#not even aesthetically ugly its just pages upon pages

[everyones-least-favorite-bard]

always on my mind

[consumare]

aesthetics for the entities,  part i.

the buried. weighed blankets.   drowning.   the comfort of a loved one’s weight.   soil & sand piling on top of you.   hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.   lonely subways.   feeling like one with the earth.   a layer of dirt on you.   looking for something below.   cardboard boxes & tiny pillow forts.   hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.   entering your final resting place before it kills you.   a storm drowning you out.  dust & sand speaking to you.

the corruption. insects.   a close imitation of the natural course of life.   an illness in a community.   a rag that dirties more than it cleans.   an untreated wound. containment. breaching containment.   unbreathable air.   fungi.   one with what you love.  one with what loves you.   a corpse unfit for a glass case.   hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings & legs.   honeycomb patterns.   an ecosystem within a person.   a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.   blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.   something pushing up the sewer.   a mask to keep something out.   trypophobia.   knowing you belong.   death weeks after impact.   fever.   food that’s gone off.   pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

the dark. shadows.   lights that turn off by themselves.   the feel of cold marble.   a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness & seeing nothing. touch of something you can’t see.   hiding under a blanket.   white,  clouded eyes.   months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.   unscrewing lightbulbs.   black matter.   light sensitivity.   a starless night.  time before light was created.   a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.   withering plants.   a world without a sun.   footfalls in an empty house in the night.   a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.   desperate reach for a flashlight.   clothes that hide your shape.   staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

the desolation. senseless pain.   warmth of faith.   wax where skin should be.   a blazing fire.   heat without a source.   the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.   touch that scars.   coffee cup that never goes cold.   scorch marks on wood.   inescapably warm air.   a child born in fire.   death of a loved one.   a candle without a flame.   an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.   plastic explosives.   burning hot metal.   sweating in an interrogation room.   never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.   a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.   the agony of hellfire displayed as art.   auburn hair.   little clothing in cold weather.   a ripple in the air.   trying to cool down in vain.

the flesh. body horror.   factories.   a hunger for something more filling.   never quite happy with how you look.   the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.   a very good meal. the liquid of a perfect steak.   fighting your worst survival instincts.   a twisted bone.   long nights working out.   more than one heart.   appearance that shapes like clay.   a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.   knowing to fear pigs.   the butcher’s shop.   plastic surgery.   something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.   unwitting cannibalism.   forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance & appearance only. teeth marks on skin.   scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.   fenced in with one way to go.

the end. the last page of a book.   nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.   the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.   flatlining in a hospital.   gambling with death.   as old as the universe.   soul & spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the pleas of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know & being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.   skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.   someone’s life for yours.   an eternity spent alive.   the cost of your selfishness.   watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death. numbness to fear.   words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.   multiple near—death experiences you refuse to die from.

the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have.   eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.   witness reports.   hidden libraries.   eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.   a tragedy you can’t look away from.   endangering yourself for knowledge.   truth.   analog records.   a symbol of an eye.   a watch tower.   compulsion to document.   turning on recording devices without thinking about it.   saving the evidence before the person.   extracting information.   truth or dare,  without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.   books that speak to you.   coordinated shelves.   cataloguing systems.   voyeurism.   police report you can’t put down.   reasoning your way out.   smell of old papers.   books that read you back.

[baya-ni]

SHADOW’s Queer Coding

I first started exploring this idea of Sk8′s implicit queer rep (as in stuff other than explicit same sex intimacy) in this post.

I know we like to joke that Hiromi is the Token Straight of the protag gang, but I argue that he’s as much an example of queer rep as any of our main characters, albeit in a less conventional and fanservicey way.

So that’s what this post is gonna be, an analysis of Hiromi/SHADOW as a queer figure, how his character fits the Jekyll/Hyde archetype as a metaphor for queerness and The Closet, the similarities between SHADOW as a skatesona and early drag, and how his character represents a larger problem of exclusion within queer fandom spaces.

The 1886 Gothic novella The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson is the origin of the phrase “Jekyll and Hyde”. What I’m calling the Jekyll/Hyde archetype, refers to the same thing; it refers to duality, to a character who is “outwardly good but sometimes shockingly evil” (as described from the novella’s wiki page).

And the Jekyll/Hyde dynamic has also long been associated with Queerness. The antagonism between Jekyll and Hyde as two sides of the same person resonates with many people as similar to the experience being in the closet, and many many scholars have written about this queer reading of Jekyll and Hyde. Do a quick google search if you don’t believe me.

Hiromi experiences his own Jekyll/Hyde duality through his SHADOW persona, which seems to entirely contradict with Hiromi’s day to day personality.

Whilst Hiromi is sweet, romantic, and generally very cutesy, SHADOW is mean-spirited, sadistic, described as “the anti-hero of the S community.”  And though these two personalities seem entirely at odds, SHADOW doesn’t exist in a vacuum, he’s very much a part of Hiromi. In the show, this manifests as SHADOW’s sabotage moves being all flower themed, as Hiromi works in a flower shop, and how he’ll “step out” of character when playing babysitter to the kids.

Below is passage from an essay titled, “The Homoerotic Architectures of Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” which reminds me a lot of Hiromi’s character, such that I think his character arc can be read as an allegory for coming out and self acceptance.

The closet, here, is a space not only for secrecy and repression, but also for becoming; it is the space in which queer identities build themselves up from “disused pieces” and attempt to discover the strength needed for presentation to the world. The closet is both a space of profound fear and profound courage—of potentiality and actualization. (Prologue)

Unlike the kid/teen characters, the show’s adult characters all lead double lives. When they aren’t skating, they have day jobs. Kaoru is a calligrapher, Kojiro is a restaurant owner, Ainosuke is a politician/businessman (but tbh his job is just being some rich dude), and Hiromi works in a flower shop.

But of the adult protagonists (so not Ainosuke), Hiromi compartmentalizes the most.

Kojiro leaves his face totally exposed such that he can be recognized both on and off the skate scene. Kaoru at least covers his face, but his trademark pink hair and constant use of Carla doesn’t make it very hard to connect the dots between him and CHERRY. He’s also always with Kojiro in the evenings, so if you don’t recognize him as CHERRY when he’s on his own, you certainly will when you see him interacting with Kojiro/JOE.

Next to these two, Hiromi seems the more adamant at separating his Work from Play.

Even when he’s been clearly found it, he still tries to deny that he and SHADOW are the same person. Miya even uses this to coerce Hiromi into helping him and the boys:

I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that the separation between Hiromi and SHADOW can be interpreted as a metaphor for being in The Closet. As SHADOW, he leads a secret life, one characterized by an tight-knit underground community with a vibrant night scene, where he behaves in ways typically frowned upon by larger society. He worries about being found out and judged by the people close to him.

But in Ep 4, the walls of his Closet begins to come down, or in this case is literally imposed upon by other members of his community, by its younger members, who don’t feel the same need to hide their passion for skateboarding or lead the same kind of double life.

We then see the line between Hiromi and SHADOW begin to blur.

He becomes less of an antagonist, and instead the audience sees him become a mentor and “mother hen” figure for the younger skaters. Later on in Ep 4, we see him casually interacting with the other protags in full SHADOW mode, not as an “anti-hero” but as a friend.  In Ep 6, he acts as a babysitter for the kids, and we see him totally comfortable appearing both in an out of his SHADOW persona throughout their vacation.

And I think that this gradual convergence of Hiromi and SHADOW will culminate in this tournament arc.

There’s something more personal that’s driving SHADOW to do well in this tournament. It’s not just for bragging rights or his pride as a skater, but the results of this tournament is going to have some kind of greater impact on Hiromi’s personal life. Personally, my theory is that Hiromi is using this tournament to prove to himself that he’s worthy enough to ask his manager out on a date.

Hiromi is no longer compartmentalizing, his two lives are overlapping and influencing each other. Recall the essay quote I cited earlier:

The closet... is the space in which queer identities build themselves up from “disused pieces” and attempt to discover the strength needed for presentation to the world... of potentiality and actualization.

This is exactly the case for Hiromi. Through skating, he is piecing together the disparate parts of him such that he can present himself to the world as a more unified and confident being.

And the show presents the very skating community that Hiromi has been working so hard to keep separated from his personal life- Reki, Langa, Miya, Kaoru, and Kojiro- as the catalyst for that becoming.

That, my dear readers, is queer coding if I ever saw it.

But there’s probably gonna be people claiming something along the lines of “But SHADOW can’t be queer rep because he’s Straight!” And I assume that’s because he shows romantic interest in his female manager.

First of all, Bisexuality. Also Ace/aro-spec people. And second of all, SHADOW is Hiromi’s drag persona.

And before anyone can say anything about how Hiromi can’t do drag because he’s straight (assumption) and cis (also an assumption) uhhhh no, fuck you.

Drag didn’t start with RuPaul’s Drag Race, that’s just how it got mainstream. And it’s also how it got so gentrified and transphobic. You heard me. But anyway.

Drag is, and has always been, first and foremost about exaggerated, and oftentimes satirical, gender presentation and performance. It’s about playing with gender norms through artistic dress and theater, not so much to do with sexuality or gender identity.

Literally, what’s the difference here?

SHADOW is a persona of exaggerated masculinity with a punk aesthetic. Regardless of his sexuality or gender identity, Hiromi’s gender performance as SHADOW is drag- that makes him queer representation, change my fucking mind.

Queerness is more than same-sex romance, and by extension, good queer representation is not limited to canonized gay ships. The very word Queer, in it’s ambiguity, is meant to encompass the richly unique experiences of everyone within the LGBTQ+ community.

In my opinion, Queer =/= Gay. I mean, they’re colloquially the same yes and even I use them interchangeably. But for the purpose of this post, they’re not the same, and that’s to argue that Hiromi/SHADOW’s lack of acknowledgement as queer rep illustrates a larger issue of exclusion within fandom.

I mean, this is something we all kinda been knew, but in the case of Sk8 specifically, there are a two main reasons why I think Hiromi is rarely acknowledged as queer rep.

1. He’s not shippable with another male character

Fandom favors mlm ships when it comes to what’s considered good queer rep. And the ultimate mark of good queer rep is explicit acts of romance or intimacy between two male characters. Unlike with any of the other characters in the show, we can’t point to Hiromi and automatically clock him as gay, especially because he expresses romantic interest in a woman.

So by default, he’s less popular, because “Ew Straight People” amirite /s.

2. He’s not attractive

This is really interesting, because like JOE, Hiromi is a beefcake.

But fans don’t thirst over him the same way they do over JOE. Granted, the show really plays up JOE’s muscles in a very strip-teasey way that literally encourages viewers to find him attractive. By contrast, Hiromi is pretty much covered head to toe and he paints his face in theatrical makeup- the point is to look scary, not attractive.

In essence, even though Hiromi engages in “queer behavior” through his SHADOW persona, his queerness isn’t palatable.

But I also think there’s some pretty insidious undercurrents of fetishization going on here, of both Asian people AND gay men. Which is... a whole other thing I really don’t have the capacity to unpack completely.

But basically, Hiromi doesn’t fit into any of the popular BL archetypes so he’s less likely to recognized as Queer. Relatedly, he’s also less often subjected to a fetishistic gaze as other characters. I mean...

So again, fans just don’t find him as appealing. Attractive characters are always more popular than ugly ones.

And I’m sure there are a lot of people who just don’t care for Hiromi’s personality, that’s fine, he does act like an asshole sometimes. But this post is meant to illustrate that queer rep takes multiple forms, and unfortunately I think a lot of media just tends to fall back on stereotypical portrayals of queer people for the sake of broader appeal. And by consequence, the fandom’s idea of what constitutes queer rep narrows to same-sex romance, usually between two cis gay men.

With the release of Ep 9, I know a lot of people queer people are going to find representation in the Kojiro’s whole “unrequited love” thing. But personally, I feel more represented by Hiromi, his journey of self-acceptance and subversive relationship with gender- that’s what resonates with me as a trans person.

And I think it’s important to see that kind of less palatable type of queer representation more acknowledged in fandom, and in Sk8′s fandom especially, because I know the demographics of this fandom lean heavily queer.

But that’s all for now, lemme know what you guys think :)

[ectoamerican]

aesthetics for the entities,  part i.   bold what applies to your muse,   italicize  what applies situationally or only in certain verses.   rest of the fears here.   this is based on a horror podcast ;  potentially triggering & / or upsetting content ahead!   pt. ii here.  

i.  the  buried.          weighed blankets.   the comfort of a loved one’s weight.   soil & sand piling on top of you.   hugging so hard it hurts a little.   cramped hiding spots.   letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.   walls pressing in on you.   not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little. dragging the last second before you have to inhale.   lonely subways.   feeling like one with the earth.   a layer of dirt on you.   looking for something below.   cardboard boxes & tiny pillow forts.   hands calloused from digging.   knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.   entering your final resting place before it kills you.   a storm drowning you out.   dust & sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.          insects.   a close imitation of the natural course of life.   an illness in a community.   a rag that dirties more than it cleans.   an untreated wound. containment. breaching containment.   unbreathable air.   fungi.   one with that you love. one with what loves you. a corpse unfit for a glass case.   hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings & legs.   honeycomb patterns.   an ecosystem within a person.   a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist. an ugly death where a glorious one is owed. blood on a handkerchief.   parasites.   something pushing up the sewer.   a mask to keep something out.   trypophobia.   knowing you belong.   death weeks after impact.   fever.   food that’s gone off.   Pandora's box.   death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.         shadows. lights that turn off by themselves. the feel of cold marble.   a beaked creature in the night.   the difference between seeing darkness & seeing nothing. touch of something you can’t see.   hiding under a blanket.   white,  clouded eyes.   months without going outside during sunlight.   pouring dark.   unscrewing lightbulbs.   black matter. light sensitivity. a starless night.   time before light was created.   a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.   withering plants.   a world without a sun.   footfalls in an empty house in the night.   a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.   desperate reach for a flashlight.   clothes that hide your shape.   staying unperceivable.   winter months in the north.   an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.           senseless pain. warmth of faith.   wax where skin should be.   a blazing fire.   heat without a source.   the third or fourth tragedy in the family.   losing everything you’ve ever held dear.   so much to live for,  gone so soon.   the smell of gasoline.   touch that scars.   coffee cup that never goes cold.   scorch marks on wood.   inescapably warm air.   a child born in fire.   death of a loved one.   a candle without a flame.   an altar in the middle of the woods.   plastic explosives.   burning hot metal.   sweating in an interrogation room.   never touching a loved one.   disfigurement.   a kiss that ruins you.   the scent of burning fat.   a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.   the agony of hellfire displayed as art.   auburn hair.   little clothing in cold weather.   a ripple in the air.   trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.          body horror.   factories.   a hunger for something more filling.   never quite happy with how you look.  a very good meal. the liquid of a perfect steak.   fighting your worst survival instincts.   a twisted bone.   long nights working out.   more than one heart.   appearance that shapes like clay.   a bag of bones. bone broth in a pot.  the butcher’s shop.   plastic surgery.   something alien inside your body.   a hunger in the gaze laid upon you. unwitting cannibalism.   forgetting what you used to look like.   being admired for your appearance & appearance only. teeth marks on skin. scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.   cooking in scarcity.   fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.          the last page of a book.   nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.   a skeletal hand.   the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.   existential pain.   ivory dice.   flatlining in a hospital.   gambling with death.   as old as the universe.   soul & spirit tied to an object.   a dream where you die.   closing your eyes for the last time.   the pleas of a dying one.   knowing the fate of someone you know & being unable to prevent it.   a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.   skin that’s freezing to the touch.   an act of desperation.   someone’s life for yours.   an eternity spent alive.   the cost of your selfishness.   watching your own burial.   causing your own burial.   the smell of death. numbness to fear.   words from someone gone.   meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.   multiple near—death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.          googling something you shouldn’t have.   eureka moments.   the unforgiving lens of a camera.   witness reports.   hidden libraries.   eyes of different colours.   feeling of being watched.   a death recorded in tape.   a tragedy you can’t look away from.   endangering yourself for knowledge.   truth.   analog records.   a symbol of an eye.   a watch tower.   compulsion to document.   turning on recording devices without thinking about it.   saving the evidence before the person.   extracting information. truth or dare,  without the dare.   a thirst for knowledge.   books that speak to you.   coordinated shelves.   cataloguing systems.   voyeurism.   police report you can’t put down.   reasoning your way out.   smell of old papers.   books that read you back.

tagged/stolen from: @siamxshade​ tagging:  anyone who reads this!

[sagamemes]

aesthetics for the entities, part i.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.�� inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiitng for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambiling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

TAGGED BY:   TAGGING:  

[aestheticreposts-galore]

aesthetics for the entities, part i.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!    ( repost, don’t reblog! )

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you. not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways. feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you. looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts. hands calloused from digging. knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out. dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain. warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold. scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire. death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you. the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial. the smell of death.  numbness to fear. words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from. endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you. coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism. police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

[fuckin-georg]

Kravitz Went Down to Fantasy Georgia

It was scorching hot in Fantasy Georgia when the stranger came. A quiet, sweltering August day. The kind that discourages any sort of movement whatsoever. Most of the residents of Fantasy Georgia had taken to sitting on their doorsteps, casting cold spells as much as their spell slots would allow. The non-magic users of the town quickly sidled up to the magic users, aiding with fans and anything cold they could find. Business owners had their doors opened, and a drow woman, the owner of the local bar, brought out fresh lemonade to anyone who wanted it. On the steps of a building on the right side of the street, a young elven woman played a fiddle, providing a welcome entertainment. A human man leaned against the stair railing, watching her play with a mix of admiration and love.

The stranger seemed to materialize out of the horizon line, melting into reality like a desert mirage. His dark suit, dark hat and dark horse certainly stood out in the hot Fantasy Georgia sun, but the stranger wasn’t even breaking a sweat. His handsome face was set in a stern expression, and he rode with a purpose. Little did the people of Fantasy Georgia know how much of an act he was putting on.

Kravitz was in trouble. The Raven Queen was kind and patient, much more patient than Kravitz ever was with himself, and she had been giving him dozens of second chances to catch the liches he’d been pursuing for months. These red robed specters have been giving him quite the chase: through the mines of Phandalin, winding through the Felicity Wilds, and even to the moon and back. But finally, he had them tracked down to this small desert town. Soon this wild goose chase will be all over.

As soon as he enters the small town, all eyes were on him. A burly, bearded man standing outside of a carpentry shop paused his work on a wheelchair to look at him. Kravitz tipped his hat towards him, and he nodded his head back at him. A dwarven man sat outside of the local church, as two young children played in front of him. From behind the building where the bar was, a young elven man carried a box of food, but stopped in his tracks as he saw Kravitz. When he noticed Kravitz looking at him, he smirked and winked, and continued walking. Kravitz blushed and coughed loudly. That was the last thing Kravitz needed right now. He was so close to the liches he could feel it. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by a very handsome elf. Not right now, at least.

Finally, Kravitz came upon the young fiddle player and her admirer. He couldn’t help but be impressed at her skill with a violin. He had always appreciated good music in life and in death, and she obviously had a gift. He dismounted his horse as casually as he could, which meant that he fumbled with his footing a little bit as he went to the ground. He heard a snicker behind him, and then a voice.

“First time riding a horse, city boy?”

Kravitz heard the music stop, and saw the woman looking at him. He chuckled.

“Was it that obvious?” He silently cursed himself for his ridiculous accent. It was an old habit he was trying to stop, but old habits die hard. Pun intended.

“Nah, just a feeling. Your giant black suit definitely doesn’t give anything away. Seriously I’m sweating my ass off just looking at you.” She turned to the man sitting next to her. “Babe, you wanna get us some lemonade from Ren?”

“Sure thing.” The man kissed her cheek and got up to go to the bar. The woman put her fiddle down and stood up, smoothing the wrinkles on her clothes. “So what brings you here?”

Kravitz paused for a moment, trying to find the right words.

“Business.”

“Ah I see. Trying to open a fantasy Hot Topic?”

Kravitz gave another chuckle as he looked down at the ground. “No, nothing like that. Doesn’t seem like that would be a big seller here.” She laughs at that. Another pause. “Actually Lup, my business here is more…personal.” And as he looked at her, his eyes glowed red, and for a moment, he let his human form flicker to his skeletal form, and then back again. Lup shivered in the sun.

“Oh.”

Kravitz reached into the air and a book materialized into his hand. He opened it and flipped through it until he found the page he was looking for.

“Lup, you are under arrest for necromantic crimes against the Raven Queen and the natural world, including but not limited to: becoming a lich, evading capture, and for the use of arson against multiple reapers.”

Lup looked affronted. “Now, wait a sec there, ghost rider, y’all are already dead. I don’t think a little fire is gonna do any real damage.”

Kravitz snapped the book shut, pointedly ignoring her comment. He lifted the book back into the air, and it dematerialized. With his other hand, he summoned his scythe.

“You couldn’t run forever, Lup. Now you can come quietly with me and we’ll do this properly, or it can get very ugly very fast.”

It was at that opportune moment that Lup’s boyfriend decided to come back, precariously carrying three glasses of lemonade that he was intently focused on not dropping.

“Alright. I didn’t know if you wanted any lemonade, so I got us three just in ca-“

He looked up and saw Lup, the stranger, and a scythe. The stranger turned his head toward him and flashed his red eyes once more. He brought the book back and opened it to-

“Barry Bluejeans: multiple counts of necromantic crimes against the Raven Queen, including becoming a lich and evading capture multiple times. You are also under arrest.” And the book disappeared once more. Barry just stared dumbfounded at the stranger.

“…So no lemonade, then.”

Lup put her hands up, seemingly looking to negotiate a deal.

“Alright, listen, ghost rider. Can I call you ghost rider?”

“I would prefer if you called me Kravitz.” He growled a little. He definitely was not in the mood to negotiate with these undead abominations who refuse to go in quietly, if they ever go in at all.

“Alright, skeletor. You’ve been following us for a while now. Let me ask you something. … Have you ever actually seen us do any harm to anybody else?”

Kravitz gripped his scythe harder and brought it closer to the liches. Barry flinched a little bit, but Lup stood unwaveringly.

“Your presence is a danger to everyone on this planet. Now, my patience grows thin.” His eyes began to glow again.

Lup’s eyes darted around, seemingly looking for an out, when her eyes landed on something peeking out from behind Kravitz’s back. Hey eyes widened.

“Wait wait wait.” She pointed to his back. “You play, too?”

This was enough to halt Kravitz for just a second, and he glanced behind him at the violin case strapped to his back. “Yes. I’m rather fond of the violin as well. Small world. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He began to raise his scythe.

“Let me play you.”

And now, Kravitz was listening. “Beg your pardon?”

Lup looked relieved that Kravitz had finally paused in his mission. She continued.

“Let me play you. One fiddle vs another. Best player wins.”

And oh. Lup had hit Kravitz in his weak spot. He couldn’t resist a good gamble. Especially one that he had such an advantage on. Nothing against Lup’s rather good skills, but he doubted that she, at one point, was first violin in the most famous orchestra on the planet. Kravitz chuckled and dematerialized his scythe.

“Alright. Best player wins. If I win, you and Barry come with me. No resisting,” he gave Lup a stern look. “No fire.”

“No fire. And if I win?”

Kravitz thought about it for a minute, and then put his left palm out with his right hand covering it. He pulled his right hand straight up in the air, as if he were pulling a string, but instead of a string, he manifested a fiddle made entirely out of pure gold. It glimmered magnificently in the sun, and Lup’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“Holy shit. Deal.”

Kravitz looked around and saw an old hickory stump in the middle of the street. He walked towards it and laid the golden fiddle on it. By this point, most people had been watching this back and forth intently, and Kravitz wondered how many of them knew that their dear friends and neighbors were undead beings. No matter. He turned back around to Lup and Barry. Lup had went and gotten her violin and was walking towards Kravitz. She seemed pretty confident and Kravitz almost felt sorry for her.

They took their positions. Kravitz on one end of the street, Lup on the other, just like an old-fashioned shoot-out you would see in those old Fantasy westerns. Kravitz reached behind him and pulled his violin from behind him. It was completely black, and the base was shaped like a skull, to match the entire aesthetic he had going on. It was a gift from the Raven Queen when he first became a reaper. He took out his bow and looked at Lup, who bowed to him.

“Reapers first, m’dude.”

“With pleasure.” And Kravitz positioned his bow across the strings, paused for a moment, and began to play.

His first movement across the strings ignited a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time, so much so that it spilled out of his fingertips and sent sparks into the air. His red eyes glowed with passion and power, and a mighty ripple went through the town and its residents. Music had been Kravitz’s passion in life, and it continued in death. He played a dark tune that made the ground rumble, as if the souls of the damned were threatening to break through. Kravitz finished on a truly impressive glissando and brought his bow down with a flourish. Not a soul stirred as all of the residents stared at Kravitz in awe. Then, the silence was broken.

“FUCK yeah, bone daddy!”

Kravitz whipped his head around and saw the handsome elf from earlier shouting at him from the porch of the bar. Kravitz blushed again, but his newfound confidence from his recent playing encouraged him enough to wink back at the elf. Lup, however, was not as pleased.

“Taako, what the FUCK! You used to be my brother!! Support me, please??”

The elf, whose name was Taako, at least had the decency to look guilty.

“Sorry lemme try again. … Go Lup! Woo!” Taako did not sound nearly as enthusiastic as he did for Kravitz. Lup rolled her eyes and turned back to Kravitz.

“Not bad. For a dead guy.” She smiled. “The sparks were real cute. Now, let me show you how it’s done.”

And she began to play.

Hundreds of years in service to the Raven Queen is proof that Kravitz physically does not have a heart anymore. That still didn’t stop it from warming as soon as Lup began to fiddle. Kravitz’s playing chilled the town. Lup’s warmed it back up. There was love in every note and it filled every person with a sense of hope. Her passion for something…or someone…was so obvious and evident, it seemed to be a magic all on its own. It didn’t even take the whole song for Kravitz to realize that he’d been out-fiddled. When Lup finished up, the entire town cheered, and Kravitz actually had to stop himself from cheering too. Barry ran over to Lup and embraced her, a huge smile on both of their faces. Kravitz bowed his head and began to walk back toward his horse, ready to leave town, when…

“Wait a minute, ghost rider. You’re forgetting the last part.”

Kravitz turned back around, and Lup had her fiddle back in hand, ready to play again.

“What next part? You won, fair and square.”

Lup laughed. “No no no. Now,” and she played a chord, “we play together.”

Kravitz cocked an eyebrow as Lup looked at him expectantly. “C’mon! Play with me!”

And Lup began to play again, a jovial dance tune. Kravitz looked at her. He wondered why he didn’t just strike her down when he had the chance. What in the world had compelled him to take this bet, and not just bring in the two liches who had been causing him so much trouble? He could do it now. He could just rear his scythe back and end them here and now. He could…

Maybe it was the long journey he had. Maybe it was the elf who had been flirting with him. Maybe it was the thrill and joy of the music that he hadn’t felt in a long time. For whatever reason…

Kravitz played with her.

Their two different music styles weaved so wonderfully together: Kravitz’s low, otherworldly sounds, Lup’s full of life and love. Before they knew it, they were playing like old friends and partners. The townsfolk had begun to clap in rhythm, some even dancing in the street. Barry had somehow (probably with magic) pulled a piano outside and began to play with them as well. It was the most fun Kravitz had had in the mortal world in a long time. He and Lup were laughing and so was Barry and for the first time, Kravitz was making mortals happy, and not bringing death and pain to them. It was thrilling and wonderful. One song turned into two, and then into five, and pretty soon, Kravitz, Lup and Barry had spent the better part of the afternoon giving an impromptu concert to the residents of Fantasy Georgia.

The concert had winded down to a halt right around sunset, when people were just too tired to dance, and, in Lup’s and Barry’s case, too tired to play. Kravitz sat with them, and finally got around to having that lemonade from earlier. They sat on the steps that Kravitz had found them on earlier.

“I haven’t had that much fun in a long time,” said Kravitz.

Lup looked at him with a smile. “Yeah. You’re not so bad once you finally let loose.” She took a swig of lemonade. “And you’re a pretty fucking good player.”

Kravitz smiled too. “I should hope so. I wasn’t first chair at the Neverwinter Orchestra for nothing.”

“No shit!” Lup looked impressed. There was silence as the three of them looked at the sky. Kravitz sighed and turned to Lup and Barry.

“Look. I’m gonna need to talk to you guys eventually. About you being liches and everything. You can’t stay like this forever. Liches are…incredibly dangerous beings.”

Barry spoke up. “We know. We…we knew the risks when we first became liches, but…you have to understand. We were coming from a place where we encountered…” he looked at Lup nervously. She shrugged as if to say “Might as well tell him.” “…we encountered death more times than we ever would like to admit.”

Lup popped in. “We stopped a major apocalypse happening here. Of course, nobody knows anything about it because…well, we stopped it.”

Kravitz blinks a couple of times. “Wait, you guys stopped…the end of the world?”

Barry grimaces. “It’s a long story. Us and a couple of other people here…we’re not really…from this world?”

Kravitz could feel a headache forming. This was a lot more complicated than he thought. “Hooo-kay. I’ll…I’ll take your word for it for now. We need to talk about everything, eventually. How you’re able to be so calm and collected for being liches to start. But I do have to get back soon. The bottom line is we really can’t have liches on this planet.” Lup and Barry look nervously at each other. Kravitz suddenly has an idea. “Look. What if I talked to my goddess about you two, and we set up a meeting where you explain everything to her. What I could do is…talk her into letting you become reapers. You’d do everything that I do and possibly could still have residency here with your family.”

Kravitz looked expectantly at Lup and Barry, who looked extremely surprised. Barry spoke up first. “Woah. That’s…that’s a better proposition than I thought you were gonna say.” Lup then said “Why are you being so nice to us?”

Kravitz fiddled with his glass of lemonade and avoided eye contact with them. “Well, to be honest, you reminded me of how much I enjoy making music with other people. It’s been a while since I’ve plated with other people.” He paused. “Plus, I would very much like to play with you guys again, and I can’t really do that if you’re in the Eternal Stockade.”

Lup smiled wide. “Fuck yeah, ghost rider! We’ll be a trio of reaper musicians! Fear the Reapers! That’s our name. Don’t argue with me on this one, my names are fucking perfect.”

Kravitz laughed. “I still have to talk with the Raven Queen tho. But I’ll be in contact with you.” He stands up and turns to them with his hand outstretched. Barry takes it.

“Will do, Kravitz. Thanks for…y’know, getting to know us and not taking us in right away.”

Kravitz smiles and then goes to shake Lup’s hand.

“Oh, NONE of that, bones.” And she forgoes the handshake and goes right in for a hug. Kravitz is taken aback for a few seconds before he reciprocates. Lup lets go and says “You’re pretty much our friend now, so there’s no getting rid of us. Plus I’ve already made an Fantasy Instagram for our band. You can’t back out now.”

Kravitz shakily laughs. “Oh, I’m gonna have so much explaining to do to the Raven Queen.” He walks over to his horse and mounts it, ready to head out. “Barry, Lup, it’s been an absolute pleasure, and I look forward to our meeting. I’ll um…actually hold on. Do you have Stones of Farspeech?”

“Yeah.”

“For sure.”

Barry and Lup pull out two stones hanging around their neck. Kravitz waves his hand and the stones glow for a couple of seconds before returning to their normal state.

“There,” Kravitz said. “I’ve attuned your stones to mine, so when I have the meeting set up, I’ll contact you.”

Lup looks at her stone. “Oh rad!” She looks back up at Kravitz and says “Take it easy, ghost rider! And thanks for the golden fiddle!”

Kravitz waves at Barry and Lup before riding down the street and out of town. Before Kravitz could get too far out of the town, he heard a voice shout from behind him.

“HEY! Hey woah woah woah! Bone daddy!”

Kravitz turned and saw the handsome elf from before (Taako?) riding toward him on his own horse. He slowed down right as he got to Kravitz and rode next to him.

“Think you were gonna leave without saying goodbye?”

Taako was even more handsome up close, and it threw Kravitz off so much that he forgot to keep up the accent that he’d been doing the whole time.

“Um…can’t say goodbye if we didn’t even say hello.”

Taako laughed a little hysterically. “Holy shit. That accent wasn’t even real?!” He tipped his head back and laughed for real. Kravitz secretly wanted him to keep laughing forever. “You’re a fucking dork!! Oh my god!”

Kravitz bristled a little at that. “I am not.”

“Um, yeah you are. You come in here all:” and at this, Taako, dropped his voice comically low and adopted a ridiculous accent. “Wotcher, I’m here to collect your bloody souls, mate. Wanna cuppa tea? Pip pip and all that!” Taako laughed again. “And then the accent isn’t even real!!”

Kravitz’s blush deepened and spread down his neck but couldn’t stop himself from laughing with Taako at how ridiculous it did sound. “Did I really sound like that?”

“Oh don’t worry, thug. It’s hella cute. I love a dorky man.” Taako looked at Kravitz and Kravitz looked back, both pretty enamored with the other. Taako held his hand out. “I’m Taako. Y’know from TV.”

Kravitz took his hand and shook it. “Kravitz. Not from…TV…what even is that?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Taako said as he let go of his hand. (Kravitz wished he didn’t.) “So, not gonna lie, your fiddle playing was pretty hot. You’re really good. I was almost scared for Lup for a split second.”

Kravitz puffed his chest out at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“Well,” Taako said, “even if you had tried to do anything to her or Barold, I would have stepped in and stopped you.”

Kravitz nodded. “Right, siblings, yeah?”

Taako leaned in with a smirk, “Twins.”

“Twins?” Kravitz sighed and put his hand on his forehead. “Oh my god, there’s two of you.”

“Yup.” Taako said with a pop on the “p.”

Kravitz shook his head. “No matter. If I had won and you had tried to do anything, I would’ve had to arrest you, too.”

“Ooo kinky. Buy me dinner first.”

Kravtiz choked on thin air, and Taako nervously laughed. “Woah take it easy.” Taako reached over and patted Kravitz on the back, and Kravitz died a second death. “You’re not on the receiving end of a lot of flirting, are you?”

Kravitz regained some composure and replied, “No, surprisingly enough. When people see me, their first reaction typically isn’t ‘Let me flirt with the man whose here to reap my soul.’”

Taako laughed, and Kravitz beamed. “I must be pretty special, then. One of a kind.”

Kravitz clicked his tongue and shrugged his shoulders, “Technically, you’re one of a pair, because of the whole twin thing.”

Taako gasped and clutched his chest dramatically. Kravitz laughed at his ridiculousness. “Krav, I’m WOUNDED. How could you say that? I’m clearly the better twin. Now you HAVE to buy me dinner to pay for that cruel insult.”

Kravitz laughed as he put his hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright! You drive a hard bargain.”

“Hell yes!” Taako pumped his fist into the air. “Wanna do 8 pm next Friday?”

“Sounds perfect,” said Kravitz, and in a stroke of confidence that surprised even himself, he reached over and touched the Stone of Farspeech still hanging around Taako’s neck. It glowed for a few seconds and became still once more. It was Taako’s turn to blush as Kravitz reluctantly pulled his hand away.

Kravitz said “Now, I can contact you anytime and vice versa.”

Taako took a deep breath. “Sounds like a plan, bone daddy.” He smiled. “See you then.”  And without another word, Taako turned back around and rode towards town, looking back to wave at Kravitz.

Kravitz waved a hand back as he watched Taako fade into the distance.

All in all, not a bad day.

[dutydreamed]

aesthetics for the entities, part i.  bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning. the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact. fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be. a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart. appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from. endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare. a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyeurism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

[edithmaslow]

aesthetics for the entities, part i.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambiling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyeurism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

[depressedoverdrawings]

Can you hear the tumult of our youth?

KazeKi is the first romance I’ve ever enjoyed, or rather, that I emotionally connected with, as “enjoy” is a funny word choice for a work that made me feel so miserable. Personally, I’ve never enjoyed media that focuses on relationships and love, were they movies, TV, or literature.

But after I discovered KazeKi, I found myself drawn to it, almost involuntarily so. It was as if a spell had been cast. I suppose what superficially drew me in, at first, was the art. It had the charm of retro manga (I absolutely love retro manga/anime looks, IMO they have so much more character than most modern anime and manga), the nostalgic elegance of the idealized upper-class XIX century, and the unrelenting beauty and cuteness of all the boys.

It was mildly surreal and highly entertaining to witness the seed of so many shounen-ai visual tropes: The flower motifs, the flowery poetry, the impossibly pretty boys in dramatic embraces and breathy kisses, the aggressive frenchness of it all. Even it was shocking to me how these elements, instead of striking me as the tired, sappy tropes I saw them as, were now all genuine and beautiful, somehow. Even those silly sparkles around pretty boys seemed fitting. I realized these weren’t tropes back then, but elements of a sincere artistc vision. However, while the art was mesmerizing to me, I came to realize that what drew me in deeper, and kept me anchored to KazeKi, were the themes explored, and the character-based drama, the very stuff I had always avoided.

Without getting far too personal about it, Kaze to Ki no Uta was the first romance that struck something within me, somewhere personal. Now, I certainly have never faced trauma and pain anywhere near to what poor Gilbert and Serge face in their absurdly depressing story, but I definitely wouldn’t call myself emotionally and sexually resolved and healthy, and once upon a time I was a closeted boy in a catholic school, so I guess there’s space for a little bit of self-identification. My coping mechanism to my personal woes had always been to just bottle them up and distract myself with entertainment and art. And that was exactly what I was doing, browsing music on YouTube, when I stumbled upon the KazeKi OVA’s soundtrack.

I found myself listening to this gorgeous arrangement of a Chopin piece, and thought to myself, staring at the angelic figure looking back at me, across the screen: “Gee whilikers, that’s sure is a pretty drawing of a pretty girl”. Then, after reading the comments, I found out that was a boy. As much as the “draw a girl, call it a boy” school of drawing pretty boys makes me groan, I could still feel it, that first hook of interest, stabbing me. As the slideshow enticed me with pictures of Keiko Takemiya’s gorgeous art, I found myself enamoured by it. It was a particular drawing that made KazeKi finally snatch me: that same boy, lounging angelically on some sort of abstract architectural design; in the background, a neoclassical vase flanked by two neoclassical girls, and, above and below, this stunningly beautiful vegetation. So much care, skill, and good taste, concentrated in just one image! I’d have it as a poster, if I could. So, I googled “Kaze to Ki no Uta”, unwittingly throwing myself in a rabbit hole I could not have prepared myself for. Trying to read it was in itself a journey, but, to sum it up: I managed to read it about as well as one can, if they don’t speak japanese and have no access to the spanish and italian translations.

It had been years since I had started feeling emotionally numb. My most extreme displays of emotion came in the form of quiet, teary eyes, reserved for those rare, impactful pieces of art, and those rarer moments of despair-inducing introspection that I couldn’t manage to suppress, but even those lasted little, as I fought to recover my composure. By the end of Kaze to Ki no Uta, I was a sobbing wreck, doing my best (and failing) to contain my ugly crying. Ugly crying, for god’s sake. I was ugly crying, actually sobbing like a kid, because of an yaoi manga. Crying in the shower, even! What kind of weeb had I degenerated into? It hurt. It deeply hurt, in a way I hadn’t been made to hurt in a long, long while. KazeKi had impacted me to the point that I wasn’t just sad, I was scared too, as the waterfall of emotion opened the path for that deeper, personal darkness to come out. And it did.

Now, I admit I’d been a little bit more emotionally fragile than usual right before I read it, due to the effects of the quarantine and the previous consumption of a highly depressing piece of media: Les Amitiés Particulières, which is probably even more depressing than KazeKi as it deals with a much more grounded homophobia-induced tragedy based in real life. Somehow, it didn’t impact me as much as KazeKi, however. Also, it was definitely what influenced my personal YouTube algorithm to recommend me the KazeKi soundtrack, so I wouldn’t know of KazeKi if it weren’t for Amitiés. But even then, it felt unnatural to, well, feel so much. I hadn’t felt this invested in and attached to fictional characters ever since I was a little kid, too young to realize those people in the TV weren’t real. In the following couple of weeks, I was crying over these boys, spending whole days feeling like trash, feeling mild anxiety spikes whenever I remembered about KazeKi, having (even more) difficulty falling asleep, and utterly failing to avoid thinking about my deep-seated intimate issues, all because of these dumb, pretty anime boys. Not even my trusty prayer of “they’re not real people, stop being stupid” worked. In an attempt to stop wallowing in this shounen-ai hell, I decided to consume a whole lot of escapist media while I deliberately avoided any activity related to KazeKi, be it reading the manga, listening to the OVA’s soundtrack, looking at fanart, or even just thinking about it. It “worked” for a month or so, but now I’m back here, wallowing in KazeKi’s painful beauty again, stalking the other seven people in the western world that seem to care about KazeKi, and distilling my thoughts in this bizarre textwall, in an attempt to work it out. If you’re one of those seven people, please don’t refrain from talking to me, if you feel like it! I’ve had just one opportunity to have a conversation about KazeKi, and it was in YouTube comments, for heaven’s sake. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m this afflicted by KazeKi due to its unrelenting, merciless, cruel beauty. Everything about it is presented in this assembly of pure beauty and lost perfection, this painful nostalgia that is present in its aesthetics of an idealized Europe which lives only in its surviving art, that is present in the story which ultimately tells us of the loss of love, and is present in the fact that the whole story is a broken man’s reverie about the past. Tragedy might make me sad, but tragedy with beauty will destroy me. Bittersweetness is just so more cruel than bitterness. And it was this masterpiece of sadistic bittersweetness that permanently broke something in how I deal with my emotions. Kaze to Ki no Uta touched me deeply, to the point of leaving a permanent impression, I’m afraid. I can count in one hand the pieces of art that have punched my soul in the face like KazeKi did. I am honestly flabbergasted over the effect it had over me. At first I felt embarrassed over being emotionally obliterated by a freaking shounen-ai, but I’ve since come to the conclusion that KazeKi is a work of art, a genuine, sincere work of art, deserving of the title. Now I just hope I’m not alone in being emotionally obliterated by this freaking shounen-ai. After everything they went through, the personal fights, the shaky development of their relationship, the undeserved ostracism at Lacombrade, Auguste’s demonic persecution, the escape; how could it be that Gilbert’s life would end in such a horrible way, and that Serge would be left alone to face the full, unbearable weight of his grief! Why?! Keiko Takemiya, you’re a vile sadist. You’re a genius, too, of course. But you’re a vile sadist.

I knew that a happy ending wasn’t going to happen. The horrible ending was a pretty early spoiler, really. Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t stop myself from reading on anyway, and I couldn’t stop myself from having an inkling of illogical hope. Even if my logical self knew a happy ending wasn’t gonna happen, it couldn’t prepare me for just how tragically their love would end, and how awful it all would feel, once I knew their full story.

It’s all the more bitter because of how close Serge came to saving him, too. Having escaped together to a place where they could’ve built the nearest thing to a normal life a gay couple could have, back then. But in the end, not even Serge’s love could mend Gilbert’s mutilated soul. Those boys deserved so much better, especially Serge. Serge, you sweet angel! You were created to suffer.

KazeKi really is a masterpiece in how it explores its extremely heavy themes and the minds of its characters, and how it flawlessly meshes that with perfect art. There are many moments in KazeKi that haunt me: Serge letting that bird go, Serge’s vision of Gilbert at the Lacombrade grounds, Gilbert running into the carriage, angel wings behind him; Serge laying alone on the bed in Room 17. I cannot look at those pages without tearing up and feeling this horrible feeling in my heart, and this feeling is literal: My heart actually feels heavy and constricted when I think about it, it can’t be healthy. Up until now, I thought “cri evrytiem” was just a meme. KazeKi has woken me up to the fact that bottling up one’s own personal issues will inevitably end with them exploding out, leading to something much, much worse. I am scared by the prospect of facing my personal issues. To me, they are horribly strong, and seem incredibly hard to solve, if they’re even solvable at all. I’m horrified by the prospect of facing them, working to solve them. I’m so scared, that simply thinking about it, right now, gives me this awful weight in my chest, and makes me want to cry, again. But I know now that I have no choice in this matter, as the only alternative is that abyss I dare not speak of, and one cannot return from. Melodramatic? Yes. But I did just read Kaze to Ki no Uta.

Thank you for getting this far, whoever you are.

I’m forever haunted by Serge’s words to his long-gone Gilbert, right at the beginning:

“Gilbert Cocteau, you were the greatest flower to ever bloom in my life. In the faraway dreams of youth, you were a bright red flame, blazing so fiercely… You were the wind that stirred my branches. Can you hear the poem of the wind and trees? Can you hear the tumult of our youth? Oh, there must be others who so remember their own days of youth…”

[drdumaurier]

aesthetics for the entities, part i.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!    ( repost, don’t reblog! )

i.  THE BURIED.   weighed blankets.  drowning. the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you. hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots. letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you. not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale. lonely subways. feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you. looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts. hands calloused from digging. knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out. dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  THE CORRUPTION. insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs. honeycomb patterns. an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist. an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief. parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  THE DARK.   shadows. lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see. hiding under a blanket. white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter. light sensitivity.  a starless night. time before light was created. a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun. footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should. desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north. an empty church.

iv.  THE DESOLATION.   senseless pain. warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline. touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold. scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire. death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives. burning hot metal. sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one. disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you. the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  THE FLESH.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out. more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like. being admired for your appearance and appearance only. teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  THE END.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand. the grip of the grim reaper around your throat. existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death. as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the plead of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch. an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial. the smell of death.  numbness to fear. words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  THE EYE.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape. a tragedy you can’t watch away from. endangering yourself for knowledge. truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document. turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you. coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems. voyeurism. police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

tagged by: @freakfragmcnted (thank yoouu <3) tagging: everyone who wanna do it!

[godsdw]

{ Patience }

aesthetics for the entities, part i.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!    ( repost, don’t reblog! )

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you. not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways. feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you. looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts. hands calloused from digging. knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out. dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption. insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain. warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold. scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire. death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you. the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial. the smell of death.  numbness to fear. words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t walk away from. endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you. coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism. police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

[saintsdeath]

aesthetics for the entities, part i.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambiling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

[royalreef]

aesthetics for the entities, part i.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colors.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloging systems.  voyeurism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

TAGGED BY:  yoinked!!! TAGGING:  @necrodanger, @pxppinmolly, @candyredmuses, @roskaarotta, @spicyred, @bustinbustinbustinbustin, @preparetodie, @fullofschmidt, @oberlinempire, @sacred-songbird, @jocknballtorture, @superbeaucoupdevisages, @pasttorn, @warraigoe, @sewshut, and you!! steal it, i dare you!

[cecaeliana]

aesthetics for the entities, part i.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity. ��a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiitng for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambiling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyeurism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

TAGGED BY:  no-one, i took it from the second half!  TAGGING:  anyong

[notstolen]

aesthetics for the entities. bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning. the comfort of a loved one’s weight. soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little. dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth. a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.  insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community. a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment. breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person. a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites. something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark. shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night. the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night. time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north. an empty church.

v.  the flesh. body horror. factories. a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone. long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery. something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you. cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

iv.  the desolation.  senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire. heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family. losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline. touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air. a child born in fire. death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods. animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal. sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one. disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair. little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

vi.  the end. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain. ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death. as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

viii.  the hunt.   sharp canines. sore calves after a run.  the scent of blood.  an adventure for the journey’s sake.  the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.  the woods.  the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.  being tracked.  fear of someone knowing your every movement.  hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started.  staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.  a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands.  barks and growls. focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands.  a mouth full of fresh blood.  catching the scent of something monstrous.  perfecting your craft.  peering into the dark and running after it.

vii.  the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t look away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism. police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers. books that read you back.

ix.  the lonely.   an apartment too small for a double bed. completely vacant streets.  waking up to see everyone gone. fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd. a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles. a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows. isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.  your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea. depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you. talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there. safety in being alone.

x.  the slaughter. a game of tag.   senseless violence.  a true crime hobby. improvised weapons.  blinding rage. intent to kill. a horrific day in a quiet community. a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger.  history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for.  war.  counting kills.  songs of soldiers. a knifeblock on the counter. a pool of blood. shellshock.  unspeakable horrors.  anger pushing you forward. unimaginable pain. not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster. an authority sending its lessers to their deaths. kill or be killed. unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection.  not knowing the names of who you kill.  too many to remember.  loss of hope.  there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.  losing possessions. losing people.  losing your sanity. corkscew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions.  a separate reality. walking through the wrong door.  delusions.  not knowing what your hands are doing.  blank spaces in documents.  hallucinations.  wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind.  blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound.  an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time.  a garish colour.  doors that open to nowhere.  lies.  an unnatural laugh.  jokes and tricks.  illusions.  a doorway.  a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible.  fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  the stranger. wax figures.  a close approximation of a human face.  a borrowed appearance.  a strange smell.  glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance.  a song of a choir.  the uncanny valley.  stitching yourself together. the colours of a circus.  a puppet with no strings. mannequins.  glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known.  someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities.  stolen skins. a machine imitating humanity. the anonymity of a service worker.  hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at.  a faked accent.  concealing.  forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices. images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiv.  the web.   undecipherable code.  a puppeteer holding the strings.  power over the weak-willed.  strings of fate. manipulation.  an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding.  cobwebs.  spiders.  a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater.  doing things without realising it. red string across a corkboard.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked.  power over the unreliability of chance.  watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny legs and fangs.  shady forum threads.  something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case.  a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web.  power of victimhood.  gullibility.  no control over your own decisions.  an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making.  scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

xiii.  the vast. open spaces.  carnival rides going up and down.  fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in a universe.  stomach turning at a drop.  fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.  the sway of a cable car.  an adventure holiday.  losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you. staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it.  loss of control. a fall that doesn’t end in death. glass floor to the view below. terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears.  a reach over the railing.  a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith.  motion sickness.

+  the extinction. the end of an era. apocalypse movies.  the alarms of warning systems.  a desolate landscape.  end of the world cults.  nihilism. the last written history. a changed world.  no survivours.  old prophecies.  a thousand predicted ends.  a new chapter.  an end with no escape.  catastrophes.  a calendar counting down.  breaking point.  overindulgence.

tagged by: stole it from one of my other blogs

tagging: @xwhiterabbitx, @lonexwolfe, @desolationtrial ( for ari since i think you might’ve done this for norman already? )