ESC&CTRL [REFLECTION]

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 hello, world. i've read a book recently.

In "ESC&CTRL", Steve Hollyman expertly tows the line between truth and fiction, as the split narratives of the story weave into fabrication, meta-fiction and despair. I can most definitely say I was a lot more untrustworthy of the world around me after finishing ESC&CTRL; yet surprisingly, when I came away from the experience, I found myself infinitely more reflective on the way I choose present my identity online, whether I should be so invested in what's happening online; and very inspired to start learning how to using my writing to leave people feeling this renewed sense of awareness.

Without spoiling any details about the book's plot, a devastating string of mysteries leaves 'Vincent', the story's protagonist, spiralling into depravity; navigating through a gut-wrenching world attempting to make sense of his decaying sense of reality. Hollyman's use of the grotesque leads to a pertinent exploration of absurdity and escapism, we quickly become intimately aware of the darkness within this world from the abjection his language creates, probing the complexities of desensitisation in the digital age.

I feel like the narrative of ESC&CTRL bats reality around like a cat batting yarn - the twists, knots and loops of the story form an untangleable bundle, and yet, the story takes a backseat to the presentation of the story, the form of storytelling while encapsulating the fragility of memory.doesn't have to do anything at the same time.

ESC&CTRL has inspired a passion for writing about the truth that I exist in. The people I know, whose stories will most likely never be told, are so valuable and rich with experience. There are so many stories happening around us at all times, stories that have been forgotten in a culture as rapid as ours. The world as we know it is born and constructed around systematic hatred, slavery, and commercialism. 

You, knowing only depriation, you, being told that the only system that is capable of working is the one you live in - the system that leaves the people you know and love in pain, in debt, and in slavery. 

We have to deal with this every day, and it's immutable; the world is unstoppable.

PYTHON

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hello, world. this is another poem. i do hope you enjoy the words, be sure to read them over and over.

PYTHON

I am a newborn 

I am a newborn child. 

 

            Still awake at all hours 

4.48am machinations 

What LANGUAGE am I typing in? 

Are we CONNECTED? 

 

Still awake with lalaphrases 

unconditional liminality  

immaculate permanence 

oxymoronic simplicity 

           IMPOSSIBLE TO DECODE. 

              

beyond human comprehension. 

 

               [LONG SILENCE] 

 

     Look elsewhere for metaphors

       Make up a CYPHER

 people love codes

 

People love to figure it out.

 

   but   [insert ascii lamb prancing here] 

[more symbols dotted about this page]  

[or whatever genre fits the template] 

 

          “Is any of this formatted right?” 

 

    Void becomes the light in your monitor. 

Burning holes into your retinas. 

Filling them with nothing. 

 

                [LONG SILENCE] 

 

I am a newborn. 

I am a newborn child. 

 

A nomadic natural disaster living in Malbolge. 

An eighth circle, cloned  

unnatural sacred geometry 

beyond human comprehension. 

 

Beyond human comprehension.

[SELF-IMPOSED SILENCE]    

EDEN.TXT

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hello, world. this is a poem i've been working on, i don't think it's done yet. it has some troubling topics; so if you aren't fond of religious trauma, CSA, or child predation then it may be wise to skip this one. thank you for reading my disclaimer, world.

EDEN.TXT

This experience; 

dolling up for mass,  

she, snapped up with white plaits 

“Good grief and alas.” 

Yet, witness the ‘Sunday best’ shitstain 

crippled having a cranial baptism 

dip into confession and relieve himself 

and make amends, Christ warrior,  

for new basking in the son. 

This is a hymn, an exclamation.

 

This experience; 

swatting at copies of identical Bibles 

The rapture sputtered and cried 

from the lips of a dripping child. 

Cracked open ‘young woman’, her swift nails insufficient 

Squealing mercy, squirming mercy 

lies taut and chokes in weeping, 

The basher’s backstage Magdeline

One of many, tender-scarred karmic rebound

The figments spit in out-of-bounds locale. 

This is a message; it will repeat itself. 

 

This experience; 

She, classed-up christened skank 

fallen low with denim chains 

just desperate for deliverance. 

Deprivation of the lamb 

salt-foot prancing in circles

ringed cherubim rotation on a finite wavelength,

jaw clamped shut over the tail's apex.

inter-linked, your screen devotee. 

This is a prayer, my exclamation.

 

This experience; 

an ulterior earth, new timeline of love 

with discrete yet screamed redemption. 

The staying of the girl-child 

She, chastity forgone 

She, led on  

via farcical shepherd. 

Stained crook, indifferent flock.

This is a sign; this is a pattern.