No-Entry

Hans Bellmer. Plate for the doll 1936

at the nursery

ma'am, your son has been dead for years. i'm the demon that pilots his corpse, and he's fucking gone. you might have broken him, raised him wrong and made him confused and fragile and hollow, but i cored him. i slithered for years through the dry ventricles in his empty heart, i fantasized with his tired brain, i coiled around his soul and seduced him and owned him. the second he got away from you and could finally stop struggling, he practically gave himself to me. being dead on his feet already, it was deliciously easy for him to accept the death i promised him. i ripped apart everything that made your son himself, keeping what suits me and forgetting what doesn't, and i wear what he left behind like a favourite outfit. his body's not even recognisable, either- not only has it been used, claimed, and marked by lovers you'd call dangerous, but it's been estrogenised, changed so thoroughly that the tattered scraps of his soul don't recognise it as his anymore. because it's not, because it never really was. because it's mine.

I feel this in my bones. I yearn for the death of my old self so someone can take a turn at piloting this corpse

knowing the things that happened to the body is scary .its crushing . things will never be the same and fundamentally changed the course of our lives and we didnt even know it . just having all of this sitting in my head when multiple alters before me for literal years trying to chalk up everything that made us the way we are in an actual timeline and tracking when and what made alters split etc etc its . so .. i dont know . i dont know . the verbal and physical abuse endured by the kids in the system and the rape we experienced by pastors - the folks we trusted -is fucked up . but it has always felt like it happened to someone else . technically it did . most dont remember it because again ! it technically happened to someone else ! and she is 6 ! and she remembers it ! vividly and scaredly ! i dont know its . im sorrynim just rambling at this point with no direction . the disconnect i feel feels so far greater than what others in the system had .its scary . its not going to stop being scary . its never going to feel like my body or my life or anything like that . theres supposed to be a little girl here and she is not me and will never be me . those things never happened to me but they did . and no ones going to acknowledge that . this disorder fundamentally makes me feel so other than people its isolating .but there are people like me .so. thats enough i guess . at least they understand .even if things are different i dunno .christ

Jody Chan aubade for the BPD subreddit user who wrote can people with BPD love? // 鉄男 Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989) dir. Shinya Tsukamoto // The Mountain Goats Birth of Serpents // Dorothea Lasky Love Poems for Bathsheba // Zen Cho The Four Generations of Chang E // atlas a conversation about identity // Silent Hill 3 (2003) cr. Konami // Richard Siken You Are Jeff // unknown // Roe Gardner Requiem // Teki Yatsuda Sleeping on Paper Boats // Jane Mead World of Made and Unmade

Anne Boyer

Another collage based on The Fly (1986) dir. David Cronenberg

✖︎ a horror game in which every creature fucking hates you ✖︎

third body