincoln (can I really say that I saw him? It’s more I felt his presence, unholy glowing eyes and all) anyway, he sort of took a peek at my drawing, or I should say I had the feeling of him peeking and I was thinking perhaps he thought it was pretty fine, but then he just sat on the couch and didn’t say “I like it” or “I don’t like it.” He didn’t say anything like that at all, only this:

‘Draw tails.”

My eyes went X X.

Draw tails? What does that mean? Did he mean the boys should have tails? That could be the only meaning, I surmised. But boys DON’T have tails, everybody knows that! And this was supposed to be a realistic drawing, no tentacles, no vines, no fleshy explosions, no unholybeautiful Rapunzel haired huffy mouthed angel boys, just two dudes getting it on as real as I could depict it–I glanced over at the couch and thought I should say something to this effect…

Did I mention Lincoln’s eyes glowed??

I don’t know about you, but what I figured right then is that when one of the greatest undead presidents of the United States whispers anything to you at one in the morning, you don’t ask ‘Why?’ or “Excuse me?’ Your only question could and should be “How many tails?”

So I asked him, sir, how many tails?

“Three on the seme (pitcher) and two on the uke (catcher).”

Done and done! I drew the fuck out of those tails, let me tell you–I didn’t have the guts to ask him what kind of tails he wanted exactly–rat-tails or crocodile tails or horsetails? (Surely no?) So I settled on dog-tails for the top and cat-tails for the bottom and that, my dear moofs, is the story of the picture “Boys with Tails.”

PS: I won’t be showing it to my art teacher. :D

 

 

Youch, Yaoi!

A short lesson.

This is NOT yaoi - this is yuri (girl (love) study). Brown paper, acrylic, coffee, W, Amy Winehouse

Yaoi is frustrating.
Yaoi is ridiculous.
Yaoi is stupid and erotic.

Yaoi is the stuff I translate weekly to make some extra moolah. I just translated an episode of it today. It’s not gay. Even if it is Japanese cartoons/animated shows depicting idealized homoromantic relationships between beautiful men. (God, I love the word ‘homoromantic’. I wish there were more opportunities to use it in every day life. This apple is so juicy and homoromantic.) Did I mention yaoi’s not gay? Insofar as it is not produced to make a gay man horny or wistful. (That would be bara, or geikomi, gay comics.) Yaoi is made for fujoshi. I know, all these vocab words!  (Don’t worry, you won’t be tested later!) What is a fujoshi? Well, she is a woman who enjoys looking at yaoi. Why a fujoshi would enjoy watching the romantic exploits of two or more men in the world who’s cocks will never point towards her is beyond me.

Just because I am a fujoshi does not mean that I understand their erratic, delicate ways.

Y’all know that poem by Keats, Ode to a Grecian Urn?

…Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss….

Yup, he was writing about a lot of things, and one of them was yaoi. How’s that for writing poetry before your time?? This is a genre entirely devoted to unrequited love, to  never reaching satisfaction, to (maybe) kissing, but never ever saying ‘I love you’.  Ya. O. I.

Japanese acronym for YAma nashi, Ochi nashi–Imi nashi.
Climax–none. Plot–zilch. Meaning–zero.

(Some people say the term comes from Yamete, oshiri ga itai! -Stop, my ass hurts!… But I don’t think so.)

Stock yaoi has two stock characters yearn the fuck out of each other, sometimes, they even fuck each other, but nothing ever gets resolved. One of these stock characters is the seme, from the Japanese verb ‘semeru’ (to give it in the ass). The seme looks like a handsome woman with short hair and very broad shoulders. Then there is the uke, from the Japanese verb ‘ukeru’ (to receive in the ass). The uke looks like a cute, big eyed girl with longish short hair and broad shoulders. There are a lot of farcical Shakespearean misunderstandings in yaoi and a lot of Dickensian coincidences, generally resolved with tender makeup sex that we never get to see. Butt sex with the lights off. In the missionary position. Seme on top, of course!! If you have a sexually poor imagination, such as YT, this can get extremely frustrating. You find yourself drawing diagrams later for closure.

Some consider the term ‘yaoi’ to have become a bit too catch-all–too westernized–even tongue in cheek. So in Japan, the genre is now called Boy’s Love.  Don’t worry though; it doesn’t actually feature love between boys. This is because there are no pedophiles in Japan. That’s right. Not even one.

Sometimes, my boy’s love show, called ‘The Only One in the World’ does get me down. Ritsu Onodera is an adorable 25 year old boyyyyy who longs to make it on his own in the publishing industry. Wanting to step out of his successful father’s shadow, he quits the literature business and goes into girls comic publishing instead, and who should he discover his boss to be, that fateful first day? Well, the editor-in-chief at Marukawa Publishing is none other than the handsome senior who broke Ritsu’s heart almost a decade ago, in high-school. Ritsu had just confessed his love to Takano after they’d had sex when Takano got an unfortunate throat cramp. Interpreting his spasmodic cough as a laugh, Ritsu ran mortified from his arms (and his room, and their school), only to find himself as Takano’s underling almost ten years later!

Spoiler: The spark is still there.

And if all that heat passing between their finger tips while they hand each other storyboards and manuscripts wasn’t bad enough, Ritsu discovers that his new boss and old lover is also… his new neighbor! Sweet. That means even more opportunities to slip and fall on Takano’s dick and then run away the next day when he asks about Ritsu’s feelings. I swear, half of the dialogue is so:

Takano: Onodera. I love you. How do you feel about me?
Ritsu: Look at that sweet kitty!
Takano: Do you love me, or just my body?
Ritsu: Boy, you know what  I do love? Cheese! It’s so creamy.
Takano: Onodera, will I ever be anything but a hard cock to you?
Ritsu: Mr. Takano, did you say something?
Moof: AHHGHGHGHGHG I can’t take it anymore!!!
[Apparently, this is the point where Takano can't either. ]
Ritsu: Mr. Takano, stop that! Mr. Takano, what are you doing?!
Have you gone out of your mind?! I’m a man and you’re a man!!
Moof: Boys, can you at least keep the lights on this time? Pleeeeez?
Takano: [turns light off]
Moof: sigggghghghhhhhhh

Smash cut to waking up in bed with the birds twittering outside the window and the uke looking all embarrassed and blushy, because despite his coy lazer being on hell yeah, the seme’s managed to get him on the tip of his dick. Again.

Takano: Good morning, Ritsu. Do you love me now?
Moof: ……………………………………………….
Youch yaoi.