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a year ago
***
But Johnny lies. He doesn’t even like anime.
He slaps his laptop shut and lays back on his bed like he always does and he closes his eyes and he thinks.
He thinks about the last time he’d went outside and how horrible that had been. His face feels hot and there is a lump in his throat as he imagines it, he still cringes at the thought. To be Johnny is to imagine it vividly as though the pain and the fear remains and always simmers beneath the lid of the pot.
He remembers the park wherein there hangs the fronds of flesh and the tails of beasts sway in the fetid wind beside the mire, which is murky and dark and home to creatures as alien as the world around him.
He is there as the waft of the creatures strikes him, it is repugnant but heralds the approach of things worse, the things themselves.
There is a creature about the size and shape of an arm which flails around, very laboriously, and it throws itself several meters at a time, and it pauses to heave and breathe deeply and this is normal.
There is a thing, which walks upon two legs with the gait of a t-rex, it is made of a sickly pink wrinkled flesh covered in fine hairs, and the waist up it is a floppy cock, with two eyes, and it is gravid with young.
There is a wrinkly mass, which rolls, and it leaves behind a trail of saliva as the tongues serve as the muscular foot of it. It is covered in eyes, and some of the eyes bulge out onto stalks, which regard Johnny with smiles at the edges of them.
But before Johnny contemplates it further, he is ripped from recollection by a rap on the door. It is his mom. He winces with dread, as it is his mom. He opens the door, and he cracks it open just enough. Sometimes when he looks at her, she is his mom. But there are other times, when she is the creature, and it is usually when Johnny Thinks Like This.
𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. The times when he remembers that he is not Johnny but the mind trapped inside the flesh creature that is named Johnny. He does not like to remember that the bodies he sees have minds, and those minds are terribly alien things onto themselves, and that the minds always think, and some of those thoughts reserve judgment for him. No, Johnny would rather be the one who judges, the observer with all others as subjects.
***
But Johnny lies. He doesn’t even like anime.
He slaps his laptop shut and lays back on his bed like he always does and he closes his eyes and he thinks.
He thinks about the last time he’d went outside and how horrible that had been. His face feels hot and there is a lump in his throat as he imagines it, he still cringes at the thought. To be Johnny is to imagine it vividly as though the pain and the fear remains and always simmers beneath the lid of the pot.
He remembers the park wherein there hangs the fronds of flesh and the tails of beasts sway in the fetid wind beside the mire, which is murky and dark and home to creatures as alien as the world around him.
He is there as the waft of the creatures strikes him, it is repugnant but heralds the approach of things worse, the things themselves.
There is a creature about the size and shape of an arm which flails around, very laboriously, and it throws itself several meters at a time, and it pauses to heave and breathe deeply and this is normal.
There is a thing, which walks upon two legs with the gait of a t-rex, it is made of a sickly pink wrinkled flesh covered in fine hairs, and the waist up it is a floppy cock, with two eyes, and it is gravid with young.
There is a wrinkly mass, which rolls, and it leaves behind a trail of saliva as the tongues serve as the muscular foot of it. It is covered in eyes, and some of the eyes bulge out onto stalks, which regard Johnny with smiles at the edges of them.
But before Johnny contemplates it further, he is ripped from recollection by a rap on the door. It is his mom. He winces with dread, as it is his mom. He opens the door, and he cracks it open just enough. Sometimes when he looks at her, she is his mom. But there are other times, when she is the creature, and it is usually when Johnny Thinks Like This.
𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. The times when he remembers that he is not Johnny but the mind trapped inside the flesh creature that is named Johnny. He does not like to remember that the bodies he sees have minds, and those minds are terribly alien things onto themselves, and that the minds always think, and some of those thoughts reserve judgment for him. No, Johnny would rather be the one who judges, the observer with all others as subjects.
***
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