I found out this morning that the feeling of knife to human skin is not that dissimilar to that of eating dinner with my family. It cut through just the same as it would a piece of meat, and filled me with just the same moral confusion. Is it better to sadden a chef (pork makes me nervous, I don't want to touch it), or to eat the body of a once conscious being? I bit my tongue, took a breath, and twisted it into her stomach, severing any connection that I once had to righteousness. She did not flinch, I did not flinch, and we stared back at each other until I looked away, until she looked away. Her blood mixed with mine, we are sisters now, and I licked it up. I licked up every last drop, and I liked it, and I am born of guilt.
This is a collection of ideas and writings. Click on the buttons on the left to see what I found important at some point in time. Dates are DD/MM/YY, if included at all. There are some 'hidden' links to more pages. This site is primarily tested on a laptop with Firefox, and it may be completely fucked on mobile, I do not care enough to check.