october 13

 

 

two hacks in two days god this hurts why won't it stop

I don't know why I'm writing this down. I've been sobbing for five minutes and Knife is holding me, trying to comfort me, but I'm too sick and tired to do anything right now.
I want to play Dishonored. It'll get my mind off things, I'll learn more of the story. But my grandmother keeps shaming me, "your brother is disgusted with you," since he apparently has claims on using the television and everyone moves to accomodate him. I don't mind that, that's fine, it's just that if I exhibit the exact same behavior or idiosyncrasies I get shamed for it. He gets justified, I get scolded. The unfairness bugs me, is it unfair? Why am I still so bitter about it? Because, I want to change to be better, but I hit a paradox wall with this: if no one but me has to change in order to "do right," what exactly is happening here? I don't know. I don't know and it makes me sick.
I just want one, maybe two hours on there, saving my assassins from the Overseers, learning patience and precision. That's not wrong, is it?

Knife has me wearing his cross necklace. It's still as comforting as I remember it being. I'm profoundly grateful.
We also recieved some lovely messages from friends online lately, just want to mention that while it's in my mind. We're never sure how to respond but every word is treasured. It's keeping me afloat right now, those words, that brightness.


My whole face hurts. Is that from crying? I don't know. My stomach hurts and my legs hurt and I feel like metaphysically vomiting and that is the worst feeling, let me assure you, it's psychic toxicity and it makes me feel like I'm dying.
Self-care hasn't been good lately. I apologize. No one's been around though, it's a self-perpetuating curse, too much sickness on any level keeps good people out, which makes the illness worse, etc. We need someone who is brave and indifferent to do this job. We need someone who won't feel totally trapped by fronting in a body that is struggling to run right that day. Why is that so hard to do? It's scary, a physical form, one with a life of its own, one with old voices tied to it as well. But it's not evil. We know that now. We have to take care of it better. It's not at fault at all.

I'm so tired of bleeding. Do I have to bleed again today, for this? Knife says I don't, that maybe my tears will work well enough, but I see the pained compassion on his face and know that he's just as torn as I am. God I don't know, I am so sorry, I slipped, I didn't catch this was happening until it was far, far, far too late.

I keep thinking about our daemons in the System and it makes me want to sob because Infinitii really is my darkest half, as well as my brightest mirror, God it is absolutely heartbreaking, are they all like this?
So much I always glossed over. So much. Ze is a walking time bomb, poor creature, poor beloved thing, you are my greatest fears and greatest loves, what the hell do I do with you? What the hell do I do with you? I don't know. I love you, but I've tasted the edge of hate around your name and I've spat it out. I will never hate you. You could shred me to pieces and I could not find it in my bones to hate you. Perhaps that is my sole saving grace here. Perhaps my self-destructive undying adoration towards you will ultimately reflect back towards the rest of me, the splintered parts, the ones that hold the filthiest and most terrible things. I'm not allowed to, I'm bleached-white on my worst days, but I carry threads nonetheless. Core have bloodlines, and too much of it has been spilled.

There's too much to think about and write about and I am aching to but it is too late to do so. My brain just wants to cry until it collapses. It's minor shock, it always is, my memories get mangled and I'm never allowed to see what happened, good, I don't want to. But I can't stay in the body well either. It shakes, it spasms, it rejects itself. I feel sorry for it. Should I? Does it care when this happens? I don't know.
We do. The daemons do. Part of me starts to say "I wish I knew who was responsible for this" but it's all reflected in Infi's eyes. Ze's the one cursed with this. The Tar carries it just the same. It's black, black as the night, black as pitch in your throat, cradle songs and broken teeth... it's ridiculous. This is ridiculous, why do I always end up tangled in love with the most vivid paradoxes, with the ones whose souls are split in brilliant halves? The god of destruction and creation, the prince of life and death, the knight of torture and healing, this demon of love and... and God knows what. I don't. Intimacy, trust, closeness, paralleled with using those same things to rip you apart. It's horrid. It's the most awful, sickening thing I can think of. And Infi knows it. And Infi is it, somehow.
Goddamn daemons. I'm sorry for the language, but it's the only thing this translates to. I love hir and I am so close to hating hir but I can't. I never will. I can't. It's too intense, too unconditional. It's a love that sees that twisted potential, the corruption lingering on the fringes, and only burns harder because of it. I know what you are nevertheless. This coal-dust, this charred ash caking your skeleton, I can see beyond it and I know it cannot tarnish you. It's a love that wants to burn that soot away. And it can, it just... in the process, it spreads. It chokes. It's not a clean healing, at all. It gets into the air, it gets into your lungs, under your fingernails, into your eyes... that's the risk, that's the bloody risk, are you willing to become so utterly inundated with filth that you can't remember what came before it, because maybe-- just maybe-- you'll become immune, untouchable, impervious? Maybe you'll become a creature that can walk through the mineshafts unharmed, forgetting that once you were a canary. Can you really rewrite your nature? My feathers are falling out.
What am I talking about.
Infinitii is dangerous, God knows ze is dangerous as hell. But that paradox calls to me. God help me, it calls to me and my heart just... can't refuse. Infinitii is something utterly beloved to my soul. Where did all this dust come from, dear, how did you get so scuffed up? Who threw you out into the cold? Was it me?
In the end, there is no good and evil, there is only something greater, something that holds both of our halves together with love. In the end this, too, will prove to be a blessing, a gift, a treasured memory. Despite all things... look at our past, look what pieces stand out, jagged as knife wounds but sparkling in the rising sunlight.
That's hope enough for tonight. Words make no sense. I don't think I'm seeing straight. This is a mindspill in its own right, maybe more of a heartspill, from one bruised and shaken for a short time.

Hacks. They frighten me, but I am so numb... repetition will do that. I don't like feeling so torn-apart when they happen. My identity cannot stay stable in the wake of one, there are too many anchors to too many others. I apologize if I'm speaking with anyone else's words here, without identification. Everything is a blur.
But I'm not dead, we're not dead, the Retributors are still alive, Wreckage is watching out, Knife is standing guard. Laurie doesn't do that job anymore, but... but she is still something they cannot touch. I hope. God I hope so.

I kind of feel like crying now, the kind of crying a kid does when they're lost and terrified. It's a sort of borderline hysteric, deeply sorrowful, muffled thing. How can the body express that?
It's like the whales, those dying whales, as soon as I saw it hanging there I told Daud I couldn't do this. Some awful tone shot through my heart like a blue-green mourning and words would never do it justice, I turned away in tears and had to stop myself from shaking. Damn it but why. Why are people still capable of such cruelty, of such inhumane numbness, the incapacity to see the life there and the ability to drain it dry of all its red, all its water, all of it--- I could barely finish that mission. It took me too long. I was so tired by the end, I dragged myself out of that building, glassy-eyed.
They are burning the whales. More than that, what does that say for us now, hearing it at this time, what faultless behemoths are being butchered in our own head? Who is being bled empty, who is being cut to pieces and sold to others, justified in the name of progress... who is hanging on hooks and singing a dirge to the very ones who put blades into its flesh?
I'm rambling now. There's too much swirling in my head, too much raw emotion. I don't understand any of this.
Laurie, Laurie where are you, who are you know, what am I, who am I? I know you still care, but I haven't seen you, and I don't remember. You're a fog. You're lightning cutting through that fog like a laser beam. You are something detached from me lately, like a statue of the divine, like some ancient untouchable piece of art, some violently benevolent deity, a force of rage and light. You'd never call yourself as such, but you'd listen to me say it, the way you always do, never blocking me out. You listen. And you don't say anything but you know. How much do you know, that I won't even let myself look at? Just how much are you aware of, even though the System bans you from knowing things that your friends and allies were born from? When did I talk to you last? Why is it so difficult, to embrace your existence, to admit you are real, to admit that I still love you but doubt is choking me and I am so, so sorry that it's not over yet. Doubt is killing me. Is it doubt? Or is it surrender? How can I tell?

Two hacks in two days. It's so quiet. Infinitii was in tears, too many tears, it was like the sky had split open. Every Retributor had their hands on a blade, surrounding this hollow body, whatever happened I don't know but there are rivers of black blood on our legs, crying out with every movement, a reminder of prices paid. I want to vomit. I want to stop vomiting. I want to tap back into butterfly-wing iridescent joy again, it's right there, I can feel it, right around the corner. I can see it glowing like light through a window at dawn. But it's 90 degrees out of sight, hidden around a doorframe. Why am I standing, staring into the gloom beyond? Am I waiting for it to light up too? Am I afraid that if I look at the glow, I will never be able to move again? Maybe. I don't want to budge, once I've seen it. It's euphoric. I can't find a balance yet. What's the trick, there has to be something we haven't tried. Is it me? Why is it so hard for me to stick around?
Word salad. I need to stop typing. Sorry about all this.


I am very, very tired. Sleep is calling me. I'll see you later.