My dad took me on a hunting trip when I was a kid and I cradled a dead rabbit in my arms. 

We’d used ferrets to chase them out of their hole and into a net, where my dad and his buddies grabbed them by the scruff of their nape, their appendages suddenly affected by gravity, and opened their neck with a box cutter.

They were going to eat themselves to death, some were mangey, and they weren’t the sort of rabbits you see in pet stores or perched in a calendar. I’d be lying to you if I said I found some sort of innocence in these creatures, I think I was only confronted by the fact that i was utterly incapable of finding anything of myself in them. 

One was obviously diseased, its spittle collected in dew as it lay on the ground and the thin skin around its discolored belly became bloated, like a blade of grass would break the surface tension and all the water that had been stagnating in its body for too long would spill out. 

Another was pregnant, and unwounding it left foetuses daisy-chained on the dirt, soil magnetised in clumps to the declining moisture of their non-developed skin. Some dog scarfed them up before I could commit the image to memory. It’s like they never had the opportunity to grow what divides a bridge from a fall, or their organs from the rest of the world.

Id like to tell you that I was so sensitive that I couldn’t handle it, where I could revel in my childhood empathy and demonstrate that yes in fact, I am capable of inconsolability. But If anything I was hypnotised, I held one in my arms the same way a mother holds a child and the blood from its wound pooled down my shirt and onto my stomach.

i was told to stick my fingers into the wound, which was longer than its body could permit. Its warmth traveled through me to to the top of my chest, It’s horrible how long something stays warm after it dies. 

I feel like so much less of a man than I ever could be. I look at my dad, and how this casual cruelty blows off him, how he’s changed his accent for these old country friends.
I don’t think any less of him for it, I still love him more than I can describe. But in a way It’s almost a mercy that we’ll never really have to know each other. 

I can stare in his eyes and he can stare back but we don’t have to confront the fact that I’ll never really be the son he wants, or a son at all. Or the fact we both know I find no joy, no boy-hood excitement in this exercise. The divide between us grows and I realise that I can stare Into someone’s eyes and we can look straight through each other.

But every-time I cough, or argue, or become frustrated in my patience I am reminded I am slowly becoming him. 


The only time I’m not is when I’m holding a dead rabbit in my arms.

i wish i took more videos with my old camera

 

I am 10 years old, i pretend to fall asleep at the restaurant and my dad carries me home. My wrist bends like a compass against his chest, this hurts, i cant re-adjust, i wont give up the act.
That same night, i pull out a tooth using my bottom jaw as a lever and examine it with my tongue.
it is short and ridged 
Too sharp at its roots
what remains of my gum tissue woven into its base
I fall asleep in truth, still digging at the molar with my tongue. Filing it down.

I am 19 years old, i have fallen outside of a club with you and my leg gushes with blood. the fluorescent light feels barely bright enough to enable human life. your skin brushes against mine briefly and i am struck by its softness.
You dance under the lamp-post, the comfort and ease in which you use your body, how you frolick in these conditions seemingly alien only to me, i am disgusted.
Your boyfriend glares, you smile. he points at me and i realise in my fall, 
i have lost another tooth, gnarled and consumed by the detritus of the gutter.

your face buries into mine and your tongue explores the vacancy in my skull, you hold my head at a distance and the saliva takes me underwater. 
I dont know why i think your touch can make up for all the horrible things i've done to myself. 
As if your picking of my molar out of the street will make it re-attachable.

i am tired, i think of my dad, and realise it was the last time i was ever held and not aware of the teeth in my mouth

you should really listen to this album, its good

 

Regarding emobreak

Screamo with breakcore elements is a micro-genre so tiny that its laughable, of the handful of bands that even exist within the more instrumentally inclined fusion of emo and electronic most are either kinda poo (I'm sorry) or utilize electronic instruments rather than production. of course there are some incredible bands within this niche: Spouse (Canberra) , Weatherday (US), Gauge means nothing (Tokyo) but if you're a similar to me i feel you would've had the thought of mixing amen breaks with skramz and post-hardcore instrumentation. Here i've outlined every Screamo band that i can think of which utilises amen breaks as a core instrument, not just accessory (FUCK you enter Shikari). I call this specific vibe of skramz emo-break.

The Uncanny - Credit Card Jack (US)

This album is basically the prototypical ideal of what emo-break is, Credit card jack, named after the 'succulent chinese meal' guy basically just made this in his room with an ephiphone and focusrite back in 2023. To me this is REAL 5th wave bedroom skramz buzzword-core. Each and every song does something truely interesting with the tools available that, to me, feels like its creating new conventions rather than just recycling. Green boots is probably one of my favourite songs of all time and the math rocky breakdowns in ghost in a snare strike such a specific emotion that can only be compared to throwing a punch in a dream.
Between the general mystery and disappearance of its creator, how pretty much his entire instagram are just photos of middle-american landscapes, this album creates a vibe that is almost indescribable.

I think i've forgotten now - 郁云emo cloud (CN)

 

Oh god this EP is incredible. Somehow despite delving into mixtures of genres that sound like they could only emerge out of a bushwick polycule (Seriously, the first song is a jungle bossa-nova jazz song). This album never loses its emotional weight. in many ways this reminds me of if betcover, sawtooth grin and merchant ships were playing simultaneously. 12 is seriously a highlight and demonstrates the emotive capacity of breaks as a feature of emo. Leap over it, jean-luc! also features a horn of some kind which fills me with so much nostalgia and sadness that it makes turn off the album. seriously awesome and cool

 呪詛告白初恋そして世界 - Moreru (JP)

Combatwoundedveteran if they were into soundcloud rap and had access to a hyperpop producer, this shit is crazy (name another skramz band that uses gabber kicks). this whole project is so incredibly cool and i dont think you'll find anything even remotely sonically similar.

 Noise reduction - Shoplifting (US)

Some will call this shoegaze and i hurl tomatoes at people who say it is, i will always argue that census designated by jane remover is much closer to being an electronic skramz project than it is shoegaze but whatever. This albums killer, if you get a chance look at live videos of them playing, mixing acoustic and electronic drums live, next to a deck which you're running pedals into is absurd. i mean one of the songs uses a cat keyboard. what more could you want.

Varias Paredes Pintadas -Error Vanessa  (Argentina)

 

another vaguely shoegazey screamo project with amen breaks, honestly not as fond of this as shoplifting but still very cool 

These are all the projects i can think of at the moment and have anything meaningful to add, but let me know if you know of any more. 

HM: bughug, godfuck, gingerbee, calendar year, cicada head

woah i'm 20

As of the time i am writing it is 1:08 am on September 17th and i am not turning but have turn(ed) 20 !

Such a strange mix of emotions, for the longest time i didn't believe i'd live long enough to see this age, both for morbid reasons and non: (I feel like with my lankiness i am destined to die a death you only see in chinese industrial manufacturing). Its no coincidence that i have started a largely self-serving blog now; of the limited things for which i am proud of myself, chief among them is how i have moved past the shame and fear of expression that dominated the vast majority of my life. With that prides comes a tinge of shame considering that i could have started actually discovering who i am earlier but oh well. 

So many incredible awesome people have come into my life in this past year, and so much has changed that i feel unrecognizable. i have also started writing again (or really at all) and am slowly trying to actually implement some form of prose beyond having a conversation with myself. i want to formulate something profound or incredibly self-revealing to those who read, or promote an idea of my personhood to you, you being i or you being the literal you. But i cant find it, inevitably this is just a day, and one of many in my life. I am no different than yesterday to the extent that i am still too young to die, now only meeting those qualifications slightly less.

i think this whole exercise is to justify to myself that i actually have personhood and interiority that will persevere, i want to express an idea of what makes me me and what makes me distinct from a chair or a rug or any other various item. i want to know that the concept that i identify as me at 1:34am on the 17th September 2026 will prompt some eventual desire for more knowledge that cant be met. l want to be a reminder for the reality that ultimately, there is no revelatory knowledge or really anything to be known in so far as what you construct of me. 

i remember as a child having this fixation of putting wooden objects in my mouth, small figurines or carved wooden sculptures or whatever. maybe i'm hyper-rationalising it but i think what i wanted from this was the ability to really and truely know the identity of what i was interacting with. At least in physical space there is a literal and unaffable boundary of what the form i was exploring was, there is something that separates a bridge from a fall and likewise my tongue from the wooden horse it smothered. While not intimately adding much knowledge, i could at least define the bounds of what i could understand. 

In many ways, i wish to be absolutely known in this way, though not for the reasons of compassion or empathy or to be 'understood' by you, i know such a thing is impossible and i don't desire it. But for the fact it entails that there is an absolute essentialist me of some kind. Hiding beneath the layers of conscious activity there exists a 'true' me divorced from effort and activity, something i can point to and have others comment 'oh theyre naturally kind,smart,judgemental,hateful,gifting,timid'. 

i would continue this activity of putting wood in my mouth, exploring their crevices, until eventually and horrifyingly. my saliva would begin to seep into its pores and digest its cellulose. in doing so my childhood thesis crumbles, now even the idea of physical boundaries is broken. i hated it.

There is no me trapped under the ice, lying under the layers of my presentation and whatever i am to you. i have now lived 20 years and this is all there is. it is now 2:03am and i am no more or less the person i was 2 hours and 3 minutes ago. i will always feel like this incomplete person if only for the fact i only had the confidence to live honestly later than most.

i realise this all sounds so negative but i think i'm glad now, in a way i can be whatever is necessary for you (again, you being me or you being you) to believe. i love my friends and living life in this way if only because it affords me the ability to keep moving forward and change.

 

anyway, it's now 2:10 and im gonna eat Peking duck tomorrow (today). 

  

My chest is burning

One day I hope to find a boy who can stare at me and love me the same way he only could a girl

I would find in him a part of myself I have lost at fault of my own and confide in him how his figure scares me

How the coarseness of his skin terrifies and disgusts me and how his capacity to inflict violence disturbs me in a way nothing else could

In his admission, constructed on terms only I can decide, I am suddenly so light, so warm
Returning to a womb I will never possess

I find pleasure in this idea only to the extent that it displaces the fear of my own features to someone larger, clumsier

I mourn him and the life we will never have, the child i can never carry for him, the comfort he can never provide, how i will never be able to look at him and not think of his capacity to harm me

he is something i construct and destroy at various periods in my life

i am the child that knocks over a sand castle before the water can