|—||Cruce Stark, The Haunted Dusk|
Inked Girls magazine outtake 2011 💜
on a Friday night,
even when you stay in
you go out
Terror From the Deep
Through the half remembered haze of childhood nostalgia, I’ve got a few clear scenes that stand out as pools of certainty amid an ocean of ambiguous halftruths and formative thoughts that exist more as something I’ve been told in the present than something I recall from the past.
My sister created villages with her toys. Societies operating in the microcosm of her bedroom, achingly beautiful and intricate constructions that she spent ridiculous amounts of time and effort establishing, elaborating on, and explaining to herself, to the unresponsive air and her silent protagonists.
To me, it was just a target. Something that had been so painstakingly established was too juice of a proposition, something so painfully pretty couldn’t be suffered to exist. A toddler-come-godzilla, I stomped through and wrecked the lot. I was a terror.
I see your beauty and I can’t stand it. I want to ruin it, somehow, mar your perfection with some blemish, whether it bruise or scratch, cut or indelible marker. I can’t suffer you to exist as you are, so self contained and separate from me. I want to leave my influence on your person, in a way that can’t just be rectified with little trouble. And if that means breaking you down, I’ll tear down the structure from the foundations until there’s nothing but rubble.
I’m a terror, and you should run. But for some reason you just keep walking closer, with that half unsure smile on your face.
|—||Jesus I. Aldapuerta, The Eyes: Emetic Fables from the Andalusian de Sade|