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.
I have no idea what to call it, but it’s about my most recent breakup and the maelstrom of emotions that have come with it. Lazarus wrote it at workshop this past week and I performed it with assistance from Australis to not break down onstage.
I’m thankful for Australis, he’s been really helpful as a brace while I process all of this fuckery..
Emerson filmed this, as well.
-Allēna
This is called “body politics.” Here is the performance.
-Australis, he/him, hello, I’m new.
I’ve missed y’all. Not much has happened today, but honestly, that’s probably a good thing. Zelda vague posted some dumb shit on Facebook about “being stupid” and “following their heart rather than their head” and Lēna and Emerson commented on the post calling them out for cheating and then posted the entire salvo in a separate post 🤣 Zelda blocked both of them as well as everyone else who flocked to their post to give them a piece of their mind. I think it’s safe to say that they are NOT having a good day. Honestly, after the shit they pulled, good.
Emerson went to the Sunday writer’s workshop, and I felt out of place, but I wanted to see what it was all about. It was fun, semi disorientation aside.
Then we came home and began a rewatch of Bridgerton for the hell of it. I’m still watching, but Emerson is napping. I’m not certain what else will happen tonight, but I’m sure it’ll be juicy. Ehehe.
-Lazarus
If you need me, I’ll be in a TV hole or asleep, probably. I’d be more upset about it except that I’ve been over the bullshit for a long time. This has been the latest in the long string of utter nonsense. I don’t have the spoons to be all that pissed anymore.
-Allēna
We’re going to be featured at Poet’s Monday on January 5th. We’re going to be the first feature of the year! See more details here. -Peri
the god of your dreaming world is a boning knife
made to pry black from white
good from evil, the same from the other
the wheat from the chaff
you’ve made the sacred into a weapon, a tool
and reality into delusion
the god of your dreaming world is a crowbar
made to pry denial from the self
love from fear (to you, they are one and the
same)
blood from stones, beauty from ashes
until the souls you’ve carved in the name of
perfection, divine judgment, are not souls anymore
they are vessels for your unholy scripture
and their too perfect smiles don’t look
joyful to me anymore
they look like silent screams
the god of your dreaming world is a club
you use words to bludgeon when you can
no longer pry
slow violence and promises of an unsafe world
outside of these walls to
keep followers in line
you’ve made faith into such a violent thing
I never want to touch it again for fear of holding
the same weapons you used against me
the god of your dreaming world is a noose
and I am still suspended upside down by my
left ankle when I sleep sometimes all these years
later
as the blood rushes to my head I wonder what I
did to deserve this, how I fell for this
as I scream for someone to cut me down
I got out from under the shadow of your god
just barely
I am not perfect, I don’t want your vision
you will not pry anything else from me
-Peri 11/18/2025
the wind in the trees outside my window
sounds like waves
and occasionally I get a scent that takes me back
before four unhappy new years wore me down
I am less agoraphobic now
but this smell is fall’s last breath as it
collapses into winter
and I collapsed then, too
I thought I’d seen the last of me
I tried to warn you in songs that were everything short of a scream
when nothing else seemed to make sense to you
sparse like the first weekend of a midwestern
december
(just as cold as you became)
(black ice dead eyes and all)
and failing that, I vanished
into the empty western sky
but once it looked like I could be happy
once it looked like I could have it all
you chased me through the autumns, the winters
and the years as if none of what you’d done
to me before mattered
over and over and over again
I never understood it
why was I so important
and ultimately
why do you pursue a vision of me
that was never real at all
-Allēna
