i would give so much to go back in time to 2003,
when the rain felt endless and i used to cuddle in bed all of the time, listening to disintegration on my discman, wondering if i’ll ever stop being sad.


confronting someone who has hurt you whom you love and care for is the definition you’d find if you look up ‘emotional torture’ in the dictionary.


My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat.
My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep.


i am at my worst.

once i removed all of my characteristic spiritual embellishments and their equivalent worldly masks, i found my social skills and any sort of ability to communicate with human beings are identical to the ones of a six year old. a wounded six year old.

at the bottom of my heart lies a beast. it was sown there by force. it is the most powerful creature i have ever known. though the beast stands alone, it can reproduce at any given moment. the hardest thing in my life is to keep trying to modulate this beast and its offspring.


Marketa Lazarov√°

Straba the Werewolf

He is thirsty for blood.

- Why is he crying?
- He mocks people and himself.

They threw his mother to the wolves.

He grew up with the wolves
and became one among people.

Disdain fosters his pride,
dislike breathes hatred.

Scorned by all,
Straba scorns them all in turn.

With a grimace he disgraced
the holy ancestral places.

He does not want
to be a subject of people or God.

He’s free like a wolf,
but he has a human heart

and that heart is full of sorrow.

He grew up and the men
would have him cast out.

- Their word is law.
- What happened to him?

He heard the men’s counsel
and laughed.

The quiet laugh of a wolf.

- He was beautiful -

he chose the most comely maiden.

She was afraid of him,
and of her father even more.

The father decides
to whom you will be submissive.

Straba raged
and spilled blood from her throat.

They flew upon him
and put him in irons.

A terrible punishment awaited him.

The stake, said one,
trampled by stallions, said another.

They could not decide
how he should die.

Then the oldest of the line
pronounced the sentence.

May he have no place among
humans, free as a wolf.

His punishment would be in himself.

Perun cast down lightning,

but there were no clouds.

And Straba?

He laughs

with the quiet laugh of the wolf.

He leaves and bares his teeth
with that laugh.

Arrows had no power over him,
he was free as a wolf.

His life was not measured
by the solstices.

But he was alone.

Delight passed him by,
as it was not paid for by suffering.

Life has no value without pain.

At that time, he longed for pain,
he sought death.

He returned to that line
that cast him out.

But they had all grown old
and did not know him.

The young men flew at him with arms.

One remembered and shouted,
"Keep away from him!"

He has come for death
and we shall deny it him.

All retreated and mocked him.

He returned to die
and death was denied him.

Their mockery burned.
He shook like an aspen leaf.

He sought the place
where his heart was.

He seized the nearest knife
and stabbed into it.

But the knife broke
and no blood was drawn.

He was alone again.

Does he weep?

No. Weeping is the gift of relief.

The men know nothing about it.

Their pride pursues
eternal punishment.

Straba is from their line.

His ancestor came
from the woman he wed.

All of you
bear the mark of his blood.

But the curse cannot
touch the seventh son.


Climax Denial - The Little Parts Of Your Insides That Show On The Outside



rhythmic terror all the way from hell.

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