Refusal of Weakness

11 cycles. I was given the mark of subservience to the eyes of Ry’nr.

At 13 cycles I remember not feeling pain after the regular training. The only pain wrought  against me was in the thick.

14 cycles. I slit Drif the Elk’s throat and dragged him into  the plains by the river. I brush the path with rainleaf and stab myself with his antler club in the leg. I slash his tendons. I replace his spread with mine. I became the new head hunter by defending myself from his fury head on.

26 cycles. I take the oath of refusal in front of my slain care. I drink his blood and infuse my spirit with his. My bones vibrate as I feel sound and taste power. The ground shakes with their devotion as I know this land is mine as beast and kin fear and love me alike.


I feel a sharp prick as two needles prick my neck and I reach out to grab a serpent and find the thin arms of a small one.

I walked through the life not beyond but before.

It holds a thick viper in it’s hands and smiles at me as I feel the skin of my neck already splitting from swelling as the liquid death squeezes through compressing meat. I try to hold onto the one who fell me. I feel a change of touch, and a crack as the viper is snapped in my hands but not by my force.

In eyes I see kin and death. I see the blood of hatred. A gentle touch wipes the tears and blood from my face and leads it to a beautiful innocent mouth.

A protection from my vengeance. I hear words thinning like the call of flight.

A humming noise, the sound of life beating furiously away.

“Refusal of the thick, brings death deeper than spirit”.

Refusal of Weakness

I heard the crunching of leaves.  That’s how it began.

     Friday 01 -5


I woke up in the same haze I usually do, my body feeling as cheap as the food I usually shovel in to get through this. This…life?

I think I can remember a time when the taste of crest used to brighten my day, between the deep doubts of humanity being more than a cruel prank and licking TV screens for fun, I had some room for joy to blossom in personal hygiene. I spit and get a little on the tap on top of the previous stains I know bother Ubon a bit. I heard a crackling coming from the tub.

When I listen to music, I find it most emotionally resonant with my palms pushing into my sockets and just looking at the rods getting damaged and the flickering psychedelic patterns and faces that look like my memory is lapsing.

I saw a hint of a face flash in the mirror while staring deep into my right eye and pushing my hair out of my mouth. My knee clicked as I bent to get some toilet paper, I wonder when we got those glow-in-the-dark sticky lizard plastic things all over. I heard someone scream my name in my head and swung my head reflexively. I can tell better now than when I was younger, due to resonance.  I hear bits of my choked melody hit back to my ears off the porcelain. I hear Bon listening to some youtube remix off their phone in the living room while most likely eating their 6th drumstick ice cream. I feel grime on one of my toes and feel the asymmetry of my teeth with my tongue.


6:14 PM: I fell asleep streaming some old cartoons and now I probably will be unable to get a full nights rest. Fuck. I half-heartedly attempt to exercise. Sweat doesn’t even form as I feel my muscles and flesh push against air with my quick jumping jacks. The sky is beautiful enough to probably make me stare and remember things I would not think about even in the most nostalgic conversations.

I remember being 18 at one of my first ‘party’ parties. I ended up making an excuse to get outside with a bottle of champagne and enough disassociation and new-founded intoxication to sit in the snow and look into the sky. Light pollution hides the massive, ego dwarfing stars that I saw that night.

When the silence seems to show how thin and small this plane of existence is, your inner tubes deafening yet not loud enough to drown out a simple, almost static image of layers upon layers of atmosphere and debris.

I had to wash my eyes out, and a flower falls into my mouth when I yawned in bed.


                                         Sat 01 -6


I ended up staring at the coffee maker that nobody really uses and hearing scurrying in the walls. I used to believe that condos wouldn’t get mice.

I try to see how long I can last on the balcony partially nude. I think I last about 5 minutes, shivering and fully aware. A microcosm of pain I feel I learned nothing from.

I hear Ubon recording snapchats with the cat. I see some scratches in the coat closet when I move my jackets around. Ubon’s weird zipper, monstrosity is suspect number 1.


8:56 am

I woke up to a screaming argument of a podcast on which mushroom kingdom character is more into shit play.

My door is open a couple inches. I hear the whistling of the window next to my bed and feel like it should be colder in here than it is and then I wrote this.   I was supposed to write about the dreams. Though why focus on a fleeting paradise or pain when life only gives such a taste beyond proper critique or analysis? I need to poop.


I went for a walk and my glasses fogged, I’ve started to just stop wearing them in public. Which was the kind of attitude I found idiotic as a kid, seeing people not wear their glasses because they didn’t like how they looked in class or outside. For me it really is the argument of clarity vs visibility. I’d rather see a blurry picture with blurry outlines and have the fun guessing game of imagining the faces of the people I pass by (gouged by shadow and frowning, in mid-thought staring at a dog ass, half-heartedly licking their lips and frantically avoiding eye contact whilst doing so) compared to just removing eyesight by wanting to cover my terrible skin from turning into tomato scar red and my skin from looking like winter on Mars.


I found myself hopping a couple of fences in the rich neighbourhood to get to the beach faster. It was the perfect balance of low tide and a couple days since snow fall and I had dry rocks to lounge on.

I used to be able to drown out my thoughts easier with music, talkshows, or even just using a phone. I, by misfortune or idiocy, always seem to destroy such privileges. So I stare blankly into the horizon, the sky as gray as a winter dusk should be. The contrast of the dark, rotting trees and the bright blinding snow always irritated and captivated me. Fighting for my breaths against the harsh air.

I sat and threw rocks, talking in monotone about various thoughts, conversing with myself as I always have: in self-directed insults, and strange social theories. I heard the crunching of leaves, both far away and surrounding me, mixing with the sounds of the tide, with the shifting of rocks underneath my soles as I rocked back and forth, and inside my head.

I knew where to look and I saw the figure.

Have you ever seen the kind of black that reflects light in a way that seems that the light travelled through it and back again? Bending around the individual fibres of the fabric, cone-shaped radiation excreting the energy back into the world. The kind of black, when you see it, it almost feels like a hole into reality?  Imagine that, wrapping around a figure shifting like anthropomorphized vertigo, wearing sickly UV purple gloves, impossible to track.

A curse of peripheral vision in your true sight, straight ahead.

No self-deception.

No sense of scale in your universe.

No fight, no fear, just an empty passive perception of what shouldn’t be.

I blink.

I breathe.

And I head home, wearing my fogged glasses, and clenching my fists.

I heard the crunching of leaves.  That’s how it began.