love

Hardly Even a Sonnet

Dipping – dancing – curling – swirling,

And a thousand other words for the actions of the heart

when its cantering pace is trebled by the next morsel of

attractive flesh sauntering its carefree way by.

And aren’t they all piti-

ful. An exacting standard for any romantic – hopeless

or otherwise – prepared to dip his quill to pen his passion,

And make the nib just dance across papyrus –

New hand-written font,

The curls and stresses of Es and Cs,

The swirls and tresses of Yous and Mes,

A stanza set apart – just like – the harsh arrhythmia

that unrequited craving brings—

 

… And whose curséd spell I remain beneath. Damn.

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IV: The True Freedom – Care [Lull]

III: The True Freedom – Need [Lull]

Caring – about people, about things, about life – is an act of maturity.
– Tracy McMillan

 

Truly passionate individual,

Whose own spirit drifts on unaccomplished,

By even the smallest of pinprick silences,

And whose eyes – forever glowing

from the heat of their unrewarded generosity and certainty –

will one day rot, just as all ours will, within the ground.

 

Just as mine will glaze with each step,

Concrete – to dirt – to concrete – to wasps’ nest –

Again and again –

Seeing the helpless and hungerful traveller,

His travel halted by the unquenchable hunger of starvation,

And I do not extend my hand,

My eyes will rot, just as all ours will, within the ground.

Just as the eyes with passion will.

 

So! -I hear. What, pray you tell, is the point?

To be so blunt and disfigured within yourself,

And to hold onto nothing more on your deathbed than the fact that

you were a Good Person on arrival. So

what? Go on your way, sitting patiently in the waiting room that is

Purgatory, a place you so drastically believed in, which,

of course,

is irrational.

I will continue on, isolated during my own tar-stricken death,

knowing I’ve done nothing but Ruin, and yet our fates are the same.

Cold, unflattering earth upon our round faces, bruised by death and patience.

 

So! -I hear. What, pray you tell, is the point?

Here is the point.

Be rid. I have spoken, often, to take away and never to give.

But to give is to do nothing. My sister is half of me.

To attempt, to even admit to trying to salvage some

goodness within herself, it is false. So, I urge her,

The words never leaving my head, never casting a bitter taste

to my grey tongue, Be rid. I’d whisper.

Follow your half. Learn to bask in yourself and to reject humility.

For no matter who winds up hating you

No one will hate you as much as yourself. And no

one will accept you as much as the earth to your body when you

inevitably fall from your rightful place in the Aurora and into

the fresh casket I will prepare for you. I will not die until you do.

 

Yes. I care, I care too much. Enough to destroy whole corners.

But you! -sweetness that you are, do not. Should not.

Begin when you awake. Cast yourself around the world

always stepping in the sunlight,

and never take your eyes off the moon. Beggars

will be invisible to you, corporations no more than

mere cancerous lumps as you sweep on by,

avoiding them. Like all. Twist yourself enough,

and leave me far below as you screw yourself in

like a jigsaw. This missing shade of navy,

Above,

Casting the most beautiful shadows on the hideous landscape

as you lie your serene head down on the velvet

not even whispering a good-night to your protector.

Then I will know I have succeeded.

 

Awake. Sister.

Cast yourself around the world.

Always stepping in the sunlight.

And never taking your eyes off the moon.

 

V: The True Freedom -Material [Lull]

III: The True Freedom – Need [Lull]

II: The True Freedom – Time [Lull]

 

They might not need me; but they might. I’ll let my head be just in sight;
a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.

-Emily Dickinson

 

Basic humanity –

Conservative, but,

Without the main heat of the warm and

Fulfilling gaze of the Needee,

the Needy pushes on.

Priceless. Always and forever,

Searching for that same strand, hopeless tempt-

-ation of spirit and fortune, candle

with frozen wick, waiting for the flame.

As are we. Just breathing hard enough to

keep our heads above the tide, the wall, even,

Just for a chance to be given unflattering attention.

Let us ignore this. I’ll make her sturdy.

Un-reliant. On anybody. Let us be rid,

Completely,

Of Need.

 

We exist, and exist together – me and her – and

never does the time pass. We – me and her-

Both young,

Both old, simultaneously, Remembering nothing

of the forgotten riches of agony of memory,

So much so I’ve forgotten what her shoulder-blades

Look like.

I do not need to know. I raise her chin

as she sleeps and cast her face, at peace,

Into my wet concrete mind. Preserved. Not

remembered. But preserved, certainly.

To leave her now would be insanity.

I will remove all needs from her,

She will become more by becoming less,

Such as ice fills the space water could

never reach. I remove the shoulder of

her nightdress. I can be slow. No heat,

No softness, coarseness, no Need for the

suffocating pinkness of the cotton skin.

I can be slow. In this.

 

Soon. I will create a new woman.

A new woman will be created. Soon.

She will be a duchess of the sky, cast naked,

Young as blossom but old as granite,

Suspended between the constellations of the

astrologers’ imaginations and the astronomers’ charts,

She will both create and aspire,

And walk her own way around the dark lilac sky,

A dancing camellia on the rippling aurora surface,

As the midnight waterfalls of thunder give her something

to dance to.

A marchioness, champion. Visible in the perpetual twinning

of Night and Day, above and below the sky, below and above the earth,

My creation. My sister, my ultimate, my polished stone. Who wants

for nothing. Who needs nothing. Who desires nothing. Whose

morals are straight as a helix, whose regards and

appreciation is aimed only inwards, no need for

approval, no more, not now she is and is not the sky.

No need for a name, no need for the gaze of strangers,

No need for the warmth of others. She is the ultimate,

The queen,

Head of my pride,

Below the skin,

Un-relenting, Un-reliant, Un-unreal,

Dearest naked cherub,

Splendid absolution of perfection,

Girl beneath my palm.

 

IV: The True Freedom – Care [Lull]

IV: Suicide Room

III: Suicide Room

 

A series of memorable cases from the Suicide Room. All information included in these documents is shown only for the purpose of exposing the weakness of the human mind. Together, with the right technology and purpose, we can overcome these weaknesses and create barriers to stop the impulses taking over. Together, we can create superhumans, immune to persuasion, obedience and oppression. But we can only do this with subjects willing to submit themselves to the Suicide Room. Through failure we will succeed. Through death we will live. Through the weakness of others we will strengthen ourselves.

 

–Case File 0103, Subject 0103–
–Pressuriser: 0071, Male, Experienced
–Status: Completed – Failure – Moderately soon suicide through a combination of drugs and self-amputation. Death caused by blood loss and shock.
–Case eligible for public viewing. All information contained within this document has been recorded for the purposes of scientific curiosity and for the sake of furthering the human race. All information was logged from physiological, audio and visual aids, plus the memory of Pressuriser 0071.

–Open Case–

During the initial meeting and setup of Subject 0103’s visit to the Suicide Room, several important discussions were recorded. Subject 0103, a young female, expressed the urge, which she has reportedly felt since she was a child, to become an amputee, or to amputate one or more of her limbs. She made the distinction between acrotomophilia and apotemnophilia – acrotomophilia is the sexual interest in amputees, and apotemnophilia is the interest in becoming an amputee, which may be linked to a deep spiritual or sexual desire. Subject 0103 made it clear she has never been sexually attracted to amputees, but that she has, since a young age, wanted to have at least one of her limbs amputated. She expressed a desire to remove, or have removed, her left arm from the elbow down.

Because of this desire, which, from society’s point of view, is often seen as eccentric, odd or perverse, this has brought on a strong depression for Subject 0103, as she feels cast out from the norms of society, due to the reactions she fears she will receive upon revealing her spiritual and human desire.

Because of the environment, she expressed she felt both comforted by the absence of judgemental stares, but also intimidated by the process of interviewing for a eligibility into the Suicide Room. The latter point has been raised both by potential subjects and indeed one Pressuriser, though the absence of people and use of communication directed towards the potential subjects is too precious to risk changing.

Once Subject 0103 became more comfortable speaking, knowing her information would remain anonymous and only used for scientific exploration and purpose, she opened up further.

Because of her depression, she had tried twice previously to remove her left arm, as a desperate attempt to experience happiness. These failed and foiled attempts have only made her desire stronger to achieve her goal. However, she is rarely left alone, always having a family member whom she resents near to her, so she has not tried for a third time. She also spoke of how she gets periods where her urges are so strong she considers running away, and urges where she is so low she contemplates suicide because she knows she is not happy.

Subject 0103 did seem reluctant when she arrived for the first time, as cameras captured her behaviour. She was reluctant to move, always glancing around for an escape should she change her mind. This sort of behaviour is very interesting, and always looked for when considering who should be a Subject in the Suicide Room.

Subject 0103 was chosen as she displayed several traits. She showed and expressed desire to end her own life, though her drifting and reluctant behaviour throughout the initial stages of setup provided a crucial contrast that is rare to find in those who come. Often, it is those who are definitely going to commit suicide who want to take part in the Suicide Room. Perhaps this is a way of abstaining from a guilty feeling; although they are leaving their family behind without warning, they are instead contributing to science.

Subject 0103 was not at this stage yet, so was selected relatively quickly to take part in the Suicide Room. She was assigned Pressuriser 0071. Usually, male pressurisers are not assigned to female subjects, as the male pressurisers display aggression more obviously than the female pressurisers. However, all female pressurisers were inconvenienced at the time, so Pressuriser 0071 was selected. Unfortunately, he presents a stark contrast to the 17-year-old Subject 0103, and this was taken into account when the data was analysed. However, after statistical tests and comparisons with other Suicide Room cases, Case 0103 was cleared as useful, and it was ruled Pressuriser 0071 would meet with her.

Precautions were taken immediately after clearing the case, and it was marked as a very possible potential failure. This girl fit all the criteria for wanting to end her life already, and the addition of the atmosphere and freedom from judgement, the law, or treatment offered would certainly do the opposite of deterring her from that conclusion. Pressuriser 0071 theorised it would not be hard to get Subject 0103 to take her own life. In his eager way, he only half-jokingly mentioned a bet when talking about the case. However, the bet was turned down, as it was believed she would almost-certainly take her own life.

Subject 0103 arrived three hours ahead of her scheduled time, which meant she had to sit and wait. Usually, subjects are merely kept an eye on, but Pressuriser 0223 happened to pass her an hour and forty-five minutes into Subject 0103’s waiting time. Pressuriser 0223 stopped to perceive the subject, but did not talk to her. However, after she had moved on past, and returned to her routine, she did note down her thoughts on what Subject 0103 looked like. This is second nature to her at this stage, as one of her strength is reading a person and remembering what she felt they meant as a whole. Although her notes were never officially turned in to be recorded, they were found and, as they are beneficial, will be recorded for scientific and memory purposes.

Pressuriser 0223’s Notes (written simply on a single sheet of notepaper found in the laboratory)

– Girl didn’t seem to have the look of finality around her. Simply by sitting where she was, she should have known she was almost certainly going to die, given the stigma around the SR [Suicide Room].
– Girl’s eyes were clear, no sign of tears or of crying.
– Posture suggests she’s been there a while.
– Compared to my memory of other subjects, she is alert. Not gazing into the middle distance or trying to block out the world.

Pressuriser 0223’s notes, while short and hardly relevant, as she has not received any information on Subject 0103, do raise interesting points about the subject. Perhaps it is beneficial that Pressuriser 0223 passed the subject and noticed what she was doing before she entered the Suicide Room, as subjects’ behaviour usually goes unrecorded outside, as most subjects present the same actions.

This information was passed onto Pressuriser 0071 who came to a potential conclusion that the subject was so calm and prepared because “she will possibly be able to fulfil her wish of removing her left arm”. As such, he took the hour before he was due to enter the Suicide Room to mentally prepare himself for the sights of bodily mutilation.

 

–Transcript–

This transcript captures the events leading up to, but prior to, Subject 0103’s decision. Throughout she was aware of the consequences of agreeing to be a part of the Suicide Room research, and, although withdrawal was impossible at this point, her permission and consent were given multiple times through the debriefing sessions.

While in the room, Subject 0103 showed the same calm demeanour she displayed outside.

[…]
0103 – Will I get to do it?

0071 – By ‘it’ I will assume you are talking about multiple things. If you refer to your apotemnophilic tendencies, then you are certainly not exempt from that. If you refer to suicide, you are certainly not exempt from that either.

0103 – You know what I meant?

0071 – It is my job to know.
[At this point, Pressuriser 0071 was informed via earpiece to heighten intimidation techniques. The Suicide Room is not a counselling suite.]

0071 – How did you develop apotemnophilia? Have you had it as long as your can remember, or was your perversion triggered somehow?

[Subject 0103 appears surprised by Pressuriser 0071’s questions]
0103 – I can’t rem–

0071 – I would assume, given that you’ve been shunned over this by people you should love, that it’s from birth. I will also theorise that your younger self, unable to control what she said as most children are, made it startlingly obvious at some point, either by trying to carry out your deep-set wish or by becoming obsessed with it, or with perhaps other amputees you knew.

0103 – I can’t remember. But…

0071 – You can’t be left alone anymore.

[Subject 0103 does not respond for a while, and simply looks at the pressuriser]

0103 – I… my mum didn’t want me to try again. She didn’t let me–

0071 – “didn’t”? She “didn’t” let you?

0103 – Yeah. No. No… doesn’t. She doesn’t let me… be on my own.

0071 – Don’t treat it like a mistake. A Freudian slip, maybe, but certainly no mistake. What makes you say didn’t, what makes you speak about your own mother in the past tense, a women we know to still be alive and connected to you?

0103 – She’s not–

[Pressuriser 0071 lowers his tone. On the cameras, it is clear his head tilts to the side as his voice softens.]
0071
– You know your connection with her is broken, don’t you? Just like you want it.

0103 – Yes, but… She’s… I hate her anyway so… I know. I’m free like this. Well, sort of. I mean, I’m not going to see her again, and it doesn’t matter, I’ll go.

0071 – You’re here. You’ve already gone.

0103 – That’s…

0071 – That’s not what you mean, is it? You might have thought about going, about leaving, at some point. You could have run away. But you never tried, because so many people were looking and watching you at all times. But yet, you managed to get here on your own, but you never managed to run away. Because, by “go” you don’t mean, flee to somewhere geographically different, do you?

[At this point, Pressuriser 0071 is urged via earpieace to have her make the final recorded consent. This is usually received before further verbal interaction within the room, but Subject 0103 began talking instantly.]

0103 – Obviously.

[Part approved to be cut by three separate parties. Contained Pressuriser 0071 becoming increasingly stronger with his points and Subject 0103 gradually becoming less and less positive.]

0071 – This is what you meant by “didn’t”, clearly. You arrived here on your own, twice. And this time, you haven’t the foresight to go further after your visit today.

[Subject 0103 doesn’t respond. She is looking at her hands, though she has not yet shown the common symptoms of anxiety. As Pressuriser 0223 said, she is calm, accepting.]

0071 – You are aware of the aims of the Suicide Room and have consented willingly. Your final decision can be made at any time, and any wishes directly regarding it will be followed through. You have stated your preferred method of suicide is by ingesting quantities of paracetamol over a period of time. This has been already provided and is in this room with us. You will find it below the table, available for your use whenever, and if ever, you decide to use it. However, if a different method is favoured, it can be arranged. This information has all been provided to us willingly by you and is all correct.

[Subject 0103 looks at him surprised. She soon returns to a look of dull calmness however]

0103 – Yes… can I… can I do it now? Can I just… I just want to…

0071  – Is this the opportunity or an urge that’s led you to have just made your final decision?

0103 – Both, possibly. I can’t wait anymore, you’re right. Can I just… do it, finally.

0071 – Amputation or suicide?

0103 – Both, possibly.

0071 – Beneath the table, you will find the tools with which you can carry this out. As requested, there is numbing agent, rope, painkillers and a straight-bladed motorised saw which has been sterilised for your personal use. All of these materials you requested, and every effort has been made to match your descriptions with the products. You may proceed with your final decision however you deem suitable. Should you survive the process–

0103 – I don’t think I want to. Survive, I mean. I’ve been ready for this for ever.

0071 – Should you survive the amputation process you can walk out, or continue with your final decision in another way. However, I will still be present, even if you do survive. Everything you have experienced with me will still continue.

0103 – Okay. Okay.
[Subject 0103 visibly takes a breath, before reaching beneath the table]

-Transcript Ends-

 

The following scenes are best recorded from Pressuriser 0071’s memory. As he recalls, the subject did not move from her position at the table. She first took the painkillers before tying the rope around her upper left arm. Pressuriser 0071 notes how fluidly she moved while performing these actions. He theorises she’s either practised or is well-read on the subject of self-amputation.

She next applied the numbing agent, spreading it around her elbow, just above and below it. While she waited for the agent to work, she traced a line around the bottom of her upper arm, mentally working out where she should cut.

She began to stare into the middle distance. According to Pressuriser 0223’s notes, often the very broken do that either while waiting for their time in the Suicide Room to begin, or while they wait for the applied method of death to work for them. She says that, when this happens, subjects do one of two things. Either they recall all their life, think of who they will be leaving, but often have no regrets leaving them. Or, they experience nothingness, only a calmness, such as the feeling when drowning. Pressuriser 0071 could not tell which category she fell into, though suspected it was the first one.

Finally, she picked up the saw. Pressuriser 0071 admits that this is the point he was dreading. However, as he is a highly trained and highly experienced Pressuriser, he remained deadpanned both in expression and emotion.

Subject 0103 expressed her discomfort very soon after she started up the saw. As the teeth got through into her flesh, pulling out fragments of muscle, she realised the numbing agent wouldn’t take away the deepest pain. She let the handle go slightly, and the saw fell, slicing her skin further. She gripped her arm and screamed.

Pressuriser 0071, all the while, kept his stern gaze on her, his hands clasped on the table, cuffs of his shirt being dyed a dark red. She met his eyes after a few minutes. Searching for direction or comfort, perhaps. However, she got neither, but she pushed herself on to continue, desire and futility getting the better of her. She placed her arm back on the table and carried on, the hand holding the saw shaking.

She became more serious when the got to the bone, knowing her arm was too ruined to be saved. Pressuriser 0071 says he saw her tears stop and she pressed on, still making vocal her pain but refusing to cry. Because of the adrenaline, she had the strength to push through the bone. However, because she was removing her left arm through sheer force, she was losing blood fast. It began pooling on the floor, rippling with every slam of her feet on the floor to try and redirect her senses. Her limp left hand was stretched out. A single drop of blood rolled down from the tip of her pinky and ran into the crease of her hand.

It wasn’t long before her right hand let the saw fall to the floor, and her left arm turned over freely, separated from her body. She sat back, expressing nothing, no pain, possibly because adrenaline had taken effect. At this point, her heart rate was slowing down. Pressuriser 0071, who still had not changed his position or expression, felt his heart racing. The shock was getting to him.

Before his eyes, Subject 0103 raised her messy left arm. In hers, he saw a glimmer, and the corners of her mouth turned upwards. But that only lasted a second before her head fell back, her arm collapsed to her side again and her eyes closed. Blood pumped from the stump of her arm onto the floor.

At this point, she had not died. She had merely lost consciousness due to lack of blood and from shock. However, by the time Pressuriser 0071 had readied himself, stood up and moved to check her pulse, she was gone. As usual, he stayed in the room alone with her corpse for ten minutes, just to be sure nothing else was wrong.

In the end, Subject 0103 did carry out the wish she had held for the longest time. However, this wish, this desire, something she could never deny cost her dearly, and caused her to feel isolated to the point of depression. She became weak, and succumbed to the basic human desperate response within the Suicide Room.

 

–End results: Subject 0103 failed. The results gained from her visit to the Suicide Room are certainly useful. Pressuriser 0071 reports that Subject 0103 really shook him. This has raised several questions regarding him within the process itself. In the end, Subject 0103 benefited to furthering the understanding of desire and suicide.

I: Suicide Room

A series of memorable cases from the Suicide Room. All information included in these documents is shown only for the purpose of exposing the weakness of the human mind. Together, with the right technology and purpose, we can overcome these weaknesses and create barriers to stop the impulses taking over. Together, we can create superhumans, immune to persuasion, obedience and oppression. But we can only do this with subjects willing to submit themselves to the Suicide Room. Through failure we will succeed. Through death we will live. Through the weakness of others we will strengthen ourselves.

 

–Case File 0045, Subject 0045–
–Pressuriser: 0223, Female, Experienced
–Status: Completed – Failure – Moderately soon suicide through drug-based methods
–Case eligible for public viewing. All information contained within this document has been recorded for the purposes of scientific curiosity and for the sake of furthering the human race. All information was logged from physiological, audio and visual aids, plus the memory of Pressuriser 0223.

–Open Case–

Subject 0045 seemed nervous even before he stepped into the Suicide Room. The cameras caught him shaking, his knees jiggling up and down as his adrenaline levels peaked and ebbed. Subject 0045 was initially not a strong subject, so Pressuriser 0223 was assigned to gauge just how much strain could be put on a relatively weak mind like Subject 0045. This case was logged very carefully, and multiple cameras and recording devices were used throughout the procedure. All three cameras in the stark white waiting lobby captured Subject 0045’s behaviour.

Every few seconds, his head would swiftly glance towards the door to the Suicide Room. It has been recorded how much an ordinary door strikes fear into subjects. His panic seemingly arose from the fear of his future. For ten further, agonising minutes, Subject 0045 sat there, his hands tightly wrapped around each other, his eyes wide and slick. The underarms of his loose-fitting gown became dark with sweat, though he seemed to be unaware.

Aware of every sound, his head rose quickly upon hearing the footsteps of the researchers. Two of them, both wearing dark glasses to avoid unnecessary eye contact with the subject, began to fit him with various implements to monitor his body’s physiological reactions to various psychological stimuli he would be facing once inside the room. Heart-rate monitors were attached to his chest, his neck and his wrists, while a blood pressure monitor was attached to his upper left arm. Electrodes were secured to his temples, and beside his eyes, so as to monitor frontal lobe activity, and eye twitches. Other information was to be logged visually and audibly, such as noticeable bodily habits or verbal patterns borne out of anxiety.

Subject 0045 was briefly informed of the purpose of the Suicide Room one more time, and he gave his final permissions, his voice clearly shaking. The researchers, having secured his consent, steered him to the door. They stood behind him as he steeled himself for entering. Finally, he pushed open the door.

Pressuriser 0223 was already seated behind a simple wooden table. She watched Subject 0045 as he approached and took his seat on a hard wooden chair. Light sources pointed towards him, casting Pressuriser 0223’s visage into darkness. His expressions, clearly lit by the bright lights, will be unmissable.

Pressuriser 0223 introduces herself, spreading her hands, inviting the subject to offer the same information. He did so, hesitantly, gulping every few words. After introductions, the pressuriser begins to engage him in casual conversation. This was done to find out if his panic could be easily overcome by the introduction of a comfortable, everyday conversation. However, EEG results, in addition to the subject’s verbal answers to Pressuriser 0223’s questions, indicated that his amygdala was completely engaged, and that the subject’s emotions were too extreme to be calmed.

Pressuriser 0223 decided to begin the process of manipulation soon. The casual conversation lasted a mere few minutes before she cut off Subject 0045 in the middle of his sentence. She sat back in her chair, her eyes on him. By the way the shadows lay, it was difficult to make out her expression. His, though, was easy to read. He was waiting and anxious for the pressuriser to begin.

From his file and research into his life history, the pressuriser gained the knowledge that Subject 0045 had recently suffered a loss. His wife of twelve years had left him only months after the death of their four-year-old child who succumbed to measles. This is not an unusual situation found within the records of Suicide Room subjects, as deaths in families often drive people to depression or suicidal thoughts. Pressuriser 0223 had this information, and more to use, though she started off her processes slowly and carefully.

 

–Transcript–

This transcript captures the events leading up to, but prior to, Subject 0045’s decision. Throughout he was aware of the consequences of agreeing to be a part of the Suicide Room research, and, although withdrawal was impossible at this point, his permission and consent were given multiple times through the debriefing sessions.

[…]
0223 – Within this room, there are only two voices. Yours. And mine. You are aware of the aims of the Suicide Room and have consented willingly. Your final decision can be made at any time, and any wishes directly regarding it will be followed through. You have stated your preferred method of suicide is by ingesting quantities of paracetamol over a period of time. This has been already provided and is in this room with us. You will find it below the table, available for your use whenever, and if ever, you decide to use it. However, if a different method is favoured, it can be arranged. This information has all been provided to us willingly by you and is all correct.

0045 – Yes. Yes it is. Though I…

0223 – Do you remember your childhood? Do you remember any particularly happy memories?

0045 – I. I remember… I remember how I learned to ride my bike when I was six. My dad had a holiday from work and he… he spent the time taking me up to the park with my bike. I…
[Subject 0045 pauses for a while]
I remember falling off. But my dad was there to take me home and he carried me. I… I remember I skinned my knee… and I wasn’t happy but… I wasn’t happy because it hurt but I was happy because the time was special.

0223 – Teaching your child to ride a bicycle is often an important time in the life of a father too. When their toddler begins to find their calling, to set their sights on their life and their future. Because riding a bike allows them freedom.

0045 – Yeah I…
[Subject 0045 does not begin speaking again]

0223 – Your child, a son?

0045 – … Yeah… He…
[Subject 0045 does not begin speaking again]

0223 –  What was his name?

0045 – It… was O**r. After my wife’s dad.

0223 – I see. A father. Such an important part of any child’s life. He must have influenced your wife quite a bit. Did O**r ever get to meet his granddad?

0045 – No… They lived too far away. We couldn’t afford to take the time off to take O**r up to see them.

0223 – That is a shame. I suppose, if O**r was only four years old when he got measles, he didn’t get to experience the same happiness from you teaching him to ride his bike?
[Subject 0045 does not respond]
I suppose he never had a bike in the first place. It was such an important memory to you, it must hurt that O**r will never get to experience it. Though he has been saved from the pain of skinning his knee, just as you did. And his father pulling the bike behind him as he carried O**r home. Are you… sure the memory of you learning to ride a bike is happy?

[Subject 0045 has begun to sob violently. His heart rate is high, and his brain activity shows huge emotional activity in the hippocampus and amygdala]

0223 – How did O**r get measles? There are vaccines.

[It takes a few minutes for Subject 0045 to calm down enough to respond]
0045 – 
He was supposed to get vaccinated. But I couldn’t take him on the day it was scheduled because… I couldn’t take any more time off work. It… it was either… provide for my family or be… sacked and have O**r vaccinated. I… I thought it was going to be okay. We never… rescheduled.

0223 – You gave up your child’s life just for something to get up to do every morning?

0045 – It wasn’t…
[Subject 0045 becomes unable to respond for minutes due to excessive emotional expression]
It was… It wasn’t my…

0223 – Fault? No, no…

0045 – My wife… always blamed me until she left.

0223 – And… rightfully so. What I mean is, your decision cost the life of your child. And not just your child, but your wife’s child. She, who carried O**r within her body for nine months, of course she blames you. There is no way to convince anybody that your decision didn’t cause this. Though, perhaps she is happy now.

[Subject 0045 begins to react again, but before long he straightens himself up slightly in the chair. His eyes are red, his posture is stiff and his expression is one of helplessness. He slumps back in his chair, defeated and loose]

[Pressuriser 0223 stares at Subject 0045 for a few minutes. His heart rate is lowering but his amygdala is still peaking]

0223 – Time passes. Time we’ll never get back. Some people grow up, some people grow old. No one and nothing stays young. But the dead never age. O**r will remain four forever. Bone doesn’t grow, not when it’s dead.

[Subject 0045 makes eye contact with the pressuriser but does not respond]

0223 – I think it’s time for you to make your final decision.

[Subject 0045 does not move for a few minutes]

0045 – Yeah.

Transcript Ends

 

Subject 0045 reached below the table, his body shaking but his hands calm and ready. His demeanour was one of someone who was facing something they neither wanted nor dreaded. It was simply a look of acceptance. Pressuriser 0223 asked the subject if he was sure. Subject 0045 ignored her, and set about preparing the paracetamol. Within the pack was indeed paracetamol but also a bottle of mineral water.

Subject 0045, over a period of half an hour, slowly ingested double the amount of paracetamol needed to easily kill a person. All the while, Pressuriser 0223 watched on, saying nothing, but giving the subject time to carry out his final decision. With each few tablet, he choked back a sob, before swallowing them. His expression returned to one of placid indifference after every mouthful as he slowly waited for the tablets to soak into his body and take effect.

Subject 0045 lost consciousness. Pressuriser 0223 remained in the room with the subject for fifteen minutes, before calling in the researchers. On arrival, they pronounced Subject 0045 dead. The EEG scans indicated he had died almost as soon as he had lost consciousness. No brain activity was detected in those fifteen minutes.

 

–End results: Subject 0045 failed in beating emotional pain and manipulation. The results gained from his visit to the Suicide Room will, however, not be useless. Pressuriser 0223 reports that Subject 0045 was one of the quickest and easiest subjects she has ever interacted with.

 

II: Suicide Room

Deliverance [Candy]

Sir
Sir
Say, sir

The mistress sir.
She wants you, sir.

Bite, haul, but don’t touch
I’m on the porch

Let’s go sailing, look for Nessie
Why not? It’ll be fun.
She’ll come a-callin’
Caterwaulin’.
Giehl is outside
Giehl is inside
His colours his
Hair and robe been burned orange by flame.

but

He never told me
You don’t want me
But I do
I want you
you know me and
I
know
you

Madam answers phones deep sleep secretary
Piss on the door
She’ll get the message but
that’s not the message
you are trying to tell
me is it?

Deliverance.

Tie hand yawn for summer makes me sleepy
Reading twisted fiction in the early morning
Use your imaginations.
You make no sense.
Why not use your imaginations?
You’ll make all sense.

Imagery and
and symmetry
Lion mane
Sugar cane
Empty lane
in the rain.

Perfect for a
a
a corpse run in a death-romance twist-fiction.

Necrophilia’s hot
You are scared
I am       scared
You are writing my scars onto your arm.
I write my stories.
My originality.

My message in the watermark behind the page
in light grey
don’t read but stay on task.

Hide from the hidden,
and reveal the revealed,
and toss the falling,
and save the secure.
My twisted fiction comes to life now.
My message lives now
on all fours
to straighten up
to read
to live again something I felt long ago
to regurgitate life onto a page
this was six years ago.
This was six years ago.

And still,
holding,
my message
and its true meaning
washed from the watermark long ago.
And my message
lost from sight
and banished from my mind
will be forever forgotten in the turning gyre of life,
as it encircles
and closes
upon us.

I: The True Freedom – Memory [Lull]

My sister’s phonograph lies in the corner,

Untouched. Unused, worthless, beyond repair,

Yet she will not part with it. If I could, to break

my sister’s heart, I would move the ‘graph.

Needless and worthless clutter, a life unknown.

How the suffocation becomes worthless if glance at it too long.

The phonograph does not play,

It will never play,

But the memories, they’re fresher.

I am ultimate, a memory within her own,

If I was to wreck the ‘graph,

I’d pass right through.

 

So let’s be rid of the memories first,

A harsh tie from the real world,

To keep the escapism real,

To keep the escapism breathing,

To silence the outside. Only living

on the inside – yet, without the memory

of her anchoring phonograph,

Who will she be?

To erase, to love, to even kill, I’d be rid of all memory.

Silence myself in the deep fug of thought,

But with no memories to penetrate my world.

We will be rid of memories first.

 

Grasping hold, taking the corner of a

blank white page, to turn it,

I grasp the phonograph’s edges.

This is the first place to begin, as this memory

means nothing to me.

I raise myself, and sounds fall,

Out of the broken phonograph snout,

To make noise on the brick floor.

Are these part of the memory? To pick up and erase,

A dark part of myself. It means nothing.

I raise my sister’s phonograph,

Up high, as if I will put it away,

Lay it on a shelf for the memory to fade,

But I carry it through. My mind –

Loosened by the choice –

Feels lighter every step.

 

My sister’s phonograph no longer will keep

her own spirit tied. I have freed her into life.

Disposing of the long-ago object,

The feeling of a previous existence,

Plays harsh upon my hands.

The phonograph is getting heavier.

How? – the sound fell from its base,

The sound was never heavy. Yet

each step sharpens my memory,

To the point of hurting me. But

I must grip the phonograph tighter. The loss

of a life for the thrill of a memory,

The dull watercolour sweep or thought,

It lasts for a few seconds. There’s not

a world in her head. There’s not a world

in mine. There is only a huge gap,

Where our lives stopped.

 

The phonograph is weighing me down,

Each pace a dark gasp,

An expulsion of putrid memory from my

own selfish head. Mercy.

Deflate and dispose, phonograph, I am the reality.

A small piece, a slick oil-paint at best,

Instead of this airy watercolour,

That your memory provides. Shift the weight.

One hand, pressed upon, the other, pain,

Twinned with my sharpening memory.

Twisted agony again. But – I could stop,

I could stop walking,

Give into the memories of my sister,

Give into the memories of me,

And stop walking –

But to stop, to give up my life,

I will not waste my sister’s life. I will

free her. Piece by piece, pull this reality

apart and free her. And I will follow,

The walls gone, the freedom unchained,

But it has to start somewhere.

I pick up the phonograph again.

 

II: The True Freedom – Time [Lull]

Miscarriage

Simply an instance where Yestin got far too excited.
Simply an instance when he couldn’t help himself.
Simply an instance when he became hungry for its premature soul.

You may as well get rid of the body. It’s not as if it’s needed.
No soul, no birth. It’s that simple.

So don’t worry.
The baby, yours or whoever’s, they’re safe.
They’re fuelling him.
And therefore fuelling me.

VII: Hello

I: Hello  II: Hello  III: Hello  IV: Hello  V: Hello  VI: Hello

Hello P14Hello P15

This is the end.
I hope he’ll finally be happy.

If anyone has feedback on anything (what they think happened, who they think’s talking, if they liked or disliked it or parts of it) please, don’t be Scared to tell me.
Let me know there’s someone out there and I don’t just live in an endless void of white paper desperate to be filled…

 

-Ema Schopenhauer-

II: From Lull

I like to think the old, Romantic poets had the right idea about life. Simply wander around screaming about daffodils to anyone who’d notice, hopefully drowning them in the longest metaphors ever to the point where they call you “a third rate poet who occasionally writes well”. Or perhaps the metaphors would overwhelm them so completely that they’d be completely unable to say anything back. Not that they’d get a single word in edgeways, given your obnoxious attitude. You can’t just go around spouting poems into people’s faces, can you?

But yes, the Romantic poets. The ones whose primary message is “screw any responsibilities or worries at all, and come wandering with me to scream about daffodils.” Much better than stressing about the small things, to the point where I’m sure my hair would fall out. If I had any, anyway. I grow eyebrows, but no actual hair. I used to care. I don’t now.

Still, I’m not actually sure if I’d go with those Romantic poets. Really, I’d just like to make the excuse that I was a Romantic so I could get out of having to do anything at all. I’m not in the mood anymore. I’ve not been in the mood for over thirty years. I was born not being in the mood. Of course I was, and you can hardly blame me. Who wouldn’t be completely done with the world as soon as the doctors proclaimed they had both sets of genitalia? My God, I was born done. I’m convinced my messed-up X and Y genes are the reason for me not growing any hair. Though I can’t think of why; I have eyebrows.

I could be a good subject for a Romantic to write a poem about. Though their poems are usually of describing their beautiful woman or their gorgeous landscape. I’m neither beautiful nor gorgeous. Though you’d probably have guessed that. I’d tell you what I look like, but I don’t think you care. Honestly, I don’t blame you. I’m truly very happy you’ve stayed to talk to me this long, or to listen to me talk. I don’t know what your original plan was when you approached me. I’m sure it was to hear me talk about Romantic poets, wasn’t it?

Do you smoke? It’s alright if you don’t. Not that we could anyway. I might be called in in a few minutes. No point in starting a cigarette if I get halfway through and have to waste the other half. That will just ruin my day. Lack of nicotine also buggers it all up badly too, but I’d rather get my kick later and have more of it than have a short lot now.

Bollocks I would. My lips have been craving it. My mouth, sucking at pens if I carelessly touch them to my lips. I’d chew a cigarette if I could get the same happiness from it. Still. I won’t give into myself. I’ll keep myself on the surface of addiction, not let myself fall any deeper. Though, would that be a completely bad idea? Surely the only issue of cigarette, or nicotine, addiction is that you’re likely to die earlier once your lungs decide you’ve punished them enough and give up. And is death really so bad? I don’t see it as a gateway, such as Buddhists see it, or Christians. There’s nothing on the other side. I don’t see why people get so excited about the prospect of an afterlife. You’d really want to carry on living after you’ve died? Why? Surely death ends a pain.

No matter if it’s a fast death or a slow one, if you’re young or old. A pain will always cease. Another may start up, in the hearts of your loved ones, but once you accept you can do absolutely nothing to change that, you might as well never live again. Or you might as well never live in the first place. I’d probably have given up by now, but you’d probably guessed that. Simply sitting there listening to me, thinking, “Wow, this is far too heavy of a topic.”

A little jump from Romanticism. Not as far as you might like to believe, I assure you. I’d have walked away from the winding road of life as soon as I realized I could. I never had anything to live for. And what’s life anyway? Why do people make such a fuss over it? A birth, a death, they’re the same. The soul is a ridiculous concept, so we’ll banish that. Even if you believe in the soul, we’re playing by my rules right now.

Birth. A miraculous little story all on its own, some might think. A transparent little urine-drinking hairball inside a blood-filled womb. Surely, you might agree with me here, it’d have some stories if it could remember any. But then, after nine months of blissful ignorance, quietly floating and hearing all the sounds muffled and echoed around it, the child is pushed out into a world where the plates of its skull have to overlap in order for it to survive. What kind of a life is that to come into?

And how is birth like death then? Well, if you strip away all the frilly bits, it’s simply a different state of being. The state of being and the state of unbeing. A baby is useless. A corpse is useless. Maybe not that many parallels, but I’m sure you could find yourself a good debater who could talk about them as the same thing. I haven’t that level of energy. If I could, I’d simply sit here forever until I died. No matter how uncomfortable I got, I’d just keep myself here. Unable to smoke, having to listen to that huge clock over there burn its ticks and tocks into my ears. I hate that clock.

I would sit here and die. I would, but I can’t. I have one tie to the world, something that makes me not want to leave. You won’t care that much, so I won’t bore you with the details. In very short terms, my sister. The sister to the hermaphrodite. She’s the only tie I have. If not for her I’d be long dead now. I’d probably even look better than I do now. At least the skull would be like a real skull, not like this mask I’ve got on. Yeah, it’s a mask. A skull mask. I have others, but there’s always an excuse I can find not to wear them. One made of porcelain, for example. I don’t want to pollute it with my ugliness.

Ugliness isn’t the reason I wear the mask though. I don’t care if I’m ugly. I’m not the one who has to look at my face, am I? People who talk to me, they’re the ones who suffer. But the mask is on for a different reason. And, seeing as people are interested in things that aren’t quite “normal”, and seeing as you’re still tolerating my presence even now, I suppose I could tell you. Not the details. Just the reason. The singular reason.

I don’t want my sister to see the face of the person who killed our mother.