oh yeah this place exists, have some fits

oh yeah, bsky exists, well transition’s been going swell

It is our opinion that Fern Hickson has improperly tried to interfere with a coronial investigation. She has disgustingly used a young man's death for her ideological ends.

We have written to the Chief Coroner this afternoon with our concerns.

www.rightsaotearoa.nz/letter-to-ch...

Mōrena, some friends and i are making our own complaints to rnz, is there any documentation linking RGE to the parents? we’re leading on lack of balance and the darkly ironic use of rainbow policy to allow deadnaming; this would mean additional weight to the complaints.

i keep forgetting about this appppp
here’s some recent looks

ready for health

how i look getting bounced from the men’s at maccas

working on a new shrrrt design

working on my singing

fuck! i am in this struggle

stay tuned for more art, writing, fashion, and eventually more songs!

woooo!

guess i’ll try this place again

Metal Masked Machines ///// Masked by Any Means

Blind to it, but thrilled with the taste, it’s all over this form, pooling ground, feeding earth.
It joins too.
A weight of mangled meat covers the form, it begs to be free.
The flensing knives break the last bonds, separating what was from what is.

Those claws, sharper than sharp flex for the first time.
Mind, think, still, meat.
A scent in the air, riding over the death, eyes still blind, that scent has a taste and that taste is life.
Life for life.
The simple math of our existence.

I’m hollowed out, but already, through the nausea, I feel something new crawling to fill the gaps.
Talons spread through the ruins of my hands, skin of my limbs ruptured, something matt and dark showing through.

Only when I void myself does the reality sink in.
Here. I’ll die here.
Creak, split, crack. Bones snap.
No longer screaming, howls strain and cry in echo.
Teeth shatter loose as my jaw breaks it self in convulsions.

A foreign object obstructs my mouth, bile and spray cascade the opening.
I try to breathe, to clear my throat, I’m choking on my own tongue as it swells to a size no human would know.
Force in my gut, cramp in my limbs, tears at the digits, least five fluids seep out.

The shakes crescendo, and I double over, useless meat and sinew made fails to control itself. If sense was mine I’d ride this wave, might even if not for the pressure at the base of my neck, punting up the flaccid grey matter with the force of a ramming bull.

howling
it starts with a shiver, grows to a shake.
Blood rushes to my head, ears battered with compression.
Somewhere I hear a throaty growl, wet and ragged, sputtering from an untested throat.
At the edge of awareness, the chorus of blood roars in the pack, I find myself.

CAN’T BEAT IT ON A GOOD DAY

been kinda lax with bsky so here’s some recent Caras

scenes from te hikoi

wonderful night too

always a wonderful day with the girlfriend