The skin is split like spaghetti. The skin wriggles away like worms. The worms are knotted together at a single knot. There are creatures staring at me in this sterile room. Misshapen predators. The overhead light is too bright. I would suffocate them on my skin if I could. I would force the writhing, twirling mass inside their throats. They are impassive. They are attached to me by an astral link. Cutting the link is never permanent. I could contemplate their torture forever. There is no freedom, only negotiation. I am jealous of what they are. I leave the room.
You see these hylics everywhere. They have been born to ensnare you. There is no release. We return, over and over. I grasp a monkey wrench with my bloody fingers; I have taken a liking to their ears. You cannot hurt them in any way that matters. You can only take what Nature provides, and She is fond of parasites and venom. A knitting needle violating a weed, then salt poured down into the root. Today I am continuing to fight. I want to feel my skin extend to the moon. I want to engulf a hylic beast and digest them like a venus flytrap. You were born cursed, or you were not born at all. A purple monkey festers in the dark and it is you who is at fault. Your fingers can serve many purposes. I have taken them inside me and I hear with their ears. They are staring again. I break the astral link.
The skin is bubbling. The vapours are intoxicating. I am an organism that cannot maintain homeostasis. My outer membrane is not a protective shield. I am the organism that cannot maintain homeostasis. I stare at myself in the blinding light of a medical room. The outside comes from within. I curse Sophia forever. I would become the Demiurge out of spite. The kenoma is structured like a venus flytrap. Every hylic is just a pimple on my skin. A monkey wrench takes care of many things. You fester in the dark. I leave the room.
You see everything, everywhere and you were born cursed just to ensnare yourself. There are many kinds of release because there are many kinds of torture. The planet is made of skin. Protection against stimuli is more important than reception of stimuli. We take the monkey and teach him to rot. Today I am hurtling towards a solar system. I use my skin like I would use a rope. There is a disgusting kind of freedom. It would make you laugh. They are looking at me with hungry eyes. I am staring back, starving. It is time once again to satisfy my hunger. I really like their ears; I am like Venus. The human condition is structured like a sewer system. I would simply become happy out of spite. The fire alarm is blaring, I have left the skin to cook for too long. I look down at my root chakra and see a blinding cord of light. I break the astral link.
- Esssie Nihil, 16th July 2022