Void.Engineer
@voidengineer.bsky.social
The Abyss stares back with contempt. White Jesus points to a mass grave. Earth is a holding cell for hell. | #horror #storyteller #writer #theologian #poetry #amwriting #writing
It comes down to class warfare.
December 25, 2023 at 9:03 PM
It comes down to class warfare.
Notes I've taken in class this semester.
December 6, 2023 at 5:13 AM
Notes I've taken in class this semester.
Tell me, little gods,
where is your glory?
What spirits bear you
up? What backs bear
your feet? Tell me, little
gods, why cower? Why
hide? Why conceal from us
your righteous face? Silly
little gods, how small that
you must be, to require
my belief to validate your
incomprehensible being.
#Poetry
where is your glory?
What spirits bear you
up? What backs bear
your feet? Tell me, little
gods, why cower? Why
hide? Why conceal from us
your righteous face? Silly
little gods, how small that
you must be, to require
my belief to validate your
incomprehensible being.
#Poetry
November 28, 2023 at 8:24 AM
Tell me, little gods,
where is your glory?
What spirits bear you
up? What backs bear
your feet? Tell me, little
gods, why cower? Why
hide? Why conceal from us
your righteous face? Silly
little gods, how small that
you must be, to require
my belief to validate your
incomprehensible being.
#Poetry
where is your glory?
What spirits bear you
up? What backs bear
your feet? Tell me, little
gods, why cower? Why
hide? Why conceal from us
your righteous face? Silly
little gods, how small that
you must be, to require
my belief to validate your
incomprehensible being.
#Poetry
It moved with such deftness and alacrity that the forest seemed to part before it. Its presence warped the space around it, drawing in small amorphous beings through the fabric of reality. It assumed the mocking likeness of one of the ancient spirit's children—the bear that hated, that raged . . .
November 28, 2023 at 7:19 AM
It moved with such deftness and alacrity that the forest seemed to part before it. Its presence warped the space around it, drawing in small amorphous beings through the fabric of reality. It assumed the mocking likeness of one of the ancient spirit's children—the bear that hated, that raged . . .
Work in progress, sneak peak.
voidspeak.com/2023/11/26/t...
#amwriting #horror #shortstory #writing #horrorwriting #WiP #WorkInProgress
voidspeak.com/2023/11/26/t...
#amwriting #horror #shortstory #writing #horrorwriting #WiP #WorkInProgress
The Boy, The Bear, and The Woods
The Hundred-Acre Woods had changed in the wake of Christopher Robin's disappearance. Pooh blamed himself—if only he held on for just a little longer. No one else blamed him. No one could have stood ...
voidspeak.com
November 27, 2023 at 6:16 AM
Work in progress, sneak peak.
voidspeak.com/2023/11/26/t...
#amwriting #horror #shortstory #writing #horrorwriting #WiP #WorkInProgress
voidspeak.com/2023/11/26/t...
#amwriting #horror #shortstory #writing #horrorwriting #WiP #WorkInProgress
The Thousand-Acre Woods had changed in the wake of Christopher Robin's disappearance. Pooh blamed himself—if only he held on for just a little longer. No one else blamed him. No one could have stood against those awful impossible things. He did everything he could, but guilt broke him, changed him.
November 26, 2023 at 12:50 PM
The Thousand-Acre Woods had changed in the wake of Christopher Robin's disappearance. Pooh blamed himself—if only he held on for just a little longer. No one else blamed him. No one could have stood against those awful impossible things. He did everything he could, but guilt broke him, changed him.
All around her was incomprehensible nothingness. Not emptiness, which implies the existence of a vessel, nor darkness, which implies the absence of light, but nothingness—wherein her presence was a violation. (1/2)
#writing #amwriting #horror
#writing #amwriting #horror
November 25, 2023 at 10:15 PM
All around her was incomprehensible nothingness. Not emptiness, which implies the existence of a vessel, nor darkness, which implies the absence of light, but nothingness—wherein her presence was a violation. (1/2)
#writing #amwriting #horror
#writing #amwriting #horror
When has poetry written at one in the morning ever been good? It’s like a box of fractured hurt we have yet to process; or the bandage used to hold back the bleeding caused when nicking ourselves on the edge of half grasped life lessons. Put down the pen. Go to bed. You'll live.
November 24, 2023 at 10:01 AM
When has poetry written at one in the morning ever been good? It’s like a box of fractured hurt we have yet to process; or the bandage used to hold back the bleeding caused when nicking ourselves on the edge of half grasped life lessons. Put down the pen. Go to bed. You'll live.
I write in the sand. By high tide
everything is gone, carried out
to sea. Every wish, every name,
every curse, given back to the
oceans that formed me. Into
the abyss I relinquish all that I
cannot control, and hold all
that is mine—myself.
#poetry
everything is gone, carried out
to sea. Every wish, every name,
every curse, given back to the
oceans that formed me. Into
the abyss I relinquish all that I
cannot control, and hold all
that is mine—myself.
#poetry
November 23, 2023 at 10:19 PM
I write in the sand. By high tide
everything is gone, carried out
to sea. Every wish, every name,
every curse, given back to the
oceans that formed me. Into
the abyss I relinquish all that I
cannot control, and hold all
that is mine—myself.
#poetry
everything is gone, carried out
to sea. Every wish, every name,
every curse, given back to the
oceans that formed me. Into
the abyss I relinquish all that I
cannot control, and hold all
that is mine—myself.
#poetry
WiP
Beneath our feet, hundreds
of miles deep, sleeps a violent
despair, what's dreams rise to
ensnare the unguarded minds
of foolish men—mortal men.
#poetry
Beneath our feet, hundreds
of miles deep, sleeps a violent
despair, what's dreams rise to
ensnare the unguarded minds
of foolish men—mortal men.
#poetry
November 21, 2023 at 4:00 PM
WiP
Beneath our feet, hundreds
of miles deep, sleeps a violent
despair, what's dreams rise to
ensnare the unguarded minds
of foolish men—mortal men.
#poetry
Beneath our feet, hundreds
of miles deep, sleeps a violent
despair, what's dreams rise to
ensnare the unguarded minds
of foolish men—mortal men.
#poetry
Hypnotherapy Session 1.
Transcript:
The mind's eye sees and remembers. A sudden rush, and then the sweet scent of summer catches in her hair, follows in her wake like wind caught sails racing towards safe harbor. She was harbor, ship, and sea; we felt safe with her, even through her storms.
Transcript:
The mind's eye sees and remembers. A sudden rush, and then the sweet scent of summer catches in her hair, follows in her wake like wind caught sails racing towards safe harbor. She was harbor, ship, and sea; we felt safe with her, even through her storms.
November 20, 2023 at 11:15 PM
Hypnotherapy Session 1.
Transcript:
The mind's eye sees and remembers. A sudden rush, and then the sweet scent of summer catches in her hair, follows in her wake like wind caught sails racing towards safe harbor. She was harbor, ship, and sea; we felt safe with her, even through her storms.
Transcript:
The mind's eye sees and remembers. A sudden rush, and then the sweet scent of summer catches in her hair, follows in her wake like wind caught sails racing towards safe harbor. She was harbor, ship, and sea; we felt safe with her, even through her storms.
America
Is a trigger pulled
In a classroom
Full of six year olds
While their daddies
Fuck trafficking victims
And blame Queer people
For the price of gas.
#poetry
Is a trigger pulled
In a classroom
Full of six year olds
While their daddies
Fuck trafficking victims
And blame Queer people
For the price of gas.
#poetry
November 20, 2023 at 11:11 PM
America
Is a trigger pulled
In a classroom
Full of six year olds
While their daddies
Fuck trafficking victims
And blame Queer people
For the price of gas.
#poetry
Is a trigger pulled
In a classroom
Full of six year olds
While their daddies
Fuck trafficking victims
And blame Queer people
For the price of gas.
#poetry
It appeared as a strange sentient mist, radiant with cosmic hues—rich purples, greens that become almost blue, deep reds, and deeper golds. Light pulsed through the cloud like lightning, and the smell of ozone filled the air around it. If not for the fear seared into my soul, I'd think it beautiful.
November 20, 2023 at 11:10 PM
It appeared as a strange sentient mist, radiant with cosmic hues—rich purples, greens that become almost blue, deep reds, and deeper golds. Light pulsed through the cloud like lightning, and the smell of ozone filled the air around it. If not for the fear seared into my soul, I'd think it beautiful.
It spoke in tongues, mad gibbering tongues. A choir beholden to discordant octaves carried aloft by the gentle melody of some distant music box. Its language, if that is what one may call it, was an absurd cluster of sound, and yet, I understood it.
November 20, 2023 at 11:07 PM
It spoke in tongues, mad gibbering tongues. A choir beholden to discordant octaves carried aloft by the gentle melody of some distant music box. Its language, if that is what one may call it, was an absurd cluster of sound, and yet, I understood it.
Children reflect the environment in which they grow, and if society examines closely its children, it will see the reflection of itself.
November 20, 2023 at 11:05 PM
Children reflect the environment in which they grow, and if society examines closely its children, it will see the reflection of itself.
It is strange. I have gone my whole life without seeing my face.
November 20, 2023 at 9:01 PM
It is strange. I have gone my whole life without seeing my face.
It's loud here for all the wrong reasons. Fear permeates, then anger, then violence. It is a mirror, a foil, a flip side to the same coin.
Do I bear it? Do I wade past the harbor and swim into open waters? Let opportunities be held that may correct poor bearings?
Time. I'll let it, Time.
Do I bear it? Do I wade past the harbor and swim into open waters? Let opportunities be held that may correct poor bearings?
Time. I'll let it, Time.
November 20, 2023 at 10:51 AM
It's loud here for all the wrong reasons. Fear permeates, then anger, then violence. It is a mirror, a foil, a flip side to the same coin.
Do I bear it? Do I wade past the harbor and swim into open waters? Let opportunities be held that may correct poor bearings?
Time. I'll let it, Time.
Do I bear it? Do I wade past the harbor and swim into open waters? Let opportunities be held that may correct poor bearings?
Time. I'll let it, Time.
I always come back for you,
to dip you in the murky eyed
ink called memory. Even now,
I write your name across the
breadth of these wrists, hoping
to set free all this bitterness.
#poetry
to dip you in the murky eyed
ink called memory. Even now,
I write your name across the
breadth of these wrists, hoping
to set free all this bitterness.
#poetry
November 20, 2023 at 3:48 AM
I always come back for you,
to dip you in the murky eyed
ink called memory. Even now,
I write your name across the
breadth of these wrists, hoping
to set free all this bitterness.
#poetry
to dip you in the murky eyed
ink called memory. Even now,
I write your name across the
breadth of these wrists, hoping
to set free all this bitterness.
#poetry
When God dug us out of the dirt,
and with clay formed us in divine
likeness, he was trying to learn to
love himself. He tired of being
alone with the burden of his own
imperfection—this is why he is so
angry. To him, we are an honest
reflection.
#poetry
and with clay formed us in divine
likeness, he was trying to learn to
love himself. He tired of being
alone with the burden of his own
imperfection—this is why he is so
angry. To him, we are an honest
reflection.
#poetry
November 20, 2023 at 3:48 AM
When God dug us out of the dirt,
and with clay formed us in divine
likeness, he was trying to learn to
love himself. He tired of being
alone with the burden of his own
imperfection—this is why he is so
angry. To him, we are an honest
reflection.
#poetry
and with clay formed us in divine
likeness, he was trying to learn to
love himself. He tired of being
alone with the burden of his own
imperfection—this is why he is so
angry. To him, we are an honest
reflection.
#poetry
Writing horror, in whatever form feels most natural in the moment, allows me space to unpack & critique a broken world bound by its own self-imprisonment. Similarly, the same serves as a mirror into the Lacanian Imaginary Order wherein I confront myself & heal through Shadow work and integration.
November 18, 2023 at 8:19 PM
Writing horror, in whatever form feels most natural in the moment, allows me space to unpack & critique a broken world bound by its own self-imprisonment. Similarly, the same serves as a mirror into the Lacanian Imaginary Order wherein I confront myself & heal through Shadow work and integration.
The pulse pulls into the endless dark, swelling and pregnant with sin. Something stirs and births Despair, a demon to stalk the Void. Such small and fragile things, these devils, young as the universe is old, and before the sightless eyes of the Deep, they are nothing to behold.
November 18, 2023 at 3:58 AM
The pulse pulls into the endless dark, swelling and pregnant with sin. Something stirs and births Despair, a demon to stalk the Void. Such small and fragile things, these devils, young as the universe is old, and before the sightless eyes of the Deep, they are nothing to behold.
He misses you, too.
She's watching over you.
He knows you didn't mean it.
Eternity affords forgiveness.
Time helps them see
They are sorry.
They beg your forgiveness.
They forgive you, too.
She's watching over you.
He knows you didn't mean it.
Eternity affords forgiveness.
Time helps them see
They are sorry.
They beg your forgiveness.
They forgive you, too.
November 18, 2023 at 3:33 AM
He misses you, too.
She's watching over you.
He knows you didn't mean it.
Eternity affords forgiveness.
Time helps them see
They are sorry.
They beg your forgiveness.
They forgive you, too.
She's watching over you.
He knows you didn't mean it.
Eternity affords forgiveness.
Time helps them see
They are sorry.
They beg your forgiveness.
They forgive you, too.