Recent content by Charkohl

Nothing prevents love. Many things prevent the expression of love.

There is never choice. Only the illusion of choice.

Inner beauty relies upon secrecy. Inner beauty is concealed. These are the attributes you hesitate to share. These are the motivations and morals that guide you. Beauty, you see, relies upon uniqueness. Many of us will never seem exceptional. But the whispers and memories we hold inside...

Begin by teaching hate and violence. Immerse them in a world of cruelty. Of sharp pain and rage. Hide the beauty in the world. Conceal it with vicious words. Then suddenly. Drop away fom them. Remove the disgust and abuse. And see if love springs to fill their new emptyness.

My heart knows a different language. One of blood and salt. Savagery and lust. I have not learned to speak it.

True kindness is so fascinating. Almost magnetic. Characters possessing it have a certain... Density. A field of gravity. Which draws others in. There is a difference between this altruism. And the meek consent generated by fear. Fear of disappointment. The desperation to be appreciated...

I thank you for your compliment. Interesting, truly.

Masks are beautifully ensnaring. I almost chose an avatar identical to yours. We might have been visual twins. A close call.

What good is sanity? I prefer measured madness. Analytical loss of coherency. There is nothing inspiring about sanity. I could live in that dull world. But I prefer this extravagance of edges. Angry light and oily shadows. Eels in the corner. The only sanity I keep is language. So as to...

I wear every mask. Ugly ones. (cruel, envious) Glossy, plastic shapes. (materialistic, shallow) Shimmering velvet veils. (intelligent, knowing) Blank slates. (naive, impressionable) Plaster cases, identical faces. Even those discarded by everybody else. There is nobody I am uninterested in...

My mind is a spider's nest of words. Language. Rendered completely visual. Letters spew. I hear the typewriter. Clattering in my ear. Words beget words. Each phrase vibrates, unfurls, dies. From its ashes rises the next. And beyond this seeming chaos. The despot puppeteers. Strangely...

Little scaly people. Clawing their way out. Stairs. Broken bones. A key. I swallowed, so curiosity could never tempt me.

I do not make eye contact. My joints snap loudly. My hair is messy. And worn in front of my face. My nails are filed to points. Because I like triangles. I jerk strangely to music. In my head. I avoid windows. These are not so much under-appreciated. As righteously despised.

I have a vague recollection. Of hovering shadows. And hands. Forcing pencils and paper into my fists. And words into my head. But I wanted to play in the dirt.

You know. When I state absolutes, they are not meant to be taken as absolute. Just mad scribbles. Trying vainly to capture a momentary opinion. However. 1. People can be evaluated using the same rubric. We are very alike. Different sets of memories are all which distinguish us. I do not...