“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.”
“I heard a call through the pigments of things that could be, and have been. It surprised me because it lacked any command. There was no snare, no threat, no bribe either. It was as a doorway left open.”