ur local cyborg

@urlocalcyb.org

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language artist, software dev, spec fic enjoyer, painter, marylander 👾🦀 she/her 👾🦀 https://urlocalcyb.org/

Frozen portion of braised pork belly where the cubed meat is sitting on top of a cylindrical cake-thing of fat and sauce
close up of pancake with raspberries, mangoes, and chocolate chips
D-rings and wire that I've just installed on two art pieces, plus hammer and screwdriver (yep just these two, no power tools)
Flyer for DIGITAL EXPLORATIONS by Maryland Federation of Art. The exhibit will run January 28 - February 28, 2026, with a reception at Circle Gallery on February 28 from 4-6 PM. The physical address is 18 State Circle and the online address is mdfedart.org.
Homepage of my new portfolio website, which features several of my recent watercolor and acrylic painting work.
Fan-made book cover of "The Last Man" by Mary Shelley done in watercolor, featuring a lone figure flying in a steampunk winged hot air balloon, over a forest, Hagio Sophia in Constantinople, and the roman ruins, with astronomical formulas and diagrams written in the stars.
Watercolor painting of an alien spaceship descending upon a scrap metal site, with scrappers wheeling their haul away from a giant metal structure shaped almost like an animal ribcage.
enfeebled
Me with three of my paintings on display at Rhizome DC
Watercolor painting of an alien spaceship descending upon a scrap metal site, with scrappers wheeling their haul away from a giant metal structure shaped almost like an animal ribcage. 1/4 progress; light washes of paint applied.
Fan-made book cover of Kate Wilhelm's 'Where Late The Sweet Birds Sang' in watercolor. In the horizon is the silhouette of a windmill over a red starry sky. A tunnel beneath the windmill opens into secret rooms illustrated as an underground map, depicting men working at large computers, students in a classroom, a line of pregnant women, men building canoes, and clone fetuses in tanks. Overlaid in each room are the words "WHERE LATE THE SWEET BIRDS SANG" with the author's name, "KATE WILHELM" at the bottom.
Screenshot of a blog post that reads: Frankenstein (2025) dir. Guillermo del Toro Date seen: October 24, 2025 Date reviewed: October 26, 2025 SPOILERS for both Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Guillermo del Toro’s adaptation ahead. Image of Victor beholding the incomplete Creature in his lab. In directing Frankenstein, Guillermo del Toro knew he had one chance to get it right, and that’s why he waited so long. I read del Toro’s introduction to THE NEW ANNOTATED FRANKENSTEIN, written in 2017, and gleaned his connection with with Mary Shelley’s original tale profoundly. And indeed, his adaptation brings to life the grandiosity that is Romantic prose, with rich and indulgent color and costuming, and formidable sets that capture the extravagance of aristocratic wealth, the sublime of the natural world, and the spectacle of mad science in the popular imagination. Like Shelley’s novel, the true horror lies not in the blood and the gore but in the humanity (and lack thereof) of monsters and the men who make them.
3 illustration panels of scenes from "Crime and Punishment." Panel 1: Rodya and Dounia stand in Rodya's room, clasping hands. Text: “Dounia, good-bye,” called Raskolnikov, in the passage. “Give me your hand.” “Why, I did give it to you. Have you forgotten?” said Dounia, turning warmly and awkwardly to him. “Never mind, give it to me again.” And he squeezed her fingers warmly. Panel 2: Rodya and Dounia stand in Rodya's room, this time facing away from each other. Rodya faces into the room; Dounia has turned towards the door and is leaving. Text: “But what does it mean, brother? Are we really parting for ever that you... give me such a parting message?” “Never mind.... Good-bye.” He turned away, and walked to the window. She stood a moment, looked at him uneasily, and went out troubled. No, he was not cold to her. There was an instant (the very last one) when he had longed to take her in his arms and say good-bye to her, and even to tell her, but he had not dared even to touch her hand. Panel 3: Rodya and Dounia stand again in Rodya's room. Dounia embraces her brother. Text: “It’s late, it’s time to go! I am going at once to give myself up. But I don’t know why I am going to give myself up.” Big tears fell down her cheeks. “You are crying, sister, but can you hold out your hand to me?” “You doubted it?” She threw her arms round him.
LEGACIES ZINE: from the Percy Jackson generation; mythology-inspired stories by Generation Z writers. Call for Interest. Seeking: Explorations of mythology & language, & place, & identity, & futurism, & planet, & self, & history, & resistance, & family, & diaspora, & memory (& beyond)
Fan-made book cover of Ted Chiang's "Exhalation" done in watercolor. A humanoid figure manipulates two levers, his head and chest cavity open to reveal tubes of air. He is looking up at several rings that appear as portals to other worlds, filled with imagery from Chiang's novel: the skyline of Old Baghdad, fossils beneath a wave, steampunk cogs, parrots flying, a Victorian-style robot, a lion cub, two prism-shaped computers, Data Earth, and floating video player and photo gallery interfaces.
watercolor illustration of "the last man" by mary shelley, featuring a lone figure flying in a steampunk winged hot air balloon, over a forest, hagia sophia in Istanbul, and the roman ruins, with astronomical formulas and diagrams written in the stars.
Over time, my brother abandoned his slides—moved on to other interests. But one day, years later, when I was eighteen and he was twenty-one, he told me that Comet Bennett would be visible in the night sky and we drove to the top of Mount Tamalpais and, with many others, viewed the comet. It didn’t flash across the night like a meteor as I’d thought it would. It stood in the black sky—frozen—spectacular. Soon our lives diverged. He moved east. I moved south. He gambled on stocks. I gambled on poems. We spoke by phone every couple of weeks. We didn’t have much in common, but we were constant. Like the planets. The stars. Not close—but constant. A couple of months ago, before his sudden illness, I thought of Comet Bennett and looked it up, wondering when it would return. I was shocked to see that it wouldn’t be back until the year 3,600. I called my brother and reminded him of that wondrous night so long ago. He remembered it vividly. I asked when he thought the comet might return. He had no idea. I told him. Then, as if his thoughts were flung from their orderly orbit, he said: We’ll find a way to be here, together again, when it returns.