entryentropy-blog

[entryentropy-blog]

i just thought of this, but the closer someone is to acting as someone of authority to inessa, the more of a chance they have of inessa disrespecting them and treating them like a joke

[entryentropy-blog]

Brigitte Bardot in a nearly empty Paris movie theatre. Circa 1960.

[entryentropy-blog]

no offense but if u perceive me thats Ur personal problem

[entryentropy-blog]

‘ do you forgive me? ’ the type of chaotic energy that this question FROM INESSA exudes is such terrible energy....................... girl ( stanley ) u kno hes ( inessa ) lying to u.......... DSJAKDSA the terrible energy this emits.........

the house of broken angels meme.

he remembers only the absolutes of pain, as an existence in a crushed body, moments before he was reset. he sits in his office cubicle anew, but the concept still remains, far after the existence. this statement, this inquiry, this taunt, only confuses him further. the motives of her, of them, were unknown to him far beyond the reaches of the narrative he was the lead character of — inessa possessed no empathy in her, if she even had the ability to. in this haze of paths & perils & parables, it is the only thing stanley remains sure of. spite for the narrator chokes him.

there is a part of stanley that would like to accept the question as real. there is a part of stanley that would adore to be blissfully ignorant, to slick his hair & find out what happened to his co - workers that day with the unknowing of evil & the believing of good will. but, the truth is that there is no truth to this world. his co - workers are gone, taken, spoken into un - existence. he is not an office worker but a lab rat & a doll to play with. he is not human, but — 

❝ get on with the narration. ❞ stolen breath. the lack of stanley’s response says everything.

[entryentropy-blog]

:     EMPLOYED427     /     rag doll stanley .

ordinary is the absence of anything ordinary here — abnormal is the parable, & it would be if it were not. these statements are the only that anchor stanley to this surreal state of mind, of place — her voice a harbinger of this hypothesis. it is grim, but stanley does not know anything else. ( he cannot comprehend anything else. )

❝ it could. you may be god, here, but you are not allknowing — ❞ threading brittle hand through curly strands of dark hair, stanley is bitter; he steps back as he speaks, but his figure goes rigid as he collides with somebody - something. stanley’s gasp is swallowed by the void of his disquiet, the void of her heart as he twists systematically to see the human doll in front of him.

there is a lack of any features on it, & a lack of any humanity in their collective presence. ( child & doll, character & narrator. ) ❝ & neither a good writer. how creative. ❞

                    to   forsake   is   to   fill   with   what   should   not   fill ,          to seek misery where misery does not exist .     to wish pain into an existence that should not be pained .     &   she supposes stanley is a thing that shouldn’t be pained ,   for the world he lives in doesn’t find necessary suffering .     she wonder just how numb he is ,   or just how medicated this environment sings to him .     is this truly misery if he has nothing before ?

                    the   leveling   plane   resounds   of   her   voice .          never breathy ,   never heavy ,   all non - existing .          ❝     i am no god .     here ,   i am the presence of belief .     who’s  to  say  that  i  truly  exist ,   that i’m not a manifestation of your own mind ?     ❞          the cracking gift of her laughter that feels like the tears sitting in your throat ;     imagine the feel of her fingers digging into your skin before the anticipation of blood that never quite comes .          ❝     i do not need to be a good writer to have you suffer .     ❞          tone almost delights sympathy in the shape of a tongue before the teeth drag , &   when the teeth dig ,   there is no startled yelp from the animal of grief ---     who are you to cry when all you are :     is .     you offer your skin to teeth   &   cry when it is ripped apart .

                    mechanical  movement  is  the  grievance  of  entertainment .     for her ,   always show she controls with the twitching fingers of a puppeteer .     every few paces ,   it should still   &   jolt with every soundless giggle drawn on her own lips .     arm extends ,   body tilts awkwardly .     the gait is the stalking of a predator in the disguise of shivering prey , &   docile is the tides that graces .          ❝     come ,   time waits for no one ---     is what would most humor me to say .     time waits for me , &   i wait for you .     ❞          which takes in as a lie in the more latent form of curiosity ,   knowledge she   &   stanley know .

[entryentropy-blog]

ok guys so i just had a breakthrough  so in the beginning of the song pompeii by bastille it sounds like theyre saying eheu a bunch of times well eheu is latin for ‘alas’ or ‘oh no’ and iM STILL LAUGHING SO HARD BECAUSE ITS CALLED POMPEII AND MOUNT VESUVIUS DESTROYED THE FUCKIN CITY OF COURSE THEY WOULD BE SAYING OH NO 

[entryentropy-blog]

                    her  father  is  a  funny man ,          with the glaze in his eyes &   exhaustion sewn .     she reaches a coo ,   a giggle , &   reach is what she does .     her fingers skim before he recoils ,   flinches so harshly she has a reoccurring thought that his skin might break from the sheer pressure .     almost feral ,   backed into a corner without apprehension , &   she’s told a story abandoning the sinners who’ve left their love behind .     she reminds him that sinners are he ,   are she ,   are fathers ,   are daughters .     they balance into the scale ,&   sometimes she finds the disgust living on his lips beautiful          (     just as he would think a smile twists itself on her face unnerving .     ) .     BUT  THEN  SHE  IS  REMINDED  HERSELF :     brothers are keepers ,   are reels that title .     her father becomes the sun , &   hands quivers as it snaps away from his wide blues .     bubbling ,   bubbling :     her  body  is  spilling  repeated .     a shudder of thoughts before the stretch of her smiles ---          mischief has made her ,   descent has whispered so sweetly to craft her veins of nothing .

                    pristine  shoes  dirtied ,          retreat is a gift he’s prayed to the divine above          (     though she’s reminded him of his lacking faith ,   a deceiving thing .     ) .     joints crackle without sound ,   mouth spews without venom , &   her smile is frightening to the man who’s seen it lively ,   then empty ,   then full .     full of fire that sparks in quiet wildlife :     who has lived within her ,   who has changed her ?     glass broken that she caresses ,   tugs her lips into a display seen uncomfortably ,   a country stolen from under his nose before a revolution .     HE  IS  UNSETTLED  BY  HER .     /     JUST  AS  HE  SHOULD  BE .          ❝     father ,   father . . .     ❞          song mocking sung ,   a melody deafening &   static .     where is she ?     where has her affection gone ?          ❝     i’ll clean this ,   don’t worry .     prepare dinner , &   don’t make a habit of spilling milk on the tile .     ❞          it begins as something sweet &   then strange ,   oddening revelation of a rupture before breathing dismissal .

[entryentropy-blog]

inessa will, whenever she really just wants to, will act like she doesn’t understand the language another is speaking to frazzle them for a second & then like towards the middle of the conversation she’ll act like she can understand them more & by the end of the conversation she’s probably speaking it better than they are

[entryentropy-blog]

i don’t think inessa has a lot of solid beliefs yanno?? nothing about her is really solid like what she has is what she decides in that moment & a lot of her development relapses again when she somewhat comes to a fork instead of maze paths. at this area of her life it’s a waiting game until she finally solidifies to something more permanent because her control right now is calculated but very much unwilling in motivation

[entryentropy-blog]

inessa’s prolonged presence distresses elderly people.

[entryentropy-blog]

Her liquid gaze held fated depths, her full lips invited touch. There was power, too, in her air of stillness: She might have been an Archangel, something winged and terrible come to rest.

Stephanie Baron, from “The White Garden: A Novel of Virginia Woolf,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[entryentropy-blog]

Some of your problems will inevitably stem from your refusal to view other human beings with the same complexity and nuance you see in yourself

[entryentropy-blog]

Saying something risky right before you leave the conversation

[entryentropy-blog]

i would just like to remind everyone that inessa is a mechanic out of all things...

[entryentropy-blog]

:     EMPLOYED427     /     rag doll stanley .

❝ everything is just an accident — a happy accident. ❞ / @entryentropy!

                    she  isn’t  sure  whether          her face is a slate of blankness or amusement ,   &   much isn’t at matter with the drag of his projected tone .     projected  to  her .     the trance of anything else is dreadfully faint ,   &   the thrum of his story is but a whisper ,   A  SNAP ,   to her own fingers .          ❝     ah ,   everything is ,   isn’t it     ?     ❞          her presence must be an anomaly to the toy prancing ,   rather without enthusiasm if added in dry flakes .     she waits .     waiting . . .     if he would turn his head ,   then he’d notice the signature of her playtime in the shape of a mannequin     :     FACELESS .

                    ❝     but  happy  accidents  won’t          happen with a guide ,   right     ?     ❞          inquired wrath without intent is proposed ,   &   that hand of her own matters little .     this  is  a  game .

[entryentropy-blog]

                    SHE  IS  HUNGRY ,   or she isn’t .     she feels ache ,   &   the more she resolves to look within the dimness of herself ,   she finds the ache   insufferable   &   less than treatable .     it is a restless ,   grievous thing that sits under her skin .     it  makes  her  want  to  sleep .     for that is delighted misery ,   &   she will become a descent into what cannot be controlled     (     that   not   even   she   could   control   within   her   own   terms .     she   finds   it   exhilarating .     ) .     to gift herself mercy would be   to  toss  an  object   to the rotting wild ,   to find light in the dimness of her own skin .     this is her own skin     :     this cannot be her own skin .

[entryentropy-blog]

inessa likes her father well enough ,   but she will always call him a joke .     inna doesn’t like how she calls their father a joke   &   has this really subtle   &   gradual way of disrespecting him .