And I Am Worm

You can call me that if you wish. In any case, I'm full of them— they are my friends :)

I am vaguely humanoid and made up of a macabre collection of mismatched body parts. If you ask what's in my pants the answer you're going to get is "how do you know I'm wearing pants... and it's death, obviously".

Speaking of death... we've passed one another in life many times. I tend to a graveyard full of my family, two of them actually; one on my mother's side, the other on my father's; one in this town, the other in another (which is killer on fuel). When I say tend I really do mean tend; cut the grass, edge the paths, water the plants, correct the pots the wind has blown over, talk at length to my buried kin. It's both peaceful and therapeutic.

Worm does poetry, mostly, and writing. Outside of Tumblr I've been working on a book, some extracts of which I've posted and will continue to post. It's not a very nice story...

You can probably tell that I'm new here and, to be honest, it sucks that I'm ten years late to a party I never thought I'd want to go to. Regardless, Instagram isn't weird enough or morbid enough for me so here I am, poking my worm-y head up through the blades when it rains blood.

Really big plots of loose dirt...

Fear&Hunger, Evangelion, Tom Waits, Signalis, Poetry, Writing, True Detective (only S1, maybe S2 with a gun to my head), Berserk, movies, old movies, really old movies, really REALLY old movies, watching YouTube until I fall asleep, Lovecraft (not him, just his works and even then...). The list really does go on.

In general the morbid side of life's coin is where I'm most happy to land. Death knows me and I know it and some day it'll be me it comes for and that's fine— I could really do with the rest.

Send me asks, message me; I'm a fairly open book. If you've read something or seen something that just clicks with you please let this morbid heart of mine know it's not alone.

With love and guts,

to our spot, Nana—the old railway?

I went,

but I was somewhere else.

The grass was greener, the light

brighter, the trees smaller, the

rust newer... Rust, rusted

as I am now, balling

my white-knuckle fist at Time

and all of the

cruel

things it can do if given enough

of itself.

a partner

who, while they scream

that your feet

are freezing,

won't move theirs away.

Maybe that's why

love

feels warm?

It is heat

shared despite the

cold.

How did she fold those

flowery bed clothes

and leave pleasing

creases, foil and mirror

to the grooves in her face?

I miss them, those

creases, in her quilts and in

her cheeks

that it's your first

time here too, yet

you always remember

to be kind when

I'm not very,

so fuck gold and fuck jewels,

simple twine will do—

tight-tight-tighter;

your reminder

above the knuckle of my

ring finger

disposable cameras today

this thing

with twenty-seven shots

press the button

and good memories

come out

and then you just

throw it away

...

not sure how I feel

about that?

little spider crawled

out from my scalp and

spun into my view

so I found his web

and lifted him

to the edge of my monitor—

I hope he thinks of me

as a friend...

to have shared my scalp

I consider him

kin

I'm not musically inclined, but I think I know what it is... it sounds very similar to Madonna's title track from the Bond movie Die Another Day (the orchestral part, not the techno).

There's an immediacy about both string sections that scratches a very particular part of my brain.

So there you go, something I thought was interesting (or maybe it's just me?).

Fuck it was glorious back then. I didn't know games could be like that. I played it long enough to find the memory leak glitch, where assets in-game would start getting replaced with '?'.

I knew it inside out, like it was scrimshaw on my bones; all the factions, the best gear, the timing to jump on water if your acrobatics was maxed.

I played it again awhile back, just to see how badly it had aged. Not terribly, but enough to make me question how good it actually looked when we first met.

19 years ago I never would have thought, not for a second, that I'd be playing a complete remaster, with the most beautiful graphics I'd ever seen, in my own house on a rainy Friday.

Ah fuck, it's like being home.

Sometimes Bethesda gets it right, sometimes they get it wrong... But thank you, for this, for breathing new life into my fondest memories.

a border flower?

A bee or

its foiled wings?

A tree or

a single leaf?

Oh to be less than the

sum

of me, to not

have to be

all

of me at

once.

head of yours

upon my breast and

rest. There are no devils

in this chest, just

pumping blood and

thumping heart, to

bear your weight

be they blessed

rose, allium, aubretia,

whatever I plant seems

to grow, but

heather?

Not if I was to

water them with

my own blood. Only

after opening a vein

or two did I realize, it's

not blood they

need, but ericaceous

compost. Of course

my next thought was

do they make something

like that for

us?