Welcome to Artist's Alley! Within, our forum's aspiring artists can showcase their artwork -- be it drawings, sketches, poetry, writings, or any other creative works.
I used to have a thread on the old board for all of my writings and stuff that I wanted to share with everybody else. Stories and things like that. Mostly it was poetry but occasionally it had other stuff. It's 2019 we've had the new board for a decent amount of time so I think I'm going to port as much of my stuff over as possible by hand—by hand because I want to make sure that what gets over is in this new context, this new site, which somehow feels more archaic than the old one lol. It's like a relic of the old internet. We're hiding from social mediafication in the ruins of what is left.
What hurts is that all of my writings have lost their titles. The way that spoiler tags work on Tapatalk ruined all the titles I had for my writings. In most places I know what I wrote, for them, and in other places they're also in my iCloud so I can just look there. In others, I have to come up for new titles.
So I guess I'll do as many of them in this post as I can, and then take more posts for more. It's like I'm trying to get my suitcases off of a slowly sinking ship when I should just get in the lifeboat already, but, enough of the dumb metaphors. Also they're not me anymore. They're old. But they're still real, I think. The higher up on the list the writing is, the older it is. New poems and writings will come in new posts.
I am from sleepy mornings
and sleepless nights
From bicycles and rainy night rust
I am from staying indoors for many consecutive days
lit by pixelated daydreams and clouded by
paper thoughts in glass bottles out in the ocean
I am from Seven Stars, cursing myself, accidentally
using the wrong ingredient
I'm from pencil shavings, graphite grey,
speeches before the dulled masses
From stories one hundred thousand words long
and stories better told in six
Whispered kisses and hideaways behind each other's backs
Nobodies, nowheres, nothings,
Cross-examinations and lies
I am from scrawled song lyrics
thousands of iPhone notes
The Microphones and Neutral Milk Hotel
From Clarinet notes and squeaks
Trombone blaring and lights all night
Holidays from different religions, miles mesmerized
by metaphysical meandering, sentimental drivel
and standard tuning.
I am from "I don't feel the same way,"
"It's over," and "I'm sorry,"
I am from "You have the wrong guy,"
"Goodbye," and "Don't worry,"
I'm from all of these and one more: "Please hurry."
I am from a busride I took when I was fifteen
and an old friend I met along the way
The lack of consciousness in our eyes
as I explained hastily that I couldn't go home
without saying why
I am from the melty chocolate starbucks cookie
I ate across the street from her house
without knowing who was inside
or that she even lived there
I am from cemetery walks
worried apologies, holding back
and seven days in a hospital ward
with others who gave up on running away.
I'm from broken promises
Polyethelene, elevators
dead malls and dead flag blues
A CD tracklist scrawled in blue pen ink
and a CD cover with a painting from China
of a Pink rose
Windows to your Soul.
I'm from a good accent
that made everything she said sound like it came from
a bad telephone connection.
I'm from unconventional whispering
language barriers
half light with no celebration
and a far away radio tower light
that
never
stops
blinking.
And with rising smokestacks in the distance I made myself cry
But you didn't look over, you didn't leave a mark.
We held each other's hands on the descent
Looked across the sky
I couldn't tell you what I felt
It doesnt sound very good in words
So I was silent and prayed for our health
If I sang this alone with no other sound
Would it still petrify your soul?
Would it keep us from getting old?
Can we live together at all?
And we don't get our well deserved peace.
No, not until we're long gone and still.
So right now I'll think of that warm release.
This is the place where you were
a detour you took
to run off into a world of
shrubs and wild turkeys,
away! away from people
tormentors, detractors, haters, nepotists and egotists
and lovers.
This is the place where you are
full of the dead and frequented by
the dying
with water yellow and murky
secluded from most but not all saviors
and those trying to reach in to
the grave you dig for yourself
This is the way it should be
do not strike out
do not leave
do not open that door
leave your crypt undisturbed.
I am held, I am loved
My minuscule mold is made into many mammals
and small fish
pots and pans
I am dropped, squished, remade
played with, torn apart,
mixed with a greater whole
One day I am a candle
I burn, and then
I am scraped off the pan
stains of bright colors.
I miss the love
but I enjoy the adventure of
what I become next
Will I be a ball to be thrown?
Will I be pressed again into animals?
What do I have to give?
What is it that I am raised for when my whole existence is to become something else?
Underneath a dead flag at the top of its pole
No stirring winds pass by to blow
Cotton eyes and cotton tails cannot contest with wind that fails
Unseen Psychedelic sunbeams
Under the shade of trees and
miraculously aligned bricks, red and gray
A chained up trash can, a barb wire self defense against any deepness
or darkness
Instead, the light
Light of the annex comes down from fourth story rooftops.
A breeze tossled frown and shade coerced smile
turn left turn right then back again
Settle down right where you didn't know you
needed to be.
A single wispy waste
of white
graces the sky
by another name
Cloud!
What feelings will it hold?
What festers and bubbles up, coagulating into so much rain?
Tears, torn from host in broad daylight
Exit stage left, the spritely apparition
fades
to
blue.
Fragments of an argument make their way across public streets
almost run over
swept away
down storm drains and through sewers
the ones that stay afloat will
fly upwards
finding homes in the
crescent half moon shapes of
working ears.
The flag, now stirred, flaps in a sudden wind
then lies dead again
but soon is arisen once more
propelled by some occult virtue
to brush away the cobwebs from the sky.
Uneven flower planters
orange magnolia is
perfectly placed in quite an
imperfect place.
Bumblebees float from lavender to lavender
pollinating, work or pleasure? Death of a loved one.
Unfitting music plays
trap beats over otherworldly serene calm
angry disaffected youth
shouting along at the swing of
a conductor's baton.
The lavender bristles in the wind.
hollow, it echoes
deep and down and dark and dimly lit
its not there, was it ever there?
have i ever been down there?
the depths, the reaches, the outlands? the downward descent
is calling and calling for me to begin to be falling but
no
its more than that
bells echo chime ring cloister
together, with a stringful of sound rushing
a cavernous maw of an ancient beast
books never opened with millions of words never read
my words
my words?
your words?
your words
call it what it is
twigs will snap when it falls
dumbly and dimly and grateful as all
always and never will it ever be
something for you, not something for me
the inside of the brain is low but pierced
with high frequency when disturbed
a cancelled broadcast unsanctioned scream in a flat
but also in an apartment, two the same two different
modulating between two notes on two different telephone lines
nill, null, knoll, never sinking away
at the end of the world will you come find me?
i'll stay right here and wait for you
it won't take much effort but
you know and i know perfectly well that
i would hate to be alone
sorry
so sorry
sorry sorry sorry
its too much to ask of you
the wind is hollow and it rings
deep and down and dark and dimly lit
a street preachers lips have been cauterized into the brown mushy soil between my toes
a low drone in A Flat
but also through my apartment
i've been down there many times
for you to come with me is asking too much
a grassy knoll, tied between my teeth
the grim reaper
my smile
ringing.
I wake up
its a dark day and the sun is out
i brush myself, washing between my teeth
slip on my shoes and pants and shirt and shirt and shirt
and coat and i go for a walk to work involuntarily
people pass me by and they dont see the ringing
i cant even see the ringing
the ringing of the noise in the air
i keep walking
i walk a bit more
and then i get to work
work is dull and boring and dreary
corporate nothing so materialistically unwound
i make it through half the day and then throw myself off the roof
my supervisor catches me on half my way down and throws me in front of a desk
tells me to get to work
i type and type pushing paper but
its really not what i expected out of life
i see her then
she smiles unfakely
her skeleton fingers
her bobbed black hair
her cheery disposition
a laugh that would send angels to her feet and demons running to convert
i see her then and decide that i will write her a poem
i talk to her five times
the first is unexpected
the second is planned
the third goes wrong
the fourth is to give the poem
and the fifth is to deny writing it
i walk away from her and i am defeated
i am off company time so they do not care where i go
on the bus; advertisements
tired? sick? hungry?
we will help
insured.
we will give
for sure.
we wont stab you in the back
we wont
we wont make any promises
i consider the offer and get off the bus in front of a bridge
she is walking by the bridge and she does not want to hear it
she is walking by the bridge and she does not want to hear
its not her fault
she is walking by the bridge and she does not want to
I have been this way for many months
she is walking by the bridge and she does not want
i just wanted to show her how i worked and i wanted to be more of a person to her
she is walking by the bridge and she does not
if she just listened to how i felt she would understand
she is walking by the bridge
i just wish that she would stop and turn and look at me and maybe this would show her
she is walking
i am not here anymore
she is running
i was never here
she is stopping
it was my fault
she is pulling
there isnt anything to hold onto
she is screaming for help
it was just the same thing over and over again
she is wishing she was stronger
and over and over and over and over and over again
she cant hold on much longer
but this will change pace. it will. change? things
she is explaining the situation to a passerby who is nodding understandingly
everything? will? drop? and it wont be here
she is helping the passerby grab ahold of my hands
i was never! distresses sink into my teeth
she is hoisting me off of the bridge railing and onto the road
i dont understand her that even when i try to make it easy for her she has to make it
she is making it harder for herself
i am thanking her
she is htting me in the face
she is blaming me for ruining her day
she is not amused, or pleased, or happy
she is doing what is right
what she is told to do
the passerby agrees
i am scolded
i walk away
happy
i moved away after that
another day
another dollar
self defense, cords running within plastic
strung up by the wrists, dancing like a puppet to
some one else's tune, strung like elastic
we havent a clue no we havent but a clue
keep it light and moving and right and grooving
gears turning within without you and choosing to leave me
see? its nothing typical just an unknown soldier sailor problem that's moving
decree within a chapel that the birds and squirrels and mice within are of the holy see
it's a gaze galloping terrible fire
beseech me, green trench coat, have at me with blades
dark and hopeless pit green mire and the smile i admire
so fondly. it brightens every glade
time runs out with four minute warnings
echoes and bellows of caverns glisten
a hole it makes, curving and boring
just pick up cartilage ovals and listen
to heartbeats and the terror within us all
i hear the sound of a long-dead man jump and fall.
I don't remember how I got there. I lived, and still live, on the other side of the city, and there's a perfectly good playground right down the way from my house. We must have been there for an errand, but I can't remember what that errand was, why i went on it, or if it was even a successful adventure. All that I know is that somehow, my mother, brother and I ended up at a playground on Broadway, near Central Square.
I could still count my age on my grubby little fingers, caked with dirt and seasoned with scrapes. Gleefully, I bounded up the big play structure, a sprawling mess of slides, ladders, and wood-chips littering the corners. There was a gear contraption that spun around, making a loud mechanical creaking noise. I sat transfixed by the spinning wheels, whittling away the minutes, cut down to a singular hour, just one wood-chip, sitting between my index and middle fingers, both unaware of their significance and the chaos they bring.
My mother called me over: it was time to leave, to continue on our nonspecific errand. Carefully, I walked up to the canopy, from which there were two options to leave: stairs or slide. There were technically two other options - a ladder or pole to slide down, but both terrified me. The kind of monster my sleep-deprived brain imagined was in my closet. Eventually, I settled on the stairs.
Every surface on the structure is covered in a dot pattern, holes to stick your fingers in, for some architect's idea of stability, the air rushing through it up and down, rushing like a crawling child. Transfixed by the polka dots, my mind was so caught up in a simple optical illusion, that I'd not noticed the boy walking into me.
"Watch where you're going, asshole!"
The boy, older, his fingers betrayed by numbers long ago, pushes by me, saying nothing else, meeting up with a friend.
This is the first time that I was ever directly sworn at. I'd heard the word before, many times, in whispered television memory and closed door stay-in-your-room-we-aren't-fighting-I-love-you arguments, but never to my face. Not so blatantly. Hurried along, I rain to my mother, and was led by the hand out onto the sidewalk, fending off my one-hand-count brother's questions, disappearing into hot air. My particles disperse, and I am no more.
Now, I reappear, ghosting into the playground like a recurring nightmare. I have doubled my height, age, life, but it all started and ended here.
I walk up those stairs, sun bleached and weathered by time. Back then, it was all too big to wrap my head around. Now, it's small to the same degree. One size never fit anybody.
It rained yesterday, and the slides and stairs are sweating sky droplets. I find my way back to the gears and cogs, still just as loud, though not as hard to turn, and take a seat right next to it. A few spins satisfies me this time; my ears have tastes fireworks splashing across the sky; the whispers,
slips, and tangles, of lover's voices; the fury of a father scorned by his second born child filtered through closed headphones. All these noises tie me to this Earth. My ears know worse than "asshole."
I look again and see myself. Day turns to day, night lit by the sun. I'm pushed down, to the ground, sworn at, and I waddle away to my mother,
off into the street, my feet tiring but still dragged along as one corporeal being. I seize the moment in my hand in my day, crushed between my fingers, squirming like caterpillars, centipedes, each leg a month spent in anguish, a month in doubt, a month in useless introspection, spent mastering walking on one leg, breathing manually, glorifying the needless critique of being.
My fingers grace the holes in the floor pattern, and I smile, closing my eyes, and feel the cogs turn in my chest. I lost innocence, not all at once but in pieces, flower pedals. It its place grow dandelions. Weeds, sure, but beautiful and bountiful and flowery all the same.
Alice is the Earth
I walk barefoot through empty fields and
cake my feet with dirt
There are no storms here
Only sugar-dust and crumbling handfuls of
soil, rich in
life
Sometimes I walk through mud
I must be careful not to fall in
I don't want to get the ground dirty
Trees like brain stems
planted, ideas and songs and books
a row of bushes is
the entire Harry Potter series
another is
the faded memory of a musical
grass grows, and also
worms
I was once welcomed to other gardens
made of clay, baked to bricks
or of granite, secrets hidden in topsoil
I look over fences to other gardens
but I always return to her dirt.
Right now the dirt is being paved over
a sidewalk for a new road. Wet cement
does not go well with bare feet. I miss
the dirt, I could hide in
I could live for
I should be buried in.
Closed is the garden
gone are the trees
what's left is fading
Alice's memories of me
But someday soon I will return armed with
a pickaxe
Break through the pavement and find dirt
I know it isn't the same deep down
But I know what I did.
Alice was my earth
I used to walk barefoot in dust and
have dirt shoesoles on my feet
It doesn't stop raining here
The worms come out to bathe and drown
and die, with
I among them
-
Alternate Ending:
The pavement Is never paved
I lobby for the garden to stay
open
and free to the public
I share its dirt one last time
then gather some up in a jar
like ashes
a memorial of
what was never dead.
metal slides back and forth, up and down
the room is empty but for a broken violin
that is, if you ignore everything else
shattered bowstrings line the dark floor of ignored substance
curled wood with age
damp and darkened, ritualistically destroyed
years ago i sat here without the airplanes above
years ago when fire was new
years ago i stood here without connections and love
years ago when i never knew you
the broken violin? snapped straight!
i did it, and it felt
strangely
not as good as i knew
that you wanted me to feel
all those years
its a sweet distress
in the emptynotemptyoccupied railroom
as train cars dash back and forth walkie talkie bleeps and blops
broken violins rain from the ground into the walls and out again
a snappy tendril, a bloodcurdling laugh
the sound that the wind makes when i want it to stop screaming
is not enough to drown out
an endless cavern
a cavern with no bats
no spikes or rocks
nothing but hollow that goes past
the end of the earth
past void and past hell
into the netherrealms where the great ones once lived and will never live again
a land that sits
on C-String
ringing in sharp tone, out of tune
on a broken violin
its not my violin. is it? no
was it yours ever? was it? mine?
i wish? i could place!
its nothing to me broken violin
not much that i could want
the railroom is not empty anymore
the violin snaps underneath
this is why i am here
the last thing i hear is the wind starting to scream again
as i am torn from my place on the floor
like a violin broken to shreds
dropped
like unwanted food scraps
and cast aside
like a test that came back positive but couldnt have been true no matter what the doctors
said
torn apart
i have to be fast
or the monsters will get me
i can hear them chittering in between the
bushes i can hear them scampering after
my feet they are right next to me and they
want to eat me alive so i must be
careful where i step and i
want to avoid them
they made themselves known
they roared
and they knocked over a trash bin
so i run further
that was a house now that they knocked down
they broke a piano over each
others necks and ate the keys with blackened
teeth from the soot that they fed
themselves on for
so
so
long
and they are hungry
there was another one
they would not listen to
me and they never would no matter what i said
they flash up and down with the scratchings of my
reality they are coming to eat me
i dont have long i have
to be fast they are dragging my legs back and twisting me and snapping me apart because
its too late you have to run
and you have to hide even if it wont
work and i know that when you hide that it will buy you precious time to
call a loved one because the end is here and has always been here
we expect it to never show up but
its really just the beginning that never came
discovered not sleeping i was
torn from my bed and
eaten alive
by
It's been a while
not since I was here
but since I was with you
has it been three months yet? It felt like four years
I hadn't seen you for seven hundred and thirty days.
Each day shorter than a half hour.
Remember when we used to guess at
what our lives would be?
Given ten years?
Ten
real
years?
Walk up the stairs with me now
I'll lead you by the hand
creaking footfalls don't bother me
step through the porch door
say hello to the cats
with no names, nebulous
of the same litter
castaways from the cat herd
they watch, but they don't bite
Now through the front door
the real start
a mud room filled with dirt - dust - sand
the stompings and residue of
afternoons in the yard
woodchips in the corners
childhood, intermission.
The living room has a record player
with some Puerto Rican boy band records
the second youngest loves those
I know what you think
do not trip
over the nylon ukelele strings
it was out of tune
and I felt a connection there
broken fixes broken
is that familiar?
The kitchen is glass and metal
and beeswax sculpted animals, alternative health
and nature products
would you like a drink? Here's
a mason jar of water
lemonade
orange juice
apple
pear
you don't say a word, but I know your silence
How could I forget? I've known you
for five years
on and
off for
five
real
years
Upstairs or down?
macintosh plus computers, car parts,
litterboxes, laundry
drywall, laundry
drywall, dust,
grime, grief,
rust, recollection
or
my room?
Two beds and
a copy of 'Kafka on the Shore'
roll from one to another
like the curl of a page turn
or sit with me here
the lower one
watch the window pried open like crying eyes
enjoy the breeze
I won't tell you why we're here
or whether you'll wake up soon
or why you're dreaming of memories
you try so hard to forget
the secrets your soul keeps from itself
permanent ink on a pahe
All I can give is a shrug and laugh
and watch you age, here with me
Why is it this house we buy
in nowhere, upstate New York?
out of college, out of youth
no children grace the mudroom any longer
I restrung the uke
you broke me again
and if we don't fall apart
maybe we'll get new cats
ones with names that sip their water
out of mason jars that in drunken dazes we held
up to our eyes and pretend to be the
six year olds we never knew.
But we're not there
and you're not here
this dream was never dreamt
but next time I go it will be in memorium
I'll bury you there
by Niagara Falls
And when I come back and see you again
My head is filled with the roar of plunging water.
No amount of set dressing could hide it
Six art installations, seven levels, eight times visited in the course of one day
Nine times cried in
Uncountable infiltrations and immeasurable usage
Untold measures of
People
Lay within the cement walls of this structure
Trash peaking up from below tree cover
Plastics and methane and oils and solid and wrappers
And stoppers and bottle toppers
Echo beneath and beside
The sounds of trains and busses alike in dilapidated Dublin Donuts talking weather and sports
People things
The rejected sleep in tents, separated by
A foot of concrete and a mile of shopping carts
From the children and their play-structures
The tarps and the beer bottles leaking over every now and then
There's a door out, two feet off the ground from
The inside
And all gone to rapture it has
Once we waited here and saw people pass by
figurative one way mirrors, I hid you
Underneath my coat, black and white and dirtied grey
Drawing you more attention but still keeping you warm with
The thought that counted
So far away from the Fire of your home
The Fire we carry now separate from each other
The Fire I give to this station and the rejected in their tarps
Opposite is an art exhibit or a protest
Further down the spiral you go
Spray paint to last a life time with
"God help us believe in God helping us believe"
And
"Those god damn kids"
And
"Life is shit" next to a crossed out "short" echoing amidst obscenities
Unsure if they themselves count or are too profanely knowledgeable to join the pack
House in these walls your sick and dying
The motor cars and bumble bees by field and fire the crumbling ceilings
Echo
Echo
Echo
Foxtrot
Despite best attempts and false prayers still remain here
Housed in these walls
Give up your ghost
On a bed of needle stalactites drilling from the ceiling like icicles
Do you live here?
You would be home by now
Carry your flame
I wake up just in time to catch a train
to my job just down the street from
The other Fire
To wallpaper my life with hell and all my family
To deny them to see the rejected
The zoo open any other day
And the homeless find their comfort in knowing that which we can't
And I take their comfort with me for I am one of their kind postponed until a later date
my long walk given over for another day
And I am still cold here
And I have been for many months
For a year I grew warmer and now
I've lost my heat
When I ask you now
If I do what I did because
Of the pain that made a home inside
Words kiss like death
Nobody knows it
They assume that everything's fine
though regular and nice I still
Walk on the edge
I'd like to get messed up
I want to be fucked up
I want to obliterate myself
Tear off my skin and hit myself
Make it clear that I'm not here
I went to see a show
I went to see two in three days
I shared it with everyone and
They hated it
I put out my hand
Made an effort to reach out and
When they saw my outstretched fingers
They bat them away
I'd like to get out of here
I'm fucking running out of here
I want to obliterate myself
Break all my bones and crumple myself
Make it see that it's not me
Any other day at the beach would have been fine for swimming, but today a quick dip in the ocean was the last thing on her mind. A quick walk through town, situated by the seaside, was all that she intended on - no interruptions necessary - when all of a sudden her phone rang. It was her lawyer, calling to inform her of a break in her case. She frowned: a quick stroll was what she was hoping would take her mind off of the disappearance of her brother, not remind her more of it. Begrudgingly, she held the phone up to her ear, only for it to be snatched out of her hand. She stared up at the sky in amazement - a seagull had mistaken the shiny phone for food! It was carrying it off into the sky, settling on the beach. The woman ran after the gull, kicking off her shoes as she ran through the sand. The bird was pecking at her screen, likely ruining it, each jackhammer thrump sending another spindly crack across the glass. A flock of—
1.
Seven headed Cerberus guarding gates of Hell
makes no sweetness
no fuss about our presence
nor does his hellhound pal.
We've been upstairs and all around and
found it crowded
so we fall down further
Tartarus takes us in hand
Over piles of furniture, bed sheets, clothes,
archways, pillows,
magma, floorboards
that creak to disturb the doze
Fallen angels, the same kind as you,
unburdened countess
disgraced, untethered,
laugh about each other too.
We find in the labyrinth our Elysium
cluttered with grass
and but one bed
to this precipice we have come.
We take in each other's hands on our hearts
hushed whispers, laughs
careless words, I peel you open
and you begin to take yourself apart.
2.
How did I get here?
Why are you so near?
Have I had too much to drink,
poured all five shots down behavioral sinks
I really must be going soon
But your fingers, your delicate croon
Invites me to stay.
Is this alright?
Do I bring you any light?
Push me down onto the couch
This hollow room, you are no slouch
I was here once, Christmas Eve
prying eyes, I could not leave, I
Never came back until today
A cluttered table, is this rushed?
Tilted television, should I have blushed?
The kitchen is right over there
With the spirits, why, we tried to share
I poured myself out in some words
You needed none, you already heard
That things would wind up swinging this way
Did you like my piano tune?
Or did I make myself a loon?
The bicycle upon the wall
The guitar ajar could see it all
Two lost ones, torn apart
stitched together, leaking hearts?
when you kissed me, there was nothing left to-
-say.
3.
We weren't ever here to see a picture.
We came in to admire the tile work.
We walked in to find an empty place.
We walked in to look at sinks and Johns
We strode in on horseback.
We gallivanted to make ourselves whole.
We jumped in and shut it behind us.
We locked the latch to keep ourselves in.
We didn't look when we passed the mirror.
We already locked ourselves inside each other's eyes.
We breathe as one, but never joined.
We came near, but stayed far.
We watched as we jumped over the chasm.
We looked back and saw our feet hadn't
left
the ground.
You looked up and saw I wasn't there yet.
I tried to get it to start.
You knew I was on the brink of jumping off,
I caw you in the air, I couldn't join you
You dove far down, you dove deeper
I didn't dare dip
my toes
in.
I open the door.
You run across the hall to clean
yourself
up.
stealing traffic cones this is being alive
trains to nowhere this is being alive
knife fight bruises this is being alive
filing cabinet this is being alive
unused nomenclature this is being alive
parasites inside this is being alive
erasing myself this is being alive.
stealing more time this is being alive
watching paint dry in waiting rooms this is being alive
mud crusted tires screeching this is being alive
child crusaders this is being alive
failing systems this is being alive
lost souls packed and herded into train cars this is being alive
breathing this is being alive
plastics, chemicals, physics ruling everything this is being alive
Hesitation,
this is being alive
Delicate revolutionaries this is being alive
dodged responsibility this is being alive
dual regencies this is being alive
dr., dr., dr., Doctor, this is being
alive?
alive?
Is this being alive?
I love the word citrus right now
now, and then
the things that aren't shared between times
limes and lemons and
blood orange.
San Pellegrino's
fizzy blood orange soda drinks
simple, understated, sweet,
perfect for a bench
perfect for cherry blossoms
perfect for the girl
the girl I hadn't
been able to
bring myself to
the point where I
don't understate
how comfortable I feel
telling here that
there's something I should have
told her a long
while ago.
We could share Blood Orange San Pellegrino's
if I knew what they were
maybe then
she wouldn't have said
"I love you too."
I love the word citrus right now.
Now, and then.
But not the taste that comes with it.
at the end of the evening
the ensemble decides
to play one of Coltrane's more
"Free Jazz"
compositions. They do this
two times in two years for two versions
of myself
My first self is dominated by sound
saxophones swirls and tuba tones,
drum dynamics and trumpet moans,
a stampede of trombone, up a gear,
an upright bass, a flute's soft cheer
a pink backdrop towards which peered eyes
glance
unending stares into the night
it still brings tears to the places I used to be able to see
clearly from.
An evening, a night crawl, a cemetery on legs
the dancing celebrations of the nearly dead
in search of watering holes, the highest heights,
to let the music's last few notes last all through the night
A year goes by.
I anticipate to be blown away in the wind
Gaia under my feet
between my toes
the crumbling foundation on which I am built
torn to shreds by termites, aching for
one last symphony.
but the music
is the last thing on my mind
I see things clearly
I see the ocean wide
I gaze out across it and wish to hide
The light glistens off shining hot gold plating
and cascades through the air
but in the back of my eyes I see a jury
and behind them, I see a judge
the evidence presented my own memories
I am not on trial
I stumble outside fending off
the questions of two-bit afterthoughts
metalheads and skulkers who just came to see a show.
I write a small fragment and cast it off,
wait to find a ticket and catch the train
that left from the station
365 days ago.
A pack of bones wrapped in tissue paper
when wet gives out and crumples inward
and the same am I right now
surely any minute now
there will be a wave
and then
nothing
Oh, I am not myself today!
I sit on the apex of an archway not daring
anywhere
go near
to it
Passing through is predetermined and
not my business to decide though
I already know what may lay
on the other side.
I am not myself today.
I have never been
And though it be as it may
I've always been made of tin.
I took what you gave me
"Leave if you hate me," see
you probably shouldn't have done that
Because I took it and ran
stuck my head in the sand
A screech, fangs bared, and an exit
I sat on your windowsill and sang to myself
You would join me sometimes
in your shrill, shrill tones
And when you were trapped in the country
your ancestors grew up in
taken by tumors driven from themselves
I lazed around without you and shed hair everywhere
wallowing
Walking on glass bottle rooves
staring at the sky
with plunges and drops and pavement tops,
stray dogs cry
I hissed and whined and cut at myself with cat claws
Charlie, yours, left alone to fend for himself
staring off balconies into temptation
a flick of the tail, nothing left but
pawprints
Sit down
It doesn't matter where but find a seat
and you are halfway there
find something
someone
to stare at
and do not falter
close your eyes when you are tired
keep them trapped that way
now imagine the space around you fading
travel towards what you had last seen
all the while talking to yourself
in mumbled tones
"I'm not really here
this isn't really happening."
A brick
chaffing and powdery, crumbling apart
falling to pieces and weak in the heart
tossed up and down again
masonry in miniature
A washing machine
plugged in power strip, extension cord
no more stuck inside, no clothes worn or stored
a broken gear, turning wheel
outliving purpose
The brick in hand, the machine on pavement,
I flick a switch
The systems failing start again
A screw comes loose under no duress
and I toss the brick inside
shut the door
and stand back.
The damage is visual
The brick smashes the glass pane
It bounces around and dents the inside
the machine hops around, unrestrained
by gravity
the brick eventually bounces out
and the machine shakes itself apart
a gentle seizure
a lonely whirr, a tired hum
the machine lies in pieces
Satisfied, I walk closer
and see what is in the wreckage
metal parts, plastic casings
a cheshire grin on my face
I take what is useful
and disregard the rest
for what was once superfluous
has now been trimmed away.
Love what it loves
take what it gives
through mountains and mortality defeating
every golden hymn
sanctuary islands and climbs and trees
give all unto all and love what they see
Love what I love
in your own face
the way curtain eyelids draw themselves,
the contours and laugh lines and dimples never seen,
curled brown hair, like a dream
nine versions, iterative,
prototypical typists
hammer away at the backs of
their skulls
Love what you love
every last drop of my
licorice black sorrow, cry
"I am not" and dissipate into
etheric fog around the tips of skyscrapers
their fingers scratching the back
of the sky
Love what it loves
make what you will
though buckets upon buckets and heaps upon heaps
of evening sing
you are not listening
scratched up and bruised
dragged down, lose
sense of self sensing your place on the shelf.
Right next to infidels,
heretics, barbed wires,
the weeds that take root and look out like flower
to an untrained eye
anyone else's but mine
you need not share,
your despair is already mine.
Love what it loves
see what it brings
cats dragging roadkill to doorsteps proud of themselves
covered in leaf and twig.
Lili Williams opened her case, and shakily put her instrument together. The district festival exam proctor watched as she took out her crumpled up sheet music and put it on her stand. Three points off; presentation.
She counted to start the piece, and played the first note.
"BREEEEEEP!"
A long, stripey, rolled up party horn unfurled from the foot joint of her flute.
You are a vinyl record that I have worn out
Your grooves are over-played
Your sounds coated in surface noise
You've lost fidelity
And I do not care
I put you in reverse once
And you rose from your body
Separated and serated
The bones of what you built
The veins of what you decry
The nerve of when you deny
The muscle that spasms out
The skin pierced by guilt
A new copy is
On its way
In the
Post
But I
Will keep this
One because it is
Signed
I learned recently of the day that disco died
The time in Chicago they blew up that crate of vinyl records
For no good reason other than because they were fed up
Like I am of you, your worn out grooves tracing
The folds of my brain sitting in my skull
In the dead of night I will drag you out
Of your spot in my makeshift wine box record crate
I will walk down to the football field by the train station
With a hammer and a book of matches
In the cold of the winter, in the heat of the moment
And set you down right on the fifty yard line
I will shatter you into a million pieces
I will collect those pieces into a pile and light a match
I will burn a hole in the turf the size of my heart
And, when I get home
I will open up the drawer in the pantry
Where I keep all my bad ideas
I will lift out the copy of you I recorded onto cassette
Take the car keys off the hook
Sit in the driver's seat, and turn on the radio
Put the copy of you in the tape deck
And freeze to death
To the sound
Of your
Voice.
I miss you
I'd write this in
My paper journal if
I really wanted this to
Stay secret, to be unseen,
To be hidden, to disappear,
To fade away into nothing
To dissolve into the ether
But the truth is
I want this to be seen
I long for you to come across it
And for you to be
Struck with grief, with regret,
With "why didn't i's", with "I could've,"
With "I could've been a lot less cold"
And with "together we could have grown old"
You are the only person
I have ever truly loved
You are the only person
I have ever really missed
That I've hungered for, that I've dreamed of,
That I've daydreamed about, that I've cried over
That I've wanted to be by my side every day of my life
That I've looked at the empty space beside me and seen standing there
I know it sounds crazy
We haven't talked in person in months
I know it sounds stupid
When we can't hold conversations any more
When we can't look at each other, when we can't see each other at all,
When we can't say hello, when we can't even wave,
When you take hours to answer texts
When I never think to call
The last time we talked
Was on the train
On my birthday
And I never could have imagined,
That my soul would stir, that my heart would ache
That my hands would clam up, that my face would burn
That the ground beneath me would split
Two halves torn apart, rendered asunder, like us
My body rages against me now
I have to fight it to get up
In the mornings
And I don't always win
I usually lose, I stay indoors,
I groan and grumble, I cannot laugh
I can only stir in my sorrow
I can only lounge in my loneliness
You can't remember
When you promised to drag me out to lunch
When you promised not to harm yourself if I did the same
When you came to visit me in the hospital more than my own family
When I meant something to you, when I wasn't just a face
When I was a face at all, when I started to fade away
All of these have passed from your mind
But not mine
The colloquial rule is
Three unanswered texts, and you stop trying
Three unanswered years, and you start dying
Three unsuccessful attempts, and you start lying
About how much it mattered, how hurt you are
How little it means, how far away it feels,
How close you want it to be
How you know it won't be that way again
I have my whole life ahead of me
Or do I?
What if I don't wake up tomorrow?
What if I violate our pact
The one you forgot, the one I agreed to,
The only thing, the last bastion of hope
All that gives me pause
Are the words you gave me years ago
If you're reading this
And I get the feeling you are not
Then I may have made it worse
You did not want "on again, off again,"
So let's be on always, let's stay together
Because we're ready now, because we are warmer
Or have you grown colder?
Has this been a blessing in disguise?
I don't care if it is
I miss you
That's all that there is
To say
Addendum:
I think I understand better now
It has been a few days
I have seen the ducks out in the pond
I have watched the birds
Watter dripping from their beaks
Glistening in the sunshine, yearning for home
I have seen you again and we have
spoken
and the spokes in my wheels have long since broken
rusted shut yet still made to turn and learn that of all the things people say I do well
burn has never been one of them
but I'll try anyway
They didn't tell me what would happen when I touch it
They didn't tell me what would happen if I touched it
What would happen if I touched you?
There's something that pounds on the doors of my house when I'm not looking. Every so often, it'll be like the door pops, almost flying open, but it'll stay on its frame. Sometimes, whatever it is that does this will go around to each and every door in the house and just pop them, one by one. It comes from a direction. It happens when I can't see it. There's something here, always, and it knows my name, and it knows it's own, and I can't tell the two apart. I hear it's footsteps sometimes, too, and the way it can shake the pipes just by breathing. I'm ready for it. I want it to hold me tight in its arms and take me far away from here.
automatic shrieking the last of the last ones starving into the night time looking for food and galloping on bone horses I seek to sought to sign to find the mind inside the ones who cannot realize that on our steeds we ride into the dusk of horizon of night of day of light of sun of god and blood and all of the things we want to burn burn burn burn burn the urn of ash and crash of lashes and mashes and bruised up minds and heads that turn when we walk down the street and do our dance and do our dance and do our dance we cannot dance we can only scream scream scream and bust up heads and break in the glass and break in the windows and steal from the doorways and make all we want into our own things i seek to upset a piano i seek to torment a guitar i seek to reconstitute myself i seek ownership i seek all i see it all i want nothing more than to take control of the ringing in m yhead that cannot stop going up and down a minor scale i cannot tell which and as i stare out my window in tokyo i cannot do anything but weep weep weep weep weep weakly about the lights of neon and xeon and xenon and zeon and aeon and eons have passed since i last knew what it was like to be true i cannot miss it if i have not known it we have grown in numbers since they saw us last we have grown in size we have grown in sickness we have grown and we have masticated and we have evaporated and we ring our hands together like a gigantic burning mass i cannot open my eyes or else the blinding light of scripture will sear my flesh until it seals i cannot ipen my mouth or else the voice of god will render me unable to speak i cannot open my ears uncover my nose undo my hands or else all will fade away from me i love my friends i love them all i want to kill everything that doesnt love what i do and stuff it into my mouth and it will be god and god saw all the work he had done and it was good and it was good and it was good and it was good and it was good was it good i wasnt there i cannot say i want to find a space where i can have a quiet mind because all i need is quiet and peace and war and deafening silence deaf in one deaf in the other comes in one ear and never comes out again like an abyss or a puncutred tire on the wheel of samsara i cannot say i am cyclical did you know that i am a circle that turns around and around and the automated people and the scientific minded will weep and weep and weep and weep in their bedrooms overlooking tokyo and every other city and every other town and they cannot know what i do and all i know is that i cannot know anything for as long as i live shooting giant lengths of flame right out of my head right out of my head right out of my head right into my eyes rught into my mind why is it going away? it hasnt gone away it loves me it stays and i did not kill it like i thought i did i cannot kill it it will stay pills wont help pills wont help pills cant help only fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire
i dont post here enough. i dont post enough in general. i owe 2 memory posts right now and i posted on mini a week ago but i think i tagged the wrong person and they don't know that it's their turn. planning for my space au has stalled because ive been dealing with writers block for the past couple of weeks. the strongest writing ive done in that time period was for my english final, and for the sat essay. i hate it. i have a jazz essay due monday and i havent started, but ill shit it out in four hours tomorrow and get an a+ anyways. if i said i was coasting id be ghosting myself / ignoring the effort i put into shit / i just lost my job and all my mental health / but i think i can take another hit || but things are looking up, i got a girlfriend, and some other people, i won a creative writing award a couple weeks ago, and my college prospects are okay. im just feeling kind of depressed right now. that's all this is. it's just an episode. i'm just having an episode. it's a re-run, and the remote is stuck in the fucking couch. i can't change the channel without getting up and reaching for the tv, but the buttons on the tv change the antenna channel, not the cable channel, so i'll just wind up on some fucked up signal garbage version of abc. my computer desk shakes when i write unless i put my foot on the support beam and my knee under the desk part. its made from recycled bed parts. the longest i havent been sick in the past month is for three days.
Laying in the roots and rolling in dirt
With sounds of passing cars at the foot
Of my earthy bed
I arise to find myself with two linear
Scrapes, cuts, wounds
Against my wrist
These marks demarcate my meadowlark cry
Of years past
In similar longing to that I feel now I struck myself
I cut away, I stripped my flesh
Of my shoulders
Believe me when I say
That I
Am cyclical
And that though I may make an effort
To distance myself
From my past, my history, my memory
I will repeat it
Fearfully
I will tear
I will rend
I will mortify
I will flagellate
I will cut and slash and stab
Until the blood I bleed
The red I drew
Matches the flush
In your cheeks
The ghost of my desire haunts your windowsill
Waiting for the kill
The sound of your breathing
To take its fill
To fill you up until you start sinking
She is nudged awake in the morning
By seven different kinds of scorning
Forsaken loves lost
Claims made in deference
To her indifference
And a boy miles away who still feels double crossed
Parlay to this crime in the audience
My own eyes, hence
The detached gaze I cast
Upon this last
Dying breath of the world
And all it's last loves
One day the spectre
Of my sepulcher
Will haunt this girl
This deranged avenger
And, insidiously, inside her it will curl
There is no ill will
As I lay still
But as I lie awake
Riding the tip of an arrowhead
I am pointed and cast
Drawn and quartered
For some time
My legs have failed me
Rickety and creaky
Almost secondhand
They threaten to fall out
From under my body
At any single moment
I wonder when
The day will finally come
When my shin gives out
When my thigh splits
And when my calves buckle
Will I be out and about
All by my lonesome
A usual Saturday morning
Stumbling around
When the tremor hits me
And I crumple like paper
Or will I be with someone else
In a bedroom somewhere
A castle watchtower scanning
The earth for signs of life
To the sound of endless melancholy
When my feet fail me?
I would rather
Know in advance
Receive some kind of bodily reminder
So that I have ample time to
Crawl away somewhere
Like a sick cat
And die alone
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
This is the place where he is, but it is not the place that he has always been.
Standing outside he takes inventory of the exterior of the apartment building. Situated on a ring road on the edge of a city that gets further away the more steps you take, never appearing on the never appearing edge of the never ending woods circling the complex. Today looked particularly Gothic. Ornaments, gargoyles, spires scratching the sky for twenty stories, leering at the sky above, all constructed on a steel frame the building never managed to shake. At least he assumed that it was steel, because currently he was unsure whether or not he could truly say that the building did not sit on a foundation of bone. Stone grotesques, bas reliefs, and other adornments enshrined the revolving doorway that never shifted, yet another unshakable feature like the park outside, with a fountain and several benches in a park with a path running around and through, encircling the fountain, separating the road from the half-moon crescent driveway, as if cars frequently came.
Every day of the seven day week, the building's decoration would change. Today, a Monday, it looked like a cathedral, as it were. Tomorrow, if things were consistent with the last few weeks—and they very rarely were—it would become more standard, a Modernist office building thing. Criss-crossing the now glass window laden outer walls (glass windows, even if there was nothing but wall to see on the other side) would be steel beams in an 'X' pattern.
The day after, there would be windows, still, but rarely in excess. Instead the building would become gray and dirty where the glass once was, and jagged edges would peel off the corners of the building like porcupine quills. As far as he or anybody else in the building could tell, any jagged corner that significantly went off the side of the building enough to be the size of a room or larger was solid concrete. The building never leaned. On Thursday, Art Deco, luxury, sophistication. Outer lights that illuminated the woods for some distance away, attracting all sorts of things. Friday, the building became decrepit and asylum-like, which was not too far off the mark. On Saturday, a humble historical European tenement extending upwards. Sunday brought everything at once.
All this changed about the inside were the hallways—the wallpaper, the color of the carpet, and the light fixtures updated themselves to match the style, as did the general atmosphere in the lobby and the elevator music. On his way down, he was serenaded for what felt like three hours by harpsichord music. It could have been harpsichord. It could have been a synthesizer. It could have been three hours, or weeks, or minutes, or seconds. Time was stolen often here. Time was also given, too.
It was necessary to keep track of the building exterior for this reason; it was always, always in flux, like everything else, but it was in a reliable flux, rare in this strange place. Those were rarer than the permanent things, like the cabin out in the courtyard where the groundskeeper lived. Nobody had ever seen him, but many had been inside his house to mind it while he was gone. They received letters in their mail slots, and knew what had to be done. Alyosha was there now, attempting to conduct a purification ceremony. He had been in there for weeks.
Satisfied with his investigation, he went back inside the building, entering through that consistent revolving door. On his way up to his room, he fell asleep in the elevator, and when he woke up, he was on the roof.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
The elevator dings, and he gets out on the eighteenth floor.
Maybe today the clocks will match the time on my phone, he thinks to himself, instead of the time of day out the window.
Of course, they do not. The hallway clock reads seven in the evening, and the sky outside is lit a waxen red. It was really eight o'clock in the morning, but he decided not to push the issue with himself. The apartments on the upper floors were more sparsely furnished upon moving in, but he had slowly collected more oddities to add to his home. They were more tightly packed than the places below, he had come to know. The Housefather was situated a floor below, for example. Avery lived at the far end of the hall, and had been out lately—a spotty trail of blood ran the length of the hall. And it had been a while since he had seen Ned, the old painter's apprentice, but he lived somewhere here too.
He unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside. Now he saw the morning fog rolling over the woods, the sun on the correct side of the sky, the grayness in the air. He also saw his armchair threatening to float across the room again. Sighing, a leap was made for the chair, legs leaving ground, a couple of feet upwards—and he pulled it right back down and managed to refasten it to its place. Any longer and it would have started to spin around the room, and it was a bouncy thing it was. He walked to the kitchen to start making breakfast, and high-fived a hand that sprouted from the wall on his way. Satisfied, it receded Searching for the right cabinet—all the time they changed around him—he grabbed his bowl and placed it on the counter-top. He reached into the pantry for the box of cereal, navigating past the jar of teeth that had replaced his cheese puffs when the sunbeam hit last afternoon, made sure there weren't any odd spiders or anything inside, and poured them in, taking the bowl over to the faucet after he did so. One twist left and three twists right on the knobs gave him milk.
Poking and prodding at the bowl of cereal to make sure it wasn't any stranger than it already was, he went over and sat in his armchair, staring outside at the woods below. Something was moving down the road in the distance. It had headlights, and was speeding along towards them. Curious, he made his way to the window to get a closer look. Double deckere'd and painted rasped-purple, the bus made its way along to the tower and slowed as it pulled in the front rotunda. Out poured several—eight total—new residents, looking freshly confused, just as he had, however many false nights ago.
A smile curled across his lips. He turned around and saw that there were now four bowls of cereal and seven spoons between them on his table. The moose head mounted on the wall blinked twice at him; he knew that things were going to become very interesting, and fairly quickly.
However, he knew that if there was anything he could count on here, it was that there was nothing he could count on. It was with this caution that he made his way out his door again, leaving the cereal on the table. He could trust it no more.
CBP PRESENTS AN ILL ADVISED WRITING EXPERIMENT...
... LOOSELY INSPIRED BY THE 'URBAN UNREST' CYOA, AND OTHERS YET TO COME ...
Where They Went: Towers Of Hell And Great Serpentines Of The Highest Order
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
A sharp inhalation and then a shooting upwards towards the sky, columns of self grasping for air. Poking with a stick in the shoulder as quaky breaths echo strangely—as if they already had ended, and suddenly resumed—into open hollow lively air. Hands, caked with dirt, pulling at her—her?—own face, tugging on cheeks, patting her face, rubbing the corners of her eyes, tugging on her shaggy unkempt black hair, returning tufts that, in terror, she let fall to the ground. A door closed behind her. Terrified, shaky, she scrambled to her feet, saw the ramshackle shack behind her, and pounded on the door. It looked like midday.
"Help!" she shouted, "help, dear god, help! Please!!" Some fumbling came from the other end as a latch, or two, or three, or four or five, all clicked shut.
"Woah, shlow down, easy there!?" came a reply quicker than she expected. She stopped knocking on the sheet metal door, but kept shouting back. Inane, incomprehensible things. The man inside—really, he would rather the term guy, because nobody really liked the word man in his line of work unless there was a detestful the in front of it—had heard this stuff before. Usually, people freaked out the first time they went to Uncle Icky's downstairs, but not this horribly.
"I already did help you out, shweetheart," he explained to little avail, "I poked you with a spare antenna, and then I ran back inside! Because who knows who else saw me! Jeez, kid. Go home."
Tears ran down her cheeks, and for some reason she was surprised that there wasn't something there obstructing their flow. Looking around, she saw a gray blurry sky, and crumbling ground, surrounded on a perimeter by spikes. A shutter in the door opened, and on the other side a pair of blue eyes stared back, wide open and fearful. She backed away, whimpering in shock, and took a look over her shoulder past the spikes and towards the impressionist ground below, a mess of brushstrokes and splatters. There was a staircase leading downwards on the other side of the roof, a little ways away from the shack. Why had she expected rain?
It took her a few moments to realize that she needed a few moments to collect herself. Still in tears, she crumpled to the ground, looking around for anything that clued her in on where she was at all. There was a radio antennae on the top of the shack, multi-pronged and shooting triumphantly straight upwards. The little shutter on the door made a little metallic sound as it closed shut. The man inside went back to his table and set to work back with his tools, focusing on fixing the transistor radio that the mice had brought him the other night, but he could not look at it for very long; soon came another knocking on his door. With a sigh, he stomped back to the door and opened the shutter.
"Please," she said, wiping away her tears, "please. I don't know who I am."
"Well, none of us know what this place is either," he replied, rolling his eyes.
"No," she corrected, shaking her head, "I mean, like, uhm, I don't know who I am."
He stared at her blankly for a few moments. Something expectant rose in the girl, something swelled in her chest, something like a wave crashed and broke as he closed the shutter once more and she knocked on the door again, this time hard enough to hurt her hand.
"I'm shorry," he said, "I can't help you there. I can't help you, shweetie."
"Who?" she asked, "who can? Who, who, who, who?"
"I don't know! I just have my own little show here, in my shack, and I can't help shweethearts like you, sho, shorry."
"Hey, stop calling me sweetheart? I don't like that."
His eyes narrowed. "Well, you can't possibly be much older than shixteen, shw—uh, gal. And, I feel like I should be kind to anyone with a really wide shtich, on their whole neck."
For the first time, she looked down at herself. Not that she could see the seam, but she could feel it with her hands. It ran the entirety of her neck, all the whole way around, and made her feel a little smaller than her skin. She was wearing a plain black hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans, and white sneakers. They didn't feel like her clothes, but the whole of her did not feel like her self either. Not something she could claim ownership over. There was a slip of paper in the pocket of her hoodie. She pulled it out and studied it carefully.
"Your name," she read aloud, "is Jodi. You live on the third floor. Apologies for the bad chicken meat. Please come by some other time and get a meal on the house. Signed, Uncle Icky."
A pause, pregnant, before Jodi could find it in herself to blow air out of her nose in frustration.
The man inside the shack laughed an unplaceable laugh and startled Jodi so badly that the fortune-cookie sized piece of paper slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the ground.
"What's so funny?" she asked. No reply, only continuous laughter. A light on the front of the shack that she hadn't noticed earlier blinked back on. The words 'On Air' were printed in all capital letters, white against red.
"Apologiesh," came the voice, "to all of thoshe just tuning in. This is radio K.P.B.C., broadcasting live from the one, the only, the Tower, ash we all know and love it by, and I have jusht been interrupted by a real life myshtery that has, fortunately, sholved itself. One of our new arrivalsh ate a bad taco, and wound up here before she could be shown to her room by a tenant. If shomeone could come up and collect her, and show her downshtairsh, that would be great, becaushe, it would mean I could continue the shtory right where we left off..."
Jodi listened for a few moments as the man trailed off into some narrative. It sounded like it was about detectives and strange mysteries, which, she learned by her absolute lack of interest, was apparently not something that she was very interested in.
"I can handle myself," she muttered, rubbing her hands together for warmth as she disappeared down the stairs.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
Apparently, she was in an apartment tower in the middle of the woods. She could go out front, but didn't feel like it. There was a swing set and a slide in the backyard courtyard, a ways behind the four car parking lot, and a small cabin a little ways in the distance that she could see from her window. It appeared, occasionally, to glow. She had been told by the grocery store clerk earlier in the day when she went down to get some potato chips, between the warning to not look in the "Ephemera" aisle if she wanted to keep her ears and eyes and the "That'll be seven dollars and eleven cents," that it was wise not to go into the woods, and not to leave on anything other than the orange bus. The city was far, and strange. Not worth investigating, if one wanted to keep their life.
Who?
Apparently, Jodi, a myopic high school girl. She had spent a lot of time in front of the mirror trying to figure out the strangeness about her. Apart from the worrying stitch—hopefully there was a nurse here, to remove the stitches, because it looked like their job had been done—and the fact that her hair was knotted and dirty and damp, she seemed pretty much fine. Well, she was a little skinny, but she got the impression that was normal, for whatever she was. No Memento tattoos on her belly or anything like that.
Why?
Nobody knew. The hemophiliac girl who showed her around the place didn't seem to know why, the World War II veteran with the beard in the hall still wearing his uniform didn't know either, and that Jack guy, who was a real swell man but, uh, just kinda was, seemed to pretend like he knew, but didn't. This place was fairly odd. Jodi had tested the idea that this was a dream by pinching herself, and then hitting herself in the face, but that didn't work. She was awake, and she was alive.
That was another thought that stood out strangely to her. She was alive and well, but she always had been.
What?
The same question as before with the same answers, though opinionated. The bleeding girl suggested that this place was a collective dream, and that everyone in it was just a figment of one of the inhabitants imagination. That inhabitant would have to be herself, of course, but that didn't explain why she was here all the time, and why she still had to go to school. School? The Housefather, she explained, taught her and the other young people in the building—of which, Jodi remembered, there were at least seven more. Jack said it was a living creature that had captured them and trapped them and was slowly devouring them. Which, uh, made Jodi cry a little. No lie. Privately, of course, but it did.
When?
This answer made a little more or less sense than the others, depending on one's view. It was the present day, obviously, because Jodi's apartment came with a television and a computer, and when she flicked the television on she saw static and when she powered on the computer she had limited access to something called Amazon Tandem that she wasn't going to mess with just yet. But it was also long enough ago that this World War II veteran was only fifty years old. That, or a liar, but it didn't seem like it. The local time was odd, though; on her way down, she saw seven separate sunsets.
How?
Via the bus. There were seven others there, all of them young, all of them confused. She didn't know when they got on, but none of them knew each other—or if any of them did, they had pretended that they had not—and that made them all somewhat anxious, and a little scared, but not enough to actually do anything. Eventually, Jodi went to the upper deck for the rest of the bus ride. She heard someone join her up there, but didn't turn around to check who. Then, she got off the bus, went inside, wandered off, and things got hazy. She ate something, and somehow woke up on the roof no longer in a trance.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
Jodi tried to sleep that night—what she believed to be night, that was, since she was again unsure and probably would be for a long time—but could not. Her room was fairly normal, as far as the apartment building was concerned. The walls were painted a teal blue, the dresser had some clothes in it but none of it fit her, but there wasn't anything in there actively trying to make her feel strange. The mirror had added pixelation to her reflection when she flipped it the bird (because this place was pissing her off a little), but that didn't really do anything other than make her feel a little defeated.
So, okay. Nothing strange in her room besides the clothes with the weird smell and stains, and the mirror. The door had a lock on it, which she absolutely gladly set, along with the deadbolt on the top of the door. Though she was no longer crying, she wasn't exactly back to a normal, neutral mood. Still wary, still watching out, still wanting to go home. Jodi got ready for bed, pulled the blanket over herself (though not before shaking it out to loose any weird strange bugs from it, or something), put her head down on the pillow, and felt something solid and hard.
She straightened out fast, shooting up in bed and trying to throw the blanket off of her with a shocked squeal of terror, fumbling over herself, getting tangled in her blanket, swaddled up instantly, rolling off of the mattress and onto the cold, firm carpet below, banging her head on the floor, and leaving a bump.
"Ow."
Not stopping to consider whether or not the voice that made that sound was hers, she stood up and dusted herself off, taking a long hard look at her pillow. There wasn't anything obviously strange about it, but she definitely felt something inside. Jodi walked over to the side of the bed and looked at the side of the pillow. Still nothing. Frustrated, she picked the pillow up and held it to the light, which she had left on. Something oblong and dark was sitting stationary towards the middle of the pillow. Jodi reached inside haphazardly, found a slip in the pillowcase, touched something metallic and hard and cold, squeezed, and—
"BANG!"
—felt her arm recoil backwards as a bullet sailed across the room and penetrated through the wall.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
He had absolutely no clue besides arriving on the bus and looking around like wuzzat? where am I? and walking to the front desk and them telling him that his name was Bill. Gave him a room key, showed him down to the basement. Heard some spooky shit through the walls, made it to his bedroom apartment. No roommate, which was nice, but things were cramped. Barely any room to breath. He didn't know what a college dorm looked like because he was a high school kid, he knew because he had some patch with a name of a school on it in his pocket, might not have been his school, but it was there, and like, but he figured this was almost like that size. A living room plus a bathroom and then a bedroom. All he really needed.
He had golden hair but kept pulling dirty gross stuff out of it, and had trouble breathing. Puked into the toilet when he made it inside. Needed some kind of water to keep his own down. His puke was red, but not like blood. Not his anyways.
Why?
Bill was pretty sure he was here because he stole something.
What?
Weird fucking place. Like a big house for all the thieves in the world. What did he steal? He felt like it wasn't a real thing that he stole but a concept. Did everyone here know what those concepts were, that they stole? Or did they not take anything and he was just spit balling onto his own wall, wishing he could have a piano to play even though he had no clue if he actually knew how to do anything like that. This was awkward. He'd have to look around. Had some weird red fire in his chest when he saw some guy carrying around some weird hockey stick around the hall, gave him a smile and nod and walked away.
When?
Now, apparently. No windows downstairs but the clock on the wall said it was around noon in the morning, noon in the morning? What the hell was noon in the morning. He didn't know shit about any noon in any place. Why was his head so fuzzy!?
Where?
A good deal of feet underground. He felt a strong aversion to anything in metric for whatever reason, and also a strange sense of everything being too hot, hotter than normal. Saw a rat scurry by and just disappear, as in a puff of black smoke. Wherever he was, he wasn't really supposed to be here. Or maybe he was. Maybe incongruity was the point.
How?
Via bus. He was on there with a bunch of other kids, and he got bored of just looking at them confused and went upstairs to follow this one chick, Asian girl with black hair holding her hand in front of her eyes to see if she could see them or not. It was cute, in a strange, personal way.
Now?
Open the door, go outside, find the guy with the big stick, ask a boatload of questions.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
winterlyLuminary [WL] is online. WL: hello
WL: helloooooooo
WL: yo wtf whys nobody on
WL: its nine pm yall should be online
WL: what lives do any of you have that you would need to be there instead of here
WL: guyyyys
WL: ok fuck it guess ill log off redshiftMyrmidon [RM] is online. WL: bye RM: Wait. WL: oh ffs
WL: ofc its you who logs on RM: WL, I want to talk to you. WL: i was just leaving RM: It's urgent. WL: everything you type is urgent
WL: never a single typo jfc
WL: "durr look at me im so smart"
WL: wait
WL: "Avast! Gaze upon my smartness, and despair!"
WL: or some shit RM: Hah, hah.
RM: Are you free at the moment? I need to DM you. WL: hate that word RM: PM? WL: how bout 'talk in private', grammarian RM: I was attempting to borrow from common lexicon, and use some more technologically accurate terminology. WL: holy shit
WL: im listening to some music but sure I can talk
WL: what time even is it over there RM: 11:11 PM. WL: wtf
WL: then why the hell isn't SV on
WL: or DL RM: I would not know, but I think it's an hour earlier for SV. WL: god
WL: fucking time zones!!!! RM: At least you aren't WB. WL: why living in california sounds cool as fuck RM: Vacation to Alaska. WL: oh
WL: fuck RM: I'll message you in private now, then? WL: is it really like
WL: secret disasterLimited [DL] is online. RM: No, not entirely, but I'd prefer to tell you alone. DL: tell her what? WL: fuck fuck fuck DL: ???? WL: ??????? RM: Oh, heavens. WL: um DL: the hell is going on in here? I don't get why anything would need to be secret between us, but like, why not just message privately to begin with? WL: idk ask RM he's the one who's trying to idk
WL: propose to me????? RM: Nothing of the sort. DL: I don't really care tbh
DL: I just wanted to ask if anyone else was having uh second thoughts about this game SV was trying to get us to play
DL: because the website w/ the download link looks sketchy as fuck RM: Oh.
RM: That is precisely what I wanted to speak about. WL: what DL: Holy shit, we agree on something!! nice RM: I downloaded it anyways, but I ran a Norton antivirus scan on my computer posthaste. DL: "posthaste"
DL: I haven't downloaded it yet.
DL: bro says it's really fishy.
DL: I was thinking that maybe he could come online and explain why.
DL: but apparently he doesn't want to talk on here anymore.
DL: something between him and GK RM: Oh, that mess. DL: uh yeah yikes
DL: yikes and yeet RM: Hah, hah.
RM: WL has been typing for quite some time now. DL: lol yeah
DL: you good? WL: idk how any of you guys could express reservations now considering SV basically made this game for us and is super duper excited for us all to play it, i mean like, come the hell on guys seriously? its her birthday soon and she completed this present for US when she's the one that should be getting a present like hell guys???? DL: look
DL: its not that deep WL: dont care, logging off
WL: logging off and running this game sacredViolin [SV] is online. SV: death grips is online DL: fuck fuck fuck WL: SV dont you worry
WL: DL and RM are haters and im going to run the game dont you worry bout a thing ok SV: standing on the side while you check it out ? DL: stop with the song references oh my god WL: im gonna play it SV: um you probably should not do that WL: why??????? SV: wait until every one is on to do that
SV: or at least until some one else wants to install
SV: its a multi player game , o k ? RM: I worry that my computer will not be able to run it. SV: oh do not worry
SV: that will be taken care of . RM: Pardon? WL: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh
WL: your birthday is in like three days!!!
WL: dont you want to play this thing before so that we can idk
WL: have an in-game celebration or something???? while we're all online in cyberspace??!?!?
WL: since we can't meetup this year
WL: fuckin
WL: i hate life SV: it does not work that way, ha ha DL: welp I think im gonna goooo WL: DL: I just wanted to ask if anyone else was having uh second thoughts about this game SV was trying to get us to play DL: because the website looks sketchy as fuck
WL: comment on this first!! SV: oh
SV: no that is valid DL: see? nothing AT ALL to worry about SV: it is valid because i had to use an illegal site DL: NOTHING AT ALL SV: the file is too
SV: large WL: uh
WL: takes up like negative file space on my comptuer
WL: *compouter
WL: **computer fuck DL: yeah it's really small WL: wait hold on wtf it's like really close to nothing
WL: how
WL: this is a video game, right? SV: i never said the word ' video ' RM: Oh, that's reassuring. I do not play many video games.
RM: But then again, I don't do many things that others do for fun. WL: weird flex but ok DL: More of a self own really WL: yeah lmao RM: Anyways, my curiosity is sated, and my bedtime is fast approaching.
RM: Have a good night, all of you. I will be taking my leave. DL: takes a bow. SV: good night redshiftMyrmidon [RM] is now offline. WL: gn
WL: ill go too.
WL: im getting distracted from my music DL: what pretentious garbage are we listening to tonight? WL: its not
WL: well DL: haha gotcha WL: under most circumstances
WL: ok fuck you
WL: under most circumstances id defend my music but im listening to Metal Machine Music, so I cant
WL: idk if anyone can SV: i go to sleep to that album WL: no you dont
WL: well if anyone does its you but
WL: nope
WL: anyways its like okay but id be lying if i said it wasnt pretentious and maybe garbage
WL: feeling a light four
WL: well see yall later winterlyLuminary [WL] is now offline.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
WL/PC ― Direct Message
October 16th, 2018, 2:30 PM MST
winterlyLuminary [WL] is online. pianosCrumbling [PC] is online. WL: sup PC: Hey WL: music? PC: Chopin
PC: You? WL: Beefheart PC: Nice WL: soooo
WL: how was school? PC: Boring
PC: Went to class
PC: Talked some shop
PC: Got my early applications ready
PC: Shooting for Harvard
PC: Lifted some weights
PC: Played some piano
PC: Got some food with a friend
PC: Came home to my Dad in front of the TV
PC: Went upstairs, here now
PC: You? WL: jeez
WL: thats uh one hell of a day you got there
WL: was any of that like
WL: funnn???? for you PC: Not particularly WL: y'know you worry me a lot
WL: like big time
WL: at least you don't smoke or some shit like I do but holy hell does your life sound a little miserable PC: I don't find it too bad
PC: I have you WL: <3 PC: <3 WL: thats really sweet
WL: but still
WL: dont pull a GK and disappear for a whole year and running on us all okay? PC: I'd never do that
PC: GK is different WL: she never comes on general
WL: or even talks to me
WL: which worries me PC: I bet she's doing okay WL: would you say she's the cat's pajamas? PC: Fucking
PC: I will never live that down WL: hahahaha
WL: "trying a new phrase" huh
WL: you sounded like RM
WL: or DL when he's yknow PC: DL when on the DL is a fucking waste
PC: I hate him so much
PC: And that whole thing yesterday?
PC: Jesus Christ WL: i overreacted dude
WL: chill
WL: all good
WL: get out of the frownland for a minute PC: Fuck Frownland
PC: That's not even the best Land that you talk about
PC: Not by a longshot WL: oh?
WL: and which one would that be?
WL: because if you say the one I think you're going to say PC: nevermind WL: good.
WL: now if you want to know how my day was, I'll tell you
WL: I visited my Dad today PC: oh
PC: you don't have to talk about that if you don't want to WL: it's fine
WL: yknow he freaks me out sometimes but i dont
WL: i dont feel upset at him
WL: my mom is still upset about the whole thing
WL: i guess i never really noticed
WL: not even last year
WL: but they were not at all good for each other
WL: its PC: how was school? WL: you
WL: okay school was whatever
WL: cut class to smoke
WL: i know it's not like, fuckin, second semester or whatever and I dont have a good reason to cut class, but, fuck it
WL: i know I'm already going to get into Berklee
WL: i dont need to worry about that
WL: and we'll do the roadtrip next summer i dont need a whole year PC: WL WL; And we'll all be together and we'll all hang out
WL: yknow I have no idea how SV will do in the van
WL: all cramped up and whatever man you know how she is
WL: with touching
WL: she wouldnt even talk to DL for a week when he went up to visit her and tried
WL: tried
WL: to give her a hug
WL: and i know that was eighth grade or whatever and shes a little better now but
WL: either way itd be fun
WL the eight of us PC: Lili. WL: what. PC: Chill.
PC: Turn off the music for a second.
PC: Take a deep breath.
PC: Step away from the computer, and take a break.
PC: You get a little emotional when you talk to me, and I think you should take a break.
PC: Okay? WL: i
WL: just
WL: okay
WL: i will PC: Talk to you soon, WL, okay? WL: okay
WL: bye winterlyLuminary [WL] is now offline.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
redshiftMyrmidon [RM] is online. redshiftMyrmidon [RM] is now idle. warblerBrightest [WB] is online. WB: evening ladies and gentlemen
WB: im back from the fucking north
WB: sun always down
WB: cold as shit
WB: thats how i already know
WB: my toes fell off
WB: and then i smoked some weed with my grandma whats gucci
WB: RM hello
WB: ?
WB: what even happened while i was gone nobody is here anymore
WB: waiiit
WB: oh, ok, i get it
WB: its Tuesday
WB: y'all have like, practice or whatever and are getting home
WB: my flight just got here and im outside on the porch sipping pina cooladas disasterLimited [DL] is online. WB: DL DL DL DL DL DownLoad my ass DL: fffffffffffffffff WB: ggggggggggggg DL: hhhhhhhhhhhh
DL: holy shit
DL: i think fgh is the only sequence of keys on the board that is in alphabetical order WB: wait
WB: qwertyui_OP_asd_FGH_JKL_zxcvbnm
WB: nah youre wrong DL: damn
DL: back at it again with the untrue facts WB: <3 DL: shit off WB: pleeb my spleeb DL: stop quoting drunk-me WB: you ARE drunk-you
WB: all
WB: the
WB: time DL: k but like can i not be for one moment im not even on my lips on the stuff WB: u sic fuk DL: how was the cold WB: i was in Juneau i wasnt in eskimo land DL: thats a slur
DL: its inuit WB: how about you inuit your way out of this scenario; it was HOT there DL: in Juneau? WB: well ok, warm-ish
WB: if i hadnt lived in Quebec for a year id hate it
WB: but it was like, 50 degrees f DL: damn why cant i have that in Boston
DL: shits freezing here
DL: supposed to be like 60, nope, 22
DL: couldnt even hang out with my friends WB: what friends DL: uhhhhh helloooo
DL: chip, quarter, used napkin WB: u dum ass u misquote
WB: neener neener neener DL: gonna die
DL: gonna piss my pants maybe as i swing from the banister
DL: a rope made from my shit
DL: and the other part WB: youre killing me DL DL: thats the problem
DL: i should be killing myself WB: stop it
WB: i know joking is how you deal but seriously DL: meh WB: hey
WB: lets be as fucking dumb as possible
WB: so that when RM gets back from jerking off to Ann Coulter
WB: he'll be all da fuq and yeet his ass off the computer DL: WB you manage to sound simultaneously 12 and 67 at the same time
DL: Like, how WB: why cant i be 69 DL: holy SHIT this is what i mean lmfao WB: lmgao DL: ?_? WB: Laughing My Gay Ass Off, dilweed DL: oh, haha
DL: i could ping some other dumb people WB: good idea
WB: oh shoot wait who's dumb enough to piss RM off DL: uhhh WB: on 3 ping the person ready DL: ok WB: 3
WB: 2 DL: WAIT WB: 1 DL: YOU SAID ON 3 NOT ON 1 WB: oh DL: Let me count WB: wait but why does that matter DL: 3
DL: 2
DL: 1 WB: DL im crying you did the exact
WB: img asofjipwgjpwg
WB: auishfuiwojifpwlwg DL: ouh WB: quick before RM's cuck porn finishes
WB: 1
WB: 2
WB: 3
WB: @winterlyLuminary DL: @winterlyLuminary WB: ('_')7 DL: i mean okay lets do a rundown
DL: WL is the only sane pick
DL: GK has been gone for a whole ass year and even then she's like, not very fun at all
DL: she's too prretentious WB: ok mr. "I read Infinite Jest and wouldnt shut up about it for a whole year" DL: PC also sucks WB: "Hal Incandenza is my daddy" DL: SV is too pure WB: "fuck me harder DFW im gonna cum whole tennis balls out my urethra!!" DL: and BA is too busy playing
DL: wait
DL: he's playing fucking Minecraft????? WB: wait holy shit he is DL: at least its not fortnite
DL: but damn i thought he had taste WB: hes playin with his sister
WB: xbox live
WB: console time DL: H
DL: so anyway
DL: WL is the only meme person that exists on this whole server
DL: and you and I both know it WB: where the hell is she anyways
WB: shes usually on by now
WB: anyways not true
WB: ur a walking meme DL: pfft
DL: im not even meme supreme like you WB: """"""meme supreme""""""
WB: i hate
WB: you DL: lol WB: where the fuck is he?????
WB: i want to peg his conservative asshole DL: woah what WB: u heard me DL: youre too fucking X-rated for my life right now
DL: Milo is literally across the table from me WB: hes sixteen? DL: yeah WB: he can handle it DL: thats legal here WB: OWO DL: FUCK OFF WB: uwu DL: i cantg deal
DL: sometimes the memes are too much
DL: too far WB: my impact
WB: cant handle a little heat from the egirl
WB: oh lulu DL: dont call me lulu i cant take it WB: gonna cry DL: n o o o o o o o o redshiftMyrmidon [RM] is now online. WB: gonna piss your pants maybe RM: Excuse me? WB: goNNA SHIT AND CUM????? RM???????????????/ RM: Um. WB: HMMMMMMMM?????????????? RM: Is this a bad time to be here, or was WB just leaving? WB: no
WB: youre here at a PERFECT time RM: Right.
RM: So I should leave. WB: (hellofuckus.jpg) RM: Oh, my.
RM: Is that port-a-potty on fire? WB: That's the part that concerns you huh
WB: not that its like twenty feet in the air RM: If it was merely elevated, then a windstorm would be the likely cause of its ascension.
RM: But it seems as though more malevolent forces are at play. DL: *snap* WB: yup RM: Is this a Marvel reference? DL: nah its a shrek one WB: wouldnt understand RM: I was waiting for GK to come on
RM: Apparently, SV received an actual handwritten letter that she'll be coming back from her time off soon. WB: dam holy heck DL: The stars are aligning
DL: WB is back from Alaska
DL: GK is back with the milk and cigarettes as of like tomorrow
DL: and BA is playing Minecraft with his sister so he's in a gamer mood WB: hope he doesnt drop any gamer words DL: gyuiojpk WB: looks like its gonna be a happy birthday for SV after all. RM: You all overstate the length of GK's absence.
RM: It has only been seven months since she moved to Nebraska. WB: why the FUCK would anyone move to Nebraska RM: Simple.
RM: They live in New Jersey. WB: fuck DL: lmfao
DL: hey i have family there
DL: ive met GK
DL: it felt like she liked the place WB: wish the closest person to me wasnt fuckin PC DL: wait do you actually hate him
DL: Thought you were memeing WB: nah hes ok
WB: but like, i wish WL was here RM: If I may interject, I believe Arizona is closer to California than Colorado. WB: oh
WB: sherlock thank DL: have the two of them even met up? WB: WL wants to
WB: she needs friends that dont smoke cigarettes so that she can feel better about quitting DL: everyone here juuls they dont smoke WB: i fucking juul
WB: but AZ is behidn the times on this one DL: anyway why havent they met up
DL: hang on let me google maps WB: its a longer drive than youd think DL: 13 fucking hours???? holy shit
DL: im closer to SV than that
DL: thats like, half the time WB: so the roadtrip
WB: we should start saving and planning now because America is huge RM: God bless her. WB: shut the fuck up doobus
WB: and now GK made it so much worse
WB: going from Tennesee to the DL GK SV triangle would be much easier than having to take a huge north turn after we hit Dallas for BA WB: the BA WL PC triangle sucks ass
WB: where would you all meet if you wanted to be equidistant from each other
WB: the sahara thats where RM: https://www.whatshalfway.com/search.asp ... de=driving WB: holy fucking christ use a tinyurl DL: jesus that link gave me cancer WB: i was memeing i didnt want to actually know RM: Pretty decently close to the geographic center of the contiguous United States. WB: thanks, customink!
WB: anyway that aint the plan
WB: we'll figure out the route some other time DL: oh WB RM wanted to ask you about how sketchy the game is RM: No, I didn't
RM: You're the one who was thinking about that
RM: And you made that whole conversation terrible WB: woah woah when was this RM: Yesterday eve. DL: yup
DL: WL got mad
DL: but like, SV showed up and chilled everyone out WB: not that
WB: game? DL: oh
DL: SV "found" a game online for us all to play on her birthday
DL: said something about it being a "magical experience"
DL: malarkey WB: sounds fun
WB: what kind of game is it DL: She wouldnt tell us
DL: i dont even think she knows
DL: I think the one thing she said is that we needed to all be free on her birthday
DL: as in like, able to skip school free WB: woah
WB: that aint like her DL: yeah but its a free pass to skip anyway basically RM: I'm opposed to that component of the game.
RM: I will attend school anyways, and I'm sure that I'll be able to join the game alongside the rest of you all just fine.
RM: I have faith. WB: nerd DL: seriously?
DL: dude, even PC is skipping WB: neeeeeeeerd
WB: oh shit i gtg
WB: im late to a party DL: at 5? WB: im helping set up
WB: catch yall later bout to get faded seeyaaaa RM: I disapprove of that, also. WB: narrrrc DL: narrrrc warblerBrightest [WB] is now offline. DL: seeya later ima go drink RM: Seriously? DL: yup disasterLimited [DL] is now offline. RM: Sigh.
[color=#ffffffredshiftMyrmidon [RM] is now idle.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
bingeworthyMartyr [BM] is online. dinosaurMerriweather [DM] is online. swinglowDestinyschariot [SD] is online.
BM: sorry guys BA is using the mic
BM: haha yeah
BM: why do they even let us on here
BM: no
BM: stop
BM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8r-WQ3-a-TY
BM: lmao
BM: lmgao
BM: stopppppppp
BM: DM stfu
DM: DL is home brb dinosaurMerriweather [DM] is now idle.
BM: hows college?
BM: oh BA applied there
BM: yeah its scary
BM: meh
BM: ok
BM: no keep going
BM: one time, i was awaiting for the bus, and I stepped ALL OVER A SNAIL
BM: I felt guilty for the REST OF THE DAY ohmg
BM: nah
BM: could u not
BM: aw ok seeya later swinglowDestinyschariot [SD] is now offline.
BM: DM get the fuck back here
BM: ughhhhh
BM: .....
BM: ...............
BM: l............
BM: ok i gtg
BM: dinners here bingeworthyMartyr [BM] is now offline. dinosaurMerriweather [DM] is now online.
DM: wait
DM: shit dinosaurMerriweather [DM] is now offline.
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
pianosCrumbling [PC] is online.
winterlyLuminary [WL] is online.
disasterLimited [DL] is online.
bereftArtifact [BA] is online. WL: man fuck off
WL: chicken wings??? delicious BA: They're alright, they're okay, but they don't beat steak tips :) DL: not evenn in the samewheelhouse
DL: thats like apples and oranges
DL: incomprable
DL *incomparable BA: :/ i dont like you showing up drunk
BA: nobody does :( DL: man nobody cazres get the stick ouut your asss and realize we're teens we're gonna do dumb shit such as and also drink/fuck WL: what BA: :( PC: I'm surprised that the whole server isn't on.
PC: It feels like they'd want to be around for
PC: the return. WL: yeah
WL: i know RM has a baseball game
WL: said he cant make it to me PC: When? WL: dms PC: Oh.
PC: Hmm. DL: ppc is getting cucked as we seak
DL *speak BA: goddamnit DL stop being so goddamn offensive. D:
BA: my sister reads these chats :((((( DL: ur sister isz grown aSs young woman
DL: she can handel it BA: she can :...
BA: but does she want to :? PC: And she will see that nothing has changed.
PC: She knows DL drinks. We all do. WL: DL more like DUI BA: high fives WL :D WL: hi fives back DL: shut up,,ppp WL: i mean i personally dunno
WL: dont care
WL: what DL does with his life
WL: id drink with him PC: As would I, but I like to believe that I would have some restraint. WL: and i know WB would drink herself under the gogdamn table
WL: with you
WL: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) DL: dag ma
DL: dats OD WL: ? DL: iddk BA: soooooo :!
BA: RM is at the baseball game :/
BA: im guessing that WB is at a party? :D DL: yurrp
DL: livin it up in beverly fuckin hills BA: then :?
BA: where's SV? D:
BA: she would be delighted to see GK's return :W PC: If I had to make a guess,
PC: I'd say that the two might be conversing privately first. BA: :O PC: They have much to catch up about.
PC: Especially considering that SV and GK are planning on attending the same college, I think. WL: goddamnit those two
WL: fuck already BA: >:( language DL: YEAH WL
DL: NO SWEARING THIS IS ACHRRISTIAN MINECRAFT SrERVER WL: fuck
WL: im sorry winnie
WL: have mercy on me
WL: dont diddle me please DL: I AINT NO .WINNIE THE FUCCKIsNG POOP IM GODDAMN PIGLET AND I SHOW NO. MERCY. WL: oh god oh fuck
WL: oh god oh fuck oh jeez DL: STABP WL: fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck bereftArtifact [BA] is now idle. WL: god has left the server
WL: gg DL: >:) WL: well if GK isnt showing up any time soon
WL: im going to go out on the balcony for a bit
WL: do my thing
WL: ill be back in like, three minutes winterlyLuminary [WL] is now idle. DL: seeya soon
DL: welp
DL: just me and you PC
DL: whats it gonna be
DL: the quiet gaem
DL: tor the ficking game PC: I believe that the latter is off limits.
PC: And, that the former
PC: might be just what the doctor ordered. DL: u
DL: your all so boring. redshiftMyrmidon [RM] is online. DL: her'es afujcking hnbrinhg one gnow RM: A thorough stomping. California smile. DL: daaaaaaamn
DL: hc RM: HC? DL: hard
DL: corr PC: Congratulations. I had a gymnastics meet the other day, and did well as well. RM: Splendid.
RM: Very fortunate.
RM: Good news, to welcome GK with. PC: Meow meow. DL: pc irs afcuking furry` oh mey go PC: Purr? DL: fckuck RM: She is, indeed, speaking with SV.
RM: I spoke to SV earlier today, and it pleases me to say,
RM: That GK is having an amazing experience in Nebraska. DL: ;o
DL: *:0 PC: That's good. I didn't think that,
PC: y'know,
PC: a free spirit such as her would like it there. Cooped up. Feeling of isolation. RM: Not at all! She is quite pleased with her arrangement. garfieldsKettering [GK] is online. GK: hey guys, RM: Ah, GK! DL: woah holy shnoz PC: There she is! winterlyLuminary [WL] is now online. WL: holy shit!!!! GK!!!!! bereftArtifact [BA] is now online. BA: omg
BA: :D
BA: :DDDDDDDD GK: heh,
GK: hellooo, BA: gwomps GK: ew, DL: lmao
DL: holy sit hoow you een
DL: its been like awhole' fuccking year! GK: i,
GK: um,
GK: im better now,
/ - G051: Lili Williams: 1. Kidnapped from her school trip and thrown into a horrific death game, Lili wanders the wasteland in search of her past life before it slides away from her for good.
/ - B043: Arthur Bernstein: 2. Arthur watches the waters from the beach, knowing that their presence spells death. Seeking his sister's comfort, he takes up the spear and walks alongside another.
Meanwhile 2. Colorless [Complete] A family reunion under less than ideal circumstances. When trying to unravel the mystery of her brother's death at the hands of esoteric serial terrorists, Marie discovers more than she bargained for.
——The Earth Panel—— ╫ ♘ ⁍ 𝄇
- G026: Liberty "Bert" Wren: 3. It is happening again. To make things right, Bert must understand where things went wrong.
- B049: Max Rudolph: 4. The words we use to construct our realities often also make up the links in our chains. Fleeing a vision, Max builds his most elaborate prison yet.
- B032: Lucas Diaz: 5. A life lived through the views of others. In pursuit of revenge and his own death, Lucas Diaz interrupts the falling of many dominos.
Meanwhile 4. The Lines We Draw [Complete] In the process of collecting his brother's memories, Milo Diaz has a fitful morning.
- G007: Violet Schmidt: 6. The stars in the night sky do not make pictures. Breathing on both sides of the water, Violet Schmidt journeys to escape the confines of her own mind, and her reality.
Meanwhile 7. Writing the Enigma [Ongoing] Randy Rudolph provides lodgings for Marie Bernstein as she investigates Survival of the Fittest, the city of Chattanooga, and the meaning of water.
/ 
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stop it