Jesus christ, I got the shock of my life about 20 minutes ago. Mourning Sound Records called me and asked if Massecration can open Full Battle Order this Saturday. Somehow the coincidence is slightly alarming, why is it everytime we have a gig. It's always with our dearest comrades Roughcast. It gets scary, slightly.
Time to throw down the acoustic guitar together 'em sappy sad love songs. This is what I love doing, what I enjoy the most of every second of listening to metal.
Jesus, Imagine. Truth Corroded(Australia), Rancorous(Thailand), Meza Virs, Meltgsnow, Truth Be Known, Bhelliom and Roughcast. All the 'laojiao' bands as coined by Agnes Pomek. If we play this Saturday, I'm not gonna let a single flaw pull through man. My lord, I'm still tingling from the shock.
Yes, Truth Corroded is the band that opened for God Forbid when they toured Australia. JESUS!
Oh yeah, Mischa. That guy on your tagboard. It wasn't me. I don't know who but I suspect my favourite drama serial script writer. I swear it's not me, I don't even bother now.
Frantic whispers that scream their way down this cold corridor, Last minute hugs and kisses; a sight less seen in this place. This surgery procedure has left me dangling, Hanging on to everything but you itself.
The door creaks silently open and the skies open it's mouth. They're taking me now, I'm off to a different place this time. I'd love to bring you with me but you wouldn't go, For you, I left my pride and self behind but you wouldn't know.
So this is goodbye, Dear one. Maybe one day, your heart will beat again. I wish for that.
So now I'm packed and I hate to go but this tormenting vacation has lasted too long, so this is goodbye tonight and for tomorrow and for everyday that I don't hear from you.
Good morning, good evening, good day, take care, all the best, sweet dreams, sleep tight, I'll miss you.
The Nine Tailed Fox is a Japanese Mythological creature that is symbiotic for one who is diverse. It can be depicted as a sign of strength and power or as a bad omen. It can create natural disasters and bring plague to mortal men. It is also a symbolism for wisdom incorporated into merciless power.
The Nine Tailed Fox is written to have been able to change it's animalistic form into that of a women, to seduce men and then kill them. It is highly skilled in the art of deception and manipulation.
It is immortal, a being evolved from centuries. Just like this burden.
I was somewhat fortunate(or unfortunate, depending in your context) to catch the Nightrider bus tonight. I know you would usually think transport services in Singapore are somewhat up to standard, safe and all. But I guess tonight, I took another sort of bus you'd rarely see. Something I would politely term as a scurry of society's neon flashing.
I was perhaps perturbed, upon first entering the bus. The strong aroma of putrid piss revolved around my nasal cavities like a tornado not content with the damage it had inflicted. I was breathing through my mouth, my hand and whatever I could use to block out the smell. Unaware, it was this dude at the back of the bus. Middle aged, probably around 35-40? Balded, dark black plastic rimmed spectacles with one of those strechable bands around th specs to keep them in place, wearing his work shirt. I guessed he worked at a factory or something like that. Pretty big, a placid glaze in his eyes that was quick to turn to amusement upon discovery that someone was looking at him. He reeked of piss, not just piss but beer-ed piss. He walked past Kadir, David, Jon Leck and myself, evidently embarassed but yet unable to do anything to resolve the situation.
Just before he left the bus, I was casually glancing at him. He gave me a weird stare, a surprisingly pained stare. Like one of self-hatred, one of pitiful tears, an eye widening look of fear and a gaze of pain. I was stunned. In disbelief, I almost felt like he had stared right through me. Like I was being watched, like he had somehow entered my mind as a separate entity. I don't know why. I felt like his eyes pierced mine and I was locked in a gaze of amazement, perhaps.
I knew his story by then. Technically, he would be a social reject. No one who smells like piss would be, actually. But I don't know why, I saw his pain through those eyes. I felt his world weigh another burden on my shoulders. I saw his world, of a cruel society. Of a worthless reaction from the world despite flailing his arms desperately in an attempt to be like normal people are. It's not what you think it sounds like. I do not look down on him. I just cannot write this out, I just can't put it into words fitting enough. But I saw his world through his eyes piercing into mine and I felt this overwhelming sadness come over me. It wasn't just sad thoughts of emotions, it was an overwhelming sadness. Like an intoxication perhaps, a fixation maybe.
I'm going to give you a string of words that come to my mind. I've turned the music volume to mute, I am simply going to type any words that flashes in my sub-conscious as I recall his look in my eyes.
Why me dont look i fine trip run hate you enough okay scared please come now no more i dont want i hate why me like this dont come near stop looking stop looking! please i have had enough no more no more! where are you sorry please no more i dont want this sorry please scared test test test test test no more no more stop stop stop falling fall further deeper i cannot get out i cannot be him i cannot break out cannot stop this please no more please stop
I feel like I'm uncovering a mystery, some form of novel predicament that I've landed myself in yet again. A cross of paths, a turn of events, a kiss of betrayal, a touch of mind's; that sort of thing. I've been turning and tossing in bed for days, I've barely slept. Just hours of giving in to exhaustion and from all the mental agony I've put myself through for days.
I've been searching for answers to lead me back to the stepping stone. They twirl around dirty little street corners and bring me through time, only to find myself and where I'd earlier started on. Maybe it's the right answer, maybe I'm just creating distance from a harder path of realisation. The technicality of this complex machinery called the brain is somehow afflicted with the wanting of a delightful answer. But is this really what I feel inside?
I've yet again found questions that give me momentary solace with more questions. I feel like this solitary confinement is best for me. This entrapment of exquisite emotions is probably best. When absence makes the heart grow fonder, the mind will clear the mist from all paths.
And this seclusion is simultaneously killing me. It is breaking me down into fragmentations of a far cry from happiness. It is messing with my head. I cannot ask you to let me go and not expect you to want to be away from me as well. All I can do is hope that when I realise this sordid truth of mine that you won't be too far away from me.
It's getting harder, so much harder to run away. From questions that lead me back home, from answers that no one will really know, from places that I've longed to go. I'm a plague, it seems. Of contradiction and this very pathetic remnant of my great self. Maybe you as well.
I chanced upon this short film by the Vancouver Film School, it's entitled 'Who Wants To Be An American'. Set in anti-democratic Russia, this one stings a little. Enjoy my friends.
I just got home. I have my Pineapple Thief to listen and I am overjoyed. 137 is a great great, awesome awesome, power power, magical magical album. The style deviates alot from Variations Of A Dream. But nonetheless, the Pineapple Thief signature remains. Bruce Soord is a God. The Porcupine Tree influence is also slightly visible this time round, with the alternate tone pitching in vocals. Dual presence effect, perhaps.
Dinner was good, conversation was a little dry. Till it all picked up later. Tissue paper lover and I certainly needed to catch up. It had been way too long. Went to Georges for drinks after and then we took the bus back to Tampines.
I'm certainly astounded at spousal/girlfriend abuse. Like what the fuck's gone wrong in your head man. You don't hit a girl do you? You dipshit cunt!
I love my Pineapple Thief, I love Bruce Soord. I love Pineapple Thief, period.
This refusal for acknowledgement is eating away at me. I'm being chewed, nibbled and gnawed at the very bone itself. I feel barely there when you're around anymore. Yeah, I'm an absolete object of inequity. I know, I know.
I am slightly aware that you are just simply pulling my strings, working me like a woodwork puppet. Jolting at your finger's twitch, crumpling back down when you're bored of seeing me move aimlessly. I'm a fucking doll to you am I not?
I've had more than enough of my spill and it's getting to my head.
Yesterday was steamboat 'party' at Lun's. Ricky, Fionette, Adimah, John, Alvin, Mel, Agnes, Sheng Yuan, Adrian, Hakim, Ina, Lun, Joanna. Makan many many, food was good man. Basically we bummed around Lun's place just like old times. This time with Hakim around with his shaved head and very tanned face. I cannot begin to appreciate how I miss the old group so much. Jamming at Boon, Slacking at 333, Early morning escapades in Alvin's car. Now John's going to NS. The group will be a little less entertaining, a little less. Massecration's definitely going to face trouble.
My only consolation is in the fact that I am what I am.
So how did I spend my Chinese New Year? At home, with Dad at the very least of consolation. It's tiring to keep explaining to others why I'm not out. Why my family issues are complicated and this line is towed with me sparking off into a possible fist fight with anyone who tries to step in the light that dons upon my respect.
Only consolation today was watching 'Sepet' on Suria. It's a beautiful beautiful show. Beautifully tragic and painful. These are the kind of films Singapore's industry needs to produce. To show our the other side about us that is not singlish, that is not about laughing at our expenses.
I've been collaborating alot with my other half recently. In deep thought and calculation, I have found stale, dusty thoughts. Why isn't there another explanation, another reason, another way?
Anyways I'm off. Mentally and emotionally beaten to a pulp. Happy CNY to all my friends who read this sickening and morally unjust page.
Pineapple Thief's Little Man is a must have. It is very different for 2002's Variations Of A Dream, less electronic I suppose. But yet beautiful music nonetheless. I cried, a little, listening to the whole thing over and over again till I reached Temasek Poly.
Reuben and Shawn reacted well with my romantic plight. Organising a soccer meet up for TCP. Leslie and Isaac couldn't make it, sadly. I must say, from spending nearly every single day for 2 years with that bunch. The meet up was beautifully and yet macho-istically nolstalgic.
I guess some skills you don't lose entirely. TCP held strong, prideful boasting perhaps.
I'm off to sleep. Gig tomorrow, and I'm unprepared.
I'm a complete mess these past few days. You must know.
This was Entrapment, done for last term's assessment. Shall paste the write up bellow. This is for all of you who keep asking for pictures, coincidentally took them after seeing Mal's installation thing. This one's especially for Mom, I love you. Please indulge in commenting me.
Self-entrapment.
I’ve always wondered what a person encounters with his own self behind bars. Being trapped in a bare cell, with nothing to distract the mind other than that of one’s past actions, present plans and thoughts. Would it be worse off than that of a long bus journey home or would it enlighten one’s mind like a textbook.
Unaware, I had always been trapped in my little self made cell of regrets and assumptions. Regrets of a forgotten past and assumptions I’ve had for years to come. It was only through listening carefully to Oasis’s Don’t Look Back In Anger’s lyrics that it gradually dawned upon me, the little walls that I had built around my fears. How discreet I had always been to avoid conversation on topics discussing one’s biggest regrets and so continues the list of self-improvement discussions held in secondary school that I labeled very aptly, ‘Psycho talk’.
What was inside my little cell?
I shall spare the details and just give the main ideas of my ‘entrapment’.
Family, Addiction, Childhood, Regret, Hatred, Music, Time, Vanity, Secrets.
I decided to use words, after a visit to the school’s Gallery. Where an artist put up catchy phrases, some offending whilst some begged for deeper understanding. I found it most interesting and appealing. One phrase that caught my eye especially, “Dead pigs don’t scream.”
The collection of items mainly came from an artist that I researched heavily on the internet on. Joseph Cornell. His work “Grand Hotel Semiramis” was one that caught my eye. I was instantly amazing by the power of a glass window, box frame and the things you could put inside it.
I collected several items, some bought, some gifts from friends, some from my junk box collections.
I made a hand figure out of twirling metal wire. My main image came from something I had written in leisure about a month ago. About understanding serenity and the post-effects of loneliness. The line which I took the idea from was “A cold shriveled hand, reaching out in an almost robotic fashion”. Thus, the idea of using a hand sculpture, reaching out.
The hand holding the headphones to me was the most significant gesture of all. With the message, “Please listen.” I imagined what a inmate would think about, what he would desire most. I think it to be an understanding from the people who judged him earlier. Be it, family of his victim, his own family.
The clock with it’s numbers all reversed in increasing order. To me, time only passes in normality. That’s when you actually count time passing. But in abnormal situations, such as in perhaps an accident, a kiss, in alcohol induced states, in fear, in bliss. We rarely ever count the time passing by. My little abstract interpretation perhaps.
The Barbie and broken mirror, vanity. The ability of keeping up with one’s looks so as to be accepted in today’s pretentious social groups. Barbie to me is the most symbiotic in representation when it comes to vanity. Not some celebrity advertising for a make up company or even models. Barbie’s blonde(stereotypically), pretty, perfect body and guess what? The user dresses her up. She comes in different sets of clothing, variety of hair colors and there’s even one for every race. It’s amazing what kind of social warfare young children are put through at such tender ages.
Beer can, spilt pills, dirty syringes. Well, it’s really just symbols of addiction. Substance abuse and so on.
Words were all chosen carefully after much thought and brainstorming on teenage angst, woes and lingo.
Tinted lights and crouching yellow, blissful paranormal sights and moving shadows. Crying babies and drooping walls, Caging in, moving towards me as I fall.
My softened fall? My captor's disguise? I took a taste from her lips, Gently soft like a feathered pillow. And I fell deeper, following into darkened hollows.
I held her gently in my mind, Tinted lights and crouching yellow. And she slipped further and further, into those deepened and darkened hollows.
Trouble sleeping, she says. Trouble living, I scream. I scream endlessly for hours; comfortably to my senses. There is no ignition in me, it absolved through deeper, darkened hollows.
Laying beside the hard, engineered floor, I am rested but yet I am falling in my sleep. Transported to memories, where she lay beside me. As I fell deeper, following into darkened hollows.
I went to the extremes, just desperately hopeful for a reaction. For a finalisation to this conclusion of some sorts. It was drastic and it feels tragic. It is unbearable, your lengthy silence.
Trauma Inflicted; Plundering Further Into Her Core
I sense a certain weight coming over my senses and knowledge. I feel like I've been transported deeper down into a sensitive spot, where my nerves tingle with excitement and my pores vibrate with hair standing. Like I'm being brought against my will into some sort of transit terminal; a changing phase of some sort. I feel the changes taking place, I feel these horrific tremors under my feet and above my head. It is in my surroundings, it is creeping fear that's wrecking my psychological state. Like my online moniker, 'I sense my calm is wrapped in numbing fear.'
I literally feel my words. I feel myself crumbling inward, collapsing in a state of final resting. I cannot survive under these conditions anymore. Perhaps I've been lying to my sub-conscious state for too long; this reprising of events and past decade of emotions have been submerged too long. Like the rising of a tide, it is not caused by a singular and conclusive event. It is the collection of too many turns of fate's wheel. Something's not right in me, I know it. Deep down to the precarious little bones, something's coming over and taking charge of all my physical and psychological actions. It feels like a weed has grown in me, some form of parasitic condition. It feels like hell to be here, all my conceptual knowledge perhaps has had it's final toll. All my ideas and philosophies on life as we all know it and all my visions and all the words that come to my head. They've had enough of letting me make use of them. They call the final straw, the seal's been drawn and marked.
I'm spiralling. There is no absolve to this situation, I believe. I feel like a explorer today, examining all the dusty crevices of my past memories and I have not found out why. There's something wrong. Something I dare not even tell my dearest family, so now my Mom will know. There has been something wrong, all this while. Perhaps it was what all of them used to call 'smarts' or my intellect. Perhaps it was that x factor that they all said I had, it's going off.
Every other day, I get this curdling sensation of 'Me' being scraped off a surface. I am analysing myself, my current situation. I am weighing my odds and sitting in a chair calculating the risks and timing the sequences. I'm tired, sick and fucking tired of having to do anything. Sick and fucking tired of having expectations set upon my head like some sort of royal decree. Sick and fucking tired of being put upon a pedestal in full view of passerbys, awaiting their critics and ideas of what I should do and be.
I'm deprived of what I call solace. I found it but there's nothing in my will strong enough for me to make it stay. The path to solace is also fraught with dangerous skeptics. Solace is not a home, it is beyond terrifying. But it is the only peace I know at the moment. It is a constant reflex action, a twisted dementia of defense mechanisms. It is horrible to be in there, my solace that is. I am constantly in thought and through those thoughts I am constantly struggling with different ideas and variations for a solution.
It is a constant race, life. It is a neverending cycle of defeatist movements and a plague of actions. It is a whirlwind of decay and for those like me; who think beyond comparison to simple ideas. It is a curse, a lesser reason for prolonged existence. I cannot imagine immortality, I cannot begin to appreciate the concept of living as long as you can anymore.
Trauma Inflicted; Plundering Further Into Her Core.
What begets this foolish escapade, This constant circus charade of dire consequences. Which begs for more attention, a lost life or a lost mind; Trapped in constant torment. Badgering for salvation, solace, heaven perhaps.
I trace these circles, that start as they end. I trace my footsteps and this is where I've stood for years. Permanently fixated in confusion, meandering along sanity's fine lines. Just a whiff will blow me down, just a star will be my light.
This gift is as well my plight, this curse is my gold. Enslaved to my Master. Whom I depict; Whom I serve. I am a cage of caged within; I shall twist that turn. I shall shallow these sands beneath my feet; Where I will sink and disappear into, where I find absolve. Her beauty reeks of rotting disgust; Plundering further into her core. Where I find absolve.
Where my solace lays asleep, where I find absolve. Where my solace lays asleep, where I find resolve.
My skin is now sun burnt, sensitive to the slightest touch. I missed the glorious feeling of sweat dripping and it's euphoric exhaustion washing away. So many nights, I have never slept soudnly but I am almost sure that tonight. I will lie in a bed that sinks inward for my collapsing body as I fall away to slumber without even the slightest chance for trouble concocted thoughts.
Everybody has massive plans today. All those trendy wankers are happilly celebrating this lovey dovey pink and red day. They will have romantic dinners, have drinks and then make glorious love for hours and hours till the sun hits our dawn. I shall pay careful attention to girls who walk with difficulty tomorrow, very close attention. ;) And then I will pay attention to guys complaining of muscle cramps, not enough sleep or just those who seem extremely and extravagantly joyous. One cannot help but feel jealous when it comes to matters of sex and sexual prowess. Sadly, I shall spend my Valentine's with guys. No, I'm still not gay. I just feel girlish inside and I have no date.
Spent the earlier half of the day with Jon Progeria, playing basketball and what not. We had dares of whoever did not score the 3 pointer to do hardcore dancing in the middle of the basketball court. Now, it shall be spent with Syed, Jon, Naz and whoever else feels lonely enough to spend it with us. Hilmie, perhaps?
I cannot yet again stress how irked I get when people start quoting slight coincidences as works of a greater being. I cannot stress how unbelievable vulnerable you are, how weak and dependant on the unknown you are. You are an indignant disgrace to the intelligence and perservering aspirations of self liberation's efforts. You are scum.
I have no qualms about anyone having faith. Just those that exclaim every single coinciding incident that went along with your will as God's work for you.
I believe in self-liberation, self-dependence, the power of one's whole will and the power of one's mind and thoughts.
AOTS mentioned Massecration in their interview with Agingyouth! Interview can be found at www.agingyouth.com
Somethings in life I have regretted; addiction, mental weakness, losses, inability. But one thing that I will never apologise for is for my undying passion for musicianship. It is not a lifestyle, hell no. It is not a trend, it is not a passing phase. It is not for you to criticize another's cup of tea. It is a notion of expression; It is a fairytale of emotions, It is a collective of one's thoughts and soul. It is individual and it is massive. It is universal. It is FRIENDSHIP, it is UNITY, it is RESPECT.
Hyperion; A Confession For One's Own Rememberance.
I am a matyr, I am a God. I am disability, I am taught indecency. I am numbers, only painted for gold; Numberous for a matter that pose like stones.
I am the world, justified by my Master. We are hours away from tides that turn. We are hours away from the finale, Where he goes on but I must stay.
Where I will locate myself permanently; Away from the distractions of the world. And be revered and noticed for ages. But only to the great minds that have not failed.
I am a matyr and I am a God; who shall I be to you?
Fraught with tension; I call ye. You know my fears, my hidden tears. Bleeding crimson ever so evidently; Seeking courage out of visceration's call.
I wish I was more beautiful; more graceful like a pretty bird. I'm not. I'm a horrible creatures who roams about in the night. Hiding from your gaze. I'm thankful we don't meet that often.
I wish I could make you fall flat over your heels like those pretty boys. I know you like them, I know I don't offer much. So Mischa, just go while you can. Have them.
I reached home yesterday from school, in a glaze of some sort. A washened tiredness fresh, dripping from my pores. I had just enough time to put The Fray's How To Save A Life on 'acquiring' mode then I headed to my room. Slammed my creaking body unto my bed and slept. I slept the hours away and I have just woken up. I jolted up in the fear of having not done a single drawing for external(which is today). I am supposedly required to hand up the entire semester's work. In the span of less than 4 hours, I honestly doubt my efforts will do much to salvage this very tainted situation.
Is it my fault that the teacher is biased against me as well?
I certainly do not think so. And I have had enough of old people who like to take advantage of society's well cushioned priveleges for them. I am sick and repulsed by the opportunistic aged and greyed.
I am sick of the meaniality of this world. My mind begs for your tenderness, for your gaze of beauty and grace.
I haven't been blogging. Honestly, there has been no desire to. I've retired to a lazy slump of core rotten mongrels with skull shattering screams for neon survival. I've become an insect, crawling on the floor. Avoiding detection at all costs, for fear of death. I cannot help feel the scrutiny of public objection and the clamour of public opinion. All my thoughts lead to a deranged, maddening despair, a disappointment perhaps.
In myself and in the figures of numbers that surround myself. In the shadows that observe me yet they never make themselves known. I know I am being noticed, observed and led under a microscopic evaluation. I am just saddened at my weakness in curving behind the bends and blending inward with the shadows of common ones.
Strength, I beseech thee. Possess my mind; strength.
Hey, read you're going on a slight vacation. Well, you know I'm always here when you need me all right? I'll be here okay, I promise. Take the best care, you know I mean it. You're the only one.
What must we all say before you proclaim self indignation again? What terrible atrocities must be enforced before one decides to call his/her own bluff. We know, we all know. Out of our own respect for you, we decide to remain simple.
It does not help that you have a whole world of imaginary entities and realities in your head. Do you not find it difficult updating them and sticking to their former charges of glamour and royalty? You have intricately designed and sourced out a dimension which is beyond our own. Yes, you are one of us. You are one with me but you choose to ascend yourself beyond this world, our world.
Reality bites, bitch. And you're getting on my nerves.
I'm gonna bitchslap you so hard you won't remember where you left your titties at.
Everything's horrid for me today. Everyone has turned less appreciative, less caring and less patient. I feel almost alone in here. This house feels no different since you left a week ago, even that you're back. It's so quiet and dead in here I could cry. It's a far cry from what we used to be, a family.
Let's not say that it was anybody's fault. I'm willing to take all the blame and watch myself crumble into a shaterring of millions of pieces.
And the one reality that I depended on solely for renewal of life has gone.
School isn't helping much with the large amount of work undone. I don't feel any of you here tonight. None of you. And this night, feels exceptionally cold. I am especially alone.
What's else to wish for after all the ones you felt so close to, decide to leave you, bit by bit and fragment by dying fragment.
This gaping distance can't help but be noticed by my weary eyes. I can't blame you for not wanting to get closer but just so you know, I really need you here. I've put these restraints on myself, just so I won't bother you. But if you hear my Siren song, if you feel my way. You got to come over sometime soon, I'm losing myself at a terrible quick rate.
I don't know if you even hear my Siren's call. And I won't blame you if you don't come. But Mischa, you stand at the otherside of this dimension. And I'm dying to reach you.
I just spent the wee hours of today watching movies on dailymotion.com. I am pretty much drained but strangely awake.
Beerfest was hella funny. Very dangerous comedic antics used though, like Germans vs Jews and such. It's a hilarious craft that everyone should watch. I must warn you though, the amounts of beer that they consumed on tape is alarmingly tempting. Not to mention Germany being the Motherland of all strong beers.
Saw III was as usual a masterpiece. Always been a fan. I especially loved the part where Jigsaw(aka Jack Cramer)'s counterpart Amanda screams 'Fix me! Fix me, motherfucker!'. It seems like the story is going to continue then. The screenplay was terribly 'Oh, no. That's gonna happen!'. Very precariously predictable. Also features a more detailed explanation of the very very abrupt ending of Saw II.
Well, it's 6.45AM now. Perfect to jog. Operation Minus Belly has commenced.
Her Perfect Victim; Surrealism In Mischa's Glorious Enterprise
Her Perfect Victim; Surrealism In Mischa's Glorious Enterprise
Hold my hands and we'll fight this war, Surpass those fears and we'll ride this storm. We have not known what lies beyond, Take my hand; at what's beyond.
Greet those scars, I'll fight them all; I'll take those wounds and still stand tall. Mist lays beyond all that heed Life's call; Take my hand and we'll fight this war.
I believe in your eyes; We'll fight this war.
You don't have to hurt again, Rely on me, my wings will defend. We are gods of death; we won't ever fall. We will never fall. Let's soar in this grey absolute, take my hand, we'll fight this war.
War, we'll fight this war. We'll fight life for as long as we have to. I'll fight this war, we'll fight this war.
I hold you in my arms, I'd steal away your tears. In the darkest of laughs, you can throw me all your fears. Because it's only you & me alive.
I am immortal in my separate dimension. My visits back to the natural Earth is occasional and often fraught with danger and horrific expreriences. Where I lament about these escapades here.
