Mártyras stands on the brink of total nihil, and ponders.

Opens his grimoire to bygone hexes for piercing the accretion.

Atop his trireme, the Chiton, calls upon brimstone and anguish.

Aureate spirits and ancient cadavers went barreling aimless.

Bloodcurdling shrieks of estrangement rupture the galaxy as debris

calls for its master, their cries only as strong as their oblivion.

For though they know no life outside the orbit, thus fear unfamiliar,

their backs are turned to outrageous betrayal, what lies just beyond the



Event horizon, reverberant entrails of Ginnungagap.

Spasming chambers constrict the Chiton down ineffable maw.

Mártyras fights the stomachache, indistinct echoes of wailing.

Monday, the photons around him form mesmerizing fractals.

Tuesday, the cries of the damned accretion disc grow ever restless.

Wednesday, kaleidoscope, his likeness unfurled on infinite mirrors.

Days stab each other; Martyras' name, cursed by grunge all around him.

Tomorrow, phaneron occluded, doppelgängers grow in radiance.

Weeks, years, millennia, his own sillhouette seared on his retinae.

Hand in hand with words which hollow his eardrums out beyond fathom,

Malebranche that paint Boschian canvases just for his mind's eye.

Narrowly, as he reaches for the grimoire to scorch out eardrums,

followed by clawing out of eyes, Martyras' boots no longer quake.



The ever thicker sludge triumphs against the arcane trireme.

Sheds away Chiton, trudges through swampland, through daze and clamour.

Callous by now, save the unseen malaise his body now welcomes.

His war-torn psyche is soon to meet defiance of analogy.

Decomposing core, heart of darkness of Ginnungagap.

Piercing miasma of rotten flesh; boiling dark blood shoots out in jets.

Monstrous veins leech golden ichor from the accretion disc, shameless.

Glows a faint glimmer on the way down, then finally digested.

Mártyras wept for those unknowing souls, the heart pumped out slush.

No words left unsaid, through the blackened tissue his hand pierced.

One swift movement, engulfed, cast out from continuum, into






i can't rwmember the last time i actually felt scared
Fuck im not sure i wanna do this anymore


i pound on the ventricular wall and it Wont budge my ribcage is caving in the walls themselves want my head severed
this is a mistake, i can just go back  i
fall

i fall deeper



its Just


the singularity

it's just the singularity



i can Still hear them from here. it's not the same but i can still hear them, and i just Can't stop seeing myself.  it all happens from inside this ■■■■.



alright    here i am still.

it's almost   familiar? the light i mean
god that droning. it drives me crazy
at least its not always just  screaming but god when it does that it's just
sometimes i hear it,  my name. it's funny it almost sounds  disappointed. mostly though it's just   not about myself.


you know sometimes

sometimes, it sounds oddly beautiful. in an eerie way, like... i dunno, a forest dimly lit by the moonlight, making the dried out tree branches cast their shadows on the ground.
honestly sometimes it's just plain out beautiful. no eerie, just beautiful. like going out and breathing in as deep as you can. letting all the leaves, the summer, the life into your lungs. most of it though, not much of that. most of the times it's either nothing or the little light thingy spikes out accompanied by a horrible screeching that sounds like getting pinched in the elbow. it's weird, though, to think that this is all there is.
this is why they're sludge now, this is where GINNUNGAGAP is dreamed up from the abyss.
that's
i don't know, tragic.

there's no way out now
there has been no way out for a while now, if we're being real. waayy past the event horizon now.
try as i might though, the sludge outside is too thick, and the singularity keeps me close to the center.
i still have my grimoire though. that's still here.


it is  impossible to read with that incomprehensible, otherworldly droning, but it's been a few days.
finally, i pierce ataraxia through the myocardium.
the innards slowly start seeping out
bright light starts shining through ataraxia, as the tissue of spacetime begins cicatrizing
it's alright, just step into the light.

it will be no easy task, killing the beast from the inside. ataraxia is one stubborn hole.



so i sit.



and i create.



i sit by the singularity, and it speaks to me. no words, but i try to be a good listener.


  endless boundless unadulterated
  melodic nervewracking oneiric
  confessional timid candid

  dissonant, yet at times
  consonant

brings me back

    brings me forward

  i promise you, all i want is to understand


I dance, which I hate.
I dance to its music, because I want it to know how much I love it and what it has to say, and I try to have a good time with it, despite everything.

I conjure forth vibrations, to mirror and harmonize with the inner humming. The dissonant is so different from the harmonious, and to build upon both of them is something I've never had to try before.

first few, ear grating
over time, not too shabby
soon, it almost breathes.

one morning, i found i couldn't keep myself from singing along to what i composed

i thought to split the white light from the singularity, which painted the endocardial walls in a

Prismatic array in full bloom.

this palette i painted into vessels. some, in the shape of those who fed GINNUNGAGAP into horrifying life, others, brand new critters i thought up as i deemed fit. then, i breathed life into them. the now music-filled, colorful chamber became the homeland of this local fauna and population of Iridescent Illusions, which promptly started careening around it as if they were the animals of a carousel.

from the fibers and blood of the ground i fashioned a second kingdom. i taught both the hue kin and the flesh kin to love and create in harmony, and was there to step in when not everything went right.

i forged the town hall of the flesh kin, the cauldron.
i stirred together in it what magic i could gather from the depths of my grimoire and my gnawed-on-by-the-years mind, to bring down the walls of my ignorance, to peer past the unknowable fog of magick.

every day i write down my findings, tend to my peoples, and after i'm done i like having a good sing and dance with them until i can't move these old legs anymore.

one day, far from now, when the beating walls of GINNUNGAGAP have been dissolved into the ether by the patient ataraxia,
when i am once again free to step back into the void, and the spirits of the accretion disc are scared to join together into brilliant stars no longer,
i will be there, to let my creation roam free among them.
to let them grow boundless and without restraint, to see them spread out unbroken across the galaxy,
it is still i, who will get to paint the canvas of the firmament in life, in hue. to witness my own cosmos blossom into completion, set ablaze with light and echoing harmony through every star system.


today still,

 i write away

cuánto pierdo frente al espejo,
cuya propia luz proyecta
obscuras sombras chinescas
ante ángulos correctos.

nacida ya la aguja de noche,
extiende su raíz,
divide y reina mi alma fragmentada,
títere de su roce.

así doy más de lo que debo dar
y vago a días de mi hogar,
violado, ebrio y cansado
por no saber estar.

así soy menos de quien debo ser,
receptáculo de mi matriarca,
sacrifico el descanso de mis días
por un ahora de placer.

¿dónde termina el reflejo
y dónde empiezo?
¿cuánto condeno? ¿cuánto me dejo?
¿y cuánto quiero?

doloso y doloroso aún,
lo único peor que el villano
es el testigo que, por vano,
se lo lleva al ataúd.

i'm sorry stella
happy dreams
only happen
by accident

the happiest night
of my entire life
was a hypothetical

though i couldn't tell you
the wars that ended
before the rem phase did

im sorry stella
happydream
don't happen
till accident

though i looked like you
and my parents hugged back
turns out i just misread

so don't reach out
i'm no woman

I'm just a sorry excuse for a man,

the duskdream of summer melts
into a sudden drop in temperature
ah, the first chill of an autumn that
shyly makes acquaintance

oasis of respite, nature's smoke break,
evolutionary grounding wire
he'll shake you awake, never let you forget:
we still have middle grounds

what a beautiful chance
to meet in such bereft land
if only for an instant
then back into the trance

i dreamed of telling you
all i don't tell anyone else
maybe if i was someone else
or to another you

thank you for keeping warm
stars huddled by the fireplace
held tightly to the firmament
so we don't fall into space

cat's fish-scented yawn
sterile touch of silicon
dry snot covered back of nightstand
guitar's hallway-like soundbox
crystalline asphalt
resentful public transportation
bitter earwax
family of dandelions
cacophony of footsteps
plantation of desks
yearnful whiteboard
book of dust
warm beverage shelter
earpiercing white ceramic
unremarkable lust for gourmand
throat rammed with printer paper
longing of more and less
dust-bunnies on polo shirt
seran wrapped clock
homespun leather workshop waft
artisan doll varnish paint
old man smelling home
gravestone covered in moss
rise once onto the toil
then again into the soil

te veo ahí, y no sos más que un cuerpo
expuesta en vivo tu epidermis
puesta al rayo fulgente del sol
y absuelta

me veo acá, y trazo un pentagrama
ante mis pies, atado a mis zapatos
extiendo los brazos,
y expando

es ese el marco, abierto
tamizado el atril y listo
para insípidos lienzos
y me deshago

creo que fue el anhelo,
o quizá el apuro
el que llagó mi fábula
de salir del sol

cuánto tengo en vano, y cuánto más habrá
cuando permito la guardia en frágil viruela
avistado y avispado por más aún
vis a vismo

es así nomás como asgo
y nuevamente deslizo
para no volver
en riendas

young epictetus gazes up at the grandest spilling of milk. in the dead of night, there he is, on the waves of neptune. warm seafoam against his skin, the smell of salt and algae. the planetary winds of the open sea blow him apart, leaving only what has always been there, letting it beam down into the darkest depths, and lighting up the unknown in an aquarelle constellation of blue and white. a hand of light he lays on the heart of the ocean, to open up true sanctuary. inside, nothing but silence, and respite. he kicks the dirt off his boots.

El sol se prepara para meterse detrás
De los vagones desvencijados,
Llenos del polvo y las telarañas
De décadas en desuso,

Dejando su cara opuesta
Y al resto del campus de la UNSAM
En una creciente oscuridad

El conflicto pasó,
La conversación llegó
A su conclusión natural,
Pronto tendremos que decidir
Por cual

Carretera seguiremos de las dos
En las que el flujo del tiempo
Se está pronto por dividir.

Pero hoy el viento sopla suave.
Se fractura en un millón de estacas
La gloriosa luz del sol padre,
Pintándolo todo de un sepia sutil.

Los dientes de león se sostienen con un
Espíritu casi inamovible y así aún
Algunos se desprenden,

Pasando a ver al mundo desde
Nuevos ojos, durante el mismo instante en el que se
Desmoronan.

Las pocas nubes que quedan del cielo
Saben a la espuma del café con leche

Los pocos pájaros que aún quedan vivos
ya por despedirnos, como lutándonos

Mis amigos
están en el potrero,
pateando una pelota
No los conozco más,

Si leo este recuerdo
desde mañana,

Pero hoy, se ríen.

Hoy, son tanto
parte del cuadro
Como los edificios
detrás suyo

Y cantan la misma canción
Que mis antepasados,

y sus antepasados

Tu voz suave como el río
Atenta de manera risueña
Como un espíritu amistoso
De hace muchas vidas

Me desliga de un trance
Y me confía una carta
La luz fucsia
que queda encendida

Cuando mente y cuerpo
Mueren y se descomponen
Su sangre huele
A cerezas y vainilla

Sobre toda una hoja
Explota y se salpica
Y se tatúa sobre la mía

El sol se expande hasta formar
Una gigante roja

Engulliendo a la tierra en el proceso
No tengo asuntos pendientes,
Ni quejas al respecto
Con hoy fue suficiente

blue sky full of steam. an endless ocean. there is a singular iceberg. there is a singular tropical island. it is not particularly cold. it is not particularly warm. you are vision.

un coloso de adoquín alcanzando hasta las nubes. posiblemente por nadie construido. posiblemente nunca construido. posiblemente alcanzando hasta las nubes desde que el mundo es mundo. en la planicie verde, el pilar perdura.

el pastizal eterno se extiende al horizonte, interrumpido únicamente por el pilar. inaccesible, hospeda escrituras en su prisión calcárea. posiblemente por nadie escritas. posiblemente nunca escritas. posiblemente prisión de conocimiento desde que el mundo es mundo. en la planicie verde, el pilar perdura.

el infinito se conserva en la llanura. lo desconocido se conserva en el pilar. tan culpables como el pilar mismo, las escrituras guardan el secreto bajo candado y llave. posiblemente nunca nacieron. posiblemente nunca lo hicieron. posiblemente son un misterio desde que el mundo es mundo. en la planicie verde, el pilar perdura.

la incertidumbre: un sueño falso, una ilusión, un espejismo, un malentendido. una posibilidad.