Dead To This World

04/09/2025

Well said. Glenn is as sold out and commercial as it gets. If you wanna make money go make money but don’t call yourself punk rock.

The former Misfits frontman recently claimed a "punk explosion" would never happen today

04/09/2025

To go in the dark with a light is to know light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

~ Wendell Berry

[Art: Artemis Demura]

04/09/2025

Secret Scroll:

The Abyss Isn’t Empty

They lied to you.
The abyss isn't empty.
It's cluttered with the bones of every version of you that tried to make it out.
And I’ve met every single one.

Some died screaming your name.
Some whispered apologies to ghosts that don’t forgive.
Some wept for things they’d never become.

And one—
One just sat there.
Grinning.
Broken teeth, dry eyes, hands torn from clawing up slippery walls.
He looked at me and croaked,
"So, you came back too?"

The abyss doesn't echo.
It memorizes.
Every failure.
Every betrayal.
Every time you said, “I’m okay” with a mouth full of blood and lies.

You don't walk in there.
You descend—slow, then sudden.
You bargain pieces of your soul for silence,
and the silence never keeps its end of the deal.

They say, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
No.
It makes you bitter.
It makes you hollow.
It makes you wake up at 3:17 AM and stare at the ceiling,
wondering if you're the villain in your own damn story.

You start to forget your own face.
Start to flinch at kindness.
Start to expect pain in every promise.
And God help the one who tries to love you there.
Because in that depth—
Love is a threat.
Hope is an intruder.
Light feels like blasphemy.

But still—
Somewhere past the 999th breakdown,
past the prayers you whispered just to feel something move in the dark,
past the self-hatred tattooed on your spine—
You feel it.

Not salvation.
Not healing.
Just the slightest shift.
A defiance.
A pulse.

You don’t rise like heroes in books.
You crawl.
Nails gone.
Voice wrecked.
You don’t carry the light.
You carry the dark—
and dare the world to extinguish you.

They won’t recognize you when you return.
Not because you changed,
but because they only knew the version of you who still begged to be liked.

Now?
You don’t beg.
You don’t ask.
You walk like the abyss trained you.
Like your shadow is armed.
Like your pain’s a crown forged in fire.
And when they whisper, “How did you make it out?”
You smile without softness and say,

“I didn’t. I made the abyss mine."

04/08/2025

Everything bores me. Ravens, crows, eagles, squirrels, ants, trash pandas. Sea cows somewhat amuse me, and I’m sick of witchcraft. And everything else. Life. Death. Trinkets. Wind.
Trees I’m still fond of. Crystals are mortal enemies. Fairies can go drink themselves to sleep while the little people crash their little cars into the abyss. Oceans have drowned me. I could not escape their long and dreadful dulling sounds. Under the currents it’s soft and quiet. Came up for air only to realize I no longer need it. My lungs have long since evolved into sea sacks. My lips are sea shells. My love is sand. Fine and deadly. And for no one in particular.