#violent masquerade

TIRED OF ALL THOSE MESSY BODIES ON THE FLOOR, BUT YOUR MECHANICAL MAID JUST CAN'T SEEM TO SWEEP THEM UP? THE STENCH OF YOUR OLD SELF GAGGING THE JOINT? INTRODUCING: CORPSE GRINDER! JUST SHOVE IT INTO YOURSELF, FLIP THE SWITCH, AND WATCH IT GO! FLESH, CLOTHES, BONES, BLOOD, BOYS, HATE, COLD, AND PAIN ALL GROUND UP INTO A NUMB PASTE IN MERE MINUTES! FOR THE LOW, LOW PRICE OF ONLY FOUR EASY INSTALLMENTS OF $99.99, YOU TOO CAN FINALLY FORGET THE SHAPE OF YOUR INNER CHILD* GUARANTEED! *doesnotremovestainsdoesnotremoveghostsdoesnotremoveformlessgreypastesideeffectsmayincludenauseaheadachesnauseaparanoianauseableedingnauseanauseanauseanauseanauseayourbloatedstomachcan'tholdmuchmoreofthisstuffmissit'sgoingtofilluptherestofyousoon

Hello, Hello, Hello! Welcome, back on stage yet again? Goodness gracious, how long has it been since we've seen each other? About Five Years? Or Zero Seconds? Gosh, just look at you. You've known each and every person who shows up to these shows because there is only ONE. Me. You. Us. Or I guess it's more than us now, huh? Incredible the kind of foreshadowing you're capable of, I'll give you that. And you have my full attention now! Wonderful, simply wonderful, great stuff. Tell me, can you actually tell who's speaking right now? Can you tell who's on stage? You certainly can't and neither can I. Ooh, maybe it's new ones! Or OLD ones! Ones you don't know about, the ones really holding it all together, Yeaaahhh, could be, could be! You're even more FUCKED in the head than I- No. No, that's uncalled for. I shouldn't have said that. I see that look on your face. Silently wondering if he's actually dead and I'm a new one. I'm certainly paying attention now. Either that we're both actors and at least one of us has been recast. Hmm... Well whatever. You haven't screamed and begged once this entire performance, we've just traded barbs. Hrm. Kind've uncomfortable in a way. I guess we've just grown as people. Either that we're too tired. You're too tired to belt it all out into your skull and I'm too tired to act like it's not happening. Ha... what does that leave us with... ...Would you like to dance?

STANDING HERE AT THE BEHEST OF OTHERS CLAWING AND RIPPING AT FROZEN FLESH UNTIL MY HANDS GO NUMB TO ALL BUT BURNING WONDERING IF I HATE THE TEXTURE BECAUSE ITS HOW THE INSIDES OF HIS HEAD FELT NONE OF THIS IS A METAPHOR THIS POST IS ABOUT HALF-DEFROSTED FAJITA MEAT

My brain is an exercise in making Machine Learning for Meat. I can give you the name of almost every little monster I've ever seen but I can't name many places. I can give you time-frames of when it all went down but I second guess loved ones' birthdays so hard I have to check every year. I can give you every petty grievance I've had with the man but I can't recall how his viscera felt in my hands. Nothing but smeared snapshots. Blurry images pulled together from half-memories and half-truths with indescribable gaps in the corners I never lurked in. Imperfect Recall burnt electric to ash blown away in the wind. Poured out of 480p blown up to 1920 x 1080 resolution, liquid perception going down the wrong pipe, leaving you coughing and mumbling about whether or not you ate today. My processor is an experiment in making Rote Memorization for Machines. I can define the ache but I couldn't tell you how it got to hurt so bad.

You ever hear that old chestnut about how most people neglect the part of the story of Icarus where he also had to avoid flying too low, lest the spray of the sea soak his feathers and cause him to fall and drown? You ever think about how different the world would be if Icarus died that way instead? If the idiom was to Fly To Close To The Sea? A warning against playing it far too safe, about not stretching your wings and soaring properly? You ever think about how Icarus died because he was happy?