name :: il en sera AINSI // tong an-xing

player :: Shoji [[swall0wtale]]

position :: THE GIRL WITH THE REMOVABLE SKIN
WATCH HER ON THE SILKS THEN WATCH HER
LATER FOR A TWO PART STRIP SHOW
MAYBE SHE'LL LET YOU UNDO HER STITCHES FOR HER!

group :: Asile

Appearance.

 

 

Twigs and reeds have a tendency to whistle in the wind.

Leaves fall with the changing of the season-- the overall schematics of the colour schemes vary from day to day, with the introduction of sunlight and the change of the climate.

Wastelands can be divided and conquered, the occupants victim to genocide and disease. But occupants can always be replaced, stitched in place to find a new sense of belonging and memory.

Even when the sun is out, shadows can still dominate; luminescence is overrated these days, anyways, I think.

There's a path in the middle of the barren wasteland, the forest that's died, where flowers still bloom. They curl and, though they are black, they are still beautiful-- beautiful enough to birth a butterfly at the end of their downward flight.

I used to think that the withering of trees was a beautiful thing to witness-- I still do, especially since it doesn't happen so close to home.

There was an accident, once upon a time, where half of something beautiful was destroyed. The effects were irreversible and now, one of my eyes leaks black.

Background.

 

A very long time ago, when green still dotted the landscape independent of tin can hydroponics, there was a great mountain, a great tree, and a great rushing river. They'd stood together, for a thousand years or more, content with their trinity presence on the landscape they called theirs.

One day, the tree was accompanied by a mere sapling-- two inches from the ground and weak as a butterfly. The tree, distracted from its trinity dutied by this progeny it had spawned, bent to look after this creature that had sprung from its pollen.

The mountain and the river were jealous; for they, too, wanted companionship of their own kind.

The mountain tried so hard to break off a piece of itself, that an avalanche destroyed half of its side.

The mountain tried so hard to separate a piece of itself, that a flood occured, and killed all the people in the villages nearby.

The tree and its sapling died.

The mountain was mutilated.

And the river was wild with rage.

 

 

 

white water rapids can never be calmed,
and water can never be trapped
killed
maimed
or destroyed.

water never grows old, either,
but water has secrets that it's not at liberty to share.

 

Activities.

 

 

watching
the
seasons
as
they
change
from
green
to
yellow
to
red
to
green
again
and
not
feeling
one
little
thing.

 

 

the river is raging, but the water is still.

 

 

There was a frail syrup dripping off
His lap danced lapel, punctuated by her
Decrepit prowl she washed down the hatching
Gizzard soft as a mane of needles
His orifice icicles hemorrhaged
By combing her torso to a pile
Perspired the trophy shelves made room for his collapse
She was a mink handjob in sarcophagus heels.

[ cassandra gemini . the mars volta ]

Ideals/Motivations.

I’ve always wanted
To eat glass with you again
But I never knew how
How to talk without
Walls dropping on the eve
The nest they made couldn’t break you
Along the fallen
Scowled a fence of beaks
But the temple is scathing
Through your veins
They were scaling
Through an ice pick of abcess rekoning
And when Miranda sang
Everyone turned away
Used to the noose they obey
And whoever said that they would scatter
Separating the mother from child
She can bat a broken eyelid

Raining maggots from it’s sty
And with the traces that she leaves
She will skin you out alive
All the children go grinding their jaws
The sweet smell of their toothless canals
And the damn she will break, make an ocean from this lake
As they siphon off all of our blood
And when Miranda sang
Everyone turned away
Used to the noose the obey

[ miranda the ghost just isn't holy anymore . the mars volta ]

 

 

Attitude.

It’s been thirteen seconds
Since you all last said
I’ve become the apparition
You predicted for my death
You said that flirting brings you
Closer to the end
You can bait into the water
But you’ll never get the hint
And like a stain of bricks goes
Dancing by your head
Plucked from an icebox
Grafted on my skin
My coat has hid the marks
Mink hits the shovel fix
Near the sway of pendulums
Boar abrasions and a kiss”
She said, “I’ll never let them hurt you
I’ll never let them in
What you took from me is mine
What is mine I’ll never give”
Mascara glass in the molar weeds
Herash,a serpent infancy
His eye patch pussed a gap of sand
Into his shine a sedative
More and more the dirt collects
You’ll never find her body now
Her closet festered in a secret air
Blonde underneath a blackened hair
He never knew the colony
Gestated in his bed
Mingle with the carnivores you’ve something both in common now
Till one day his wasted breath
Swollen throat and karma debt
Set foot inside a parlor, to find her drunken by receipts
He held her by the ankles
Gutted at the nave, yes gutted and depraves
He tied a rope around her legs
And let her hang for seven days
This never happened, but I saw you leave,
And crawl into a bed of broken windows

[ frances the mute . the mars volta ]