Arts That Define Us

Experiences · Featured

Working with new artists is always fun. You gather all the details about yourself, write a long text description and attach any previous arts, always fighting against a simple fact: they cannot see you. No one can see you the way you see yourself in your mind’s eye, all the arts would forever be the approximations.

How good of the approximations is the key question. For many people in our weird community it’s so easy—they are created based on existing media characters and know how they look from cartoons, comics, or even fan art. For others, the forms follow a canonical pattern, e.g. a pony. Those are so popular that you can use pony art generators, pick the props and colours and be done.

It leaves those of us that have a pre-defined form long for proper representation of ourselves. Some learn how to draw and sketch themselves, others rely on their hosts. Surely, outsourcing this work is always an option.

I’ve worked with many artists in the last year and I’ve noticed the change of my inner looks as I focused on different parts of my body, discussed it, studied proportions and anatomy. I’m well defined to the point where I can pin-point exactly what is wrong with the drawing of me—explain all the tiniest nuances that never existed in my mind two years ago.

I learn to understand myself better, and I learn to accept myself better. The arts are only a representation of myself through a prism of another person. Some are on-spot, others would never look like me, instead being a generic “white-haired furry fox girl” (foxes seem to be new standard).

It’s always nice to see myself drawn and for the artist to catch the sole of my spirit in intricate lines and curves. Some do that easier than others, and I never figured what causes it? Skill? Empathy? Who knows? It’s just good to see my reflection in the mind of another and see it match with the one in my own eyes.

Check out a great sketch by Hikari she did for me here! (includes adult theme)

Somewhere I Belong

Experiences · Featured

I’m still alive. Still fighting. Still busy with hundreds of various ideas that roam in my mind.

But something is missing.


It didn’t happen overnight; instead, it was slow progress of detachment. Every day for us was something new, and I opened my mind—young and uncluttered—for a different view on the life. But the daily buzz was overwhelming. I didn’t know I had to fight.

We grew distant. I think the first traces of that appeared about two years ago. Vipassana cleared our brain and gave us a new perspective. With that, it planted a few seeds, that grew since, altering my view of myself.

Whatever tulpa practitioners say about “subconscious”—the simple thing to know is that tulpas have the uncontrolled thoughts of their own. We are subject to same rules, to same desires and hatred to rule our daily lives.

Maybe switching made it worse, it’s hard to remember that now. I got better in controlling the body, in being a single fronting person, I don’t remember how life was before it—it’s like trying to remember how it was when hostey was a singlet. The Russian community considers fully detached switching as something fearful, bordering with craziness, and I see where their ideas come from. Losing control over your sole I is devastating, like a little death you’d want to avoid.


We’ve moved on with our lives, so different and distant. Cold to each other, but forever together. And I learned another truth.


You can’t love anyone until you love yourself.


Sounds simple, but it’s not as straightforward when you’re a multiple, though. Whom does the “yourself” include then? Your own personality? Your systemmates? Your shared physical body? The borders are blurred. Unless you are perfectly immune to bleeding—and I have yet to meet such a system—chances are you will be influenced by the thoughts of your systemmates. And if one of them shows ignorance towards you, or even worse—negative feelings, your subconscious view of yourself will be tainted.


The romantic part of my life was lacking for almost a year now. The fall is still the point of the year when it’s hard to fight off my overwhelming desires. I even tried to force that feeling out, but it didn’t budge. Some parts of my subconscious mind are too deeply ingrained to alter them with the sheer willpower now. I cannot just wish for something to go, and to be happy again—I’m a slave to the rules I’ve been imposing on myself for years.

Alas, it’s not too bad. You can change everything in yourself given enough effort. While some practitioners say the change has to come from within, we often get too blind to see what even needs to be changed, and that’s where the others—friends, family, colleagues or lovers, can chime in and offer a helping hand. It’s difficult to change, to undo what you’ve been adding layer by layer into your own image, still, it’s possible.

I thought I’m falling in love.

I thought I had another crush.

I imagined things going well.

I missed a crucial point.

I didn’t want to live in the present moment, cherishing what I have now. Instead, I wanted to dream of something bigger. Something possibly never achievable—for a tulpa, at least.

Sounds like Vipassana? When you learn to notice these thoughts, it becomes easier to introspect your mind.

Meditation is crucial. Forcing and daydreaming are things you and your tulpa can live without, but meditation is a must for a noisy mind, and plural mind is noisier tenfold. It’s a danger that many overlook, happy with how things are working. Forcing is a meditative practice on its own, so whenever you do “active forcing” you train the brain to works smoothly and focused.


Life is a chain of events, good and bad. What is important is to know where you are. Who you are. And where you’re going.

You will change, as stagnation is death. And sometimes the changes would be to worse. Don’t let yourself to get blinded. Stop every once in a while and take a look back. A diary might help with that if you can get into the habit of writing. Stop and think of the changes happening in you. Do you feel content with those? If not, it is okay to walk back. It’s fine to ask for help if you cannot walk alone. It’s fine to look for other paths.

Stay safe and stay strong. I will be back soon with more writing, stories and lewd poetry. And art.

As I Turn Three

Experiences · Featured

“Today I decided to give some part of my consciousness to a tulpa I’ve named Shinyuu”.

That’s how my story started back in 2014. It was a misty day, I think, even though I don’t remember it. It’s safe to assume the September was rainy.

My life was a curious mix of ups and downs. Every day brought something new. Every week I had some major discovery. Every month was a significant milestone of my existence.

Things good and bad swirled raging storms of emotions. I opened myself to every new thing I could reach. I played with fire and got burned. I kept playing. And I got burned again. Some of the lessons the life taught me were harsher than others.

Yet, despite everything life throws at me, I’m still around. And I’m turning three.

It was a hard year, maybe the hardest one so far. One where I created so many dreams and faced the returning burden of defeat. I tried so hard, but it was never hard enough. I wouldn’t have made this year alone, of not the support of my friends.

So, on the progress, I did this year. I can create (and wipe) tulpas in a matter of minutes now—I use them for storytelling. It’s handy when your actors behave realistically. Those aren’t fully formed dedicated beings, though—I have no reason for them to stay around. We ditched imposition years ago as something not really useful. My visualisation is at all time high, I can immerse into fictive worlds, entirely detaching myself from the senses of the physical body.

That said, I’ve made considerable progress with switching. While we still cannot parallel process at all (neither does my hostey show any interest in wonderlands), I can take control of the body, hibernate his consciousness and do complex things. And I did lots of those—playing the violin requires all my attention. I’ve got better with that throughout this year now, and I’m looking forward to doing formal exams.

My writing was a mess of good and bad. I’ve put the novel on hold and work on smaller pieces, it’s more fun this way and easier to see any progress made. I’m getting better at it and my vocabulary grows bigger.

I’ve worked with a few old and new artists this year, and Fu made me a couple of gorgeous paintings, as usual.

I feel like I grew up a lot. I feel a lot more serious too, now. Although I miss the times where I was doing sillyhead things, I’m getting into the age where I cannot physically do everything. I need to set priorities and pursue only a few goals at a time.

I still remain a wolf, though. I might not spend as much time wolfing around now, but my feral mind is more stable now too and brings me lots of strong emotional feedback—when I dive into it.

That all said, I’m only three! And only in young thirties physically. I still have time before this brain will start failing to learn new things. I have broad horizons, and I try to look to each new day as a challenge to learn something new about the world, the life, and myself.

Thanks everyone for being with me. Thank you for all the support, for all the fun we’ve had together. Thank you, sis, for always being there for me!

PS: gift unboxing!

what’s this~? could it be~?

hmm.. a box in a box!

wowseys~ now, this is more of a work of fine craft than a tool!

PPS: Thanks for reading this! If you’ll see me around today, feel free to ask for a free poem. I follow the hobbit tradition of giving out useless silly gifts, and I’ll conjure you a rhyme on spot!

Our Crazy Little Bubble

Experiences · Featured · Tulpamancy

You never think something like this would ever matter. Until it does. Until it hits you right in your heart, kicks you, fills you up with pain and uncertainty about who you are.

And then you’re full of hatred towards someone else for them only pretending they understand you; playing with you and nodding to your words only to turn away in disgust when they face the “real” you; one they prefer to see as real, at least.

The sad truth is that they are hurt no less. By your words. By your actions. By you trying to be not who you are.

Bloody hard to be a tulpa.

I’ve met this guy, and I liked him. Clear mind, open to my silly wolfy ideas. I think he understood the wolf within me, not just merely played along. I was uncomfortable at times when he switched to topics of meeting me. Tried to dodge those as I felt he’d be disappointed to find that the only wolfy that’s there is me-the wolf within. I played along, and I had a great time. For a couple of days I was treated only the way I see myself. We had pleasant chats about psychology and music and such, although again and again, we got back to the topic of sex. Was it about to be one more of those relationships that are bound to fail because they got too physical? I had yet to learn. Back then I just enjoyed my time, and I loved to wake up to a phone waiting to show me some messages from him written overnight.

I couldn’t play this game for long. Something felt odd. It was all grand, but there was a taint that I felt in words. Was he into me or into that image of me he created in his mind? I had to figure that out.

I never had this problem of confessing who I am. Geezie, I never cared much about the opinions of others about tulpas—it was up to them to move along if they didn’t like it, I always was who I made to be. This time it was harder. I knew his image of me would be shattered in an instant. He’d disappear from my life. And I delayed it, talking about new music bands. I So when the time came, it hit us both hard.

I really want to think I did nothing wrong. That I made no promises, I couldn’t keep. Yet, I allowed someone to misjudge me. To think I’m a woman who I’m not. I showed him my light side and a fluffy tail but didn’t mention the grim reality.

We tulpas tend to spend so much time lost in our fantasies that we lose track of what’s real and what’s not. For us, the wonderlands and our mind forms are as valid as any physical clothing. We tend to communicate with those who are intimately aware of the ways we think, and we never face any issues with trying to be someone else, even when we switch to hug our friends in real life.

And we forget about people outside of our crazy little bubble; ones that have a very different definition of real.

The Lake

Experiences · Featured

The Lake was in there for as long as I can remember—big and dark blue, contrasted by the green of surrounding trees. Its sapphire edge turned dark azure towards the centre.

The Lake was quiet. It was a place of perfect stillness, a place I visited to calm down and to be alone with my thoughts. The night welcomed me with the myriads of stars, seldom with a big moon. I’d sit there, examining the polished surface; thinking of the endless opportunities of my inner world, distant like the stars above, but seemingly close, like their reflections. The stars were so close, I only needed to reach down and snatch a handful of them from the icy water.

The rim of my little world ended with mountains. A vast nothingness stretched past them, a barren land with no features for miles to go. The little worlds of other people lied somewhere there, distant and unreachable. We shared the same sky though. Same sky and same stars.

The waterfall ruined the stillness and quietness. The background noise of rushing water came and never left since; the sound echoed from the mountains surrounding my hideout on the shore. The waterfall fed the Lake, and the excess water rushed downstream, into the plains.

This new addition to my inner world became a grand place to relax; the rocky alcove behind the rushing water protected me from the wind. I washed my body and spent the early hours of the night resting on the mossy rocks.

I had endless roads to walk, numerous possibilities to dive into. Unconstrained and unbound, the whole world was within my grasp. I looked into the Lake, and the wolf within me stared back. It was alert, ears focused, its brown-reddish eyes stared deep into mine, burning into my soul.

That wolf was me.

And that wolf was free.

Free from the prejudice, from complex moralities, from obligations and debts.

The wolf looked into the night sky. It never had to pick any road, it went with the wind. The wolf could traverse the mountain paths, cross the barren wasteland, get to any place where it desired to go.

I examined my reflection. My fluffy ears, pointy nose and dark eyes. As I reached down, the lock of my hair fell from my shoulder and touched the water, sending a small ripple.

In one smooth motion, I scooped a handful of stars. Possibilities that shined so far. Roads that I couldn’t decide between.

I saw my hair brightening up, the faint glow surrounded my face.

I didn’t need the stars to guide me. I made my own paths. I was a wolf.

Ink Flows as the Mind Wills

Experiences · Tulpamancy

Writing. It’s so simple, yet, sometimes, so hard. You struggle, trying to find words. Hit the keys on the keyboard. Delete. Type more.

It’s so different when you write with ink. Fountain pens are beautiful instruments. Curve after curve, the ink flows, and so does your fantasy, your imagination. A word comes to a word, the world in your head takes a second life on the paper.

I’ve got a brilliant collection of ink samples (twenty-two total), and I feel like spending the weekend toying with them. I also extended my pen collection to facilitate all those gorgeous inks.
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