DAZAI OSAMU : UNOXIDIZE .
❝ … reclusive as always, dostoevsky. you make a terrible conversation partner, if not a passable chess opponent. ❞
A CROWN IS THE STAKES FOR A GOLDEN PYRE. he contemplates this as he traces the head of his king, ivory acrylic splintering from under his nail. they are in a space of absolutes, of blacks and whites, and a secondhand ticks to doomsday over a gamble for their pride. a crown is a hunter’s trap, pried wide at the maw. the fluorescent glow casts him in monochrome, renders him into a photograph that centers its lens on everything he resented about himself — the abraded smile, the crease of insomnia under his eyes. a crown is a serrated dagger, hammered around the skull. dazai presses the king to his lips before he returns it to its vassals, and slides his pawn to slaughter a knight.
( a king is violence, in the shape of a man — )
❝ so — let’s talk, shall we? in a game without consequences, why keep playing your side? ❞
FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY » @unagonize.
what are we but ruined , but the split mien of ruination ? what are we but guiltless monsters man - created , godless and godlike . we are nothing , at the end of each luminous night --- what was once the ghost of puerile humanity has evaporated and left not a tad of anything other than piles of cinder and ash . a massacre , they say : the slaughterhouse of a yet innocuous self , a metamorphosis from the silent and caged into a beast .
look : we are heartless creatures . we are boundless and invincible , half cadavers / half men . in my head , i strike a match over my own self as the skeletal outline of my lithe finger runs over the queen’s notched crown --- i await the stench of burning flesh . will it catch on fire and destroy this silhouette of me ? or will it smolder : churn and melt the garb i wear , whilst all the vines and leaves laced with soured rot continue to grow in their robust flourishing ?
i lift my gaze and look you in the eyes , their shade flat as if covered by sepia’s honeyed sheen . “ because i have nothing left but this , ” at last , i let my hand move , the queen’s onyx frame walking forward with it . it falls , then , a ruthless carnage accompanied only by the click of a tile . the impurity covering my entrails spreads . grows . “ whatever it is . ”
“ but aren’t we the same , then ? you are shunned where you came from --- in the end , you have nothing but this boundless hatred . you betrayed everything and everyone fatuous enough to trust you for the sake of acquiring what you can’t have . . . and what was it , again ? a way to end this hunger in you ? to satisfy what cannot be appeased by simple words and actions ? ” the bloodlust , the starvation for something beyond our reach . . . perhaps we are merely searching for the hearts we threw up in our mileage towards salvation ---- “ i could ask you the same question and receive a reflection of my answer . your turn . ”
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