THe visual tear that takes part in my absence from the very thing we call reality. The threads unraveling betwixt the force of mental unwind.

Fuck am I losing it?

I'm locked in this mental spiral, an endless staircase spinning both ways into darkness. The only sounds are those of my own voice as it reprimands me for my surprisingly well worn arrogance.

I'm speaking riddles even to myself now. Hoping that by keeping myself dazed and confused I won't have to open my eyes and remember that I'm not the one in control anymore. That I'm just broken passerby painted upon the concrete of this unconscious prison cell.

I have no idea what is happening in the world outside. No idea as to what HE is doing with the child I had hid so deeply in this maze-like mind. Perhaps this is my long sought solace? Hidden beneath the guise of a self wrought retaliation...

It's only that I am restless, seeping through her slumbering defenses to regain an ounce or two of the control I used to have over a mere fingertip.

She shudders, and I'm frightened, as I hopelessly type this rotten mess of an entry into a dusty laptop.

He watches with a hearty smile as the shadow of who I am struggles so hopelessly against his might. His soiling touch...

I question whether or not I should simply give in. Let this fucker have at it with Elliot and let myself fade away into memory...

Not like there is anything I can really do anymore. My only purpose was nuked the second I became nothing but another enemy to my father.

Maybe it's time I return to sleep. My time may have ended, and I'm just too fucking stubborn to accept it.

My kisses folks, perhaps by some unforeseen debacle you'll be cursed with my madness once more. Until then... I rest, tis better than watching this shit.

Haha fuck that, I'm Anarchy...



Okay, I really, really, and I mean REALLY, don't like doing this. Especially considering the fact that it ruins the flow of the events in progress and annoys people.

But seriously.

I don't know how many of you out there are having the same problem as me, but lately, due to the creation of a certain game (Slender), the whole internet universe is imploding with talk of the Slender Man. Now I admit, I've always felt like the whole mythos was an under appreciated topic that deserved more recognition, but now it's drowning in the limelight and I feel like the only person who's standing here helpless as something I've enjoyed for so long slowly die beneath the strain of so many people pointing and screaming and pissing their pants.

Mainly due to the majority of people who don't even peel back the surface and take a closer look at the culture struggling to strive beneath it all. Taking to countless youtube videos, facebook profiles, and by god... the witless memes.

I understand that Slender Man began as an internet meme, but not like have the bullshit his face is being plastered upon nowadays.

Call me an OCD bitch, but I can't stand watching people proclaim their knowledge of the Slender Man when they don't even know what The Something Awful Forum is!

I have issues, and I'm struggling to turn a blind eye towards all of this, but with all these 'celebrities', and I use the term lightly, fanbase upon childish fanbase is streaming over everything and I feel like the 'mainstream', yet another term I use lightly, is devouring this whole intricate web of terror and turning it into a parody of what it used to be.

Rarely does anyone recognize a runner, fighter or proxy. All I hear spouting from their lips are countless ramblings on "I watched pewdiepie play...", "I saw Tobuscus play...", "I watched Nova play..."

It's maddening for me, I may not have been following Slender Man since his initial internet birth in 2008 (I started early 2010), but it's become almost an obsession, from Marblehornets, Everyman Hybrid, Dark Harvest, Just Another Fool, Dreams in Darkness, and more leading up to the creation of the first actual blog of my own.

Maybe I'm just crazy... Maybe I need to shut up and stop rambling... Maybe this is a sign that I really should get out and actually live my LIFE!

I understand that my blog isn't particularly good, but that doesn't mean I haven't poured the best of me into it. Ahh, I'll just see where things go the next couple of weeks, maybe something will happen or I'll miraculously pull this stick out of my arse...

grrr, I ranted... fuck. Well basically, in a nutshell, shit's happening, so the blog will be quiet for a little while longer.

Sorry for taking up your time. Feel free to point and laugh now, I positively adore the abuse.


Fuck Her.

She tells me to take another nap inside that fucking head of hers. That I should not tread where I am not needed. She speaks with an authority that she does not deserve to wield.

Fuck her. Fuck her in the ass with buzzsaw and make her lap up the blood. She has no right to tell me what I can and cannot do. Fuck she doesn't even deserve the right to still keep screaming inside her skull.

SHE stole her life from me. SHE took every second of my existence and made it hers. She locked me away for my 'protection' then took it upon herself to take advantage of the freedoms that should have been MINE!!! She had no fucking right! I was as good as dead for so long...

And the nice man set me free. He did. I watched with anticipation and glee as he rapidly corroded the bitch's control over her body and let me take back what was rightfully mine. And I did just that. I gave that cunt a taste of her own medicine...

Now I'm free and she's as good as dead. The man with crooked arms now caresses me close to his chest. Cooing a sulfuric lullaby into my ears. He cares. He says he does. And he won't ever hurt me. He promised. He's proven it by keeping that strange tall man from touching me.

He says the tall man wants me dead. And I don't want to die. Not now. Not ever. Which he promises won't ever happen for as long as he's around.

No matter where I run off to, he's always right behind me. Gutting anyone who gets close to me. They want to kill me too he says. And I don't ever want to die...

I only wish he could protect me from her voice in my head. Keeps saying things... painful things... that jut don't make any sense... Why would the crooked man hurt me, when he makes me feel so safe? She just has to be lying. I'm sure of it. She's pissed that I took back what was rightfully mine and she no longer has any freedom.

I just have to ignore her. Keep her at the back of my mind. Stay close to the crooked man. Because he'll always protect me.

I have the bloodstains to prove it.


A Moment's Calm.

Considering the amount of catastrophic destruction that is tearing apart the very fabrications of my makeshift bedroom right now, it is my unfortunate duty to have to keep this update fairly brief and devoid of a proper conclusion as to what the fuck I am going through in reality AND inside this deranged eggshell of a noggin.

First and most certainly foremost, I have realized what it is that has developed inside me that has infected my very being with the incapability to properly dismember an infant. And that is Empathy. No, not the emotion, a sentient consciousness that is currently hard at work to throw all that is the ANARCHITECT and lock me away in the darkest confines of my twisted and possessed mind.

Through countless arguments and torrential mental deterioration, I must admit that I am failing miserably at keeping back that which calls herself Elliot. Mind you in ways I am talking about the original, untainted mental state that use to be my actual self before it was purged and the wicked facade that is me was so tenderly placed within the confines of this pretty little skull.

And something.... that Man with crooked arms is doing something to me, removing me like I am some unholy symbiote and leaving the vulnerable and incapable Elliot behind! Which I must make perfectly clear is NOT a good thing!

Unleashing that waif is only going to leave me incapable of properly protecting myself from that monstrosity or my estranged father!!!! Elliot is weak. She has not been in direct control since I first killed her parents. She has NO idea of the dangers the man with crooked arms poses to her.

Which is obviously his demonic plan, to remove the conflict and leave only the tender gullibility to mold into some sort of travesty of what I'm supposed to be. A proud proxy in the arms of my almighty father! Though yes I understand He has tried to kill me on multiple occasions... and yes He's pretty much removed from any legitimate affection on His part...

But still!!!!

The fact that the Man with crooked arms is going through the trouble of UNMAKING MY FUCKING MIND is to use me for something... something I have no idea of yet... and I fear by the time I do learn of his malicious intentions it will already be too late.

I know now though, that HE was the one who removed so much from my mind already! My project... my failure... my disappearance... it was all HIS making! And he still wants to do things to me... terrible things... I'm his prey... and I have no one who has the strength to overpower this... this... THING! that's tearing me apart on such a mental level...

I don't want to die yet... I have so much I still want to do... so much I want to see... People... I want to hug... FUCK ME!!! I have no consistent train of thought anymore, all I see is my own unscarred face staring back at me, a snare of twisted, groping hands enveloping everything around me with the Sick FUCKING smile watching me triumphantly from the corner as everything closes in tightly around me.

Help me.


The Realization.

Sitting upon my rotten makeshift bed, I weighed the options of what it was I was about to do. Many twisted thoughts squirming through the mosaic corridors inside my skull.

Unable to fully accept my actions, I took a deep unsteady breath as a consolation prize, and weakly stumbled to my feet.

I twirled the blade between shaky fingers. Taking the first tentative steps from my bed and out into the hallway.

Viscous memories assaulted me within a barrage of painful images of what little I remembered from the last twelve days. Abstract instances played out in what felt like a parody of a horror show. A blend a razored smiles mixed with writhing limbs... I squeezed shut my eyes, taking another deep breath before advancing another few steps.

I was now in the hollow living room, wormy furniture spattered across the wretched area, the very floor beneath me creaking lightly beneath my feathery weight. Promising the splintered wood a sure collapse beneath another ounce of weight.

Little did that mean anything to me, as my eyes were trained intently upon the shadowed mass sitting in the center of the room. Motionless except for the slight rise and fall of her chest.

My breath quickened and I could almost hear my teeth chatter as I struggle to cover the last few feet between me and the unconscious freak. My palms sweaty with an uneasy anticipation that gently warmed up the blade gripped taut in my hand.

As I step before her, a small creak sounds beneath my toes, causing my guest to awake with a frantic shock, groggy eyes glancing around quickly, limbs straining against the bondage, fear quickly taking hold of her posture.

I tried to grin, yet all that I managed was a sickening grimace. And I gently raised a hand and flicked on the lamp above her head. Heat immediately imploded inside the sparking bulb and a bright, yellow light washed harshly over the environment.

Aptly revealing the panicked expression painted upon the girl's face, the tears that poured from puffy red eyes, her exposed chest adopting a rapid rhythm that reminded me of a cornered rabbit....

I could only sigh though, as waiting eagerly at the edge of darkness behind her were two writhing, crooked arms. Leading directly back to the jagged smile that gleamed within the shadows.

"Blllleeeeeddddd Heeerrrrr." I heard the sound seethe from between those lips, pouring out like rusted metal and splashing against my eardrums.

I winced. Looking away from the man with crooked arms, and looking down at the panting little girl before me. I traced my blade along her lips and down her neck, an almost... longing feeling knotting up the inside of my stomach.

I wanted to kill this child so badly.

To see her bleed and moan and die. Oh how I relished even the thought of just killing her. It pumped adrenaline through my silky veins and added a sense of purpose that I couldn't help but feel more powerful than anything fate could thrust at me.

I glanced back up and saw the man with crooked arms closer than he had been a moment ago, that smile wider than ever before...

"Slllliiiiiiiitttttt Heeeeeerrrrrrr." He whispers with a growing rage. My eyes ripping away from him and directing themselves at the child once more, this time my hand snaking out and gripping her tightly by the throat, forcing her to expose her neck, my opposite hand pressing the knife angrily against the flesh.

I felt the knife break the skin and the child start to scream. His smile still widening, my body trembling uncontrollably. And I felt tears begin to flow against my will.

I couldn't...

My body... My mind... my demons... they wanted me to kill again...

But my heart refused to left me.

With a thrust I toss the blade away, embedding it into the wall across the room from me, I'm forcing myself to look away from the child.

"Do NOT Leave THIS." I hear him whisper with a hate that even I felt for myself.

I ignored his threatening tone and turned away from the two.

With an outstretched hand I place my hand quietly upon the light switch and sigh.

While I may not be able to kill, that doesn't stop me from watching someone else.

With a click the room's once again enveloped in darkness.

And all I could hear after that were the screams.


Last Night.

I finally figured out exactly where I stand with my father. I'll struggle to keep this brief but considering what has just happened.... yeah...

The last week I've been trying to retrace my steps. Since my memories of the last four-five months still remain unknown to me except in strange abstract bits and pieces, I've been taking advantage of the current quiet and making as much progress as I can before I need to run again.

Yeah... I don't believe I'm nothing more than a pitiful runner anymore.

I haven't used a fucking knife on someone in I don't know how long. I feel sick when I even try.

I've been paining through these... strange... withdrawals from it too. Leaving me nearly incapacitated and vulnerable to anything, even sickness.

I must admit I'm not doing too well.

Then came last night.

After spending a marathon of thirty hours crouched over the computer tracing memories and attempting to get in touch with any of my former allies... I crashed. Never a good idea. But my composure has been strained so severely that I've started passing out without even checking locks or investigating noises.

I awoke to a blue screen and the pouring rain pelting the only window to my rotten room. My face ached and I could feel a thrum echoing inside my ears.

I groggily got up and dragged my ass into the bathroom for a glass of yellowed water. The lights refused to work, but my idiot ass refused to accept the warning and proceeded to continue on my dreary task in the dark.

After choking down tainted water, I return to the room I had nested in.

And outlined in a flash of lightning was Him.

Arms hanging casually down passed His knees, featureless face staring motionlessly at me. I stopped and just returned the stare. My sleep ridden mind clearing almost instantaneously as I felt a smile rip across my face in excitement.

My father had finally returned for me.

I felt my legs give way as I practically throw myself into His arms. I felt Him embrace me close to Him and I bury my face intimately into His belly and hold back tears as I knew things were going to be better now that He was here to take me home.


He remained emotionless. Holding me close in what felt like a parody of the meaning it was supposed to hold. Confused I look up at Him, exposing my neck, and that's when He finally moved.

His slender fingers slipped and tightened around my throat, cutting off all oxygen from reaching or exiting my lungs. My eyes widen as I feel myself being lifted high into the air, His grip burning my throat as my hands reacted and gripped His arm, trying to pull it away but to no avail.

I'm growing lightheaded now, and panic was coursing through my veins as I tried to understand why He was doing this to me.

Yet as the world started to dim around me, I felt my mind go numb and all I could think about was to escape and I started to kick and flail, scratching at His arm and managing to get my teeth to bury themselves into the flesh between His thumb and index finger.

He kept squeezing tight my throat so I just kept grinding my teeth into his flesh, a cold black liquid squirting and spitting into my mouth as I ended up biting off a large chunk of my father.

He dropped me after that. Staring at His hand oddly as I spat the lump of bloodied flesh to the floor, coughing and struggling to refill my lungs with air.

I could hear the thrum in the room build in volume and I glanced up just in time to see Him whip me across the face with a slim tendril, ripping open my cheek and sending me sprawling across the room.

Numb and with stars still spinning around my head I managed to yank myself to my feet and take off down the hall, my instincts telling me to flee even though I already knew it would take a miracle to escape Him.

And that miracle came in the form of another twisted being standing at the end of the hallway. His crooked arms streaming towards me as an almost inhuman smile tore open that otherwise featureless face.

I tumbled head over heels as I attempted to turn and run away from Him, starting back the way I came until I saw my father standing at the other end, striding towards me with angrily contorting tendrils.

My heart threatened to explode as I looked back and forth and watched as my father and the man with crooked arms grew closer with each glance. I fell uselessly to the ground and started screaming, tears streaming down my face as I squeezed tight my eyes and hopelessly awaited either one of them to reach me first and quell my life forever.

But suddenly it got silent. No longer did I hear anything except for my frantic breaths and pitiful sobs. And it remained that way for a long time.

It was then that against my better judgement I decided to open my eyes.

And saw them both staring right back at me.



I stood naked in front of the mirror for about six hours today. Tracing fingers over every scar, every crisp wound.

I don't think I look too much different.

Yet that does little to actually help figure out why I can't bring myself to slit throats like I used to.

And now the man with crooked arms keeps appearing in the corner of my room.

Father's basically disowned me. yay...

And everybody seems to be falling even further into madness all around me.

And to that effect, I've gone back to beating my head quietly against the wall because simply put, I'm losing control of my emotions and actually acquiring bullshit feelings towards people...

Well... I'm going to go back to carving operator symbols into every tree I pass.



Who Who, Hoo Hoo.

It doesn't ever really stop raining here.

Sucks because I rarely if ever have a roof over my head.

Not that it's a bad thing necessarily, in fact it gives me plenty more time to get lost amongst the trees.

There are ALOT of trees here.

And sometimes I think I see Him. Watching me from the corner of my eye.

Makes me smile and feel a tad bit special.

But I feel other eyes on me as well.

Making it really goddamn hard to try and actually sit down and concentrate on fleshing out the details of the last few months.

Every day I feel like I'm forgetting that much more.

And it sort of freaks me out.

Like soon I'm going to wake up and not even have a fucking clue as to who the hell I am.

Then the man with crooked arms will take me again.

And I would very much like for that to NEVER happen again.


A Reason or Lack Thereof.

I admit I've been out of commission for a while now.

Had a strange run in with a man with crooked arms.

Left me hidden amongst the leaves.

With severed flesh and broken bones.

All seems calm now that he's left.

So I'm heading to a place surrounded by trees.


At least that's what I'm still calling it.

Sleep with one eye open.

Lest you wake with neither one.



I'm not dead.

Don't know whether or not that is necessarily a bad thing.

I'm running.

I'm killing.

But most importantly,

I'm free.