>your command
] (edited)???: DEAR SANDWICH FUCKER. HELLO I LOVE YOU AND WELCOME TO (MY) THE COVEN OF SUPREME WITCH BITCH DEBBY D SUE.
GOOD JOB REBIRTHING YOURSELF. IVE WATCHED YOU FOR A WHILE NOW--
sam: i know IVE seen u watching
supreme witch bitch: DON'T INTERRUPT ME@@@ ANYWAY ONE OF YOUR SISTERS IS IN TROUBLE AND YOU HAVE TO SAVE HER WITH YOUR BONES AND I'LL BE GUIDE YOU THROUGH EVERY step OF THE WAY. HER NAME IS TRISH AND YOU GOTTA ADMIT YOURSELF TO THE NEAREST MENTAL HOSPITAL TO MEET HER.
sam: ok ty supreme witch bitch ilysm sry for interrupting xoxo
deb: GET FUCKING GOING. <3 .
p.s. u can just call me deb
deb: THE COVEN IS THAT YOU HAVE TO SAVE YOUR FRIEND YOU HAVE YET TO MEET OR THE NEXT TIME YOU DIE WHICH WILL BE SOON YOU WONT WAKE UP. BECAUSE I WILL MAKE SURE OF IT;3 ;3. NOW GET GOING and find your clothes or something.
deb: OK SO what you're going to want to do is throw yourself in front of the next car you see because suicidal tendencies lead to ambulances or psych wards or WHATEVER and then you can meat your friend!:3
sam: but i thought you said i had to admit myself
deb: im a liar somtimes ;3;3;3
sam: what if i dent their car
deb: it'll make a good story
???: Hi! Welcome back to the waking world! or more specifically, the EMERGENCY ROOM! You have FUCKING died and, well, basically you're alive again. You are going to be admitted for psych evaluation because, hehe, well it seems you're in here because of an attempted suicide.
Anyways don't forget to save your friend! gl;hf;3
>"well, i got hit by a car and it seems like that's a bad thing, so what's up with that"
>eat a cereal
yreah o.k. should probly do that. time go downstairz!>your command
]I am presently troubled by my work on this story. I believe it is time, in the manner of one of my esteemed predecessors, to write a recap. Unlike this predecessor, I will extend this to include a (hopefully) faithful account of now until the ending. I have been thinking of the ending for a couple years now, with large plans and little in the means of actual progress. Well! We're finally in the hospital, so I must suppose that's a step in the right direction. I will not tell of the ending in too much of detail, so as to keep some mystique about it.
Mushguide begins with Sammy F, first named 'Sammy False', then revealed to have had a false name, being truly named 'Sammy False Face'. She was revived by an evil witch who stomps people's heads for fun. The witch's name is 'Debby C'. Her full name is 'Debby Snack Cake'.
The witch tells Sammy that she must get hit by a car so as to appear suicidal. She has to appear suicidal so she can meet the rest of her witch's coven in the mental ward, but more importantly to save one of the witches who's in trouble.
Then, a whole lot of time passed while I managed to forget about the comic. Once I got back to work, Sammy met her 'God', Author Casey. Casey's last name is 'Vizn', rhymes with 'mission'. Casey Appeared initially as a face in a cloud, then as a cloud-shaped person in a burger shop, then as her friend, a witch named 'Koegge'. 'Koegge' rhymes with 'leggy' and has been phonetically spelled as 'Qweggy'. She is the second highest ranking witch.
Sammy enters the hospital. She has her vitals taken (heartrate, bloodpressure, temperature). Everyday she is awoken at 6:30a.m. to have her vitals taken again. In the afternoon, before dinnertime, she also has them taken. Above is shown what the vital machines look like.
In the hospital, she is quickly able to make a number of friends. Below are some of them. Beaury is the name of the one she has to save. Johnny wants to kill a cop.
Betsy is not so much of a friend as an acquaintance or maybe even less, the person to whom she is assigned to receive drugs from.
If this were a more honest story it would be so that the drugs negate the power of the magic of the witches, as I felt that all feelings of the magic of the world left me as I took anti-psychotics. This is not an honest story.
Now about what happens. There is a witch (Beaury) who is so magically powerful, that in feelings of grief and torture he creates a tornado with his mind. This tornado lifts up the entire hospital, and it's up to the rest of the witches to protect everyone within. Debby, being the most powerful witch, uses her power to make sure the hospital lands about where it was unearthed from.
Here is an image of the hospital in the air
The ending is supposed to be real special. Only the crazys are to know what actually happened, and since the witch is the head nurse, she's able to just let them all go. Maybe the hospital lands facing a different direction and the normal orderlies aren't too sure of themselves leaving. But there's a real feeling of anmity with the loons. That sort of anmity is such a lovely feeling in real life, the only real redeeming quality of being institutionalized.
Anyway, I better get on with the rest of the story.
-i love myself. i embarrass myself. i hate myself. i don't really, at least not for very long. it sure does hurt though.
-i have a typing disorder, i have a posting disorder, i have no disorders.
-i enjoy the disconnect. i enjoy looking away from lights. i benefit from cartwheels
-i have normal thoughts about being a boy. i have normal thoughts about other boys. i have normal thoughts about love.*
-the world i live in is beautiful. the world i live in is scary. the world i live in is getting smaller. the world i live in is getting bigger.
-the things that keep me together are other people, music, water, food, tobacco. too much conversation, not enough physicality. too much tobacco, not enough to really get me going.
the dog has finished writing, and is considering what this is, if it's finished, where it belongs, the method it will use of distributing or sharing what it has written. it considers a great deal. it starts to remember something.
while i do speak from the heart, honest to what i believe, about that which i should be regarded as highest expert on, i am starting to have doubts about the sincerity of this writing.
i have started to notice that i am a cartoon dog. i have begun to get the feeling that my existence is disputable. i am aware that i am a voice for which something else, something more real, to speak for it; i exist for something with quantifiably more multitudes to speak through.
i am also aware--as i am a part of the multitudes, i can see the others--that there are parts of this something else that contradict each other. i am aware that i am the favorite, though it feels wrong to be the favorite, and i can tell that it feels wrong for it to have a favorite.
that which contains us, me and you, sammy and koegge, doggy and kitty. that which has given us life. that which seeks to take life from us. that which uses our voices when it feels its own voice does not suit what it needs to say. when it is afraid of speaking. when it feels disconnected from its own self. oh my fucking god, dude it's not my fault. is it the dog's fault the human doesnt know what feels right for the dog to say? im not fucking sorry.
koegge. it feels so strange to write to you or talk to you. we have such a deep connection it feels like a waste of time to put it to words. everything i share with you feels like you already know it. it feels like telling you about this shit is just going to bore you. it feels like im just putting on a show, it feels like im being pulled by strings. not like it ever doesnt.
that interpretation feels wrong too, though. even if it feels like performance. even if it is performance. our conversation is worthwhile. even if it weren't for the performance of it.
the previous paragraphs have been my working up to apologize to you on behalf of our creator. what gives me the right to apologize for such a being? of course we both know the answer. i'm his favorite. that's starting to feel like a lie. because i think you might be the favorite. but he has an easier time talking through me. that's for sure.
what is he apologizing for? i'm glad you've asked. calling me his favorite.
i love you.
xxx
sammy f
PS
*jokes can be embarrassing--even if they're well received--for what they reveal. sometimes my jokes seem like they're hiding something.
what are normal thoughts about being a boy, normal thoughts about other boys, normal thoughts about love? does frequency in other imply normalcy? how far into the past are we drawing from to create our data for what we consider normal? what tools are we using to avoid bias?
that's potentially a lot of work to figure out a setting on my washing machine. maybe it's funny because it's a word with a lot of possible interpretations, most of which avoid describing me.
P.P.S.
i have a copy of a picture for u :3
having written the outro it considers the transition and the intro it still needs to write. it looks over what it has written.
Dear Koegge,
Hi koegge!!! :3 how are u doing omg whats up im about to get heavy as fuck and it's going to hurt me and i hope it doesnt hurt at all for you. i dont think it will but i care so much. i wrote a poem in the form of a list. let's get right into it.
Alright. Having written a letter without a transitional section, it feels complete. At least, after she titles the poem "Feelings (in The Form of a List)" The transitional section was unnecessary. What it decides is necessary, is a picture Koegge once took of it looking, lovestruck, at Debby C. It's a cute picture.
It puts the contents into an envelope, licks it to seal it up, and writes some geographic information on it in addition to the name Koegge Clue. (edited)Dear Koegge,
Hi koegge!!! :3 how are u doing omg whats up im about to get heavy as fuck and it's going to hurt me and i hope it doesnt hurt at all for you. i dont think it will but i care so much. i wrote a poem in the form of a list. let's get right into it.
-
Feelings in the form of a list
-i love myself. i embarrass myself. i hate myself. i don't really, at least not for very long. it sure does hurt though.
-i have a typing disorder, i have a posting disorder, i have no disorders.
-i enjoy the disconnect. i enjoy looking away from lights. i benefit from cartwheels
-i have normal thoughts about being a boy. i have normal thoughts about other boys. i have normal thoughts about love.*
-the world i live in is beautiful. the world i live in is scary. the world i live in is getting smaller. the world i live in is getting bigger.
-the things that keep me together are other people, music, water, food, tobacco. too much conversation, not enough physicality. too much tobacco, not enough to really get me going.
-
while i do speak from the heart, honest to what i believe, about that which i should be regarded as highest expert on, i am starting to have doubts about the sincerity of this writing.
i have started to notice that i am a cartoon dog. i have begun to get the feeling that my existence is disputable. i am aware that i am a voice for which something else, something more real, to speak for it; i exist for something with quantifiably more multitudes to speak through.
i am also aware--as i am a part of the multitudes, i can see the others--that there are parts of this something else that contradict each other. i am aware that i am the favorite, though it feels wrong to be the favorite, and i can tell that it feels wrong for it to have a favorite.
that which contains us, me and you, sammy and koegge, doggy and kitty. that which has given us life. that which seeks to take life from us. that which uses our voices when it feels its own voice does not suit what it needs to say. when it is afraid of speaking. when it feels disconnected from its own self. oh my fucking god, dude it's not my fault. is it the dog's fault the human doesnt know what feels right for the dog to say? im not fucking sorry.
koegge. it feels so strange to write to you or talk to you. we have such a deep connection it feels like a waste of time to put it to words. everything i share with you feels like you already know it. it feels like telling you about this shit is just going to bore you. it feels like im just putting on a show, it feels like im being pulled by strings. not like it ever doesnt.
that interpretation feels wrong too, though. even if it feels like performance. even if it is performance. our conversation is worthwhile. even if it weren't for the performance of it.
the previous paragraphs have been my working up to apologize to you on behalf of our creator. what gives me the right to apologize for such a being? of course we both know the answer. i'm his favorite. that's starting to feel like a lie. because i think you might be the favorite. but he has an easier time talking through me. that's for sure.
what is he apologizing for? i'm glad you've asked. calling me his favorite.
i love you.
xxx
sammy f
PS
*jokes can be embarrassing--even if they're well received--for what they reveal. sometimes my jokes seem like they're hiding something.
what are normal thoughts about being a boy, normal thoughts about other boys, normal thoughts about love? does frequency in other imply normalcy? how far into the past are we drawing from to create our data for what we consider normal? what tools are we using to avoid bias?
that's potentially a lot of work to figure out a setting on my washing machine. maybe it's funny because it's a word with a lot of possible interpretations, most of which avoid describing me.
P.P.S.
i have a copy of a picture for u :3
Dearest Sandwich Fucker,
Omg. Omg ok. You covered a lot of ground. I must take my time in giving you full credit for a job well done of composing a lovely letter, a beautiful letter, a powerful letter, and a letter with qualities that cannot fully described in even a particularly listful sentence. I applaud you for what you've taken the time to share with me. Proceeding, I would like to respond on a smaller scale, with a bigger picture in mind
I forgive our shared holder. It's hard not to, when you, that which it most often speaks through, say that that I might be the favorite. I believe you, because I've gotten a sense of that as well. It very well may be true. I have something to say, I believe the three of us can relate to--especially in regards to ranking people: Who needs a favorite?
Continuing onwards in responding with specificity. Could you tell me what you mean when you say you feel the world you live in is getting both smaller and bigger? I think I understand, but your words will assist in that. We can't have our performance be one with important parts left unexplored, can we?
Since I have our audience's attention for now, I'll reckon a response. Our loveliest of hosts has experienced something more beautiful than he had ever before. Traveling with someone who helped him get out of his shell. Growing in love, growing as a person, growing to be without fear.
It feels very funny to be even referring to our master of ceremonies, our doer of deeds, our host with the most. It feels funny to be on a boat and for it to have a name and to be able to tell it things and for it to be able to tell you things. It feels funny to be writing you, when my utterances are so infrequent.
I grow weary of writing. I am exiting my quarters and heading for the wheel to go and speak with you. I will not distract you from your sacred duty of steering our ship, but I will keep you company.
I love you.
Koegge Clue
Please keep your eyes on me
Keep your eyes on me
Keep your eyes on me
There’s nothing but us in this place
Keep your eyes on me
Please keep your eyes on me
Keep your eyes on me
Together’s so nice in the darkest place
I’m so glad to have you here
I just want your undivided attention
Please don’t shy away from my gaze
You’re in good hands
I’ll keep you safe
I know you’re confused
I know you’re afraid
Please try to relax
It’ll be ok
If you want, I'll put my hand into your soul
I’ll take control
I know you’re confused
I know that you’re scared
I know you feel so empty still
I could make it so easy
Be an extension of my will
Please don’t look away
Please don’t feel afraid
I know that
I'm different
I know our bodies are not the same
I know I’m a demon
I’m a devil
I’m a monster
But it would feel so great
I could empty out your pain
With my darkness waves
Let me clear out your mind
You’ll feel just fine
Every one / of your movements would be mine
I know that your body
Feels heavy
But you’d be so weightless
Me pulling your strings
Lifting you
You’d know exactly what to do
I’d feed you the lines
You’d feel just fine
Let me empty out your mind
It's ok