yestin

Skullplay

Could I

collect up the

remnants of

perhaps

a few scattered

and empty shells

of animal

existance and

by sheer and

frightnening luck

have some rope or string

either will do

nearby?

But why

but why

you’d like to know?

Here’s why.

I would

with the string,

attach each skull I discover

on my short treks out

into the

cold

and

frosty winterness

maybe a hare’s skull

complete with teeth

or a crow’s beak

with plucked feather

still stuck to the carrion?

into a long

and stony

bony

rope.

With each interval of

admittedly rotting

bone, it would feel marvelous

absolutely

to have them concealed for a time

not too long

just enough so don’t become…

uncomfortable

up inside myself.

Each skull

scratching away with its

rotting canine teeth or

even

a beak?

at my colon. But don’t

make too much

fuss. After all

they’ll be tugged out after a little while.

To bring me to ecstasy.

As if at pistol-point.

And I’ll shriek my way through hell and back.

With the blood and the leaking.

And the bodily cursing.

As my eyes water.

As my lungs contract.

As my stomach turns over.

And I pull them out.

Each skull

readily

ruined but

completely

fulfilled in its

their

job.

And next time

when I’m more

aware

of my ablutions

I’ll keep the child-skulls.

I’ll keep them.

Clean.

Gather more rope.

And enjoy myself

once more

just entirely once more

despite the blood

they have less teeth

again.

IX: Scrawl

VIII: Scrawl

 

Found scrawlings from inside my grey and dying mind.

 

NOTHING IS ISOLATED.
EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED.
WHETHER BY A SINGLE MUSICAL NOTE, ECHOED CEASELESSLY AROUND THE SEALED CHAMBER WHICH IS THE VOID ALL THINGS EXIST IN.

 

WHETHER IN HARMONY

OR OUT OF BALANCE

WHETHER SEEMINGLY ALONE

OR WITH KNOWN ALLEGIANCES

ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED.

 

A NAME. PERHAPS.
A NUMBER, OR A NAME, OR AN IDENTITY, OR A FACE.
DO NOT FORGET ANY SINGLE SHRED OF ANYTHING.
WALK BEHIND THE OLD MAN WITH THE STICK.
AND NOTICE. NOTICE THE FRAYED, DULL PLAID SCARF AROUND HIS NECK.
NOTICE THE TREAD OF HIS SHOES.
MENTALLY TRACE THE SHAPE OF HIS EYEBROWS IF HE TURNS TO LOOK AT YOU.
DON’T DISREGARD ANYTHING.
PARANOIA IS NO CURSE.

WHETHER IN HARMONY

OR OUT OF BALANCE

WHETHER SEEMINGLY ALONE

OR WITH KNOWN ALLEGIANCES

ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED.

 

ESCAPING INTO A NOVEL IS NO LONGER A SEEMINGLY PEACEFUL BUSINESS.
DO NOT TREAT FICTION AS NEVER-HAPPENED OR NEVER-WILL-HAPPEN.
EVERYTHING IN THIS VOID IS CONNECTED AND NOTHING IS SEPARATE.
SOMEWHERE, STORIES LINK TO LIFE, LINK TO STORIES, LINK TO FURTHER STORIES, LINK TO FURTHER LIFE.
NOTE ANYTHING. RELATIONSHIPS THAT CHANGE. TREAT THEM ALL AS PEOPLE, EVERY CHARACTER, ANIMAL, OBJECT. REMEMBER THEY EXIST.
EVEN IF THEY’RE CHARACTERLESS CHARACTERS.
EVERYTHING LINKS.

WHETHER IN HARMONY

OR OUT OF BALANCE

WHETHER SEEMINGLY ALONE

OR WITH KNOWN ALLEGIANCES

ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED.

 

WHETHER IT BE A CIRCUS PERFORMER WHO SCREAMS EVERY FIFTH WORD.
OR AN IMPOSSIBLE BEING THAT CONTORTS AND VANISHES.
OR A PERSON SOLELY ALIVE TO AID HIS SISTER BY DESTROYING EVERYTHING.
OR A DOOR THAT LEADS INTO A ROOM YOU WON’T LEAVE ALIVE.
EVERYTHING IS TRUE. ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS

FICTION.

I: Mistake [Working Title]

I really feel I reached my peak with Hello so this is more of an attempt to claw back something I really loved, because he disappeared from every aspect of my creative mind when Hello ended and I feel depressed when I think of him.

I have no idea if this story will continue, but it may do if people like it. I really need to find something I’m as passionate about as Hello, but it’s been months and I doubt I ever will.

 

Mistake page 1

SERIOUSLY, help me. Help me. Help me.

How much must I breathe to wake up with gunfire in my ears? How much of my body, life, soul must I pay for that? How much must it be for the gunfire to be coming from me? A single metal pellet, fuelled by nothing but hate, I’ll stand and force it out of my skin.

And watch it fly.

And watch it strike. Raise my other hand, a machine gun, no longer fingers but a cannon. I’ll step back, between two buildings, and raise and fire. And raise and fire again. Oh, good Lord, I’ll let go several thousand rounds in a matter of minutes. What am I shooting, what am I shooting at? Is it so much? Oh, I’ll tear through buildings, I’ll desecrate concrete with these metallic fists of mine.

More, longer, faster. Fuel, hatred and anger. I am no longer the silent fool you took me as. I am fury, I am the metal in the fire.

I can be the metal in the fire. How! Shoot, shoot, and keep myself scowling. No laughter, no joy. No psychopathic tendency to let a cheer fly from my throat. Concentrate. Calculate. And fire. I am angry, I am furious.

I want to wake with that gunfire, I want to hear it burn through the metal and stone, I want to know how far it flies through the other side, how long until it crashes to the ground. I want to stand on the edge of the world and scream it all, after I’ve destroyed everything in my wake, when there is no one around to accuse me of myself. Give it out! And let it destroy! Come on, darkness, come on. I’ll shoot you, too.

I’ll step off, I promise, I swear it, when I’m finished. A mercy killing followed by a self-sacrifice to end the world. My scream will be friction, my scream will be power. Friction and power, and bring him back to me! Why, why did you leave me! Why did you leave my head!

 

My frustrations are real, my block is too real. I can touch it, it’s inside me, a huge forbidden weight that strips me from Automatic to Catastrophic. I am Catastrophic. I am Catastrophic! I’ll fucking get him back, I’ll try anything. I’ll work everything. I’ll draw him until I know each inch of skin. I’ll draw him until I know the true colour of his greasy hair. I’ll draw him from the inside out to know how he works, maybe he’ll come back to me.

Oh, God, Yestin! Where the fuck did you go? Where the fuck did you run off to? I have no idea if you died, or if you lived, I have no idea what happened to you. I want you to return, for I am dangerous without you. I am furious. I need you to be my guardian. I need to write with you. I must write with you. You’re the only way I can move forward.

My disgusting guardian angel. I cannot tell what you are. Human, demon? Do you love children for what they are or do you love eating them? Are you alive or dead? Can you die? You made out like you could.

“Enjoy it. / For it could be my last.”

Yes, yes, apparently that child was your last. Did you know when you wrote that down? Did you know that, and I didn’t? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me? But you can’t have known, surely, because… because you didn’t know you were to become obsessed. You didn’t know you’d retreat into your dying mind with her. Is that what happened? Or did her soul… did you manage to inhale it in time, did it live in your mind, did it cause your obsession?

Yestin, I don’t care for the answers, actually. All I wish, all I ever want now, is for you to return to me. I cannot get over this. You were the best, the worst and everything in between. You gave me the drive, the power and the superiority to present something truly unreal to the world. And yet, I cannot get you back.

I’ve tried writing with Lull, his poems. I wanted to know his mind, because his life is interesting too. But it’s not yours. I couldn’t truly get into it. I wrote about a nobody walking a line three times. The line between life and death. And I never got that. The concept, sure. But, past that, nothing.

Where are you? I spread out your manuscript, I look at it, and I begin crying. I read the first words, Yestin, and I feel depressed and sad. I miss you.

“Hello. / Am I / scared? / scarred? / sacred?”

And that’s enough to ruin me for the rest of the day. I hold your manuscript close to me, hoping that if I never let it go, you’ll return to me. You’ll give me something to work with. I imagine you walking behind me, I talk to you as I walk, I tell you to put your huge hand on my hip so I know you’re close. I walk along the street, sad, angry, in denial, talking to the face only I can imagine.

Please, Yestin.

Return to me. I want you and I need this. Please. Please.

I didn’t even know you. I know you so much better now.

“I’m content to squat here. With my fluorescent lights.”

Don’t go. I need you. Wherever you are. Please.

LongManPigMan Concept Art

I could do something with this.
If I can stand to look at it for more than a two seconds without my brain screaming, anyway.

ForestLongManPigMan

I know what its feet look like.
That means that I know what its footprints look like.

So I can tell if it’s following me.

Oh Yestin. Stick close behind me.
Have your hand on my hip and save me.
My hideous guardian angel.
Save me from the Long Man.

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: Hello

I: Hello

 

Hello P4Hello P5

 

If you have the time, or the energy, or enough power on your electronic device, help me out? I’ve got a few things I want to know and I need other people’s eyes for that.
How does my character come across in this part? Assuming you’ve read I: Hello? (Do you feel for/like/dislike them and why?)
Has your view or judgement changed? (Do you like them more or less, what did you feel about the character? Do you have an image of the character in your head?)
Do you want to read more or are you quite content to stop here?
Thank you for letting me use your eyes.

III: Hello  IV: Hello  V: Hello  VI: Hello  VII: Hello