#opn.

[traightor]

OPEN. she wants a hug. :(

[celiathomas]

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ celia  feat. shrike​

located  right  outside  shrike  mall. this  is  an  open  starter  for  @shrikestart​​

celia  hadn't  been  sleeping  very  well  as  of  late  -  had  anybody,  though?  like  everyone  else  in  the  town  she  was  feeling  the  full  effect  of  the  tensions  and  the  fear  that  were  hovering  over  their  heads  while  they  waited  for  the  shrike  killers  to  be  caught,  and  understandably  it  was  enough  to  keep  her  from  dozing  off  easily. most  nights  she  was  too  terrified  to  fall  asleep  until  it  was  much  too  late  and  most  mornings  she  woke  well  before  her  alarm  clock  and  was  too  restless  and  uncomfortable  to  get  back  to  her  much  needed  slumber. her  mind  ran  rampant  with  worries  and  thoughts  of  whether  or  not  it  was  smart  to  be  in  shrike  heights  or  whether  or  not  she  should  have  stayed  away  or  left  again  once  she  realised  what  was  going  on;  there  seemed  to  be  no  right  answer  to  the  question  of  what  she  should  have  done  or  should  still  do.

she  was  up  before  the  sun  this  morning,  but  as  she  was  rostered  on  to  the  opening  shift  at  duchess  she  didn’t  mind  the  early  rise  too  much. celia  did,  however,  mind  the  way  her  mind  was  buzzing  with  stress. in  order  to  combat  it  she  found  herself  at  shrike  mall  even  before  the  doors  were  open  to  employees,  and  she  busied  herself  with  something  that  had  been  working  to  distract  her  since  the  start  of  this  scary  period  in  town. down  on  her  knees,  dirtying  her  work  attire  in  a  way  that  would  inevitably  see  her  in  trouble  once  stores  opened,  celia  was  painting  the  sidewalk  with  coloured  chalk,  lost  in  her  imagination  as  she  created  an  elaborate  scene  outside  of  shrike  mall.

she  hadn’t  been  expecting  anyone  to  find  her  in  the  process,  assuming  no  one  would  care  to  arrive  as  early  as  she  had,  believing  that  she’d  get  away  with  creating  her  art  for  visitors  to  enjoy  without  knowing  who  was  behind  it. she  jumped  in  fright  as  feet  suddenly  appeared  on  the  other  side  of  her  work;  she  had  been  so  lost  in  what  she  was  doing  that  she  hadn’t  heard  them  approach. “oh!”  she  exclaimed  in  fright,  standing  up  and  tossing  the  chalk  down  before  dusting  her  hands  off  on  her  hips. “sorry,  you  startled  me. i  didn’t  expect  anyone  to  be  around  at  this  time.”  she  spoke  sheepishly.

[ofspectres]

[ STARTER ID: OPEN FOR ANYONE ] ???  /  NYC: Barbarella Bar, present day.

The derivatives of ennui often lead him astray. The current exhibit displays his inhibited mind, clattered with thoughts that he does not want to entertain, mostly the searing ones, too heavy for a moment clasped between the teeth of fatigue. As such, he searches for a place baptised anew, the neutral territory a lapse between thoughts that tend to skew towards the crimes that mar the city underneath its glam. He knows it too well, but nowadays, he doubts that any place isn’t actually accentuated by some bias to an extent. Still, it’s none of his business. To plenty, he’s another face that remains a fool, oblivious to the ire of the brewing battles, so he’d rather capitalise on that than having to act otherwise.

He chooses the stool right in the middle of the bar, settling on it before ordering a glass of bourbon on the rocks. Nothing too unconventional. He looks around for a brief moment, but fixates his attention on his phone eventually, scrolling down the social media. Nothing interesting, but his thumb keeps going, and going, and going, until someone claims the seat next to him. He pretends to not acknowledge their presence, as if engrossed in his own phone, waiting for them to say something, anything, if they do really know of him, at least as this privileged fool sitting on top of the food chain.

[ozzymorrison]

*̩̩̥͙　-•̩̩͙-ˏˋ⋆  ozzy feat. shrike 

located  in  dirtbusters. this  is  an  open  starter  for  @shrikestart​

“you’ve  got  to  be  kidding  me…”  ozzy  muttered  to  herself,  a  sinking  feeling  deep  in  her  gut  and  an  exhaustion  hitting  her  like  a  wave  crashing  right  over  her  head. “you  have  got  to  be  kidding  me.”  she  repeated,  this  time  speaking  louder. it  was  just  her  luck,  honestly,  and  even  though  it  didn’t  surprise  her  in  the  slightest  it  was  deeply  disappointing  to  be  faced  with. she  stood  in  her  upset,  standing  in  dirtbusters,  the  store  she  had  left  for  only  five  minutes  at  the  very  most  to  pick  up  some  things  from  the  grocery  store  while  she  was  there  at  the  mall,  and  upon  returning  she  found  the  washing  machine  she  had  been  using  completely  empty. someone  had  stolen  her  clothes  straight  from  the  machine. she  didn’t  know  what  to  do  now,  growing  nervous  about  the  prospect  of  confrontation  or  lodging  a  formal  complaint,  so  all  she  did  was  stand  in  her  place  until  another  customer  approached  one  of  the  neighbouring  machines. “hey,  you  didn’t  happen  to  see  anyone  using  this  machine  just  a  moment  ago,  did  you?”  she  asked,  completely  defeated.

[ungvverned]

“i stand by my statement. i was provoked and events led to defending myself towards the end. steinman, while a brilliant mind, was not present for events before his interruption.”

[infernae]

❛   these, our bodies, possessed by light,   ???     open to everyone. setting unknown.

with this much burden on his shoulders, it almost feels like everyday is an arms race, and he’s battling against himself. sometimes, in the portrait, there’s zero. bruised, beaten. black and blue. they don’t linger, but it certainly feels like they do. he can feel their ghosts creeping, crawling on his skin. perhaps they’re the afterthoughts: the traumas that become nothing but personal poltergeists. he thinks in metrics that don’t coexist with reality; no, not in the ways that they should. he’s no longer the hybrid theory, a mixture between a boy and a beast. it’s been leaning towards the latter as of late, with his overgrown figurative teeth becoming stalactites. and so, he sheds the skin of his alter ego, stepping more into shin soohyun even when the body feels more like a flask more often than not.

tonight, the city is no longer familiar. its arteries spread before him, he feels more vulnerable than ever even when he’s equipped with weapons too many, strapped and hidden underneath his casual clothes. there’s no such thing as being too paranoid when you’ve died too many times, but tonight, he expects it to be rather calm. doesn’t know if it matters, though, what he thinks, because as accurate as his senses can be, he’s not a soothsayer. heads towards the bar with measured steps, claiming a seat that relatively obscures him in the shadow. with this metabolism, substance is futile, but he asks for a glass after another anyway, sloshing himself in the cusp of warmth that lasts for a moment’s fractions. trailing down his system, the burn is nothing but an illusionary tale of liberation from reality.

he finished too many shots, but his system dilutes the substance with a relative ease that he doesn’t have to deal with any of the aftermath. leaves the payment on the table along with the tip, and he’s headed out for the night. it’s an empty feeling that haunts him after, the entire level of now what? he doesn’t entertain the thoughts, however, trying to steer away from that route as he chooses the back door for an exit. pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans. he makes a saunter through the alley, and that’s when he hears footfalls following him, spiking his sense of paranoia. he doesn’t turn around, though, knowing that it would be an anomaly to surmise that theory so early. the person catches up with him, eventually, and asks if he’s okay. if he’s downed a bottle too many of the liquor, if he’s too drunk to carry himself back home. goodness, how he hates these good samaritans. he offers a smile at them, edged but not uncaring. “i’m fine, thank you,” he says, trying to be as convincing as he can be.

[ikobw]

The Magic Trick

Oneohtrix Point Never opens up about merging myriad worlds on his latest record Age Of.

[ikobw]

toys 2

Oneohtrix Point Never @ Barbican Centre, July 7th 2018