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watching silent hill: ascension on tubi & thought abt the only woman to ever exist.

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" THE EYES ARE THE WINDOWS TO THE SOUL. " / " WHAT IF I DON'T HAVE ONE ? "

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Mary Oliver, from "October", Devotions

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Evil and pink 🩷

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ophelia by miklós ligeti

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The Color Of Pomegranates (1969) Dir. Sergei Parajanov

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THIS WAS RELATIVELY NEW. NIGHTS WERE USUALLY SPENT RECKLESS, POUNDING OUT HOURS DOING EVERYTHING DIVINITY SCORNED UNTIL DAY BROKE ANEW; WEEPING THE BENEFITS OF NIGHTS WELL SPENT CHASING MEALS & BLOODLUST————BUT THIS.. THIS WAS THE ONLY TIME THE BAT DIDN'T FIND USE HER FANGS; AT A SMALL DINER AT THE END OF THE STREET, A SOLEMN STROLL BEFORE RETURNING TO THE COMFORT OF A PLUSHY COFFIN, BED.

& SHE'D BE LYING IF SHE SAID SHE DIDN'T ENJOY CONVERSATION WITH YOU. COSPLAYING HUMANITY INBETWEEN THE BOUTS OF HORROR, BLOODSHED & DESOLATION FELT NICE. WAFTING IN THE FLICKERING NEON LIGHTS OF A DINER, NOSE FILLING WITH THE SCENT BEGINNINGS OF MOLD TAKING PLACE IN EVERY CORNER OF THE ROOF, CLOTHES FAR TOO NORMAL FOR HER TO BELONG IN, TONED DOWN LOCKS - LONG, TIGHT CURLS PINNED UP BY A BLACK BANANA CLIP, SOME OF THE MORE LOOSE RINGLETS RIMMING HER FACE, LINING ABNORMALLY SHARP & GRACIOUS FEATURES... SHE LOOKED IMPOSSIBLY IN-PLACE. ASIDE FROM MAGENTA IRISES THAT SHE'D NO DOUBT PASS OFF AS EXPENSIVE CONTACTS. & WITH THOSE ROSÉ SETS SHE FIXATED ON NOTHING OTHER THAN... SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE ACTIVITIES.

IN OTHER WORDS, SHE BUSIES HERSELF WITH BOOKS. TURNS OUT DEVOURA LOVES TO READ & TONIGHT'S NIGHTLY MUSING... MARY SHELLEY'S FRANKENSTEIN. A LITTLE REDUNDANT FOR A MONSTER TO FIND FASCINATION IN A CREATURE BUT, WHO WAS GOING TO BOTHER BEAST WITH AN INQUIRY? SHARPENED CLAWS DELICATELY TURNED PAGE, BUSILY HUMS FOUND HER CHEST AS SHE LISTENED TO YOUR.. ISSUES. MORE OR LESS THE STRESS MOTHERHOOD BROUGHT. DROLTA, HERSELF, NEVER CARED MUCH ABOUT FOR MATERNITY. SHE NEVER SAW HERSELF AS A MOTHER, A CAREGIVER.. IT SEEMED TOO SELFLESS ? VAMPYRA DIDN'T HAVE A WORD FOR THIS. EVEN SO, SHE WAS HARDLY MAGNANIMOUS TO NON-TRANSACTIONAL RELATIONS... THEY STUMPED HER. AS DID THIS. HEAVIEST OF SIGHS LEFT BAT WALLOWING IN PITY, " very obvious, my dear. " IT'S IN YOUR FRIZZY, LOOSELY KEPT CURLS & FAR OFF STARE———THE WAY YOU SWITCH YOUR WEIGHT AROUND———THE BLOOD PUMPS & YOUR HEART SKIPS A BEAT AT THE SOUND OF OTHER CHILDREN ON THEIR NIGHTLY STROLLS———LIKE THEY'D SOME PLACE SHE'D MUCH RATHER BE.

" we ? " THAT BROUGHT FORTH A SMILE TO A PREVIOUSLY FOCUSED EXPRESSION. EYES TIPPING TO FIND YOU, SMIRK STILL PLANTED FOR A MOMENT MORE - SHE NEEDED CLARIFICATION, " we meaning... you & i or you & the little leeches ? " DRO' USED THE TERM LEECHES AS AFFECTIONATELY AS SHE COULD WITH DISTASTE SOURING THE SYLLABLES IN HER MOUTH. CHILDREN REEKED OF... STABILITY, PROMISES & RESPONSIBILITY. THINGS SHE WAS NO LONGER CAPABLE OF. THE THOUGHT ALONE MADE HER WINCE PARTIALLY AT NO ONE / NOTHING IN PARTICULAR. EYES STRAYED BACK TO HER BOOK, CLAW HOOKING OVER THE RIM TO SLIP THE PAGE; IN A HALF—MUMBLE, DROLTA UTTERED THE FOLLOWING, " children & their tethers.. you'd be lucky to get a week, no ? " THAT WAS RUDE TO SAY THE LEAST, BUT AGAIN, THE MERE THOUGHT BEING IN THE COMPANY OF SMALLER BEING MADE HER TEETH ACHE...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀@orifces,    ❝      you  work  too  hard.  live  a  little.      ❞ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀psalm:      hades  sentences  starters.

❛❛      heh.  was  it  that  obvious?      ❜❜        the  words  come  out  weary,  unintentional  on  my  part,  as  my  eyes  go  to  meet  where  drolta  sits.  a  welcomed  (  ?  )  new  addition  to  my  nightly  shifts,  an  enigmatic  woman  in  her  own  right,  one  i  can't  quite  read  but,  nevertheless    ...    when  she  comes  in,  i  greet  her. 

our  conversations  are  simple,  forever  on  a  need-to-know  basis,  the  way  i  like  it.  we  never  say  too  much,  always  saying  a  bit  too  little.    (    &  what  she,  or  i,  don't  know  won't  hurt  us.  that's  what  i  tell  myself,  at  least.    )    the  facts  behind  my  labor  is  another  thing  i've  kept  omitted.  while  she  knows  i  work,    &    i  run  myself  ragged,  what  she  doesn't  is  that  it's  all  for  a  singular  purpose:  to  run,  to  protect.  i've  been  saving  up  for  a  just-in-case  moment,  one  i  never  hope  comes  true—but,  if  it  does,  i'll  be  prepared.  at  that  point,  there'd  be  no  waiting.  i'd  take  my  children,  make  the  house  barren,    &    never  come  back.  i'd  go  somewhere  far  away.  somewhere  safe,  if  there  is  a  place  like  that.  i  lean  against  my  side  of  the  counter,  resting  my  elbow  on  the  red  painted  marble.

the  night  shifts  were  always  easier:    barely  anyone  came  in,    &    if  they  did,  they'd  never  stay  long.  order  a  thing  or  two,  finish  up,  then  leave.  by  the  time  i  know  it,  my  shift's  up,    &    i'm  racing  home.  drolta's  appearance  also  helps,  makes  the  time  passing  in  between  not  so  dull,    &    having  someone  to  talk  to  is  always  nice.    (    far  from  the  counter,  the  tv  plays  a  sitcom:  a  woman  slams  the  front  door  closed  with  her  foot    &    plops  down  on  the  couch,  exhausted.  a  laugh  track  plays,    &    she  prays:    just  another  day  ....  just  another  day.    )   

my  attention's  back  on  the  amaranthine-haired  woman,  my  cheek  burrowing  into  the  curve  of  my  palm.      ❛❛      i  don't  know,    before  anythin'  else  i'm  tryna  keep  my  babies  fed    &    cared  for.  safe.  workin's  the  only  way  to  get  that  done.      ❜❜      you  think  of  how  you  found  them:    unmoving,  beaten  within  an  inch  of  their  lives.  you've  never  felt  such  fear,  such  rage,  ever  since  you  watched  your  father    &    sister  perish  before  you.  your  finger  taps  on  the  counter,  lips  widening,  curving,    ❛❛      there'll  be  a  day  where  i'll  probably  quit  though    ...    when  life's  a  lil'  more  easier.  hehe,  we  could  go  somewhere  fun.      ❜❜

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Richard Siken, from "On Perplexity: Chrysanthemum"

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“Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.”

— Frank O’Hara, Mayakovsky

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ohmyzy_

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Boardinghouse (John Wintergate, 1982)

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A  STATEMENT,    MILD  DEFLECTION,    BROUGHT  FORTH  ANOTHER  NIGHTMARISH  CACKLE;    FOOLISHLY,   VOIDED  -  GIRL  MADE  A  STAKE  FOR  POWER,    WITH  NOTHING  TO  BACK  IT  UP. EMPATHY  WAS  A  VEIL  FOR  MONSTROSITY  INDEED———IT  ALSO  WADED  IN  WEAKNESS.   DEMONESS'    LAUGH  BOUNCES  OFF  TO  YET  ANOTHER  THREAT,       "    i  have  no  issue  slaying  a  thousand.   "    A  STEP  OR  TWO  TAKEN  CLOSER,    TOWERING  LEVIATHAN  LACKED  SPACIAL  AWARENESS  OR  PERHAPS  THE  WANT  TO  CARE  ABOUT  CLOSE  CORRIDORS. APATHY  LEAN'T,   'TIL  FACES  WERE  A  MERE  FOOT  FROM  EACH  OTHER.   HISS——JUST  ABOVE  A  WHISPER,      "    my  greatnesssss  is  non  -  reliant  on  your  little  opinionsss. i'm  not  a  lunatic;    i'm  a  herald.   my  strength  doesn't  rely  on  words  &  false  hopesss...  only  action.   "    AND  ACT  SHE  MUST.   THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  A  METAMORPHOSIS  STARTED,    TIPS  OF  MAGENTA  LOCKS  BEGAN  TO  LICK  FLAMES...   HELLFIRE  &  BONE  BEGINNING  TO  CLAIM  HER  CROWN.    "    can  you  say  the  same    ?    "

such   an   erratic   symphony   :   color   the   dour   empath   threatened.   the   condemned   amusement   dragged   against   the   hybrid’s   tympanic   membrane   with   violence.   the   girl   of   black   mist,   of   dormant   omnipotence,   rendered   fragile   by   oath   of   pacifism…   a   rag   doll   played   with   by   sharp   nails. how   long   could   she   keep   her   cage   locked   ?   superbia   loomed   over   the   threatened   appendage,   met   the   flame   with   flickering   darkness   and   empty   -   void   glow   stare,   mouse   looking   up   hungry   teeth,   as   if   this   could   help   her   escape   the   labyrinth.   “   i   have   a   thousand   tongues   to   replace   this   one.   your   threats   will   not   accomplish   anything.   ”   inconsistent,   erratic   the   fragmentation's   partial   release   to   defend   itself,   it   stings   raven’s   guts   enough   to   retain   her   complexion   and   sane   tone   “   you   did   not   answer   my   question.   ”

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YOUR  LAUGHTER  MADE  HER  FLINCH,    SURPRISE  TOOK  HER.  JOY  WASN’T  FOUND  HER  STATEMENTS,    AT  LEAST  NOT  TO  YOUR  FAVOR.   YOU’RE  AN  STRANGE  PERSON,    SHE’S  ALREADY  MAKING  NOTE.   "    dunno  what  i'm  talking  about...   "    CURIOUS  MIMICRY. CREATURE  THAT  DOESN'T  ACCEPT  /  ACKNOWLEDGE  THEIR  NATURE;    ANOTHER  PECULIAR  TRAIT,    ODDITY...   EARNS  A  MINOR  HEADTILT  FROM  PREDATOR.   AND  WHY  IS  THAT ?    GRANTED  THEY  DID  NOT  ACHIEVE  MUCH  GREATEST  WITH  …  PRIDE  IN  WHAT  THEY  WERE———THEIR  SMELL  REEKED  OF  GASOLINE  &  WRATH  /  THEIR  BLOOD  WAS  TAINTED  &  OF  NO  USE  TO  HER  &  YES,  YES,  YES,  PEOPLE  LOST  THEIR  VALUE  WHEN  THEY  WERE  NO  USE  TO  HER  BUT…    THEY…    THEY  SHOULD’VE  THOUGHT  DIFFERENT.  HUH…    MUCH  TO  DISSECT    THERE.   BUT  INSECURITY  WASN’T  HER  CONCERN,  WAS  IT ?  NOR  WILL  IT  EVER  BE.

INBETWEEN  WISHY—WASHING  THOUGHTS,    VAMPYRA  LETS  YOU  WALK  PAST  BUT  YOU  DON'T  STRAY  FAR. THE  AIR  AROUND  HER  LACKS  LIFE,  STALE,  FRIGID  &  SO  VERY  COLD. HER  PRESENCE  IS  SO  HARD  TO  FORGET:    SHE'S  TALLER  THAN  YOU,  STRONGER,  &  MEAN———SO  FUCKING  MEAN———GROWING  MORE  VISCOUS  AS  TIME  WENT  ON    (  blame  the  bloodlust  or  the  cover  of  the  evening  woodland  ).   AS  ANY  HUNTER  WOULD  BE  WHEN  THEY  WENT  ALLOWED  A  PROPER  KILL.   DAGGERED  CLAWS  CAUGHT  THE  COLLAR  OF  TEENAGE  RESISTANCE,    PLUCKING  &  PULLING  TO  MAKE  SURE  YOU  STAY  STILL.   BEAST  SPEAKS,    FRAMED  AS  A  SUGGESTION  BUT  IT  IS  ANYTHING  BUT  LIGHT—HEARTED,     "    i  think  you  should  leave  my  meal  alone. "

SHE  CAN  HEAR  LATEST  VICTIM  IN  THE  TREES,  WHINING...   IF  ASKED,  SHE'D  PROBABLY  BE  ABLE  TO  PIN-POINT  EXACTLY  WHERE  HE  WAS  LOCATED.   EYES  CLOSED,    NOSED  TIPPED  TO  THE  NIGHT  SKY;    THE  AROMAS  OF  HIM  CLINGING  TO  LIFE  WERE    …    STRONG  TO  SAY  THE  LEAST.  SPIN  BROKEN,  PARALYZED  FROM  THE  WAIST  DOWN..   A  LEFT  ARM  WITH  A  HAIRLINE  FRACTURE,    IF  HE  DID  LIVE  HE’D  STRUGGLE  WITH  PHANTOM  PAINS  HIS  WHOLE  LIFE.   A  PUNCTURED  LUNG,    BREATH  GROWING  SWALLOW & SHAKY,    LUNGS  FILLING  WITH  SWEET  SANGUINE..   A  SLOW  TRICKLE  PAIRED  WITH  HOPELESS  WHEEZING  AS  HE  ATTEMPTED  BREATHING.   HE  WAS  DAMAGED  GOODS  BUT,    ALL  THE  MORE  SWEETER  FOR  DROLTA'S  THIRST.   EYES  DARED  TO  OPEN  AS  THE  SWEET  SCENT  OF  ICHOR  FILLED  HER  EVERY  SENSE.   WORDS  NOTHING  BUT  A  WHISPER,  TAPPING  SO  DELICATELY  AT  A  RIGHT  EARDRUM,    “    your  man  is  on  his  way  out  anyhow…    poor  thing  is  bleeding  from  places  he  didn’t  even  know  existed.   “   &  SHE—BEAST  WAS  REVELING  IN  IT.   YOU  COULD  SEE  IT  IN  SHIMMERING  EYES,  THE  WAY  PINK  CRYSTAL  ORBS  CAUGHT  THE  BEAUTY  OF  HANGING  LIKE  JUST  RIGHT.   TEETH,    MANGLED  IN  SOME  WRONG  WAY..   DRIPPING  WITH  OTHERWORLDLY  TOXINS,    SALIVA  &  BLOOD  NOT  BELONGING  TO  HER.   “    you’re  not  very  good  at  your  job,  are  you ?    ”   THIS  WOULD’VE  BEEN  HER  SIXTH  KILL  THIS  EVENING——————SAFE  TO  SAY  THIS  TOWN  HAD  TO  BE  ADDED  TO  HER  LIST  OF  EVENING  OUTINGS  WITH  THE  TERRIBLE  PROTECTORS  &  ALL.   CONDESCENDING  WORDS,    ALMOST  A  BLEND  OF  HALF-GIGGLE  &  PATRONIZING,    "    aww... is  it  your  first  night ?    "

now  this    ...    this  was  annoying.    as  you  run  through  the  woods,    chasing  after  bloodcurdling  howls  and  streaks  of  radiant  pink,  you  feel  your  skin  prickle  with  heat.  when  dealing  with  the  beasts  you  dealt  with,  a  hostage  being  a  part  of  the  package  was  a  given,  an  expectation.  more  often  than  not,  the  poor  soul  would  be  dead  once  you  got  there  and  your  job  would  be  somewhat  easier.  (    made  it  better  to  focus  when  there's  only  one  thing  to  worry  about,  right?    )  but  other  times,  there  were  those  who  remained  alive,  or  worst,  those  who  stayed  alive  and  didn't  listen  to  a  thing  you'd  tell  them.  be  quiet,  you  admonish,  and  they  scream.  stay  put,  you  command,  and  they  run.  as  if  you  weren't  trying  to  help  the  dipshits  survive.  really,  you  almost  had  half  a  mind  to  just  stop  yourself  right  there  and  turn  back  around  —  the  life  of  some  old,  hard-headed  jackass  gradually  becoming  all  the  more  trivial  the  more  you  kept  running.  almost.  unfortunately,  things  always  have  a  way  of  not  going  the  way  you  wished.  the  feeling  of  being  watched  is  what  stops  you.    peering  up  into  the  sky,  you  find  the  thing  holding  the  man  in  its  grip,  staring  down  at  you.  

tenebrous  onyx  meets  blazing  magenta,  but  you're  the  first  to  look  away  —  sight  focused  on  the  sniveling  man  in  her  grasp  (    or  was,  before  he  was  tossed  unceremoniously  into  the  forest.  you'd  be  more  than  lucky  to  find  him  alive,  especially  from  falling  from  a  height�� like  that    )  before  switching  back  to  her.  the  closer  she  gets,  the  more  you're  able  to  piece  out  by  grace  of  moonlight  and  proximity.  she  looks  pissed  (    expected,  since  you've  interrupted  her  little  snacktime    ),  but  more  important  than  that,  she  looks  ...  off.  humanoid,  but  not  human.  the  look  she  gives  you  makes  the  hair  on  your  neck  stand,  something  only  the  monstrous  could  achieve.  your  eyes  narrow  —  what  the  fuck  was  she?  your  head  tilts  in  thought,  but  the  more  you  try  to  piece  together  the  puzzle  that  was  the  woman  in  front  of  you,  the  more  the  facts  of  the  situation  sit  uncomfortably  on  your  shoulders.  still,  you  try  to  piece  and  connect  until  her  words  snap  you  from  your  contemplation,  your  gaze  snapping  straight  to  her  face.

in  the  face  of  adult  rage,  teenage  defiance  wins  out.      ❛❛    virtues?    ❜❜      you  laugh  —  was  she  fucking  joking?  virtue,  she  chirps,  as  if  you  were  virtuous.  the  smile  on  your  face  grows,  and  your  hands  rest  on  your  hips.      ❛❛      get  fuckin'  serious.  as  if  i'd  waste  time  teachin'  you  virtue.    ❜❜      with  eyes  focusing  past  her  (    the  area  where  the  man  resided,  alive  or  dead    ),  you  start  to  make  your  way  past  her  before  her  next  few  words  bring  you  pause.  your  head  pivots  to  her  direction,  the  look  on  your  face  incredulous.  i  heard  your  kind  was  fun.  your  kind...      ❛❛    dunno  what  you're  talkin'  bout,  lady.  now,  i  gotta  go  pick  up  the  dumbass  you  just  tossed,  mind  steppin'  aside?  i'd  rather  not  get  into  another  fight,  it's  late,  y'know?    ❜❜

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i need all four ♡