Saturday, November 12, 2011

The Last Song

Everything was so cold now. No August day should have possibly been this cold. The girl held her jacket closer, trying to gain the tiniest bit of warmth. It didn’t help.

Around her, people walked through the park, enjoying their summer day. None looked at the young girl sitting on the bench; none asked her why her clothes were so torn and dirty, why she had such heavy bags underneath her eyes, why she constantly looked over her shoulder with fear. Their eyes passed over her, unseeing. None of them could feel the cold.


The Detective took one last look at the haven he had been living in for the past few months. A part of him still wanted to stay. A voice in his head telling him that they still needed him here. That she still needed him here. But this lead…. It was what he had been looking for. If he let it slip away now, he’d never forgive himself. He had to leave them. They could handle themselves fine without him constantly hanging around.

As the Detective started his car, he put a CD in, and let the sound flow over him. There was only a single song on the CD. Some girl he’d never met had written it and dedicated it to him, long ago. He didn’t think he deserved such praise, but it served as a reminder. He wasn’t the only one suffering from this. All those people who thought he was a hero, or some kind of messiah…. He knew it was all bullshit, just a false hope. He wasn’t a savior. He wasn’t going to be the one to put an end to all of this. But at the same time, he couldn’t abandon them. Couldn’t abandon a girl who believed in him enough to put it into song.
The fairytale was over. Time to get back to work.


The girl’s hands shook as she reached for her laptop. Her fingers were so numb, she could barely type. Why even try? It had been almost two months since she last posted on her blog. As far as everyone else knew, she had become another victim.

Though maybe that wasn’t far from the truth. It probably wouldn’t be long now. The girl could see the fog slowly rolling in from all sides, engulfing buildings, snaking through the trees, steadily reaching for her. Like a wall of gray nothingness, blotting out the world around her, until finally she too was consumed by it. She wanted to scream at the people walking past her, shout a warning about the fog, or maybe just a cry for help. But she couldn’t. The words choked in her throat, unable to break free. No one around her would hear her screams. No one could help her.


There were two of them walking down the night road; a boy and a girl. They had been inseparable before, and their current situation had changed little between them. If anything, it had only forced them closer together.

It was the boy’s turn for keeping watch, so he steadfastly held a flashlight ahead, while the girl rested her head on his arm, eyes closed but feet still moving mechanically to keep with him. It had been days since either of them had a chance to get a real night’s sleep; these tiny moments of rest were all that life offered them now.

The boy was listening to an iPod as he walked. Soft music played in his ears, a song made for another couple who had been forced on the run. They were gone now, but the boy felt he could identify with them. How they had protected and relied on one another, even through the hardest times….

A burst of static tore through the music, loud enough to wake the half asleep girl. The boy swung his flashlight around in wild arcs, panic racing through his mind. The light briefly caught the silhouette of a tall figure standing down the road before it flickered out, leaving the couple trapped in darkness.


The fog had covered the sun and all the other people in the park now, leaving The girl floating on her bench amongst a sea of mist. She tried to ignore it, ignore the fog and the whispers which came from it, focusing on her laptop’s screen. Others all around the world were still posting online, writing about their encounters. So many new faces had appeared recently, while so many old faces were gone…. It was strange, the knowledge that almost everyone she had talked to when she first made her blog were dead. There was always that fear, every time she looked online, that she would find more people gone.

It didn’t look like anyone had been killed today. The girl breathed a short sigh of relief which quickly turned into a shiver. Tendrils of fog were reaching out, brushing across her face, like ice being dragged across her skin.

Maybe there still would be a death today. It was a thought she tried to fight away, but such resistance was no longer possible. Her mind was too tired to ignore the echoes of despair all around her.


The fighter hefted his baseball bat. It was an old metal thing, dented in several places and no longer near suitable for any games. But it had been his companion for the last few weeks. His only companion, after the massacre which had led him here.

The monster’s minions were outside the cabin, shouting challenges and insults at him. For days they had been there, shooting through his windows, smashing at his barricades, laughing at his coming death. A few had tried to burn down the cabin, but he had managed to drive them off. Barely.

This siege couldn’t last forever. Even if he rationed, the fighter knew his food would last less than a week. And at any moment, the monster itself could choose to appear, and instantly end the confrontation.

It would be easy to just give up. Let the monster’s minions break in, and accept his death. Fighting was only prolonging the suffering.

His computer began to play the next song on the playlist. It was the battle theme of a previous generation of fighters who had faced the monster; men and woman who had for a moment gathered together in the hopes that they could defeat it. They had failed, but the power of the song remained. To them, it didn’t matter whether or not the monster was beaten, only that it was challenged. None knew how many had died trying to fight it, but for each that fell, more took their place. Humanity would not lie down and surrender to this monster; the fighter knew that to be a fact. This thing had to be fought, even if the fight was futile.

Once more, the fighter clutched his bat and opened the door. They were waiting for him outside, jeering at his seeming suicidal stupidity. The fighter only smiled, and charged forth, back into the battle.


The girl told herself she had to run. It was coming for her, cloaked in the fog, slowly and patiently approaching its victim. Her only chance was to run now, and hope that it would allow her to escape.

She couldn’t do it. No matter how much she tried, she remained seated on the bench. For months, she had been running. Always having to stay on the move, trying to keep one step ahead of this silent stalker. Everything she’d cared about was gone now. Her whole life, slowly ripped from her, piece by piece. All she had left was constant fear and paranoia. She was tired, wanting only a chance to rest. But there was only one way to find rest now.


None of the people gathered under the bridge had known each other before they had been forced to abandon their regular lives. They had come together by chance, looking for the sense of security numbers brought. Most knew deep down that no amount of companions could protect them, but it was comforting to have someone nearby. Someone to remind them that they weren’t alone; to know that someone else out there understood what they were going through.

One of them pulled a guitar out of her bag. After tuning it, she began to play a melody which most there had heard before. Then she begins to sing…

“One AM, I toss and turn, awake in my own bed,
I can’t sleep because of a creepypasta I read….”

And for a few minutes, smiles are on the faces of those gathered under the bridge.


The fog had completely surrounded The girl. Even the bench she was sitting on was hidden, and her laptop appeared only as a shining light which barely could pierce the grey wall which had grown around it. A blank draft was opened on it, but she couldn’t think of what to type. How do you tell people that you can’t keep this up anymore? That the only way left for you to escape is to give in? There were some people who had, in their last messages, said they were preparing to attack the monster, claiming it better to die fighting it than letting it kill you. But she wasn’t one of those people; she didn’t have their madness, the insanity which allowed them to gaze into the abyss and laugh. She was just a girl, someone who should have just lived a normal life.

How could she tell everyone that it was over? What would they say about her afterward? That she had “given up”, that she’d “let them all down”. A small voice tried to shout that this wasn’t true, that they would understand… but that voiced couldn’t be raised above a whisper.

She wouldn’t tell them. Quickly, trying to finish in the brief time she had left, The girl wrote a short blog post, linked to another post written on a forum. It was all a story. The whole thing had been a story. She was dropping the blog because she was too busy with college preparation, and just wasn’t satisfied with how the story was going.

Would they believe her? She didn’t know. But it was better than adding another death to the list.


The Successor held the sword in his hands with reverence. It had been the weapon of a leader, murder, sage, hero…. Once broken, it was now reforged. He swung it a few times, a bit clumsily, but it felt good in his hands. As though it belonged.

So many had called him insane when he said he was looking for the fallen sage’s weapon. Why would he want to reclaim the tool of a man who had turned on them, a man who had slaughtered so many innocents in an insane crusade? They only seemed to remember him for his failure and descent into madness. But the Successor remembered the man before the fall; he remembered the sage who had brought hope to those who had given up, and led them to rise up.

The thoughts brought the memory of a song the Successor had heard. It had been written for the fallen sage, on the day he had died. It wasn’t a song written for a murderer or a madman. It was dedicated to the memory of a hero.

The Successor hummed a few bars as he sheathed the sword. He didn’t know what to expect on the road ahead. But there were people out there who needed help and protection.


The girl could see it approaching, slowly drifting forward through the fog. The black suit and white body were almost invisible at first, but as it got closer, they came into contrast against the grey background. She stared at its head, the blank spot where there should be a face, as it approached. There was no fear now, only regret, and the slightest hint of relief. At last it was all going to end.

The thing stopped several feet away. It tilted its head slightly, almost as though it were curious. The girl slowly stood to her feet, legs shaking slightly. A strange compulsion told her to walk forwards to the thing; she obeyed, feet dragging sluggishly across the black grass. As she got closer, it spindly arms reached for her, wrapping around her in an embrace.

The girl and the creature gradually faded into the fog, until no sign of them could be seen. The mist began to dissipate, returning the sun. The visitors at the park continued with their lives, ignoring the abandoned laptop lying on top of a bench where a young girl had just been resting.

Monday, October 17, 2011


"Ah thats right carrying around a paino would be foolish, but after all she's been through everything may have seemed foolish right now...maybe worthless.

Slenderman, that's was what made her leave in the first place and now she was on the streets and it seemed peaceful, Hoso had not seen the Slenderman for a long time now. Then why was she still wandering these streets? It started so slowly to snow, winter in summer how odd, she darted out her tongue tasting the snow, since 2010 things had been happening, things that were out of her control.

November 12, 2010 she introduced herself to the world as a young song 'writer' and she wanted it to be a place in which she could show the world her beautiful melody's, and she did, and everyone loved them.

She recalled her first song, dedicated to Zeke a slenderbloger, she did not believe in the slenderman at first but everyone loved it and so she kept uploading more of her beautiful songs. 

'I'm just glad to know I'm making something that people care about.'

She opened her eyes at the noise of an oncoming truck and realized she had wandered into the road by accident and quickly moved out, the snow had become a bit thicker, she still found it odd, snow in summer....but she didn't complain and tied her scarf tighter around her neck.

Where was she anyways? Hoso was unsure yet she knew it felt no where like home, could it be possible she was happier and more relaxed here? The thought excited and frightened her at the same time.

She remembered the note, 嘘つきはだれ? 'Who's the Liar?' Could this all be a really bad dream? Was it wrong of her to have wanted to see slenderman in the first place? She remembered wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, what a lovely time.

Yet she told everyone to stop listing to her stupid excuses for music, yet no one listened instead they told her the truth 'we love your work'. She remembered that she thanked them, depression was a part of her life and they wanted to be there to help.

'Could I still be a child at heart?' Hoso wondered this again as she saw the snow start to really pile up under her feet, ah it was so cold as it brushed against her bare legs, if only she had brought a sled, why was it snowing so hard today anyways? She kept walking through it as if reaching for something better.

The first time she had seen Slenderman she remembered it being just as bitterly cold as it was right now, she remember how wrong that moment felt HE shouldn't exist, that HE shouldn't be there and yet he was. Yes she remembered that moment almost as if it had only happened hours ago. 

Hoso opened her eyes and stared into the white sky, according to her Ipod her music was still playing..even so had she had been ignoring it for the past hour? Impossible. For a moment she believed her piece of digital technology was lying she closed her eyes instead trying to remember the rest of her story. 

The girl, that smile, her face, that mask, how when she first saw her it was snowing and that streetlight. Hoso opened her eyes softly to stare up at the streetlights how were these any different...maybe...maybe it was because the masked girl wasn't there standing under them watching her, those words 'worthless' 'can you hear them laughing at you' 'pathetic', She remembered how she had freaked out and killed her, she didn't regret that, could she have possibly regretted not doing it sooner?

Now she wondered if she could write anymore, she stopped and for a second the world stopped with her, tears drifted into the white pile that had collected at her feet. She would have asked the world, could they respond? Would they respond? There was no answer, instead the world sped up passing her and leaving her behind.

There was no more music, for some reason even though she had stopped thinking about everything that had happened she couldn't hear her music, her music where was it?

'Call me stupid, but as long as I have my music, I feel like I can do anything.'

Her own words echoed in her head, but now she didn't even believe those. If she didn't have her music could she do anything?

The world she knew, all the color's and shapes turned white like and empty sheet of paper, it turned silent everything she knew was gone, she fell onto her knees all her songs, all her written words, if she left would she be remembered?

She couldn't tell the difference anymore...was this a new start or was someone burning whatever she had left?

A light dimly shone in the distance, a soft enchanting melody, it was calling to her lifting herself from the ground she decided no matter what now she would have to start doing something to make herself remembered.

"..I am..." slowly she took a breath the air was warm again, the snow that had been falling seconds ago was melted and she took small meaningful steps towards that light.

"..I am going to continue on.." her skirt waved behind her softly as a warm breeze blew caressing her hair and scarf she could once again hear her music playing. Her music, not the kind that blasted on the radio's or the kind that was massed produced it was her music the wonderfully unique sound that gave people the strength to go on.

"As long as I have my music. I can do anything"

"I am Hosozukuri"

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Sorrow? No thank you.

Needless to say, these past few days have been stressful. Concidering what happened and all.

It's funny, when I look back and read "that" post, I'm stuck by got how worked up I got when I wrote it. I was tempted to go through and fix the spelling, but what purpose would that serve? Oh well.

I've had a massive amount of free time to think about that event. In fact, I've had nothing but free time since I arrived at this...location that I will not reveal for the sake of a friend. I think about her, it, whatever I've decided to call that thing. The thing I conveniently stopped thinking of as a human just long enough to...never mind. I'm a person who likes to think I have a decent amount of common sense, so I must wonder whether what I saw was really what I saw. Was it a lie? Was it a trick? Or, the question it always comes down to, am I just crazy? I thought it was a little early for that whole insanity thing. At least, I hoped.

So when my parents came home that evening, did they find me, beaten and dead on the floor? No. Even if other people could see what I saw, her face was too messed up after what I...never mind. I thought for a while that this might be His doing, but then I realized something important. That house I was living in was a death trap. A "safe" place to hide, but only if I never went outside. Multiple times seemed to show that that was His aim, that He wanted me to stayed holed up inside. To write more music obviously. You don't need to go anywhere to write music. So then, it would be counterproductive to make me want to run away from home, right? I don't know. Every time I try to think about it, I just give up. It's too confusing. Too troublesome.

And then there's another question: will I write more music? That too remains to be seen. Sure I can't exactly carry around a piano with me. That's just look silly. No, but I do have means to write songs digitally, right on my computer (which I, of course, took with me. I'm a blogger. I have to have my priorities straight). So I guess we'll wait and see.

The place I'm at is nice, wonderful actually, but I can't stay longer. The idea of going somewhere new is strangely exciting. Until the money and food run out and it gets dark.

She's still looking at me.

What do I do?

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Delicate Dream, Fragile Season

It hurts.

It hurts, but I'll tell you anyway.

It was a couple days ago. Or was is a couple weeks? Was it yesterday? Did it happen at all? I'm not sure which, but that's not important. I had just arrived home from school, exhausted, unhappy, and very much distracted. Maybe that's why I didn't see her at first. But we met each other soon enough. Her standing in the middle of my kitchen and me distraught over seeing her standing in the middle of my kitchen. How did she get in here? What was she planning on doing? Why was she still wearing such a laughable mask?

"Oh hey. You're home early." Why is she so calm? She's breaking and entering, so at least try to act like it matters. Not that she really needed to react, I was emotional enough for the both of us. I took the opportunity to tell her to get the fuck out of my house. Don't get me wrong, I'm usually much more polite than this. But not only did her and I not have the best track record, I very well couldn't stand the idea of this despicable person inside my home, invading a private and safe place. This is a place for me to hide, not for you to come and find me.

She ignored my demands. "Please don't be upset. I have something important for you. Something to tell you." she said in her infuriating tone of voice. What was it about her voice that made me despise her so much? Was it because even then I could sense something very...wrong with it? She took a few steps forward, her black dress shoes clacking against the floor. What was that she was holding in her left hand? Something small and black and silver and shiny. A box cutter?

There's only so much a person can handle. Especially a small and weak person like me. I can't cover my ears and ignore you. So it's time to do something about it I suppose. I rushed forward, punching her in the chest and ripping that stupid mask off her face.

I wasn't ready.

To see her.

Or her face.

Her true face

That god damn FACE. STARING at me. GRINNING like a smug little idiot.

She has no right to wear such a face. Just seeing her, just looking at her, I knew. I can't let this thing live. No

I grabbed the nearest thing my hands could find, a rolling pin resting on the kitchen counter. I struck her across the head and she fell to the floor. She didn't so much as make a move to resist. Her smile was unchanging, unflinching, as if to challenge me.

Are you really going to do what I think you're going to do?

Hit hit hit her again. have to wipe away that fucking smile

It still won't go away. I still see it

I pulled a knife from the block. I knew she was already dead, anyone could see it, but it didn't matter. Even in death she was still looking at me. with that face

I stabbed her face. ripped it to pieces again and again and again

I must have run that thing through her head at least 100 times. each blow carving lines in it's flesh, tearing it apart. some one was screaming. Was it me? No. I didn't make a sound. Only my frantic breathing. Wasn't thinking anything. Maybe one thing, but I've forgotten it by now. Just destroy it. I can't let it live. even if it's dead I can't let it live

The next sound to reach my ears was a metallic clatter as the knife fell to the floor. I spent a lot of time- I don't know how much- just sitting on the floor, that thing directly in my sight. Why? Did I think it was going to get back up? No. There was hardly anything left. I was there a long time. Doing nothing.

Then, without really thinking about it, I stood. I removed my horribly stained clothes and took a shower, standing motionless as I watched the little red trails snake towards the drain.

Afterward, I went about the surprisingly difficult task of making everything I've ever cared about fit into one bag. Too bad there's not room for a piano. It's not going to get much use anymore. Not from me.

It was inevitable. I had to get food, so I had to see the thing again. It didn't bother me as much as I know it should have. I made an awful mess. There was a fleeting thought of what my parents would think when they saw this. With any luck, I'd be far away by then.

One last thing. I rinsed off the knife and slid it into my bag.

And I left. Not a difficult decision as it pretty much had already been made for me. I just want to get far away. From that thing. The thing that still watches me with it's sickly sweet smile on it's face.

My face.


Thursday, March 10, 2011

I Saw the World Turn White

Nothing special to say. Just want to post here before I forget.

No good song ideas right now.
Well, except one.
As stated before, I refuse to write it.

I keep listening to my music.
All the time.
Not a lot else to do.

I wonder what they think of me.
All I do is sit around in my room with my curtains closed and my headphones on.
I get my homework done so how can they complain?

Still feel awful. It has to get better soon. It always does.
Maybe not this time.

Still wearing a smile. Everything's okay. Just nod politely.

I don't want anyone to worry.
I don't want to go to the hospital again.

Don't worry.

It will get better.
I hope.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

The Bitter Taste of Vinegar

Tangled branches away in the night breeze
Dripping blood like strawberry jam
How can they be watching me?
But they are, I know it
Despair like the bitter taste of vinegar
What are they waiting for?
What is the meaning of their melancholic song?

Yesterday was so cold. So cold that I dreaded taking out the recyclables just a little bit more than usual. It's that nasty time of year when everything just looks dirty, from the dwindling patches of muddy gray snow to the ratty yellow grass poking up from beneath it. And it's cold. Way colder than it needs to be. I dragged the glass and plastic filled bag down the driveway, the freezing wind trying it's hardest to rip the scarf right off my neck. I have nothing on my mind but the simple wish to be indoors again as quickly as possible.

And then, everything is quiet.

And there He is.

Somehow without even laying eyes on the spindly form only a few yards away, I just knew He was there. It was like those few moments after you wake up from a nightmare, when all you can lie underneath your blankets, afraid that the slightest movement will make whatever was chasing you in your dreams follow you into reality. Only, of course, this monster already had. He stood motionless and soundless, His long black arms held in His familiar and welcoming manner.

One thing that particularly struck me during this incident was the overall "wrongness" that seemed to pervade everything about his presence. Here is something that shouldn't exist, a myth or a fairytale. It can't possible be real. it certainly wouldn't be standing in front of me right now. And even if it is, I really shouldn't just stand around and stare. And believe me, I wanted to run away more than I think I've ever wanted anything before in my life. But it didn't happen.

Suddenly, in one heart-stopping moment, the distance between us began to decrease. Even if I wasn't uselessly terrified and even if I was able to force some sound from by suddenly dry throat, I knew that there was no chance of anyone hearing me. And even if someone did, what should they possibly do in such an incredibly hopeless situation. But wait...since I first noticed His presence, he hasn't so much as moved an inch. Dreading what I'd find, my eyes were drawn to the ground in front of me. Not only had my feet betrayed me by refusing to flee, but now they were moving so painfully slowly in the exact wrong direction. And right into His open, awaiting arms.

The very next thing I felt as something cold and solid on my left cheek. I opened my eyes and was greeted by the nutrition label on the back of an empty can of tomato sauce. Still in a state of panic, I scrambled to my feet and sprinted back to my front door, leaving the wind-blown garbage scattered across the yard.

And then, I'll be honest, I had myself a good long cry. It's such a sad sorry sight, to see someone of my age sobbing like a child. It was because I knew. I know now why He doesn't see me as a threat. Because I'm not. I'm so weak and helpless, all He had to do was stand in my driveway and suddenly I'm reduced to a crying wreck, huddling in my room with the curtains closed to He can't see me. It's still painful to think about I guess. I really can't to anything.

I think the worst part was the fake smile I had to put on once mom got home. I know, I know. I should tell someone. I should try to get help. But I can't. I would love to say that it was because of some noble reason like "I don't want to drag any one else into this, I don't want anyone else to get hurt", but I can't. I have my own selfish reasons. So I swallow all the unpleasantness, the fear, the anxiety, the memory of the deepest, blackest darkness I've ever seen, and I try to continue through the day normally. It's so easy I don't even have to think about. I've had lot's of practice.

I am, after all, an expert liar.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Suffocating Puff of Smoke

Nothing warms my heart more than shuffling though my massive music playlist. Which is a good thing, since it's become a necessity as of late. When I listen to music I love made by people I respect, I really feel like I'm learning something, like I'm picking up little things that can improve my own music. Or maybe it's a lazy excuse so I don't actually have to work to improve. I dunno.

You know what I can't understand, if He's asked such a horrible thing of me-to write this maddening song- and He even has the time to send one of His lackeys to annoy me, why wouldn't He just come here and appear to me Himself? What, is He just too darn busy to show up? I thought of another reason today: maybe He just doesn't see me as a threat. Not like you other bloggers who are out doing stuff and whatnot. Maybe He thinks if He just leaves me here long enough, I'll just do what He wants.


Call me stupid, but as long as I have my music, I feel like I can do anything. As long as I don't actually have to do anything. I'm silly like that. Either way, I like not not think of such thing whenever I can.

And so finally, I leave you with this, a beautifully dynamic song that I've just fallen in love with. It feels like something that belongs to another, more interesting world. Good 'ol Treow, in my eyes, you can do no wrong.

Monday, February 14, 2011

There it is again

The choking feeling of not being good enough. What did I do this time?

It's warmed up quite a bit today, which is good because I hate snow. I went to the park to go for a walk earlier today. The snow is like a blanket the muffles sound and makes everything so much quieter. I guess I don't hate it that much. As I walked, I could see the imprints where children had been sledding sometime before and I sort of regretted not bringing a sled myself. I'm still a child at heart I guess.

She was there. The idiot with the idiotic mask. Seriously, is it supposed to be scary? Because it's not. There she stood without a coat and up to her calves in soaking wet snow, not really seeming to care at all. As always, she was fixated on me. She spoke to me again. It wasn' a threat or a message of any importance. Just insults. Words that shouldn't have cut as deeply as they did, especially coming from someone like her.


I kept walking, never taking my eyes off the shoveled sidewalk.


My fingers were turning red in the cold. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my gloves.

"Useless garbage."

I slipped the purple gloves onto my hands.

"Can't you hear them laughing at you?"

And then she was gone.

Something about her voice is familiar. Maybe I've met her before. Maybe I'd recognize her without the stupid mask? There's something about her presence too. It brings up feeling of inexplicable rage. Who is she? Why does she think she has the right to just stand around a taunt me? I hate her. I fucking HATE that little no-good fucking bitch.

See what I mean? Her petty name calling just should not piss me off as much as it does. What a way to spend Valentines day.

I feel sick. Very very sick.

Friday, February 11, 2011

(Song) aRtIFICIaL SAnCtuAry

"I just wanted to make something that sounded calm and peaceful and at least somewhat happy. This song was inspired by the idea of a sacred forest shrine, a permanent safe place where the sun filters through the leaves and the sound of wind chimes travel on the warm breeze. See? Happy thoughts. It works wonders.

Like "Resolve", this song was created to give a small amount of comfort to those who find themselves tangled in this horrible mess. Even if that comfort is only artificial. "

Nothing else to report.


Thursday, February 10, 2011


I have a snow day today so I think this would be a great opportunity to try and write another song. Despite the below-freezing temperature, the sun is out and I'm in quite the good mood today. I'll go about this in the most careful way I can. I'll pay attention to every single note played, whatever it takes to ensure that the inspiration is coming from me and only me. And just to be safe, I'll make sure it's a happy song. Because we can all use a happy song once and awhile.

If all goes well, I'll have it posted later tonight.

Sunday, February 6, 2011


First of all, I'd like to apologize for my last post. I hate more than anything else in the world to force my problems onto other people and the last thing I ever want to do is to come across as angsty. I've read through all your comments again and just want to thank you all for trying to be supportive, even if I didn't quite see it that way at first. I'll take this quick opportunity to address some of those comments. Yes, sometimes bouts of depression are normal for me, although my current situation really isn't helping that any. And no, it's not just artist's block that's the problem.

Recently I've been plagued by voices. Vague, incomprehensible mutterings that are slowly but surely turning my life into a living hell. As most of these things do, it started off small, as an almost unnoticeable noise in the corner of my mind. Like a dog scratching on a door to be let in. I tried to ignore it. What could it possibly be other than my highly overactive imagination? It only escalated from there. Inhuman and impossible to understand words (I hesitate to even call them "words") continually intrude in my thoughts. Trying to tell me something but I just can't understand.'s difficult to explain, but the more I ignore it, the more I know what it's trying to say. Or rather, what He really wants from me.

And's still so hard to put into words. It's so annoying I feel like I want to rip my hair out just to make it stop. He seems to want a song from me. Why He would every want a song from someone untrained and untalented like me is just beyond my comprehension. But the idea of taking the wordless spoken tune running though my head and putting it to the most terrifying thought I can possibly imagine. I don't know why, I don't know the reason for it, I don't feel like I know anything anymore. But I know that if that were to happen, it would cause unspeakable suffering. To me? To others? I don't know. Maybe everyone. Maybe no one. Maybe just me.

So now you see why I've been avoiding that silly little keyboard. I've often felt as I worked that something was guiding my fingers along the keys. After I finish and I listen to my work, I often wonder how I was able to make such a good song and if I could ever do it again. That song He wants...He's tried to make it before clearly. But He missed one very important detail: a tune composed by human hands is worthless unless the person's heart is in it. Unfortunately, as stated before, I have no interest in writing a melody that causes pain. And I have a feeling that "no" is not an appropriate responce.

I've been able to get some measure of peace by listening to- what else- music. Not mine, but my 200 or so song playlist on my iPod. It's nothing but a temporary fix though. After all, I can't carry my iPod around with me everywhere. Still, it's a tiny sanctuary for my troubled mind. It's funny, but I always thought that if I ever got to the point of hearing voices I would snap a lot faster than this. It's become shockingly normal now, even though it's only been a few weeks. Everything's harder when you're depressed though. As if my impending madness wasn't enough, I have collage and scholarships and essays to worry about. Sometimes I just don't feel like I'm not strong enough to handle it all.

In other upsetting news, I have had a few more run-ins with Henohonomoheji-mask girl (needs a catchier name I know). Still stared at me with her odd face. She never has a lot to say. But when she does speak, it's never anything nice. I'd rather not talk about it. Let's just say she's being less than encouraging. I don't know what I'll do if she becomes more outwardly threatening.

 My parents, bless their hearts, are trying so much to help me. They encourage me every opportunity they can and I'm so grateful for that. It's just...sometimes nothing anyone says can help. Sometimes the problem is just me. Actually, I think the problem's just me a lot of the time.

So that's what I've been doing this past month. I honestly don't know I will (or should) continue writing music. I'm certainly going to have to try, or that twenty grand my parents are paying to get me into collage for music will be pretty useless. Thanks again for all your kind comments. And before you say it, yes, I'll be careful.

Friday, January 14, 2011

"This is really amazing! Great work. I teared up near the end."
"This is so's simple and completely chill (at least by my standards)."
"Beautiful song.. Great work in composing it, Hosozukuri."
"I think your songs are beautiful and inspiring - I hope everyone gains strength when listening to them."
"This song is incredible! I love you revealed the sinister alterior motives for Slenderman's friendliness and did so in such a subtle way. It's so dark and masterfully done. I love it. Thank you for making this."

Please be honest.

What exactly do you see in my "work"?
What makes it worth listening to?
Why are you following this useless blog?
Why are you even reading this now?
Why do you have any reason to care for some talentless worthless stranger?
Don't you have anything better to do?

I can't do anything anymore. Everything sounds wrong to me. My keyboard is gathering dust in the corner of my room. I don't even want to look at it anymore. I am a fraud and a liar. Please stop listening to my stupid excuses for music. It's not even that good anyway.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Don't mind me

What is he really?

An alien? A time-traveler? An ascended meme? The boogieman?

What does He want?

Just to hunt down every kid with a video camera or a blogger account?

I don’t think that’s the truth. This is something I’ve pondered almost constantly. So what do I think? What do I have to say on the matter? I’ll put it simply.

He is madness incarnate.

“Any of a group of psychiatric disorders characterized by withdrawal from reality, illogical patterns of thinking, delusions, hallucinations, and psychotic behavior.” -Definition of psychosis

“…The strangest of these characters are those who espouse Blue And Orange Morality. These characters have a moral framework that is so utterly alien and foreign to human experience that we can't peg them as good or evil. They aren't a Chaotic Neutral Unfettered, though they may seem to act terrifyingly randomly; nor are they necessarily a Fettered Lawful Neutral, because our and their understanding of 'law' as a concept may not even be equivalent. There might be a logic behind their actions, it's just that they operate with entirely different sets of values and premises with which to draw their conclusions.” –TV tropes

Let’s start with what we know. He’s supposedly made from the thoughts and belief of the people who know about Him. He’s a being that shouldn’t exist, and yet, He does. How? Why? Perhaps He’s always been there, watching, waiting, lurking in the darkest corners of the human mind. What would you say to someone who told you that they were being followed by a tall faceless man? You’d say that they’re crazy. Something like that couldn’t possibly exist and in a way, you’d be correct.

What does it take to make something from make-believe to reality? Certainly a “crazy” person would know. Some one who sees and hears things that aren’t there. But are they really? In their minds, the voices they hear are real. That’s their reality. He exists similarly. He’s a distortion in reality, given power from belief and constantly trying to draw others into the delusion He created.

This also explains why he behavior and methods vary from person to person. Maybe it's a case of "what you see is what you expect to see" or somehow He's able to know just what to do to frighten an individual the most.

That being said, it’s almost impossible to say for sure whether He is good or evil.  Yes, he has done terrible things and shattered countless lives, but it’s impossible to know if He did those things with evil intentions. The way He operates is on a completely different level, a completely different though process. To understand the way of thinking is to lose one’s grip on reality as it is currently defined to the individual. For this reason, I believe it is impossible to understand him.

But we all try, don’t we?

As I type it’s becoming horribly apparent how difficult it is to explain all of this. I read through it again and it all looks like the same things that have been brought up over and over. Oh well. At least I tried, right?  

Oh, and I haven't gone crazy yet. I've just had this idea for awhile and thought it couldn't hurt to share it. I promise that when I finally lose it, I'll be sure to let you all know.

New song(s) coming soon. My head hurts too much now.