“A world of its own deserves a calendar of its own, don’t you think? Well, deserved or not, this is the one I devised for Canno!”
“I want this story to hurt you.”
“Aside from the all-new words, I’ve altered most of the details I kept, so even if you read one of these three when I first posted it, I promise you it’ll be fresher than ever”
“I mean creative work that seeks to fill its audience with visceral, abject, unrelenting terror. That’s my horror.”
Hinrich smells of the road: faint wood and oil-traces laced by sweat and a certain something I’ll name manhood. He’s warm, and close.
“Then,” I press against him, “I want you to look. And I want you to see.”
“My friends–former friends after reading this, I hope–have sometimes joked that I sound like a supervillain.”
“But of course, there is none other to speak for me.
What cowardice would it be to pass my meanings through another’s words? The visions I speak come through…”
1 (Death to a figure in a porcelain mask):
in ivory sockets
the plunge of a stake.
Hello, readers. This will be another of those posts where I unpack my latest batch of unearthed psychological problems on the blog. This will not be another post where I try to tell you I’m done with the blog or writing. Those were never the desires I wanted to escape from. I understand that now. […]
“It is just in time for an echo of startling in the nearest silhouette as we round the same corner, and collide with each other.”