She twists her brow against the table

This More Than Anything Must Go Nameless

The universe is soft, tender; one quadrant is filled with splinters

This Must Go Nameless

Every word Dripping nonsense

More Than Nameless

Breaths that scrape the bottom of each lung

This Must Go

An apologetic smudge on two half crooked fingers

Go

She is afraid

"They go to lean." [wip]

The strings are attached to tightly wound cogs and tuners at the level of the knee; it is said that if the performer were chased, the strings within and without her legs would snap. Two sets of four strings cross her abdomen; the first, across her chest, are drilled into the bones of her ribcage. It is said that if the performer's heart beats too fast, whether for love or rage or sadness or fear, the strings there begin to quiver and make songs on their own. Thus the performer must learn placidity, or, until they learn it, or, if they never, wear a tight, dark binding over this part of their instrument. The binding is not black, but stained dark in a highly ritualized process that will be discussed later.

Three strings each, the second longest on the instrument, are laid across the outside of each arm, connecting at the elbow and the wrist joint. These strings are close together, and often used for chords rather than single notes. These are the only strings on the body that may be removed, quickly and easily, at the performer's leisure.

Spare strings are kept behind the ear, where four to ten metal capsules are drilled into the skull. The ends of the strings screw neatly into these holes, and the strings themselves, made from very fine metal, do not hang much heavier than locks of hair upon the performer's shoulder.

"What? If they can't see nothin', then what do they go for?"
"They go to lean."

"Crazy bunch of rich ass cats."

"They're all as poor as dogs, Maurice."

"But they keep comin' back, eh?"

"Yes."

"Poor ass mutts. Skippin' meals for nothing."

"They're fed in some way, or else they wouldn't come."

"Sleepers."
"Dreamers."

"Voyeurs."

"Lovers."

Saint n' sinner

Saint 'n sinner

Prayin' t'each other

Sister and brother

Runnin' for cover

Learnin' to shudder

Stearin' a ship

With no sails and no rudder

In the anomaly

Of a sightless sea--

Let's shake these walls back to Babylon, baby.

I'm sinnin' myself a ticket to hell just thinkin' about you.

Alterity

In an alternate universe I am an art major who wishes she was an english major Working on an edgy graphic novel about a cyborg and a robot I drink coffee I play a lot more games Fillin' commissions on a tablet Wear skirts a lot Skin toasted like I'd stayed in my birthstate Mutt and a dutch bunny at my feet while I work Three more piercings, one a dare Favorite animal is a lion The boy in front of me draws so much better than me that it drives me crazy and I hate it and I love him Maybe I speak slower Maybe my bike breaks down outside a friend's house and it rains and we order pizza and I laugh and am free

"Freedom; I am the wind."
-Kagura

There are times when I can feel the breathe of other worlds at the back of my neck; it is thrilling and haunting. I am so tempted to turn and find the lips of my other self and mumble something sweet against them--that's all it takes to change skins with one's selves, you know. But then it up and ghosts away, and that sudden closeness, sudden farness, is dizzying. Like a speeding car lifting the hairs of your neck. It was a bit much at the time. So I had to tear myself a new mouth. I don't use it often; only occasionally to scream and grin.

I was born in a valley of kings
This is a dangerous and strange thing to say

Theoretical probability and empirical probability don't link up for me. And I don't know how to make up that disparity. I don't know how to shake this, whatever it is. If I knew, I'd do it. I'd jump. I'd shake. I'd chase. If I just knew.

What..what's wrong with me?

In another universe, theoretical probability is on my side, and empirical close on its heels.

I will never turn in time to find her there, pressed against my back; I am not quick enough. My world is not quick enough for me to turn and steal from her. Trade with her.

And never the two shall meet. Unless some Romulans get really pissed.

But that doesn't mean I can't take leaves from her book.

Dizzy Punch Station

I forget and alter indiscriminately.

But there are certain things I want to remember, perfectly, as they first were, very badly.
If all my memories are sleeping, then these are the ones that mumble in their sleep and grind up their teeth.
"Me, me, choose me, choose me, wake me wake me wake me.." I don't know what they're saying, but sometimes, I think this is what they are saying.

A phone face up on the bed
I may have been the only person in the entire world to have seen this.
I was falling asleep when I remembered this.
I groaned and dragged my head under the sheets when I remembered this.
God, what a way to live.
And I don't have sheets. I have blankets. Fuck sheets.

C e l o s i a
I killed her and then I killed another to forget her.

"I'm sorry babe. Please forgive me. Not now--someday, though, please, if you can. Say good luck, because where I go you can't follow. Not yet, not yet, babe--but someday, if you wait a bit, if you can, go ahead and come after me. Take the roads I took. Do what I've done. Come with me. But not yet. It's my turn, first, babe. Gotta test these fires. See what can be made of them. In them. See if..if any of this is real."


I..I don't even know how to express how good I feel right now. Not yet-not yet-no, not enough-more-still, but--I am where I am and should be and the skin is right and I hide my face in my fur not because I am ashamed (though I've certainly had my share of that) but to hide the satisfied color of my cheeks.
But I am not satisfied. And...this satisfies me. Does that make sense?
It is like being in love with movement instead of the places one moves upon.

Kiss the train upon the tracks Coal cruncher turns and hacks a smile
Up
From his love black'd lungs

I tire
I smile


I do not ever want everything, and I do not often want much. It..it is just occasionally that I want the sun. And that is just one thing, but a very large thing, and one I really have no right to lay claim on. And it is frustrating when around me are..are many people and many things, but..but if I could just have this one thing-
But I forget that it is not just one thing; it is the sun. It is the sun.

"Camparunerra!"
Campanella made blue cat cry. I..I can't forgive that. He thought it would make his mum truly happy. And..and in theory, it would. But that's not how it works. What is done cannot be undone so easily; he was loved. He was loved. He was loved.

"Mitae, mitae, Camparunerra!"

Armour

SCABS ARE KINDA BITCHIN.

But they're only there when you need them.
Armour covers weaknesses. Makes strong places.
But also marks them out, as we've learned from Shadow. This is very important.
I've killed more colossi than I can count on my fingers now because of these markings.
He is beginning to scar(e?) me. I am beginning to scare me. How much of him am I? How much of me is he?

It covers and protects, but it's not very flexible stuff, scars and armour. I've bumped my arm a few times and been fine, but it's when I try to stretch it around that it hurts. It's cracked in three places today, and now it has to start healing all over again in those parts. I would rather be soft, I think; all permeable. Sinking and spilling into everything around me.

The colossi are places before they are gods; to fight them, one must wake them, pull them from this first form and into the second.
No wonder some come at you with anger. But is it anger? Maybe it is fear. "Go away, go away, go away." Maybe it is hunger. "Come nearer, come quicker, come cut me." Maybe it is not quite anything, really. Just..."why?"
It makes me nervous when people pick me up. Because I know I'm not the lightest thing in the world. Because I know you could drop me if you wanted to. Because I don't want you to know how much I trust you or how much I don't. Because places always become weaker when they are woken up and summoned to be people.

This is the colossus I'm on now. She's short and stocky and fast. I can't kill her yet. And she's afraid of fire. God. I can't kill her yet. She's so goddamn beautiful. More beautiful than I am. More beautiful than what I'm doing. God. Afraid of fire. I can't kill her yet.

'Ah,' said the fox, "I shall cry.'

'It is your own fault,' said the little prince. 'I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you...'

'Yes, that is so,' said the fox.

'But now you are going to cry!' said the little prince.

'Yes, that is so,' said the fox.

'Then it has done you no good at all!'

'It has done me good,' said the fox, 'because of the colour of the wheat fields.'

Antoine de Saint-Exupery 158

Rindcoat

7/13/10
Story time.

At first I was like

But then I was like

So I

And so

And a meteor cloud on my knee for the road. Iced. Can't see it cuz the light, but I can. So can my robots. Feels like a rock.

Wish you'da been there.

When I first drafted this, I was planning to take this (but I shouldn't say 'this'--the 'this' I'm referring to is content I've deleted) slow; let it wander. The only thing that's the same between the original draft and this one is the title.
But fuck it. Physical pain puts things into perspective.
I am not a patient person.
Mugwort and cloves; I will not ration it. I will feast.
I've never done this before; that is to say, it's never worked. I am not a patient person; but I am a bit of a halting, measuring creature. Makes it difficult to bum rush desires. I don't know how you do it without flinching; maybe I'll ask, some day. Maybe I won't.

Here we go.

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHA

Gibberish

This is tonguesmoke and Yggdrasil and

Booze

Adonae and rope snakes

Dion and Wet rice

THERE'S A FUCKING DRAGON OUT THERE SOMEWHERE

I..I believe in this kind of junk sometimes

But shit, if you'd seen the way that tree grew

From the head down

They say it's always been there but that's bull

Its birth was just so fucking awesome that no one knew how to remember it properly

I don't know if this will make sense to me later

I hope it does

But if it doesn't

I don't deserve it

And it don't deserve me

Damn, look at them sparks. Wish I could show you how green they were.

Dorobo 2

Taking is just another word for moving
Moving is almost always playing

O d o r o b o

I am jealous of every thief
Every shifter
Every shaker
They got this shit DOWN, man
Their blood runs fast
But their hands
So goddamn slow
So goddamn precise
Like they know how it's all gonna go down
They don't
They just tempt fate more than any other
And maybe it's safer there
Under the dragon's jaw

But certainly not always

Sometimes we get caught
And that's why we are
What we are;
Tomorrow must eat today

Wire Fuzzing

So.. so let's straighten this shit out..

There is a difference between crossing wires and disconnecting them Between making sounds and meaning them

I am in love with obscurities and tanglings and removals

I am disinterested in reaching the end if I suspect there is one I will cut my legs and crawl the other way Every other way Every which way

"Otherwise life becomes unbearable (precisely because the truth does not exist). One need not want to dispel appearances....[b]ut if one does, it is imperative that one not succeed lest the absence of the truth become manifest" p. 59

But namesae--can't you smell it when you get close? Like a finger probing against the outside flesh of the cheek, can't we feel the absence left by a pulled tooth? No need to open your mouth--we can imagine the gap in your grin well enough; we can anticipate it.

I've two buzzwords to use for this, this...it is exactly them. But I won't use them. I won't abuse them. I am being cruel enough as it is.

This is a mesh eyed fuzz headed black footed creature I drew a year or two ago. IT IS MADDENING.

I hate it.

But I love that which it creates; or what exists beside it, in the same position. They are the same thing, I feel; composed of the same elements. But my reactions to them are violently different.

One is all intrigue; the other is...is nothing. I cannot even express how truly it is nothing without using the goddamn word s--but I won't. It's the anticipation of an absence--the second before you blush hot. Before you realize SHIT FUCKIN' JOKE'S ON ME FUUUU-

The thing itself, the absence, or what is created from it (certain sorts of madness) is ugly and beautiful and cruel and loved and hated. My thoughts concerning this issue are sharp. If I said them, they would be fixed in their wretchedness. I have no interest in things that do not move. But I keep them; I lose them in only certain, particular places. I lose myself in particular places.

"Pull over."

"What? But we're almost-"
"PULL THE FUCK OVER. I'm done. I'm getting out of here. I'm fucking done."

I am usually pretty careful about this.

But certainly not always.

But this--this I am doing right. I am keeping Isaac at arm's length. I'm playing the tunnel game, the one you play when you're driving through Seattle on the freeway.

Here it comes...

Hold your breath...

And if you really feel like giving him a little push, make promises.

If I make it, I'll go dry tonight...

and if you really feel like twisting his arm, make promises you can't afford to keep.

If I don't make it, I'll ask him what I don't want to know...

But anyway. Yeah. That game, second degree. I'm not making bad promises yet--already got one tied up elsewhere, don't need no more--just the first, just

If I make it through this tunnel WHERETHEFUCKDIDTHISTUNNELCOMEFROM , all the things I've done in the dark of it will be forgiven; all my cruelties will be laid to bed, smoke on their lips.

I am usually pretty good about only daring the tunnels I can win at.

But certainly not always.

Odorobo

God, right now I'm so- I'm so-

I could fucking--

"imaginary catastrophe[s]" p. 46

That's the only way to have any fun with it.

Fall-

And hit the ground running

"This is why the piece takes on both the aesthetic form of a work of art and the ritual form of a crime." p.100

Times like these are the few in which I can stand this man's writing; in which I will admit to loving it as much as hating it. It is not that I do not feel a certain..dirtiness reading it, so much as the dirtiness is no longer interruptive. There is as much on the ground as on me. A short time ago, I could not read it--I felt cruel. It is not that I do not feel cruel now, it is that...it is that...the direction of the cruelty has changed.

And Isaac forgives all cruelties in this direction.

This picture was from my third TE.

In dreams we do not bother with whether we are dead or living; we move all the same, because the state is one up and to the left of the others. In this state, I do not bother with which of my actions are live or dead ones; I assume all are dead--that is, sleeping. I assume all are doubled in purpose.

I love lying on my belly.
I love lying on my back with my legs hanging over the edge.

Dorobo

He takes what he wants Because nothing is his Everything is stolen
Never what he needs
Cabinets licked clean but his
Pockets full o' shitnothin'
Leaves everything behind
Like he's already full

Think you picked the wrong class, bro--
Shoulda been a murderer.

"What do you want?"
He bites along the edge of his finger. Something sticky there. "Nothing."
"We've got silver."
"I want gold."
"You've got clouds."
"You've got thunder."
Every tool at his disposal--but he barters for nothing. Takes nothing;

What does a single unripe fruit do to an appetite?

Ruin and Whet.