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Ritual

Hi, I'm Ritual. I make things. Visuals, ideas, and a lot of mistakes I end up loving.

This is where I keep everything that doesn't fit anywhere else. I'm drawn to rough textures, strong contrast, and anything a little broken or unfinished, because that's where things feel alive to me. I build this site after midnight, when it's quiet and my brain finally stops being loud, and I edit it slowly. It will never be finished, and honestly I'm fine with that. If something looks a bit messy, I probably left it that way on purpose. Or I got lazy. Okay, it's both.

P.S. I'm lazy, and I've made peace with it.

Meo, sleeping
Pixel portrait of RitualPixel portrait of Ritual
me, in pixels, 2020
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Things I keep coming back to

eleven, because I couldn't make myself pick fewer

Things worth stopping for

click one, they look so much better big

"Left behind a land forsaken"

Right now

a small snapshot

Ritual

offline

Discord is the place where I am most active. Come hang out, ask me things, or just lurk. I'm usually around.

chat with me
sanity meter

how am I holding up?

70% — doing okay, all things considered.

Writing

small thoughts that got too big for my head

Open a drawer

some of them actually do things, go poke around
Ritual
Profile
Ritual
Design, cybersecurity, databases
  • ✉ritual337@duck.comCopy
  • ⌂Alanya, Turkey
  • ◈r3ign.pages.devCopy
R3ignest.
something I wrote
Mother Ruins
Atop her throne of briars and bone, The queen reigns, her conquest hushed. My hand, torn by her sweet lament, Bears a nail driven through stone and silken rust. A giant slumbers in the withered plains, Her grave a sprawl of splintered cross and shale. From her spine, a lineage of grief unfurls, Her cloak, a shroud, exacts the toll of farewell. Mothers to our toppled groves, they stand— Regret, a quickening pang, claws at the end. In anguish's bloom, we cling to fallen boughs, Our roots entwined with hers, unyielding, condemned.

Ritual

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