pharossubterra

[pharossubterra]

[pharossubterra]

[pharossubterra]

Addams Family Values (1993)

[pharossubterra]

A bridge too far, Alex Schönberg

[pharossubterra]

Maybe 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 just underdressed 🥶

[pharossubterra]

[pharossubterra]

So for the last few months I’ve been working on a music project with friends.

I write, arrange and do drums and other instruments I’m not good at they pick up the slack. We bounce ideas and melodies around. It’s shaping up to be a indierock/dreampop record. It’s very much a queer album and written from my personal experiences and life’s ups and downs. Can’t wait to share once it’s done.

[pharossubterra]

Hikaru Utada - Electricity (MV)

[pharossubterra]

Beyond the Black Rainbow (2010) dir. Panos Cosmatos

I went to another world, Rosemary. I see what others cannot see. I looked into the eye of God. And it looked backed through me. It looked through everything.

[pharossubterra]

Made an account if anyone wants to interact.

[pharossubterra]

Hungry

She returns to the wood a stranger, and is stranger for her returning. She knew it once, perhaps as you did, as a place of childhood explorations. Sticks as swords and hollowed logs as castles and caves. Stolen moments between the cruelly structured expectations of children. There is no structure expected of her now.

Perhaps she knew it as some others have, as a breeding ground of adolescent fervor. Stolen kisses against rough bark. Seconds of passion in mulch and bracken. Cool winds and dew on bare flesh, heated from within by roiling desire. Now she is here alone.

Perhaps, in some ways, she once knew it as all of us did, as the girl who braved the path to grandmother’s house. Her cloak of red and her basket of treats. Axes and blood, and fur and fury and eyes too large for their bonetted faces. Upon her return, there is no whimsy, harsh or softened, in the wood.

However she once knew it, the wood had become lost to her. Years spent in cities of stone and shelter had weakened her to the wild. Turned her heart to obedience and structure. Where once the wood was an escape from drudgery, it now holds things too terrifying and repulsive to ignore. The air is different. The very quality of it. Sulphuric yellow light filtered through mist and trees, bark split like a thousand dead eyes. The rot beneath the loam and fall of leaves is bitter in her nose and in her gullet and all around her insects feed and die, and feed and die, in cycles unseen but felt.

Her shoes are the first things to be discarded, scuffed and plush and produced en masse by people she had and would never give a thought to. Small black vestiges of a life she will no longer lead but still, in some adherence to a civiliity she is fighting against, she removes and places them neatly at the base of a tree and steps further into the wood’s embrace.

The floor of the wood, laden with leaves, is home to a thousand corpses. Carcasses of mammal and bird, rotten to bone and meat, no longer acceptable as anything worthy of consideration to beauty. As she walks, she feels the decay swell and press between her toes and beneath painted nails, and she is revulsed, as perhaps you would be, thinking of the rot and its proximity to her flesh. But she does not stop. She continues on, one foot ahead of the other, and wills herself to become accustomed to the disgust.

As she travels, her world decays around her. Appointments, and expectations. Lovers, and friends, and bosses, and institutions, and a million tiny, complicated worlds that intersect and overlap her own tiny, complicated world are snuffed out in quiet apocalypses as she leaves them behind, knowing she will never return. As they die, she feels emboldened. Fingers, red at the tips, pull at her blouse and bra, and unbutton her jeans and slough off the dead skin of her dead life. The thousand eyes of the wood watch on, uninterested in her nudity.

She is laughing now, returning to the wild. A wicked sound that stretches on into a cry, the last shout of civility leaving her as her body curls forward and her fingers claw at dirt and carrion. She’s moving fast. Faster than you can follow, now. She returns to the wild, where once all came from. It calls to her and she revels in it, tearing away her own humanity in strips against rock and bark and branch, to reveal a hunger.

Yes, a hunger. Simple, and perfect in its simplicity, she hungers in the wood. Her polished teeth ache for flesh, and soon, she will feed.

[pharossubterra]

2024 + HORROR

[pharossubterra]

[pharossubterra]

[pharossubterra]

[pharossubterra]

i LOVE bi guys bc they tell you they are bi within the first 5 minutes ❤️👨🏻