stare with me into the abyss.

❝ with all due respect , your honor , we , yes we - haven’t even seen the defendant’s soul in its barest form yet . dinner and flowers should be served before the final verdict , don’t you think ? ❞

“How optimistic.” He doesn't mind that, standing as reserved witness of the mock-trial who decides not to decry the conventional notions of romance suggested as the most optimal tools to bare a soul and finalize its verdict. “Are you certain attachment won't interfere with the decision-making process?...” His mouth curves with conspiracy and provocation, judgement unuttered and thus uncaught by the phantom stenographer. In an ideal conversation between two parties of equal standing and dignity, there should be neither judge nor jury. “I find there's better methods to strip down a soul.” There's a conscientious note to his lilt, refined and trial-ready. Benevolently, he offers clarity for their invisible courtroom. “To encourage an individual toward truthful representation.”

FA（7/100）

—Caitlyn Richardson, 'can intellectual intimacy replace physical desire?', in milk fed

Robert Pantano, The Terrible Paradox of Self-Awareness

❝ humorous . I did not know the overindulgence of one’s spoils counted as resting . ❞ he recalls the advice of another , perhaps a mentor of some kind , one of the many middle - aged noblemen eager to impart their wisdom on the youth in hopes that doing so would further line their pockets with the fruits of mandated labor ; idle hands don’t win bread , boy . and marcus had discovered the extent of this truth once upon a time , learned to disregard anything that would distract him from what mattered most , from victory and relevance . a champion at ease is a champion at risk , for the crowd’s favor could turn a dime . though the playing field had changed from one arena to another , marcus knew makishima was not exempt from failure . he , too , could still drive himself into the prison of obscurity . as if displeased by such a possibility , claws catch on the string that tethered companion to resting place with the same meticulous idleness that served as a breeding ground for chaos . salvation in the form of a simple severance , the slightest of maneuvers that would maintain relevancy for another ; he visualizes the intervention , only to stall its execution . ❝ bearing your skill in mind , I suppose the risk is minimal . proceed . ❞ should this display result in the loss of the other’s win streak , it would be rather . . . disappointing , to lose such a challenging opponent in turn . that is all . ❝ I do not much care for your taste in oddly shaped pastries . they are . . . peculiar , ❞ he lets out a shaky breath , discolored eyes widening as clawed fingers curl around the rope of the hammock in a grounding motion when the urge to shatter and crush begins to hammer wildly in his chest in place of a heart - beat spiked by adrenaline . ❝ so very odd . might I suggest a bit of urgency in your consumption ? ❞

“They're sweet.” The final madeleine finds its demise in his mouth, veiled by cover of book split in half before his visage. Is it amusement or cruelty that commands his hand, reaching toward the plate to send it into circular motion with a deliberate spin? A purposeful distraction, so that he may observe what takes precedent for the other. “What's odd is your trepidation, my friend. Champions should embrace chaos, including that which masquerades as antithesis. I was never so dull, not for a moment.”

Arthur Rimbaud, “The ‘Voyant’ Letter to Paul Demeny,” from Toward the Open Field: Poets on the Art of Poetry 1800-1950

“Should not all narratives endure the great test of adversity that is skepticism in order to facilitate greater believability?” Makishima declares and so willingly fulfills the role of devil's advocate, with more slyness than necessary — that which betrays a minute sense of personal satisfaction as he commences his opportunistic interrogation. “For the sake of cohesion, I ask. It's favorable.” He attributes meaning and weight to his pressing curiosities. “If I held no interest, I would not have inquired toward your absence, Sayuri-chan. A labor of love.” And for the sake of rhetoric, he expresses the surprise performed by a truth-seeker of utmost sincerity uncovering a scandal of the romantic variety. The shock she suggests as the driving rationale behind his actions unfolds on his face that forfeits not an ounce of its mischief. “Could it be?... — That you've eloped?”

— Georges Bataille, “The Cruel Practice of Art”

Thomas Mann, from “Death in Venice”, originally published c. 1912.

David Peak, The Spectacle of the Void