#12302025

pulling up to the family reunion dressed as my bugs because i am cringe aND FREEEE 🤸🤸🤸

December 30, 1886

A child arrives not crying into the world but remembering.

Ink already sleeps in his veins. Lines coil behind the eyes like serpents waiting for a name. The room hums— walls thin, shadows attentive, time loosens its grip.

He is born sideways to doctrine, cradled by silence rather than law. Angels avert their gaze. Demons do not approach. The sigil breathes itself into being before language dares to follow.

Hands twitch— not reaching, but marking. The future folds inward, becoming a knot of will and dream, desire unashamed of its own fire.

Outside, the world insists on order. Inside, a deeper grammar awakens: that belief is an animal, that art is a door without hinges, that the self is a god who forgets itself in order to play.

Thus Spare is born— not to teach, not to lead, but to dissolve the cage and let the spell walk free.

A star inks itself into flesh.