Excellence and batshittery, done on purpose.
I’m Lazarus. I make art, music, poems, plays, and magic for the quiet, brilliant, broken ones. If that is you, welcome home. I adopt your kind.
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More about me here.
Please note that, with rare exceptions, any and all names mentioned in this blog are pseudonyms except our own. We want to be able to speak freely without doxxing anyone.
His standards are ridiculously high because he’s a stickler for accuracy, especially considering I read the original poem in college at Maryland school. It’s called Troy: Fall of a City and it’s on Netflix. I highly recommend it, especially since it can satisfy Castor’s pedantic ass.
-Allēna (hi, I’m back!)
I am the candle you allowed to go out
you would bind yourself to me but you’d never
bleed for me
and if you had fifty million words to say what you
meant
or anything at all
you’d ramble on, talking in circles
and in your haunted sound and your fury, you’d say
nothing –
did I ever mean a goddamn thing to you?
was I nothing more than another withering body in your bed,
another meal, another drink, another drug,
another stepping stone in your unanswered,
unmatched ambition?
there’s no way to tell now in this optimized
emptiness, is there?
I’ve tried to see through the cage of your lies
one too many times
so now I go about my petty tomorrows and you go about
yours on opposite sides of this compound fracture town
we are all bleeding at the seams
at the end of the day, aren’t we?
I don’t think fate was involved anymore
only hunger clawing at your insides
and when you finished devouring me in your
desperation, you corroded your soul
with something and someone else
another victim wrapped too tightly in your spell
who are you drowning with now?
of course they won’t see that the cords wrapped
around their neck aren’t love until far too late
of course they won’t have words for how you’re drinking
them dry, and
of course you won’t tell me their name
but I’ll hear their screams through
the grapevine anyway
out, out
brief candle
again and again
oh, that I would have
died hereafter
after what you did to me
but
watch me rise like the morning star
instead
burn out
shimmer and fall
knowing you can never again
touch me
-Castor 2/1/2026
-Castor
I’ve been frontstuck for the past two days and I don’t know how she can front for weeks to months at a time. This is the longest I’ve been in front in about 17 years that I can recall, and the longer it goes on, the more painful it becomes.
There is so much I’ve missed. I’ve been on an island in headspace that Kalla built some years ago that I call Little Patmos trying to make sense of Eight’s insane ramblings, prophecies, and dreams from his tenure as host while the others got out from under Zelda because I knew some shit was going down and I didn’t want to be present for it. That’s been my escape strategy for over the past decade and a half.
I never thought that at any point, I would be the only able or willing fronter. There were too many of us, I thought. Surely Lazarus would be willing to front before I would have to.
But no..
Two days ago, I woke up in front. Peri was carrying a rather large gun, dressed like Sir Integra from the anime Hellsing Ultimate. She has staunchly refused to front, citing some threat she’s unwilling to disclose.
Australis, a new arrival in my absence, looked like he’d seen a ghost.
Tristan and Theo have both been more concerned with other matters rather than fronting. That leaves me as the only fronter currently anywhere close to headspace as well as acting host until Allēna comes back from wherever she is.
I’ve been slowly coming to grips with the fact that Allēna and Eight especially have accomplished everything I wanted to do in life multiple times over, Zelda, the first person who could touch me and it not hurt long term in years, used us up and threw us away, and we are now legally married for the second time.
I have no idea who I am anymore. I barely have a sense of where I am. I feel like a fucking shell. If we were still drinking, I would be shitfaced under some table right now. But I am not going to do that, as tempting as it sounds.
Here’s to self discovery, I suppose?
And Zelda, if you’re still keeping up with this blog, go fuck yourself. Better yet, don’t. I hope no one ever touches you again, you piece of shit. I know I got back with you last summer, but I regret that decision every day. Allēna deserved better. I deserved better. Emerson and Beany definitely deserved better. Everyone you’ve ever talked shit about deserved better. I’ll see you in hell.
I’m going to go try and get some sleep once I’m done crying.
-Castor
Here’s a short clip from it.
If you want to watch the full performance, I come in at 2:43:10 thereabouts.
-Allēna
I WAS AT MY OWN WEDDING!!
Yup!! Emerson FINALLY made an honest gremlin out of me after three goddamn years!!!!
Wheeeee
-Allēna