Stage 1
Find Your Inner
In Stage 1 we’ll be meeting every kind and finding your inner.
There will be in total 167 unique members of the family, plus custom ones based on your vision as long as it fits the characteristics of the set.
Every weirdo is a 1/1 piece drawn by hand and animated frame by frame.
All the weirdos are based on my life experiences, my personal feelings and lessons I’ve had to learn. I have the strong belief that it’s very important that you relate to your inner weirdo.
They do look like pfps, however I concentrate a lot on the art itself, the backstory and making them be a transformative piece.
We Don't Mint
Weirdos are minted when drawn at a base price of 0.05ETH.
To allow for gas planning, avoid gas wars and overall keep things fair, there will always be raffles on discord.
One raffle and one announced weirdo will be posted around the same time. The reserved listings will be set to expire after 7 days. If not claimed the weirdos are listed publically.
The last Horny Demon will be put on auction, and from there on the first and last of each set will be auctioned as well.
When you get a weirdo, as unlockable content you’ll find the still illustration of your inner, the gif animation, as well as 2 mask frames – on and falling.
Long Term Holder Rewards
If you hold on to your weirdo for at least 4 weeks you will get a familar!
Familiars are different for every set, they’re simple animated companions to your weirdo that will be uploaded to a separate collection (Eth).
A familiar can be claimed only once per inner, and their features will reflect the weirdo they were created for.
Whoever is still holding their weirdo + familiar will get the option to receive their outer without burning their original weirdo.
All Familiar holders, whether you have a weirdo or not, receive and Extra Weird reward once a month. A few winners are drawn and a piece based on a theme is made and transferred (Polygon)
The Portal
We end Stage 1 with going trough the Portal.
The Portal will be auctioned. It is the door to the next stage, and whoever holds it gets to be the Portal Master, which holds the privileges below:
1. Can decide the order in which the next stage unfolds.
2. Can request an extra set be added to the family. If you didn’t resonate with any, or want to bring awareness to something, this is your chance to control that, although I keep the right to approve/deny a request. Please be thoughtful with this one.
This set will be listed at Stage 2, the number of pieces for it will depend on how many I can draw, but I can promise a minimum of 15.
The Portal Master will be able to claim a free custom of that set.
Blank Slates
8 Total
Before each set begins, there will be a Blank Slate giveaway. I will not be selling Blank Slates myself, from me those can only be won during a giveaway.
The Blank Slate allows their owner to request a CUSTOM inner of that set free of charge (gas only for the blank slate itself). The Blanks are uploaded to OpenSea and reserved for the winner at 0 $ETH and must be claimed within 7 days.
Once owned you can choose to request the custom straight away (must burn the Blank), hold for a bit, transfer as a gift to someone or sell. There’s no time limit on when to request the custom.
Each Blank is attached to a set and you can only get a custom based on that set (e.g. if you have a blank zombie you cannot get a custom demon, etc.), except for the last one. The last Blank Slate gives you the freedom to pick a custom based on ANY set.
Horny Demons
33 + 1 Custom
The Horny Demons (pun intended) are about looking different and being shamed for it, started at, cursed at. They may be getting stares. And it may be scary at first, but they walk with their chin up high, because words can’t hurt you if you know you’re your authentic self. Or at least they shouldn’t be able to. So we try.
Workaholic Zombies
30 + 1 Custom
The Workaholic Zombies are not about hustling. They’re about living at the poverty line for years, and not being able to pay the bills unless you pull an all-nighter. And all the comments you get about it. And it stings, and it feels like your skin is melting, and the bone is getting exposed… But smiles, right?
Vibing Witches
23 + 1 Custom
The Vibing Witches are about creating your own reality, because the surrounding one is too harsh. It’s about being able to close your eyes and transfer yourself to a different place, a better universe, where words aren’t needed. Where feelings are valid and the cracks in your skin are no longer visible.
Healing Poppets
24 + 1 Custom
The Healing Poppets are about the process of stitching yourself back together. When negativity is all you’ve ever known, it’s difficult to learn how to find beauty in it, it’s a difficult lesson and the end result is not ideal. But it’s better to learn to take the experiences apart, look at each piece, and choose to only hold on to the good ones.
Anxious Nightmares
15 + 1 Custom
The Anxious Nightmares all have a lot of eyes and a lot of tentacles, because that’s how it feels to me. It is suffocating. That feeling you get in your throat when you don’t see a way out. All the wheels turning in your head, trying to tell yourself it’s ok, but instead getting the grip tighter. Just remember it’s ok. It’s just… going to be ok.
Cursed Mermaids
22 + 1 Custom
The Cursed Mermaids are about pre-conceived notions about us, in a bit of a different way compared to the Demons. About being told you’re the pretty one so you must be the dumb one. Or you’re the artistic one, so you shouldn’t be taken seriously. Or about you being a mom, so you can’t be the one working, or you being a dad, and you can’t be taking care of your children at home. As if we all have to fit into that little box everyone puts us in just so it can be easy to understand.
Weary Bones
20 + 1 Custom
We end with the Weary Bones for a reason. They're about the times you just want to take everything off. You want the quiet and the empty, so you can just feel the calm. And maybe not even it. About feeling lLight, and empty, and you’re allowed to put in that frame whatever would make you feel ok for even just a bit.
Blank Slates
8 Total
Before each set begins, there will be a Blank Slate giveaway. I will not be selling Blank Slates myself, from me those can only be won during a giveaway.
The Blank Slate allows their owner to request a CUSTOM inner of that set free of charge (gas only for the blank slate itself). The Blanks are uploaded to OpenSea and reserved for the winner at 0 $ETH and must be claimed within 7 days.
Once owned you can choose to request the custom straight away (must burn the Blank), hold for a bit, transfer as a gift to someone or sell. There’s no time limit on when to request the custom.
Each Blank is attached to a set and you can only get a custom based on that set (e.g. if you have a blank zombie you cannot get a custom demon, etc.), except for the last one. The last Blank Slate gives you the freedom to pick a custom based on ANY set.
Horny Demons
33 + 1 Custom
The Horny Demons (pun intended) are about looking different and being shamed for it, started at, cursed at. They may be getting stares. And it may be scary at first, but they walk with their chin up high, because words can’t hurt you if you know you’re your authentic self. Or at least they shouldn’t be able to. So we try.
Workaholic Zombies
30 + 1 Custom
The Workaholic Zombies are not about hustling. They’re about living at the poverty line for years, and not being able to pay the bills unless you pull an all-nighter. And all the comments you get about it. And it stings, and it feels like your skin is melting, and the bone is getting exposed… But smiles, right?
Vibing Witches
23 + 1 Custom
The Vibing Witches are about creating your own reality, because the surrounding one is too harsh. It’s about being able to close your eyes and transfer yourself to a different place, a better universe, where words aren’t needed. Where feelings are valid and the cracks in your skin are no longer visible.
Healing Poppets
24 + 1 Custom
The Healing Poppets are about the process of stitching yourself back together. When negativity is all you’ve ever known, it’s difficult to learn how to find beauty in it, it’s a difficult lesson and the end result is not ideal. But it’s better to learn to take the experiences apart, look at each piece, and choose to only hold on to the good ones.
Anxious Nightmares
15 + 1 Custom
The Anxious Nightmares all have a lot of eyes and a lot of tentacles, because that’s how it feels to me. It is suffocating. That feeling you get in your throat when you don’t see a way out. All the wheels turning in your head, trying to tell yourself it’s ok, but instead getting the grip tighter. Just remember it’s ok. It’s just… going to be ok.
Cursed Mermaids
22 + 1 Custom
The Cursed Mermaids are about pre-conceived notions about us, in a bit of a different way compared to the Demons. About being told you’re the pretty one so you must be the dumb one. Or you’re the artistic one, so you shouldn’t be taken seriously. Or about you being a mom, so you can’t be the one working, or you being a dad, and you can’t be taking care of your children at home. As if we all have to fit into that little box everyone puts us in just so it can be easy to understand.
Weary Bones
20 + 1 Custom
We end with the Weary Bones for a reason. They're about the times you just want to take everything off. You want the quiet and the empty, so you can just feel the calm. And maybe not even it. About feeling lLight, and empty, and you’re allowed to put in that frame whatever would make you feel ok for even just a bit.
Stage 2
It Gets Personal
In stage two, holders and givers will get rewards. The order of events will depend on the Portal Master, except for the No Mask part:
This is going to be a gift (0 Eth, gas only) to all holders that choose to claim it. Taking the mask off means getting your custom OUTER, based on a photo you give me to use as a reference, or putting our faces in place of the mask and claiming our pain as something that we won’t hide. The order will be based on raffles on Discord. The moment one is done, the next one will be drawn.
To claim and outer you’ll have to burn your original inner to claim, unless you are holding a familiar corresponding to that weirdo, in which case you can claim your outer without burning, leaving the original inner weirdo in your wallet.
Clone Me
I like giving. I am sure a lot of people do. So I wanted to add something special for people that give an inner to somebody else, whether it be gift it or do a giveaway.
If you give your inner to someone, you’ll receive a free clone back as a gift. This connects you as twins that share similar pain.
This opportunity will be open for a limited time only (a week), and if you’re participating it’s your job to be very very clear with said person that’s getting it that this will make their inner one out of two.
Both holders can still claim their No Mask Outer, which will make each unique again. The Clones however will live on Polygon.
Color Me Weird
There will be 30 Color Me Weird cards offered in Stage 2 at 0.05 Eth, and 30 more offered in Stage 3. Each card has two unique codes as an unlockable. If you collect a card you can use it or sell it, if you choose to use it you can either use both codes yourself or share one with a friend.
To receive the new weirdo (0 eth, gas only) you’ll have to burn the old one. So definitely do some planning – if you are planning to claim an outer, I would suggest claiming both together, since they both require a burning and gas to receive the new one.
8th Set
The 8th set (and whether there will be one) will depend on the Portal Master.
Listings will work the same way as with the inners from Stage 1, with the only difference that no Blank Slate will be given away for it. A free custom will be given to the Portal Master and to anyone that owns a set of at least 3 different kinds from Stage 1 (0 Eth, gas only).
There will be no Familiars for that set.
Stage 3
Heal
During this stage we’re no longer broken. We’re healing. Up until now, we’ve had our masks fall, and our darkness show. Here, your inner will melt as well, and we’ll show the light.
This stage is still a work in progress until I fully flesh out all the Healed. Most likely will be discussed with the family to see what they would like to see happen with it. Most likely will be a custom piece for each person. We’ll figure it out together.
Here I also want to be able to give the chance to anyone still holding to their art to be able to tell their own story, like writing a letter to attach to their inner. Whether it be just to share what they’ve gone through, or how, or to give encouragement to others. Whatever you choose to attach to them, if you choose to. This will not be a thing you have to do, but if you need someone to listen, we’ll be here to listen.
I have one more trick up my sleeve for this stage, but that one will for now remain a suprise.
“Ha, look at that dude!”
“Freak!”
Their laughter was getting further away until it turned into just a soft ring in his ears. They were always loud, but quick to run.
“Pfsh.”
He stepped on his cigarette with a little twist in the tips of his toes. An old habit he was trying to unlearn, so immediately bent down and picked the bud up, sticking it in his right pocket. Then went back to lean on the wall next to the bus stop.
The stares were nothing he wasn’t used to. The whispers as well. See, the pointing was annoying.
“Spawn of Satan!”
Ah, yeah, that as well. That was also annoying. Guess by foot tonight it is.
He wasn’t afraid to walk during the dark hours. Usually, those around him were those that were afraid. Spawn of Satan. Demon. Good-for-nothing imp. Yeah, yeah, blabber more, why won’t you. “Maybe next time, say it in my face”, he thought, clenching a fist out of habit.
He was rough around the edges. He had to get rough. You can’t just be a bit different if you don’t, and he was not a bit different. Even just glancing at the window while passing by proved it – he couldn’t call himself handsome cause nobody else would. He was definitely a bit out there – piercings, tattoos, and all of that. And that was all everyone would ever see. If they could, they would put horns on his head, wouldn’t they?
But the people that he let in knew better. They knew that if they looked behind the crooked smile, deep into his eyes, the darkness they would see was showing nothing more and nothing less but how deep his soul was. There was enough space there for the whole world, even for those, that didn’t deserve it.
He smiled while looking at his reflection, and shook his head a bit, as if to chase away a happy thought. He was not supposed to feel those, right? Demons only hate.
He tossed his cigarette bud at the next trashcan he saw and kept moving through the darkness. Only few realizing he had enough light in him to put it all on fire.
The mirrors sometimes lie. Yeah, she could see the circles under her eyes, but I mean, nothing a bit of makeup wouldn’t hide. Or a lot, whatever. Maybe some mascara as well. There we go.
– Now just put a big smile on your face, and we’re ready for another great day!
Great it would have been for sure! She just wasn’t sure which one was it. Was it a Monday? No, I think that one passed already. So maybe… She looked at the calendar to confirm, and yes, it was Wednesday. The “Good Morning” greeting at work barely held any meaning anymore, keeping in mind she would get what, two, three, four hours of sleep on a good night. So mornings were more like afternoons, noon was more like a morning and evenings we more like.. wait, what’s left?
Yeah, forgetfulness could be considered a side effect of sleep deprivation. But people would barely notice. It was just something silly that she did. She could kinda get some rest on the bus, then on the other one, because the commute was long. Truth be told, if she wasn’t afraid she’d miss the stop to transfer, she would probably nap for real. Same if the sofa at work was a bit more hidden. She would look at it cravingly to just shut her eyes for a bit. Just a bit.
And by “a bit” she meant at least 4 more hours. Nothing too fancy.
“Hey, morning!”
Ah, here they come.
“Goood morning!”
“ How’s it going?”
Every day the same.
“Great, great”
“Let me guess, you didn’t sleep much”
“That obvious?”
She laughed. She always laughed. It was a joke, right? Ha-ha, so funny.
“Gotta stop working from time to time, those kids aren’t going to raise themselves, you know?”
“Oh, they’ll be good. You just water them from time to time, and they grow like plants”
She laughed again. Inside, she broke a bit. As usual.
“We can at least say we have a workaholic zombie in the team”
“Yeah”
Yeah.
Maybe, just maybe, if she had the chance to work less she would. Maybe, just maybe, she would enjoy having a break and not wondering if she could have ends meet each month, even with all the extra work. Maybe she was far from workaholic. Maybe it was just a necessity. But for now, she would have to make another coffee, smile and beware of another “hustle culture” conversation. Then people complain all days look the same to her.
Yeah.
He closed his eyes and let the wind run through his hair.
She allowed her toes to feel the earth.
They touched the leaves as they passed under the trees.
And they all met where the sky touched the ground, and where the sea kissed the sand.
No, not in reality. Reality isn’t built for them. Reality is so sad. It would chew you up and spit you out if you allow it.
They lived in their own worlds, and during those special moments they could feel their fingers touch, their hands hold each other’s and they would dance in circles with gentle smiles on their faces. They would cry tears of happiness and be grateful for energy around them.
They couldn’t talk to each other. Every once in a while they would pass each other by on the street, unsuspecting of how huge that meeting would have been had any of them said “Hi”. But maybe it’s not even important to say hello sometimes.
Maybe it’s enough to feel.
To allow yourself to be filled with emotion, and then let it go, pour it out and let it sink in the universe.
That’s why they chose their words carefully. Always. Because they believed what you put out is what you will receive. We all form our own personal reality. Even if it’s not magic. Even if you don’t call it witchcraft. You can just call it a vibe. But whatever vibe you want to get you have to form it, or the rest of the world is going to swallow you into their own vibration and… well, suffocate you. Push you down.
So she closed her eyes and let the wind run through her hair.
They allowed their toes to feel the earth.
He touched the leaves as he passed under the trees.
And they all met where the sky touched the ground, and where the sea kissed the sand.
Stitch, stitch, stitch.
Remember that time when he smiled at you, and you felt butterflies in your stomach? But you couldn’t go and say hi, and you couldn’t forget as well, and he would haunt your dreams every night, and it would make everything harder… No, not that part. Find the rest. Yes, the butterflies. So much that you could fly off to another planet and not run out? Stitch that in.
And that time when the coffee was hot, the weather was cool, the rain was pouring, but there was no wind and no noise around, and you could feel the calmness in your bones? Deep, so deep, that you got to a scary place and wondered where did that calmness go during the rest of your days? Why would you need that one specific moment to feel it again? Oh, but it erased all the pain and sadness for a minute, and turned into a beautiful quiet that would pull you within and this time you didn’t find emptiness there, but yourself.
Stitch that in. Add it to the pile. Iron it, fold the edges and add another back stitch. Then one more and one more until it’s set in place.
What about when the music was loud, but you were singing louder? You didn’t know all the words and would trip and stumble, and you kept thinking about those two wrong notes you just can’t take properly, and if someone was there listening… But there was nobody there listening. There was only you feeling all the feelings, and it didn’t matter how it sounded because it came from your heart, and that heart was feeling full, not numb, not tired, not hurt, just full and pouring out…
Stitch it in. Put it all together. It’s going to work out in the end, I swear.
It might look a bit like a mess. Different memories, different times of your life. You looked different in the mirror, for sure, for each of them. And if you put them all in a room, they would probably not know they were once one. There were different people around you, and they all ended up hurting you in the end. The pain piled up, so pile the better pieces even higher. You can do it. I know you can.
Yeah, it might even look rough. You’ll have to wait until all the scars from that improvised surgery heal. You’ll have to be touched gently, talked to calmly, and it might not always happen easily. Some of the threads might come apart, and you may have to find another piece to use for that spot. For sure, it will look like a mess.
And people might talk about how it doesn’t make sense. How it doesn’t fit, it’s a broken puzzle. But they don’t know there was nothing whole when you started. And now, now at least it’s going to be something.
Stitch, stitch, stitch.
Remember when the rain started pouring, and it was too late to hide anywhere? And you got pissed off, and felt tired of not being well-prepared as all other adults are? And your shoes were filling up with water, and the cars were passing by as fast as they could without a care that they would make things worse?
Yes. That wasn’t good. But keep digging. You looked up and smiled. You didn’t have to, but you did. And then you laughed. And cried. And that… that was good. It wasn’t a sad cry. It was that moment of realization that the anger will do nothing. That you have a choice on how to take the situation, and you chose then. You chose to feel the water on your face and smile, and laugh, and cry with joy. And your heart was about to burst because it was feeling so many things at the same time.
Stitch it in.
One after another. And the result will look rough. And people will not understand. But you will heal the scars. And the pieces will fit.
Just keep stitching.
Her tentacles were showing again. Was there a new one? She couldn’t really tell. Hm. One, two, three… Yeah, maybe there was another one growing. Oh, god, what if somebody saw that one? She tucked it under her hat and sped up her pace, staring at her feet. Don’t touch the edge, don’t step on the lines, make sure you never step on the lines. Maybe a tile and a half is a good pace. Yeah, that’s a good pace.
“Hey, watch where you’re going!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
She threw her hands up as a reflex. As if someone has ever tried to hit her in a situation like that, but you never know. Can you ever know? NO. You can never know. Her body knew that better.
One, two three, four… Yeah, another one.
If that’s how the day starts, it can’t end well. It never ends well if it starts with a fight. Well, it wasn’t a fight really. And that guy probably had already forgotten about her. But she wouldn’t forget. Not today, not tomorrow. That thought of failing at something as simple as walking without bumping into somebody would haunt her for probably weeks, if not more. And the tentacles of the disappointment in herself would keep wrapping around her own neck, suffocating her no matter what she did. While walking, while eating, while sleeping.
Sleeping was the worst.
There she wasn’t just a girl with a few fears and anxiety, no, there she was the damn monster she was feeling she was. And at the same times there were monsters around her, trying to catch her, pull her down, push her around. She was well aware it was just a dream, even while she was in it. But it all felt too real. Like it was her actual day, but she was seeing more clearly. If made so much more sense than the real reality.
One step after the other, and we don’t step on the lines. Make sure you don’t take too much space at the door, let everyone else pass. You wouldn’t want to create an annoyance for anybody. Check dms in the meantime, because you don’t want to be too late to reply, but seeing the notification made you freak out two hours ago. Two hours isn’t too long to get back, is it? Or should you just pretend you didn’t see it? Which is the correct answer? She would have to try and recollect every single interaction she’s had with said person, make sure she’s doing the appropriate thing.
But also you can’t be on your phone for too long cause people think you’re not listening to them. And you can’t look them in the eyes even without your phone because it worries you for some reason, so they’ll get offended anyway. Just have to figure out which is going to offend them less.
“Hey, you good?”
Oh look, a friend, act normal!
“Hi! Yeah, fine. I was just thinking about something. “
Run the protocol. Big smile, make sure it translates to your eyes. She usually wouldn’t have to do a lot of talking at first, so she had time to gather all the points. She just had to sense when things were slowing down and drop a weird fact to keep going. Wait, weird, where did that come from?! No, no NO! Abort mission!
Too late.
One, two, three, four… Five.
It was going to be a long day.
She put on a big smile on her face and raised her chin up. Her hair was flowing down her shoulders like the waves of the sea, her lips red, her fingers slightly touching her bag as if to make sure it’s still there. It was.
It started as a regular day and ended just the same. Normal breakfast, coffee, a chat with friends. A short walk to the university, then classes. Maybe coffee again at noon with her colleagues. Another basic chat. The weather. Someone’s shoes. Someone’s nails or hairdo. All important topics, you know. But her eyes kept drifting to the side.
There was this one guy. Kind of keeping to himself. Staying alone most of the time. Didn’t really care about the weather, someone’s shoes or nails. Or hairdo. And to be quite honest, she didn’t as well. She wanted to go to him so bad. See what he cared for. Because it must have been better than all of this. Not that she didn’t like her friends. She very well understood that light-hearted conversations weren’t a bad thing, and suspected they didn’t really care too much about those things at all.
She very well understood she was also a bit intimidating, and they were just trying to please her. Oh, the irony.
She sipped on her coffee, still staring at that guy. Maybe he cared about music. Or art. She would have loved to talk about art. But that was not what was expected of her, right?
Because she was beautiful. The genes had done an amazing job, gathered in the proper groups to give her the correct shape of her head, color of her eyes, thickness of her hair, or whatever else people felt was pretty this week. It didn’t matter, she usually qualified.
But she was also…
“Oh my god, you should totally try and be one of those Instagram models, I’m sure you’re going to blow up!”
“Aha. “
She locked her phone and put it upside down. She was on Instagram alright, on a hidden account that just held sketches that no one had cared to have a look at, so she stopped showing them to people she knew.
But anyway. She was also studying hard, so she could get her major and move on to…
“Can you imagine all the free clothes you’ll be getting? Insane. “
“Aha. Maybe something like paint would be more fun though.”, she laughed, hoping that maybe this time…
“What? Like, nail paint? Or, sorry I didn’t follow. But I’ve seen some brands send massive amounts, you can resell them, and it becomes a legit business. “
“Sure. Legit. “
Sigh.
She couldn’t combine the two worlds no matter how much she tried. She was always the pretty one. The dumb blond chick that was definitely going to make it as a model. She would never forget the first time she showed her art account to a “friend”. “You should start posting selfies next to those. It’s a shame you’re not using that face of yours, guys will be fighting to throw money at you. Like those sailors that would be happy to get drowned by a mermaid. Use the damn fools” he had said. And every time she would just feel like posting her face there would be someone commenting “simp bait”, or that would feel the amazing need to message her privately, telling her all she’s good for. Obviously a lot of things, none of them involving her being dressed.
Such a shame indeed.
Another sigh. The mysterious guy did glance at her this time, with disgust. Guess he wouldn’t want to talk to her about art, huh.
But she smiled and lifted her chin up, touching her bag lightly. There was a sketchbook there, full. Her favorite book. A notebook with a reminder to tune in for an online lecture. She never turned her camera on, so people listened. She could be a part of the discussion.
But until then, the weather was nice. The coffee was mediocre. And that girl’s shoes weren’t at all bad, but she’d just have to sigh again.
“Aha”.
The moment I step through the door is the moment I let it go. Everything. The worries, the shame, people’s words, opinions and believes. My own as well. The world disappears in the dimness of the hallway. Shoes go flying somewhere, and I don’t even care where. Those are morning troubles. Evening troubles I refuse to have.
Another few steps to get to the living room, and they keep falling off. The jacket, the shirt, the socks. All at random places, but maybe precisely where they should be. Does it even matter? What is order but someone’s personal perspective of what order is? Maybe that sock’s life purpose was to chill on the table.
Who am I to judge a sock?
A few more steps, just to check what’s in the fridge out of habit. The light that blew in my eyes was too strong. Closed it with a fury. For a second there, I got back to the cup I chose to leave at the door. You know, the damn half empty/half full cup that we carry everywhere with us. Stories, struggles, conversations, relationships, mistakes.
No.
My walk continues. No more interruptions. The pants drop somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom. Probably underwear still in them. The streetlights glowing just dimly through the bathroom window, enough for me to be able to see the contours of my face. There wasn’t enough for features, but it was still too much. The skin, the hair, every single bump and bruise I know is there without seeing it.
So I reach back.
And I pull.
I pull it all off. Bumps, bruises and all. Hair and moles. Fingernails, eyes, tongue. Veins, nerves, organs. Everything just falls off, drop, drop, drop. I can feel them bump at my feet, I can hear the squishy sound or flesh banging against the floor, until all is off.
Then I feel nothing.
I remember nothing.
I care about nothing.
The light is still just as dim, and the contours of my face are just as visible. But there’s no longer anything that connects me to this world. Just the pale bone that forms my skull. Empty.
All that’s left is just my weary bones.
Inner Weirdos is a very personal collection. All my dark art is, but I’ve never gone in details. This time I will, because in my opinion it’s important to be vocal about pain, instead of just push it down. At the very least you never know who is going to be reading or listening to you, and if they needed wasn’t to just feel like they’re not alone at this very moment. And it might seem like I’m going too deep with it for an NFT collection, but I’ve never before had the opportunity to create for my own sake, for something I belive in or want to express. It’s always been freelancing, happy faces, smiling mascots. And that’s fun and all, but this space allows me to have my own thing. My fun and happy art can finally exist alongside with my dark, inner self on paper. Or, well, screen.
All the stories attached to their origins are things I’ve gone through, conversations I’ve had, thoughts that have been eating me inside all my life, combined with the fact I’ve had to put a happy mask on to survive. Not to fit in, to survive.
I was raised with in a family with lot of domestic abuse. If I did not show up at the door with a huge smile in the evening to greet the bread earner, I was yelled at. If I had any emotion other than happy and grateful, same. If I rolled my eyes at anything, same. If I tried to be even a bit my own human, I was yelled at.
And threatened.
And humiliated.
And forced to do and witness things I keep wanting to forget.
I was not allowed to go outside. I had no friends, my phone was checked constantly to make sure of that. I was not allowed to wear nail polish, make up, dye my hair, listen to certain types of music. I was constantly being reminded I’m trash. That my tears were drama and manipulation. A 14-year-old kid’s tears that start falling when they hear for the n-th time that their father is going to kill their mother, while keeping her in the room to teach said mom a lesson that SHE’s causing stress and she’s awful.
It broke me. I finally moved out when I was twenty one years old. Twenty one fucking years old and I had no idea how to talk to people or on the phone, I had no idea how to go around in the city, I had no idea how to take the bus or go to the store. Everything was scary. Everything was new. I felt dysfunctional.
But it got better. If you can find a family, not blood, but a community of people that are there to lift you up when you fall, you flourish like a dead flower that is offered water.
I am not afraid to talk about it anymore. I am not afraid to share, explain, and listen to other people’s stories. Or at least about most of it.
This is what I mean when I say my art comes from a dark place and from pain, so now you know. It took me years to heal and I’m not at the final line yet. But I’m learning and getting better every single day. I’ve had issues with anger, shame, anxiety, you name it. And all of that is split to create the inner weirdos.
— The Horny Demons (pun intended) are about looking different and being shamed for it, started at, cursed at. Some of you have seen my face and know my hair is half blonde half not. When I turned 18 I went and got highlights (big adult, can vote, should be fine, right?) Got permission, but my father didn’t like it, said it was ugly, and I was told next time he’d shave my head. So when I moved out, I went and dyed that whole fucking side blonde. And I started getting stares, still get them. And it was scary at first, but I walk with my chin up high, because words can’t hurt you if you know you’re your authentic self. Or at least they shouldn’t be able to. So we try.
— The Workaholic Zombies are not about hustling. They’re not about working all the time because you love what you do, or because you want to make bank and live on a far away island. They’re about living at the poverty line for years, and not being able to pay the bills unless you pull an all-nighter. And all the comments I’ve gotten about this through the years. I’ve seldom explained to people why, it’s easier to just laugh it off. And it stings, and it feels like your skin is melting, and the bone is getting exposed… But smiles, right? Smiles, because everyone is always happy and everything is always easy.
— The Vibing Witches are about creating your own reality, because the surrounding one is too harsh. About creating imaginary worlds in your head that you can go to when you lay in bed at night, so you can survive another day tomorrow. It’s about being able to close your eyes and transfer yourself to a different place, a better universe, where words aren’t needed. Where feelings are valid and the cracks in your skin are no longer visible, and your heart doesn’t need to turn to stone to live but can be a shiny crystal that reflects the light it craves, so others can feel it too.
— The Healing Poppets are about the process of stitching yourself back together. When negativity is all you’ve ever known, it’s difficult to learn how to find beauty in it, how to look at the bright side of things. It’s a difficult lesson and the end result is not ideal. You don’t become this beautiful creature that’s perfect inside and out, but you end up with a REAL smile. Might be crooked, the pieces don’t always fit, but it’s better than having the individual memories as they are. It’s better to learn to take the experiences apart, look at each piece, and choose to only hold on to the good ones. And I’m still learning how to do that, but time helps.
— The Anxious Nightmares are pretty self-explanatory. I draw them all with a lot of eyes and a lot of tentacles, because that’s how it feels to me. Every time I made a tiny wrong step, I felt like I had to pre-calculate every single possible outcome at home. I had every convrsation I could imagine in my head, so I can be prepared, and so I can minimize the damage beforehand. Or so I can just cry it all out on the way there instead of on the spot. Because I can’t be a manipulating bother, you know. And it is suffocating. That feeling you get in your throat when you don’t see a way out. All the wheels turning in your head, trying to tell yourself it’s ok, but instead getting the grip tighter. Nothing has helped me more about this but the people around me that have found in them the heart to keep telling me that indeed it will be ok. It’s ok. It’s just… going to be ok.
— The Cursed Mermaids are about pre-conceived notions about us, in a bit of a different way compared to the Demons. About being told you’re the pretty one so you must be the dumb one. Or you’re the artistic one, so you shouldn’t be taken seriously. Or about you being a mom, so you can’t be the one working, or you being a dad, and you can’t be taking care of your children at home. As if we all have to fit into that little box everyone puts us in just so it can be easy to understand. So what do we do? We smile and nod. Unless we can find it in ourselves to let those people go and find a family that is understanding, compassionate, and accepting. And ignore those voices, because they just don’t matter.
— We end with the Weary Bones for a reason. Those above are all split into sets, but we often have more than one in us. Each fighting to take the spotlight, each put upon us either by ourselves or by others, and each pulling at a different direction. And it is exhausting. It’s tiring, it’s painful, and sometimes you just want to take everything off. You want the quiet and the empty, so you can just feel the calm. And maybe not even it. Because it gets too much sometimes, and it seems cold to those that don’t have a war in their head and heart daily, but it’s not cold, and it’s not scary. It’s just… Light. Without weight. Light, and empty, and you’re allowed to put in that frame whatever would make you feel ok for even just a bit.
You don’t need to be resonating with those meanings the same way that I do. At the end of the day it’s art, and the meaning behind it remains with the one looking at it and what it means to them. To you it can just be a weird, pretty picture, and that’s absolutely, perfectly fine. But I did want to come and explain exactly what they mean to me as a creator and what I’ve put in them from myself and from my heart. They’re about being hurt, but about being brave enough to take the mask off, talk about the pain, let it show, and let people help you with it. So you can heal, be better, and stop having to smile for the sake of others, but learn how to smile for your own sake. And I do hope we can as a whole learn to be more accepting of what’s under the mask, even if it’s sometimes a bit ugly and a bit… well, scary, and heavy.
With love,
Mom.