@shroomychrist Very, very excited to be playing again! Probably gonna be streaming it too ~
As for OCs, here is someone else I like to torture for fun and profit! /lh
DO YOU WANT YOU AND HARVEY TO BE DRAWN?
JOIN HARVEY'S WISHLIST-A-PALOOZA RAFFLE!
JUST WISHLIST THE GAME ON STEAM AND DROP YOUR OC / PROOF OF WISHLIST IN THE REPLIES FOR A CHANCE TO WIN!
SUBMISSIONS ARE OPEN UNTIL SEPTEMBER 6TH.
A GIVEAWAY HAS BEGUN. THREE FANS HAVE THE CHANCE TO WIN A MOB BOSS HARVEY PLUSH, AND ONE HAS THE CHANCE TO WIN THE HOODIE.
TO ENTER:
1. FOLLOW @Makeship AND @shroomychrist
2. RETWEET THIS POST
THE GIVEAWAY ENDS AUGUST 8TH. WINNERS WILL BE RANDOMLY SELECTED. GOOD LUCK.
***5,000 follower Raffle***
Thank you all for your continued support. ♡ I have reached a new milestone and I believe a raffle is in order.
The winner will be able to have the equivalent art equal to a full colour, simple comic page (open to discussion.)
See below for details:
Oh hey! It's GIVEAWAY time! 3 winners will win both of these brand new @youtooz figures! To enter follow us, like, RT and tag a friend below
Winners will be announced on March 17th!
how do you tell someone “i’m not ignoring you i’m just disconnected from reality right now and the days are all blurred together and i feel completely apathetic towards everyone/everything around me so it’s really hard for me to maintain a conversation” without saying that
You start to see it when you step outside your own head for five minutes:
the world really is a museum of passion projects.
Everywhere you look there is evidence that someone, somewhere, cared too much about something that technically did not matter.
The guy who built a miniature train village in his basement, each tiny window lit, each tree glued by hand.
The neighbor who spends three weekends repainting a fence a shade of green no one but her will notice.
The stranger on the bus editing fanfiction on their cracked phone like it is a manuscript that might save a life.
The barista who experiments with latte art flowers nobody asked for.
You walk past these things and your first instinct is often to judge or ignore.
What a waste of time.
Who cares.
Must be nice to have that kind of energy.
But if you zoom out enough, it starts to look holy. Not serious-holy. Just… quietly sacred.
Most of life is obligation. Pay this. Reply to that. Show up here. Be on time. People do what they must so they do not get punished. Then, somehow, in the cracks of all that, humans still insist on making things that no one strictly needs. Songs that never hit charts. A newsletter with 43 subscribers. A garden on a balcony the size of a towel. A podcast listened to by ten friends and one random guy in Finland.
The museum is not in some building. It is in every street if you pay attention. Stickers on lamp posts. Skate videos filmed at 01:10 under harsh parking lot lights. Handmade earrings on a card table. A Twitter account dedicated entirely to rating park benches. None of these will end world hunger. None of them will pay rent on their own. But they are proof that people are not just survival machines.
When you are over-therapized and stuck in your own head, you forget this. You start to think the only thing that exists is your inner weather. Your triggers. Your needs. Your narrative arc. Everything becomes about fixing or discovering yourself. Even your hobbies become self improvement. You cannot simply bake bread. You are also biohacking your gut. You cannot just paint. You must explore your shadow. Rest is content, walks are regulation, every interest is folded back into “my healing.”
Meanwhile, out there, someone is building a tiny boat in their garage just to see if it will float.
Thinking of yourself less is not about self erasure. It is about remembering there is a whole museum outside your skull. Other people whose weird little projects are holding their minds together. Other people whose joy is as irrational and delicate as yours.
You are not the only exhibit.
Sometimes the best antidote to spiraling about your own life is to go look at someone else’s unnecessary effort and let it move you. Buy a zine at a table where the creator is visibly nervous. Go to a local show in a half empty room and watch a band that cares more about one perfect chord change than the size of the crowd. Read the insane depth people put into niche Wikipedia pages and realize someone stayed up late to make sure a paragraph about moss is correct.
That is passion too. Quiet, unpaid, borderline ridiculous. The museum is overcrowded with it.
There is a grief hidden there: not everyone gets to do their passion project in the open. For every visible thing, there are people whose passions have been shoved entirely into their heads because life is too heavy. Moms who secretly choreograph in their kitchen while stirring soup. Kids who write entire universes in school notebooks and never show anyone. Old men who carry designs for inventions they will never build because they are busy being useful.
It does not mean the museum is fake. It means it is underfunded and badly lit.
When you look at the world as a museum of passion projects, your own expectations shift. You stop thinking “I am behind, I do not have my thing yet” and start thinking “maybe my job is just to add one more weird little artifact while I am here.”