#can I embrace the sawtooth fore edge

[nerdierholler]

Probably going to print out my text block today. Here’s some comparisons to the first one I bound. The first time I was intentionally trying to make it as short as possible with little text and small margins so I was dealing with fewer signatures. This is over 100 pages longer (150 ish -> 280 ish) but (I think) looks more similar to a “real” hardcover typeset.

Debating just printing it on regular printer paper because I can’t find letter sized paper in the right color and weight that won’t require trimming and I’m not sure I’m ready to drop $50 on the right paper. Though for 1000 sheets it’s not a bad price for specialty paper.

[criohyer]

the wolf grin returns to her behind a sleet of graphic red, glistening with vibrant gory hue even still when swathed against the impossible night of his endless nil, the vast boundless void. she's seen the butcher; he seethes and springs alive at her, slices and dices open the sternum, reaches in with gangling fingers and grabs handfuls for the taking, the slow and gradual seasoning 'fore wiry sawtooth for gangrene to settle in.

she's unsure when the battle-axe is pierced into her skull, unsure when to trust; unsure when he is going to lunge. if he's soft, enmating the warmth she can curl up into like a kitten back at the cabin or if he has intent to burn, ripen her for the slaughter. she runs to his long limbs, hoping for the tenderness. his lumbering spindly chassis, long and rawboned to be her armour, her wine's chambré embrace.

the crude sunlight of his own distasteful bitterness disturbs them when he wants to feel her from the inside, cling his tongue on her own, their adept bodies sultry and calescent, scalding each others skin searing marks of reminder. the astringent far too biting to forgive after the taste she left in his mouth on the freeway, unable to fall into her with the ease he might have wished. he needed her to know his pain until she begs him to stop. the very moments before the oncoming collision, the dire dread, the shuddersome look on his features to lose her and how quickly it could have happened.

the way she touches; she stains skin like red wine, fleeting fingertips linger on her victims senses. if she weren't all soft edges, alluring to the touch, without jag he might have been cut enough for her to inject into his veins. one, two, three grab the boiling kettle from the stove and cauterize the infection from spreading. nine inch nails, he hammers their bodies together.

his touch is a dark body of water; traveling the black sea without a compass and as it covers you all you see is the night, two dark moons dancing as they reel you in spluttering on the wet bog in marshes, lathery froth spumous running down sides of maw. rushes and reeds winding at the ankles, one unseen quick meteoric tug and you're under. you're so far under.

his firebrand apertures are burning, red hot and throbbing with the fighting urge to spill. irritated, inflamed his steel gaze sheathes her stubborn to not show the caving and instead he bites the inside of his cheek so hard his mouth fills with blood. even so that he wants so badly for it to release, tell her how he fell between the cracks, spewing out the pain that pumped through his gut.

gape beaming eyes stare at where she pressed the blade to her chest, directly situated at her heart, her words bleed into him, ooze into his mouth like the red residue already on his lips, he wears it like a hunter, only distilled to purification on hers like a martyred saint. he is frozen in time, the atmosphere grows stagnant as his point of focus is only her. he closes in around her, ensure she feels like the sun and he will circle her, revolving around her. she is his centre at the toss of roses.

close enough to breathe down her neck, he swipes his thumb across her bottom lip to wipe the wet smeared carnage off. "i want your heart katerina, if it is mine like you say and you will put yourself on your knees for me to beg me for my forgiveness and ask me for a bloodshed exchange, why would you try to kill us?"

"i don't want to kill you, i don't want to drain you of your every drop of blood and rip out your heart, i want you to hurt because i want to know that you're feeling what i am. did your heart become riveted in place, i could have sworn i didn't have a pulse. there wasn't a hole in me, it was in the earth. it hurt so bad, detka. i thought you were dead. i thought you killed us. as soon as i woke up, something died in me. i know it. i might as well had been in your casket with you, because you were my death. i died with you."

( ( ( ) ) )

step right up, step right up onto the stage of death. blindingly yellow-tinted bright bulbs on the end of the floors, below red drawn curtains, light the commencement of the show to the audience; present the worthiness of grandeur and wonder filled eyes; show where the attention should be centre stage that await applause.

the freak show acts smell of roasted peanuts, cotton candy laced with hallucinogens and popcorn swimming with oil and cigar smoke. shots of liquor, red-lipstick stained wine glasses. gunpowder incendiaries which peppered senses; belched flame, flesh-grazing shells. smells akin to freshly laid asphalt, seared carcass strewn, terror and adrenaline rush in vision. smothered ‘neath it all, the stale, wet reality of carnage. tittering clown sounds of burbling laughter from the red smeared lips colored in the paint that wish to entertain when they fire the cannons at sundown.

all mixed with luxurious flashy guests wearing expensive fabrics, all attired in suits or elegant dresses. the venue is a crossbreed between circus and orchestra theatre, not to mind that however as it continuously shape shifts every night.

suspend all fruitless mortal disbelief, the beast is afoot. his imaginings paint naught but a pig’s head piked, eyeless sockets sunken, flyblown and festering.

in long strides he returns to the office once sought after clothing, hands her a new dress she can wear. she mentions that she is performing, his eyes dart to the violin in its case; eyebrows heavily furrowing, his penetrating gaze lands back on her. a soft chortle rises from his chest at the amusement of it, hoping she isn't serious. "are you insane? there's no way you're performing in this club. i'm not going to risk that, i don't want you anywhere near these people."

"that's calling for my heart to be on the line. a death wish, veritably. i don't trust any of these people once they know about you. not only that, but i'm not exactly just running any nightlife venue. it's dangerous, katerina. you can't be apart of it."