:: 2003 6 December :: 5.39 pm

://family portraits--/
GrimCunning//FuryMalevolence://:{author}
/--the rise and fall of the first City--/
Grim//Fury://:{Life}
/--it sunk into the ground|sab&dog were born--/
Sabø†age//Dog://:{author}://:fetalOne//ThatWhichIs
/--TWI consumed 1. a red space--/
Sabø†age//Dog//logic//LT//One{oxytocin}
/--death of LT&logic--/
Sabø†age//Dog//One{oxytocin}
/--birth of torpor|november's ascension--/
Sabø†age//Dog//One{oxytocin}//Torpor//November
/--the warrens|silence|freedom fries--/
Sabø†age//Dog//One{oxytocin}//Torpor//November//Silence//Freedom Fries
/--the stormlands|the massacre|the second City--/
Sabø†age//Massacre
/--deadog dreams|sab-->effigy--/

Where: // coexistence
://: same mind, different worlds
{} only half-there
/--/ events, passage of time, births&deaths

Back when Torpor was still around I wanted to do a group picture of them as a family, like from the early 1900's. I could see it perfectly: Torpor in back all stiff and looking mindless in that mask, like some people's IQs seem to drop by fifty points when they're photographed. In a tux of course. Sab To his left and sitting on a stool looking positively acidic in a white dress and a plastered-on grimace. Across from her is One, happy and brainless, enjoying the hell out of her dress {which is just like Sab's}. In her arms is an infant November, who I have to say is the ugliest baby that ever was. On the floor is Dog, as a golden retriever, and Freedom Fries petting her. When Silence finally got around to existing he stood behind Torpor, less of a person and more of a giant wall of tuxedo that almost choked him {he hates collars&things. went around naked a lot} with a "let's get this over with" demeanor.

&Then it evolved into something of a timeline, a way to keep static the ever-changing. But I never actually drew any of them. I think they were just too vivid in my mind to dare crapping out into reality.

--/

It took me this long to realize to why Massacre is so named. It was born from the ashes of its forefathers/sisters. It is a phoenix, of some sort.

1 in | myxomatosis

:: 2003 6 December :: 4.41 pm

Failure to comprehend and my eyes bleed with the needles I've shoved into them. Or the chopsticks. A halo made of metal and string. But it's not good enough. It never is.

A coldness?¿I wish that I could breathe and that the ripples would disturb the very fabric of the universe.

And it's not that it's held in, or anything. There is no muzzle, no restraints tonight. I'm just clutching the glass and not moving, listening to my own respiration, it is so like the rain. Calming and maddening all at once. But you have to suck it down. You have to continue. You have to remain silent when words can kill.

Oratleast. Wound. {SI}

And I shall call it a Virus and this shall be known. Hush, for what it does to you, it seems to be doing by increments to everybody else. Some people have a magnetic personality. And they can only be attracted to each other. Like calls to like, you're breaking the first rule. Ormorelikely. A diety knows its own. And can't resist the siren song.

Would that mine could sing.

I'm so silent. Always. So silent. I want these vocal chords to move in patterns that do not rasp in the ear and echo unpleasantly in the mind. I want that I could scream pure intention and have it understood. I want truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, available in a single syllable. Would we still be so harsh if we could know? Or are the differences too severe?

Flat useless noise. Failure to {verb} meaning. Failure to comprehend. Failure to. Failure to.

I shall not break the law of three but I shall also know that I shall never be part of it. What once was and always is, one dead, two alive. Remember that, fool-child. Remember that.

I feel stupid calling it the childmind but effigy has already chosen it for me. I still want a replacement. I must learn to speak in code. I must learn to. I must. I. Consider it a fever dream. Taste a metaphor for sniper rifles. Something something.

I can describe the sensation of going through fresh&wonderful artwork as nothing other than ingestion. I crave it when it's away for too long. I feel round&happy when I've had enough. And to make my own I simply have to lean over a nice sheet of paper and vomit.

Haha. Cynic.

myxomatosis

:: 2003 6 December :: 6.12 am

I copy things in order to learn from them.
I copy art. I copy writing. I copy ideas.
But mostly I copy art.

There. That wasn't so fucking hard.

3 in | myxomatosis

:: 2003 6 December :: 6.44 am

The radio is playing Time Warp. LESSTHANTHREE TO A RATHER LARGE DEGREE.

¡¡¡

myxomatosis

:: 2003 5 December :: 2.01 am

I think if Torpor had a voice he'd sound like the Red Hot Chili Peppers guy . . .

I'm so terribly nostalgic after reading and re-reading that last post. I miss Grim&Fury so much it hurts . . . especially Fury. I think I kind of fell in love too . . . how retarded, right?

Massacre's ignoring me . . . it's still there but it won't have anything to do with me. effigy's being . . . effigy.

I remember Freedom Fries blowing bubbles and cooing.

I'm going to restart everything. Massacre is largely unrecognizable anymore . . . effigy's too generic to matter, just have to find another name and no one will ever be able to tell. All of my old characters could use a revamp anyway. I won't try to be original so much. On the main page I'll state clearly that I rip people off and that you only have to ask and it will be removed. And if you want to ban me I won't come back. It's just the only thing left to me, anonymity.

Maybe I could call her Undertow. That's a cool word.

I need a name for myself. Loseyourselfinthemusic. Find something there. It's beautiful.

myxomatosis