Architeuthis Dux
The hunter thrust forward to prove its place in the system it had been born to balance.… Read More Architeuthis Dux
Category: Prose
He can’t paint.
He says the reasoning is broken. That the day is the world’s time. That the night is his time. Time that he uses to paint. Even though he can’t, apparently.… Read More He can’t paint.
The Bloody Note
One year, eleven months and thirteen days. That’s how long this road has been. You walk forwards, sure of yourself and ignoring the evidence, for so long that when it finally hits you, the real battle is with yourself rather than the entity beyond. But there are a few things to say first, a little… Read More The Bloody Note
Proximity
Being in such close proximity with the man is an unsettling experience, certainly; you have a business proposition and, despite his various rumoured eccentricities, you made a point of contacting him, He has the money, so they say, and what you have to offer is, at least according to Mackers, right up his avenue of… Read More Proximity
High
[Themes of suicide] It’ll be the third time. There’s a system now, one I follow. Never wrote it down, just worked it out, each module in succession, alibis made, positions decided. Not hard. I’m more manipulative than I thought. Can make people like me, despite everything. Look at me, and I’m pale. I’d write… Read More High
His Skull
“Yeah, you dug my body up. Didn’t ask for you to display my head in your fucking house. Who wants that?”… Read More His Skull
III: From Lull
Is it so fucking hard to simply be accepted by someone? Or is it just my destiny to walk through this wretched earth both hating and hated? No, “hated” is far too strong. And “accepted” is also wrong. Strike both of them. Shit. Is it so hard to just mean something to someone – there, that sounds… Read More III: From Lull
I: Air of London – I’m stuck on the ceiling
I am stuck on the ceiling. Do I know how I got there? No. I forgot my own name. Several times. But I consider there are more… pressing concerns. I’m stuck on the ceiling. I think I said that before. But I’m up where they hang the stars, with their long poles, and I wonder… Read More I: Air of London – I’m stuck on the ceiling
II: Human Carriage
I don’t want to touch what has the Driver’s spit on it.… Read More II: Human Carriage
I: Human Carriage
The collateral whispers becomes screams as physicalities take form.… Read More I: Human Carriage
Automatic Ema 