mothraen memoraren

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260123. see me and notice me, please

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260119. (sic) " quivering, [inaudible] shudders at the thought of cannibalism is the deepest manifestation of love that can be concieved. like im- ... imagine being so profoundly adoring ... for another that you'd wish to fully assimilate your beloved, viscerally. their tendons, and flesh ripping violently apart, their bowels sliding down your neck and chest, and the ... sour, chyle. caustic liquids robing you in a repulsive membrane of digestive acids as you tear their torso apart, right? and yet this ... revolting display doesn't stop you and it- it doesn't stop you from claiming someone who is [inaudible] truly yours. the sludgy organs numb your human senses, tearing the muscle fibers with your canines and- their sour internal liquids coat your skin, burn your eyes, burn your mouth and- ... you're infatuated in this ... fervent display of- ... loving consumption. i'm not looking to justify my actions i just- ... i sort of needed this to be on tape, for myself[?]" (/sic)

compact cassette recording, Maxell brand. label "Play when alone."

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260116. "there is a leech-like parasite in my body. it eats away at my organs in my torso near my solarplexus. once it cannot eat anymore it defecates and leaves my innards rotten and infected. if in its way when feeding, it eats its own excrement. once there's nothing left but its own byproduct, it lays its eggs, and then eats the eggs. i cannot cry or scream for it to stop, those organs are already eaten, and excreted. if a soul i was born with, that too is eaten, along with my spiritual purity and virginity. now i am only my body, nothing i will be after i die. though die i will not, for as long as my symbiote lives, it will keep me awake. i am suspended between life and oblivion, but far too conscious to be dead. insides of mine are rotten, turned brown and putrefacted. but the porcelain skin and deep eyes, white teeth, flowing hair and pink gums stay pristine. impossible it is to see the rotten gore inside me, that secret is between me and my parasite, my own offspring digesting me from the inside. from this my viscera won't regenerate from, the excrement and eggs within me will never be anything more than waste. tainted i am and never anything more i will become. this parasite's assault is permanent, tainted i am. it has since long eaten and destroyed my spinal cord, my severed, yellowed brain left fogged, my vision tunnelled and senses dulled. the pain is a consistent stream. it does not throb, or pulsate. it is a constant state of not discomfort, but pain. if you were to peer down my throat you will meet flies and maggots lining my browned and rotten esophagus, whom have entered me orally as i slept, at my weak and vulnerable. they too feed off of my organs and eachother. though the intimacy with another i lack, nobody to look down my throat, to have my putrid rot exposed to another. the parasite gestated and birthed within me, it is alien yet is wholly of me. it knows nothing but to feed on its surroundings, its surroundings being my gangrened flesh and its own waste. as if held down and bred to conceive, carry and birth this parasite. created from me, in me, now eating me, excreting me and eating me, laying its offspring within me, eating its own offspring within me, i am reduced to an incubator. i did not ask to birthe this parasite, nor did it ask to be born. us two, live in a nonconsensual symbiosis, rape, in other words. a rape of my body from the inside, invisible to everybody but me, and the parasite. my assailant, my rapist, my captor."

exerpt quote from "Kel's suicide note." chapter 3 of independently released book «Lives and Deaths of Silent Sufferers of Generalized Anxiety Disorder» written by Kirsten from 2007-2023, published 2025 june. book printed and bound independently in 10 examples, 6 of which in Kirsten's posession, two lost.

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260113. "you'll run out soon. there's something loving about being buried, I, [name], wish to be buried in no more than a shroud, if not less. do not process my body, do not remove my innards or even cut my porcelain skin. bury me remote and private, somewhere where even during a hot summer may the soil be cool and damp. do not bury me too deep, I wish to feel the oustide. let the worms and mycelium reclaim my body, let me skeletonise. raise an oak tree above my burial, i wish for the roots to envelop me. meherra touv'e shinto; ei dyhrka e'tu. the loamy cold womb of tellus. the dark nectar of life that first caressed your temporary soul into existence beckons you home again, into a cosmic embrace. an embrace of unfathomable, unconditional love, may you melt into her bosom within the cold, still searing wet soil that envelops you, filling your putrefacted orifices, digging into your fingernails, lumbrici prodding, eating you. you will bloat and organs will turn to a slush, you will dry, and you will find that to be okay." exerpt from interview with Name 2024

unsuccessfully coping with emotional neglect and lack of unconditional felt care from your guardians left you weak and unable to take care of yourself, and you look pathetic

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260106. nexus. not all, but of current affair regarding on-site archiving & memoriam. material stressors prevent sonic development for time-being continuing from point current towards latter end of northern spring.

juxtaposed by material inquiry, audio interface. forecast instrumental operation & auditory unfragmentation of varying quality

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