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A slowish night by headcount, with a few too many cops & "scary clowns". A child lost their mustache in the leaves.
But the clouds were racing and the wooden chimes were rattling over distant shrieks and just as we hit midnight the cold blew in all at once.

Partway through rubbing off a mouth of navy lipstick, a mess like you'd caught me in the embrace of a Smith Corona Four just as they'd slipped me the ribbon.

My favorite maple, four days apart. I was worried its leaves would fall green & early after our bone-dry August & September, but it's held to its festive schedule.

Hanging a single tropical leaf above my pillow to fool myself into thinking I'm a racket-tailed roller when I wake. Come morning I expect I'll be halfway through a cricket breakfast & shocked to find I have teeth.

Albuterol suffuses me with energy & skittering terror and I've been using it every day since the ragweed kicked off end of last week. Deluxe apocalypse feelings.

Watched a raucous murmuration of starlings descend on an oak to tear its squirrels' nests to shreds, sprays of leaves & twigs exploding from points around the tree as the mob circulated.

Your skin shining as you're conducted to the Night Conservatory by swaddled, goggled ushers.

Choosing to use a location as your memory palace is choosing to haunt it. Whatever's left of my grandmother's house in Yonkers is haunted by echoes of her & by paintings whose dates & titles I needed for an exam seventeen years ago. The Haunted Mansion is packed to the walls.

At 17 I wore one of those perfumes that attempts to evoke thunderstorms via cod-petrichor & a hint of ozone, but it actually had the exact pleasant but mundane scent of a specific drizzling afternoon moment of October 9th 2019 as inhaled through a histamine-throttled nose.

Found a feral scroll. I peered in from the end and what runes I could decipher indicated that it was a desirable egg-laying venue and I should put it back.

Late 200X in my library office with the door locked, listening to this with my forehead leant against the window, staring disconsolately at snow falling on Squirrel Hill roofs. David Sylvian briefly contextualizing my decaying corpse into picturesqueness.

No, I'm pretty sure the beat's made from a sample of that clip of Blixa Bargeld stirring a pot of squid risotto on German TV. The sound has a uniquely savory, maritime texture that I recognized immediately.

One night, walking in the woods, I came across a bonfire & a crowd in a clearing. There were two men stood either side of the narrow trail I'd been following, staring at me, so I asked if they were guarding it. One mumbled "no" kinda sheepishly, & they shuffled aside to let me pass.

Eventually the the bridge and the borough will collapse, and the former'll be a jagged roadblock marking the border of some orchard owner horse breeder's fiefdom.

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suicide, glancingly 

Just far enough out from the city for weird youths to become forlornly invested in me noticing them.
I initially thought the netting hung from the decomposing bridge was meant to inconvenience jumpers, but more likely it's for catching sloughed debris.

When I paint the nail of one ring finger a contrasting colour it means I'm married that week. A divorce may be declared abruptly with my teeth. That's the local custom.

So sick, anything I read or listen to risks segueing directly into fever dream. What comforts me without also hurting me? I can't think. Are the early 90s Cocteau Twins albums all there is?

Several slavering ghouls around a table poking gingerly at a dish of marrowfat peas, looking up at me with betrayed confusion in their blood-rheumed eyes.

I was queued to buy a broom and the dude ahead asked if I was setting up my college apartment, unwittingly forming a precisely opposed symmetry with the coworker who asked if I had any kids in school yet when I was 19.

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Eldritch Café

Une instance se voulant accueillante pour les personnes queers, féministes et anarchistes ainsi que pour leurs sympathisant·e·s. Nous sommes principalement francophones, mais vous êtes les bienvenu·e·s quelle que soit votre langue.

A welcoming instance for queer, feminist and anarchist people as well as their sympathizers. We are mainly French-speaking people, but you are welcome whatever your language might be.