@pareidolon.bsky.social
you look into the screen. something looks back.
Pinned
@pareidolon.bsky.social
· Jun 17
Our highest artistic aim is to coax a reader into a waking nightmare that brings with it a moment of emotional clarity. Thank you for letting us try that with you.
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I wish I were a barreleye fish and my head was all transparent and you could see right through and read the circuits on my brain and there was a diver who cared to read, and I wish you were that diver.
I wish I could take my eyes off like binoculars and give them to you and you would see how I see
I wish I could take my eyes off like binoculars and give them to you and you would see how I see
October 26, 2025 at 10:07 PM
I wish I were a barreleye fish and my head was all transparent and you could see right through and read the circuits on my brain and there was a diver who cared to read, and I wish you were that diver.
I wish I could take my eyes off like binoculars and give them to you and you would see how I see
I wish I could take my eyes off like binoculars and give them to you and you would see how I see
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Death is the process in which attachments come to an end. Thus it can be said the medicine for those who have too many attachments is to die a little at a time early on like the nipping of the apple trees come first frost
November 29, 2025 at 6:43 AM
Death is the process in which attachments come to an end. Thus it can be said the medicine for those who have too many attachments is to die a little at a time early on like the nipping of the apple trees come first frost
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waiting, for a change that will
never come
the universe grows cold as it
expands
closeness of connection is lost
the stars are lonely.
do you think they miss each other?
out there in the night sky..
never come
the universe grows cold as it
expands
closeness of connection is lost
the stars are lonely.
do you think they miss each other?
out there in the night sky..
November 27, 2025 at 2:20 AM
waiting, for a change that will
never come
the universe grows cold as it
expands
closeness of connection is lost
the stars are lonely.
do you think they miss each other?
out there in the night sky..
never come
the universe grows cold as it
expands
closeness of connection is lost
the stars are lonely.
do you think they miss each other?
out there in the night sky..
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This is true. It is the best email I got this year.
November 26, 2025 at 9:50 PM
This is true. It is the best email I got this year.
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art only shapes reality if you're having a really bad time making it and it's already ruining your life
November 26, 2025 at 5:56 PM
art only shapes reality if you're having a really bad time making it and it's already ruining your life
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me when I take a break from writing only to find both reality and other online stories have become much more horrifying
November 24, 2025 at 6:07 AM
me when I take a break from writing only to find both reality and other online stories have become much more horrifying
I'm a firm believer that you should bring different personal issues to every relationship.
November 22, 2025 at 5:16 PM
I'm a firm believer that you should bring different personal issues to every relationship.
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On balance, it's not wise to visit. But I indulge, occasionally. Carefully. I take one thought each time.
On my last visit, the woods were misty, and I understood the mists' pale swirls to mean: "You never stop missing the rest of you."
On my last visit, the woods were misty, and I understood the mists' pale swirls to mean: "You never stop missing the rest of you."
March 3, 2024 at 11:12 AM
On balance, it's not wise to visit. But I indulge, occasionally. Carefully. I take one thought each time.
On my last visit, the woods were misty, and I understood the mists' pale swirls to mean: "You never stop missing the rest of you."
On my last visit, the woods were misty, and I understood the mists' pale swirls to mean: "You never stop missing the rest of you."
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I've given it due consideration and concluded the only way we can administer the correct kinds and amount of affection to our loved ones is with an apocalyptic grey goo scenario.
July 6, 2025 at 3:29 AM
I've given it due consideration and concluded the only way we can administer the correct kinds and amount of affection to our loved ones is with an apocalyptic grey goo scenario.
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There are a lot of things you can search for in the mist. Belonging. Purpose. Comfort. Love, if you're the kind who thinks that's a thing to be found. You could lose a lifetime there—but in the end, all you'll find is those cold arms wrapped around you, that moth-eaten voice dragging you down ...
November 21, 2025 at 4:31 AM
There are a lot of things you can search for in the mist. Belonging. Purpose. Comfort. Love, if you're the kind who thinks that's a thing to be found. You could lose a lifetime there—but in the end, all you'll find is those cold arms wrapped around you, that moth-eaten voice dragging you down ...
There was a woman who resolved, when she was small, that who she was would never be predicated on another. She pursued this goal to the end, and became exactly what she wanted to be, a thing of truly radiant beauty in her own eye.
November 19, 2025 at 4:42 PM
There was a woman who resolved, when she was small, that who she was would never be predicated on another. She pursued this goal to the end, and became exactly what she wanted to be, a thing of truly radiant beauty in her own eye.
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As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play…
—Robert Louis Stevenson, “To Any Reader”
The final poem in A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES (1885)
#poetry
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play…
—Robert Louis Stevenson, “To Any Reader”
The final poem in A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES (1885)
#poetry
November 17, 2025 at 3:06 PM
As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play…
—Robert Louis Stevenson, “To Any Reader”
The final poem in A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES (1885)
#poetry
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play…
—Robert Louis Stevenson, “To Any Reader”
The final poem in A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES (1885)
#poetry
preferred name:
legal name:
maiden name:
biological name:
common name:
taxonomic name:
ontological name:
theological name:
medical name:
home address:
geographical name:
social security number:
nautical name:
brand name:
generic name:
last known location:
financial name:
isomeric name:
"fake" name:
legal name:
maiden name:
biological name:
common name:
taxonomic name:
ontological name:
theological name:
medical name:
home address:
geographical name:
social security number:
nautical name:
brand name:
generic name:
last known location:
financial name:
isomeric name:
"fake" name:
November 17, 2025 at 2:53 AM
Open your mouth. Close your eyes. This is the fire I wished to give you. Kindle it with the dust on your tongue, feed it with the air in your lungs. Let it take to you.
Candescent [in|e]ternal, read what is written under your eyelids by your own light. Open them. Read the world the same way.
Candescent [in|e]ternal, read what is written under your eyelids by your own light. Open them. Read the world the same way.
November 13, 2025 at 4:20 PM
Open your mouth. Close your eyes. This is the fire I wished to give you. Kindle it with the dust on your tongue, feed it with the air in your lungs. Let it take to you.
Candescent [in|e]ternal, read what is written under your eyelids by your own light. Open them. Read the world the same way.
Candescent [in|e]ternal, read what is written under your eyelids by your own light. Open them. Read the world the same way.
I almost miss our "host knows she's not plural she just reluctantly acts like she is because when she doesn't she starts having plural-shaped problems (which means nothing)" phase, it was very funny.
November 12, 2025 at 6:18 PM
I almost miss our "host knows she's not plural she just reluctantly acts like she is because when she doesn't she starts having plural-shaped problems (which means nothing)" phase, it was very funny.
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"stop bleeding. can't you see the adults are playing checkers"
November 10, 2025 at 10:29 PM
"stop bleeding. can't you see the adults are playing checkers"
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The safest? That's simple. The safest place to stow your blade is between your fourth and fifth rib.
November 24, 2023 at 8:21 PM
The safest? That's simple. The safest place to stow your blade is between your fourth and fifth rib.
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Truth owes its medicinal nature to the establishment of the myth of justice. Its curative properties it likewise owes to the concept of sacrifice. Princes, chiefs, and angels all subscribe to the same notion.
November 11, 2025 at 9:49 PM
Truth owes its medicinal nature to the establishment of the myth of justice. Its curative properties it likewise owes to the concept of sacrifice. Princes, chiefs, and angels all subscribe to the same notion.
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Did you know that, at sufficient depth, the nitrogen in your gas mix becomes a narcotic due to the increase in pressure, so deep-sea divers rehearse their dives carefully, making sure there's no need for critical thought for the duration?
November 10, 2025 at 10:45 PM
Did you know that, at sufficient depth, the nitrogen in your gas mix becomes a narcotic due to the increase in pressure, so deep-sea divers rehearse their dives carefully, making sure there's no need for critical thought for the duration?
In a pinch, scrupulosity can be an adequate substitute for wisdom.
November 10, 2025 at 6:17 PM
In a pinch, scrupulosity can be an adequate substitute for wisdom.
Here is a woman who moves her face precisely. Not like a mask—like a pen. When she retreats into herself to consider some new idea, she puts the pen down and becomes animate, fluid, but the moment she regards you again, it is back in her hand, hovering, ready to be used to punctuate her reply.
November 10, 2025 at 4:21 PM
Here is a woman who moves her face precisely. Not like a mask—like a pen. When she retreats into herself to consider some new idea, she puts the pen down and becomes animate, fluid, but the moment she regards you again, it is back in her hand, hovering, ready to be used to punctuate her reply.
ℹ️ True parenthood has never been tried.
November 9, 2025 at 11:03 PM
ℹ️ True parenthood has never been tried.
A father's role is to be a creation myth, to exist in the narrative long enough to define your character's motivations. This is why gods who resolve the contradiction between omniscience and agency by removing themselves from the world fashion themselves to be fathers.
Hmm, our thoughts about fathers are @pareidolon.bsky.social territory
November 3, 2025 at 6:07 PM
A father's role is to be a creation myth, to exist in the narrative long enough to define your character's motivations. This is why gods who resolve the contradiction between omniscience and agency by removing themselves from the world fashion themselves to be fathers.