Xrafstar GuestbooK

Sacredness breaths through your being into the well of your work; thirsty, I have drank, thank you for the charity of sharing strife, being alive, we are glorious icons of the invisible and I burn brighter for the fuel this explosive lighter fluid moon liquor dripping from your written words.

the first piece of art of yours i ever encountered was a headless selfie on tumblr, fragile on the floor, that read "machines are used to handle undesired objects: refuse, feces, and disabled trans bodies." it split my flesh instantly, the well of fermented pus and swallowed loathing in my swollen aorta now suddenly free to gulp down it's first savoring taste of searing oxygen. i've toddled silently after you in a daze ever since. maximum softness was the first time i felt like a broken and dangerous thing, crammed full to bursting with jagged unwanted violence, could still deserve to live. and i wept and cradled myself until the snot glued the pillow to my airholes. everything since--girl detective, vesp, revery, dog boys, living fucking creatures--has been a new razor fingernail sliding under the skin, red muscle cut out from under rotted tissue, weeping in gracious relief. bless you, terrified stranger i've accosted. bless you, bless you, bless you, unclean art for unclean cripples and queers, forever and ever, world without end. may the disinfecting squads find neither of our hiding places.

definitely the good shit. destroying me in all the right ways making me yearn for more and inspiring visions for my own work.

your twine pieces were used in my university creative writing class last year. it changed the way i view and make stories. i loved psycho nymph exile. im loving serious weakness. makes me happy to be in my yucky skin suit, to see such awesome shit. <3

love your little slice of the internet you carved out here

good words. good pictures. thank you for often sharing these things with the masses. sometimes i read your work in order to train myself to be less squeamish, because i have a full-body grimace that happens when i engage with words or imagery of wounds. your work is interesting enough that i can push through that. at the end of this message lies a final mysterious symbol of offering: 🎁 <- a mario kart mystery box.

custom sites are sick as hell found twines years ago and always come back i aspire to be this violently rad

<3

yr stuff makes me feel like a piece of art on display being gazed at and prodded and vandalized, thankyou ( the timeline that i made up for myself begins w getting off to cyberqueen in first pubescence, owe some(?)thing to that ) all love