En cours

okay but what if i wanted also to do some more bigger writing week 1...


Destiny, tolerated

They didn't ask to be whisked away. They possess no desire for the quiet crunch of gravel under their rotting boots, sound deafened by the expansive forests and gentle creeks. They hate the feeling of their bare feet rubbing against leather, uncomfortably sweaty without socks, an oversight of their rushed departure. All to be subjected to rolling hills that amble into oblivion, sharp grasses that prick their calves, and swarms of bugs that never relent. They've heard of those that reject the call of destiny but not about those who fulfilled it out of a sick sense of obligation. No is always an answer, but what of the halfhearted "fine"? And what of the after, once their duty has been fulfilled? Collect a pension, hang a sword on the mantle, have the rest of their life ignored by the lorists? No, they rather get it over with and return to normal, unchanged by their journey.



no anti specific post today. however, please enjoy the new transit page instead. also i wrote a postcard. <3


Unmake me yours

Previously titled "Bodymaking"

There is such beauty in being unmade. The longing touch of the blade with its casual invitation to be reborn, the itch in your bones. Don't fret. I'll take care of you; you can trust me. Your body is fickle, degrading, reeking of betrayal. But you can reform. You're so close. Free yourself.

It's been growing, a tender new form trapped inside your old shell. Your molt is stuck; break it loose. I see your courage failing; I'll do it for you. Gentle now. First the epidermis. Then fascia, muscle, bone, and marrow. Let out what's been growing, for me.

Baby's first submission for publication and first rejection! It was for a horror microfiction contest (exactly 100 words) and written during the centuries at the recommendation of my friend. I don't feel bad about it, which feels nice, but there was the quiet hope that I had it right on the first go. Regardless, I can post it now! Yippee!



This may be my last entry here, in this page. How long you have travelled. A faithful companion, originating in a gift and used out of necessity. I've been partial to refillable notebooks (as the faithful blue can attest) but you, pink, soft leather and bullet pages, have been tirelessly faithful. Your scuffs, stains, and peeling leatherette demonstrate such. And the corny "Big Fucking Plans" emblazoned on your cover have been a delight, to my amusement and others.

How can I let you go? Though a series of events I already have your replacement ready. A new year, a new journal, mm? But you still have a few pages left. Can I leave this job undone? A journal imperfectly cast aside, never to be resumed? Could I condemn you to such a fate?

2024-01-05; written 2024-01-06

high, how are you?

I still don't know how to feel about weed. I enjoy the sensations of being high—in a sensory seeking way, it's a true adventure. What was once familiar becomes novel, inspirations and cravings can spike and suddenly you have never been more focused on creating miso browned butter chocolate chip cookies (they were really good, by the way, but the raw / frozen dough is even better). I try not to make a habit of using weed to do something, but it has been an effective sleep aid for me in the past. In fall '22, there was a significant period where it was quite useful for this (and I did not like this. it was a rough bit). Similar to alcohol, it messes with my typical inhibitions and has led to some fun occasions. I can also orgasm while high (unlike when I'm drunk) which (sensory seeking) is a lovely experience.

I really don't like the way weed fucks with my memory. I don't consider myself to have the best memory: I have a terrible time with names (returning to Montréal has been a nightmare for this), recalling specifics from meaningful events > 6 months ago is difficult, and when I get high everything onwards becomes deeply fuzzy until I wake up the next day. I hate this. I remember emotions from the night before: feeling deeply concerned that a guest isn't having a good time, shame and embarrassment from the actions of another, the satisfaction of how good those cookies tasted. But if you asked me to name anything specific, a quote, an exactitude about what happened last night, I'd be completely unable. This is the devil's bargain: I love the way being high feels, I hate that my experience becomes so present that I'll be unable to reflect on it.




untitled fantasy

Pick me apart. I want you to unwrap me, pulling back layer after layer of my sense of self. Coddle me and give me safety as you unmake me. I take your fingers greedily, desperate for us to be impossibly close. Unmake me and reach down into my sternum. Caress my heart, use its rhythm to time your pulses, massage me to the flow of my lungs. Break me, now, (I am so fragile), drop me like a vase and watch me shatter. But I'm safe here, still, with you. Rebuild me. Slowly now, lay the foundations (more lube please), then we can get structural. I've never been this high, the thrill of a boulder's edge over the mountain (are you feeling my heart flutter too?). Push me off. I want to hurtle down, the wind thwipping through as I hurtle towards the end of so many of my dreams. I come out of the euphoria crying and you trace my ribs, whispering beautiful reassurances to my heart. My chest has never been so full.

I think this is the first time I've published something about sex. Neat. God I desperately want to be put in subspace again. Happy end of week one! Also yes obviously I've had Harriet's sexy body horror on my mind goddd what do you think sparked this?

Inspiration for Harriet's Day 11 entry, Eat Me!

Back to regular WritChal24 (better name pending)