Cross-posted from Twitter.

Cross-posted from Twitter.

Cross-posted from Twitter.

Carpe Noctem

I hurt my hand by punching the bathroom mirror last night. I cleaned the wound and wrapped it in some bandages, but the bandages were off of my hand when I woke up. The cuts from the glass were gone.

The mirror is still broken. That's the only way I know this isn't some.. Weird delusion, a fake memory, or something. My mom's gonna fucking kill me. Should I even call her my mom, knowing what I do?

I've been having dreams, bad ones. I thought about how I told Ira to make this blog, the twitter, too, to log their happenings, their dreams, their art. I thought maybe I could indulge as well. We've "spoken" about it, and they don't seem to mind me using their blog.

Kinda laughed, when they said it was okay. I told them it was their decision, their blog. They just replied with "Our blog." Reminded me of one of those Bugs Bunny memes.

"01", as Ira has referred to them as, is more of a stickler than me and Ira. 01 used to call us twins jokingly. We're not biologically related, but we've always been close, even in those weird memories I have from the time before this.

I may use the blog more often. With that, y'all should be more familiar with me. Ira has called me "02", referring to the number I was given in the time before. My name is Argos.

~ Argos.

Cross-posted from Twitter.

Cross-Posted from Twitter.

Cross-posted from Twitter. Post made by Abbadon.

Cross-posted from Twitter.

Cross-posted from Twitter.

Cross-posted from Twitter.

Petrichor

The pain was horrible last night. I tried to recede into my mind, tried to escape, tried to do anything to escape the burning, tingling pain.

I didn't notice when my legs carried me to the door. I was silent, as I am most of the time, but I collapsed at the foot of the closed passage. The door that always requires me to open it before, to let myself into Padma's domain, fell open, ever so slightly.

It let me in. And so I dragged myself through the threshold. It was all I was capable of in the moment. That, and sobbing hysterically while screaming.

I felt like if I was put through hell, I could walk with a smile on my face, as I've seen worse from humanity than any non-human entity could dish out.

Padma had laid a limb over my back, where my pain comes from, and the entity was cold. The contrast in temperature felt like relief to my nervous system.

~ Ira.

Cross-posted from Twitter.

Cross-posted from Twitter.

Cross-posted from Twitter.

A sketch of them. They use the 🖐 emoticon when the hijack my profiles.

Nocturne

Some of the worst parts of living like this, if it can even be called "living" anymore, is that no one will ever believe you. There is no one outside of yourself who truly understands your exact situation. Because everyone is different.

On my end, everything that would be considered familiar to a normal human isn't familiar to me. I never had a normal life, nothing to compare to. I've always been wrapped up in this.

You know you'll never feel safe again, seeing the danger of what truly lurks beyond humanity's sight. For a few of, me included, death is no longer a way out.

Just as there is no partially taking a bandage off, there is no learning of one of the monsters while also being given grace from the others.

~ Ira.

Redivivus

I remember someone asked 02 how they can bear having other peoples' thoughts in their head, vice versa for me and 01. The truth is, you get used to it after a while. You don't learn any special abilities to cope, not really. You don't learn to tame your thoughts. Truthfully, I don't know if it was luck or something else at play, but we really don't judge each other for our thoughts. I mean, disregarding when 02 tried to... You know, because of my violent mind bleeding into theirs.

I also remember that I had a book. One of the past times I was active, before I was myself. I had a book back then, I made it myself, the binding and the cover was of my design, made of what is now my sustenance.

Back then, I wrote all sorts of messed up secrets in there. I wonder where it is. I hope no one has read it, I hope wherever it is, it is hidden.

I remember riding on a train, writing in my book. I was getting distracted by the views out the window. I pulled out my object, looked at it for a moment.. And I felt someone sit next to me, the seat dipping. Their voice was like wind chimes. They complimented my object, the thing that carries my very soul.

Looking up at them, their eyes were.. Something. That feeling in my chest, I felt like I knew this person, even though they didn't look familiar. I felt like I couldn't breathe. They chuckled and it felt like I had been impaled through the chest.

We were strange, sitting there together. I was wearing a suit, they were wearing something quite revealing. They told me about themself. A drifter, musical performer, artist. I had been visiting that capital, then going home on the train, I remember. They saw me at that club the night before, followed me. Perhaps I should have been more afraid of the stalking, but when they said it, it sounded like the most normal thing. They got onto the train with no ticket to follow me. I checked my bag and as a fare check came past, I paid the human to keep his mouth shut. To not throw this person who looked so magical off the train.

This magical person that had let moths into my rib cage as if that was their home, as if it was the most normal thing.

~ Ira