an apophenic's haven

There is a crude irony in the way people interact with each other. Every relationship seems tinged with something sinister. To be vulnerable is to expose oneself and to expose oneself is to accept defeat. I shall not be defeated. It is sometime in the early morning before the sun has risen, the birds have not yet begun their daily hymns. I am sitting in dew-soaked grass, the stench of wet earth rises all around me. I am reminded of a simple time, standing beside, gazing up at a cascading waterfall. I smile and try to forget. I take another hit off my cigarette and feel the dense smoke choking my lungs. I exhale, permitting the smoke to escape my body. Sometimes when I am walking I sense remnants swirling around inside of me, pools of smoke like the murmurations of starlings in a twilit sky. A cough sends the flock away. I stand and feel the mud squelch under the soles of my boots. The light pollution blocks most of the stars from the sky, but Cassiopeia still shines for me. She does not shine for you. She shines for everyone and you are the biggest fool of them all if you think otherwise. I blow a kiss to my queen in the sky and start walking. I do not know where I am going, I have no destination in mind. The places I once found familiar are now deeply foreign. I am at once intertwined with the world and divorced. What of the orphans staring blank faced at the ceiling? What of the sons left behind? I am walking, and I know this will be the last time. Absentmindedly, I thumb the switchblade sleeping in my pocket. I know in this moment I am duller than it, having sharpened the cold metal only a few days prior. My nostrils prick at the arrival of sharp odor, suddenly my throat is awash with the sickening smell of something rotten. My eyes flit all around, but I do not see the culprit. I keep walking. The smell grows stronger as I continue, I realize suddenly I am following the path. Good for you. I do not know how I got here, but I look up to see a crumbling stone structure. It appears to have once been a house. I think of the people that used to live here, the hands and sinewy muscles that created a home out of simple rock. There is a doorway with no door, I go inside. In the center of the floor lies the carcass of a long dead rabbit. Hardly any flesh remains on it, torn apart and perhaps brought here by a larger predator. I crouch on my haunches near the entity and notice miniscule maggots writhing in their way through the remaining skin and fur. There is an especially large one squirming in the eye socket that faces the ceiling. I sigh, rising to my feet. You know what you have to do. They are right. I know what I have to do. Taking the knife from my pocket I flick it open and stand in the crumbling doorway. I raise my hand to my throat, feel the cool touch of iron on my neck. Pressed against my jugular the blade rises and falls ever so slightly as my heart vigorously pumps its fluid. I take a final breath and slice with all my strength.


There is a girl and she is walking. She is not a good person. Her footsteps land sloppily on the wet sidewalk, the streetlights overhead bend and manipulate her shadow. There is not a place in the world she would rather be. There is a girl and she is walking. He is ahead of her, his silhouette seems to fit perfectly with the surrounding cliffside. The waves crash distantly to her right, she thinks they are beckoning to her. There is a girl and she is walking. Her breath comes out in heaves and sobs, but she continues to move forward. The ghost trees all around her fill the air with a damp melancholy, she is struck with a visceral deja vu.

Choices are a concept that I sometimes believe in. I’m not so sure about always. My computer is a reflection of my brain because my brain is the only thing reflecting onto it.

There is no such thing as meaning, it’s just that the world runs on patterns. Patterns are far easier than trying to create something new.

Is there another me in another place finishing what I cannot? I don’t think so. If I want it to be real, it is.