#wormheart

LIKE I THOUGHT IT WAS A JOKE THEN I SAW AN HONEST TO GOODNESS POST ABOUT THEM

I LOVE THIS FANDOM SO MUCH OMG

i dont like the ship, but i love the fandom. Yall this is crazy 😭😭😭

like, jegulus started as a crack ship. We are seeing jegulus 2.0 happen in real time and its FUCKING CRAZY!!

Always be yourself and queer :]

(He/him only!)

Wow...I am stunned. Bluestar is truly the epitome of a strong female character who is well rounded and intriguing. Warriors has many such characters (ie Yellowfang, Sandstorm), but Bluestar is truly the stand-out for me. Now, I am only on Rising Storm (though I am reading at a swift pace), but Bluestar's descent in2 paranoia is harrowing and shows the toll of being a leader in a difficult situation.

Now, do not think I am defining Bluestar by her identity as a she-cat. I am simply saying that she is a great character that happens 2 be a she-cat, when oftentimes writers treat female characters as one-dimensional sterotypes...

It's in actual love with wormheart <3 they're an isolated, lonely and mentally ill person who made the malware, that's capable of infecting other online devices through the internet/wifi (worm..)

It's a very complicated story with him! I look forward to working more on this when I actually finish other stuff first :]

Maybe a fancy date or party? :]

Make sure to click on the images to see them in better quality :]

Today is Jeremy’s birthday: Jeremy, the boy who never grew up, but somehow still managed to leave me for a 40 year old woman with two high school age children . . . 

I have nothing to say to him. He ruined my birthday last year. I drove him out of my house in a drunken rage the day before it and he never came back, save to pick up his stuff with his brother and grandparents in an awkward, hurried rush . , , I guess my birthday gift from him was that I was finally free. 

But does he really deserve the satisfaction of me saying “happy birthday” when he made my life hell for so many years, then left on such a sour note on what could have been the last happy birthday I ever had?

I’m not sure. Only tomorrow will tell. Because tomorrow, coincidentally, is also the day that my father is getting checked for some extremely weird and rare form of cancer.

I dreamed of my grandmother’s house last night. His mother . . . I dreamed that Jeremy was there with a short Asian girl who was his girlfriend or wife, and she planned to convert the house into an aquarium.

I made my dad laugh today. I told him about the dream, and I said about Jeremy, “Build yourself an aquarium and stick your head in it.” 

~

My life has been so convoluted and constricted by the black ink tendrils of misery and addiction for the past year that I can’t even remember half of what I’ve said or done. That relationship dragged on for 15 years . . . And it feels somehow that I lost ten years off my life. 

I feel as old as the decade. 10 years behind, or maybe even longer . . . Still just a kid desperate to grow up--free from the chains of that depressive, autistic weirdo (I’m one to talk)--but still trapped in a prison of my own making, with thicker bars than I could bash my head through in a thousand lifetimes.

Back when I went to Woodstock in November, I was filled with uncertainty and ready to leave. But now I look back on it so fondly . . . So much has changed that I feel sick to think of what tomorrow may bring.

My father was not what most people would define as “a good man” on a true level. By the standards of society, perhaps he was. I honestly couldn’t tell you. But all I know is that he gave me the ability to think critically and question society, even if it was through drowning in his own mistakes for all my life. Really, none of that matters at all right now, and probably never will again.

All I want, all I hope, is that I can have a few more years to really get to know him. 

I’m the type of person who struggles immensely with showing emotion in front of others, even behind a screen. I never used to be, but a lot has changed within me over the past few years. I’ve experienced so much loss, so much dissolution of what i believed was fundamental . . . 

Oh, how I wish I could go back ......... if only for an hour, knowing what I know now. But how sad it would be . . . I would probably just sit there and stare off and cry, just like I feel like doing now. But the tears will never come.

In the shower I stood there for minutes or maybe even half an hour, I couldn’t tell. And I cried so hard that I couldn’t even hear the sobs. I imagined Jesus Christ hanging naked and shameful, broken on the cross, wounds dragging him down from his wrists to his elbows cracking beneath the weight . . . 

And I understood how and why so-called Christians find solace in the fact that even the avatar of God himself suffers and dies. 

Oh, to reap the pain in the black holes of midnight again ... to taste the euphoria of true disconnection from the fucking mainframe . . . I would break my skull this very moment if it meant I could go back and undo the damage I’ve done, the pain I’ve caused myself and others. 

I never listened. I was always the smartest person in the room. I mean this both sarcastically and literally. People have been giving me horrible advice for all my life, and for all my life I’ve been following it. 

I was finally on the right track, but then I lost momentum because I fell for the trap of a “traditional job” after I already broke the mold. Then the divorce happened, and since then it’s been nothing but shit. Good moments are speckled within the slime pits of torment, but they’re few and far between--but I I thought I knew suffering a week ago, and holy fucking hell was I wrong.

My father told me to finish my book today for the first time in . .. my entire life. My mother gave me a ring that belonged to my grandmother, made of my birthstone, shaped in the formation of the demon star in the throne of Ovium. 

I wonder if my father ever knew about my black metal project. One time he said something weird to me, mildy amused, like, “I heard you wanted to make a band.”

I used to be so good at playing guitar. I could trem pick so fast not even carpel tunnel could catch me. But now I’m dead, and not in the good way. Gutted and vivisected like at Unit 731, but there’s nothing gained from the seething agony. It isn’t even interesting. The screams aren’t even articulate.

It’s a private spectacle--one enjoyed only by fellow sad clowns on the fringes of reality, like you out there, lonely and weird enough to make it to the end of this post.

~

Since these take a significant amount of time and energy to write I’m going to start adding this to these personal posts. It will most likely just be a copy-paste of the following message. But I know some of you have followed me for endless years, so . . .

Over the past year I’ve ruined my life through gambling addiction, stupid decisions, mental illness, addiction, and other bullshit. I used to be a somewhat prolific writer. I’ve seen it all. From science fiction pulps to Fortune 100 companies, I’ve met people you wouldn’t believe, and struck them down too . . . But even though I’ve had opportunities that most people could only dream of, my finances are fucked beyond repair. So if you happen to be a rich weirdo/Illuminati bloodline/alien hacktivist, feel free to send me some money. 

I used to be a black metal musician too. Maybe someday I will be again. This is all I can offer you in return: https://wormheart-black-metal.bandcamp.com/album/wings-of-a-celestial

Venmo: https://account.venmo.com/u/StarlessImperium

bitcoin: 1JXXTKdsx7qUbjDRDiRmzDd5RTmpxeUDC6

If you want physical Wormheart CDs or signed letters, send me a private message.