The Haunting


"Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart."
- Pablo Neruda, Don't Go Far Off

Fear, in my experience, is as powerful a motivator as love. The pair are but two sides of a single coin. Intertwined and interchangeable. There cannot be one without the other. That thing, that despairingly soul-crushing angst that what you have is nothing more than a fugacious moment in time, dissipating into the ether. That loss is inescapable and ineluctable. It is a suffocating realization. A haunting inevitability that chokes you, weighs you down, torments you through every moment of happiness, every ephemeral juncture of elation or euphoria.

The unavoidable terror of the thought of losing the person, or people, that mean the most, are closest to you can smother you, snatch your breath away. Razor-edged, piercing agony rips through your entire body, and you are paralyzed. Adrift in a sea of despair, self-loathing and deep-running, soul-destroying terror. Paranoia that plagues your every waking moment. An unwelcome nightmarish visitor in the fits of restless sleep. Taunting your subconscious, always there, just under the surface, jeering, teasing, mocking you endlessly, relentlessly.

Until you are nothing more than a shell of the person you once were, left contemplating who this person is that you have become. Utterly impotent in the face of heart-wrenching despair. An unconditionally terrifying and overwhelming experience.

- M xx

Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas



“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.”
- Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

These people's lives are dull and repetitive. Cyclical, really. Repeating the same thing day in and day out, ad nauseam, expecting varying conclusions. The definition of insanity. It was unequivocally depressing. It had the innate ability to suck the life right out of you. Leave you empty, a shell of your former self. These dreary individual's joyless existences inexorably intertwined within the fabric of your own life. Leaving you to question your own mortality and the sheer transience of it all. The impermanency of jouissance, as it were. Any former glory they once might have possessed reduced to little more than a fading memory, recaptured fleetingly through the obscure haze of whiskey-coloured glasses. Their sadness dripping off the bar counter, hanging about in the air like stale cigarette smoke.

Fake laughter and feigned interest. Sickeningly saccharine honeysuckle little more than a cloying veil for antipathy and despair.

This place.

The air is feverish, thick and suffocating. The hum of the fridges, their garish neon lights taunting me, drilling through my skull. Jeering smirks, off-colour comments flung like knives. The cool, moist bottles forgiving against my sweaty palms. The throb in my ankle, the knot in my stomach. The desperation for my imminent escape palpable. Lurid, twisted faces like reflections in a fun house mirror. Contorted, deformed, terrifyingly human.

M xx

And Her Arms Were Branches Dancing With the Breeze...







"It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming, or tedious." 

- Oscar Wilde

I wander through the halls of my life, my eyes glazed over and my mind numb. The various passages seem unfamiliar to me. I am in autopilot, smiling when necessary, revealing little of my true state. 

When I close my eyes I am in limbo, my naked body floating in a sea of blackness. My head is underwater and all I can hear is the dull thudding, reminding me that my heart is still beating. 

Somewhere else, in a cage, I am screaming with such force that my cheeks are ripping open and my gums are bleeding. I am falling down a never-ending rabbit hole. My body aches to be caught, to be held, to be squeezed. 

My life is simulacra and I am nothing but a vessel.

M xx

Do not go gentle into that good night




"Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
- Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into that good night

Human beings are bizarre and anomalous creatures. We desire change at an inherent and perhaps even primal level, yet we simultaneously abhor and rebuff the very thing we crave.

Perhaps this is because, at our essence, we prefer to embrace comfort in the face of the unknown. We would rather avert our gaze than stare down, way beyond the precipice, into the endless void below.

I have always regarded myself as the type of person who constantly asks, "Do I dare disturb the universe?", and without hesitating, replies emphatically with a resounding "But of course".

Yet, is it really so despicable to turn toward comfort rather than espouse uncharted territories, particularly in our weakest moments, those of fear? Or is that the time in which we are required to delve into those unexplored depths with the most reckless abandon?

That is the unwavering, and likely unsolvable problem, I suppose. That is, the impenetrable question of the human essence, of how to define it, of how to negotiate it.

There is no definitive answer. The human condition is fluid and constantly manipulated by forces both exterior and interior to it. We can only decide how we wish to navigate our existence.

The rest is just ashes in the wind.

Love & light,
M xx

Night Film




“Mortal fear is as crucial a thing to our lives as love. It cuts to the core of our being and shows us what we are. Will you step back and cover your eyes? Or will you have the strength to walk to the precipice and look out?” 
― Marisha Pessl, Night Film

I felt my life was mostly the live action epitome of existentialism - existentialism incarnate - with fragmented bursts of normalcy. My reality a single extended exhalation. I felt frustrated, angry, anxious, confused, but mostly, sad.

After a fitful night spent thrashing around between the suffocating sheets unable to embrace the solace of sleep, I finally managed to fall into a disturbed and restless slumber long after the sun had risen. 

I awoke less than an hour later, unsettled, an aching sense of discontent lingering like stale smoke around my shoulders and collar bones. These nightmares are frequent and unyielding.

Love & light,
M xx