mothraen memoraren
due powers beyond my own requiring me to inform. reading as follows ' notice: content held within. non-linear, bodily + mental distortion. themes include decay, harm ideation, personal fragmentation. viewer discretion advised, if such applies. no directive function present, non-instructional by nature, not for replication. '

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260424. you couldn't even make your way into town before you cried to your oh-so horrible mother; 'please let me go home, i'm so tired and so frightened, won't you let me go home?'. naturally, she obliged and you had your shameful swansong before stepping on the homeward bus. i do hope you feel as weak and pathetic and everybody sees you, not to mention how much you smell. do you really think all of your classmates don't take notice of your matted hair? and those awful spots on your face. you look disgusting. it's a favour you're doing them, staying home like a failure who couldn't even take the morning. how i wonder just how many people would pay mind if you would just give yourself up any day now.

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260409. like hitting a thick panel of tempered glass in the corner with a hammer. like popping a fruit juice carton by stepping upon it. i was born in russia, and died as a 17 year old girl by laying myself on the tracks and dozing off. i died in 2007, or - that iteration.

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260312. ' i don't even like you. like, anymore. you're so nice and so everything but due to your circumstances it makes me so worried about being near you or anything, and even attempting to spark a new conversation with you just fills me with so much dread cause what if i make things worse. i just - sit there and hyper-analyse every time you talk with me at all and as soon as i hear you say anything towards me that isnt immediately positive i just solidify this false image in my head that you just fucking hate me. i'm sorry i swore. but it's just stressful, this has to be the third or fourth time i've let myself become this neurotic in this fashion, this weird immature anxious attachment style-esque feeling of butterflies in my stomach with razors for wings. same stupid cycle. i love you. you become even an inch more distant than before, or just, genuinely just act any way different enough that i notice, and i just panic. i sit there and run everything you do with me through my head over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over [sic] until i find a reason to assume you hate me, and you think i'm gross and weird and stupid and unfunny and undesireable and youre just trying to discard of me cause i'm not useful to you anymore. and i become scared of you. i become so scared of you that i start hesitating to even talk to you, to even think about you cause thinking about you just makes me panic. i start talking to you less, avoiding you. i see you being mentioned at any capacity and i get those same butterflies as always. it hurts me. and so, i grow distant towards you, i get scared i can't even think about you anymore, and meanwhile you don't understand anything that's going on in my head. it's like i just become this retarded- sorry i-. this stupid... schizophrenic that just randomly one dya wakes up and decides to become completely insane and think you hate me and just disappear from your life slowly. and- and what am i even supposed to do? am i supposed to go up to you and be like "please reassure me every day that you still don't think i'm a weird loser"? i can't do that, cause then you'll just actually think i'm a weird loser. i guess i just live with this fear for the rest of my life until i kill myself or stop being so pathetic all the fucking time. ' audio recording (Galaxy S4) continues for minutes after, author not speaking. audible breathing and shuddering, shifting in their seat, fidgeting. 232 seconds until author sighs and picks up smartphone, recording terminated

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260308. 'i'm not a dirty girl' she hugged her self. it was hard to tell if her hands were big or if her arms were just that thin. her voice was breaking a little. 'it feels as if everybody only cares about how you feel if it fits their - like their rose-tinted - whatever - look on unwellness. nobody wants to care for you if you smell, or if you can't brush your teeth daily' more irate tone, she raised her voice every so slightly, before mellowing again. 'i-i just wish that people around me were more accepting. but - but that's like asking so much so - it's that.' she was fidgeting. with her fingers, her rings, a silicone toy on the table, a chinese finger trap that was on the windowsill. just, always fidgeting with something. when nervous or ashamed she would obsessively rub her nape, to the point of reddening. a pause, a minute or so, before resuming. 'feels corny anyway, and - and stupid talking about stuff like this. i just think ... i'd like it better if people were more open minded and not so ... judgy of people that aren't like - like what they are themselves.'

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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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