Cunt Toward Enemy[6] Bone SeeKer

It’s raining but the rain is dry. It gathers on his hand, in his nails.
A clicking sound. He checks his watch but his wrist is empty.

The rain is dirty and it’s too late for him. There is contamination at the deepest level.
Something ticks under his pillow. He reaches under and his hand disappears behind the blank mass. He doesn’t know what is under the rock. He stares at the pillowcase where his wrist ends. The pillowcase is flat with wrinkles at the edges.

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Cunt Toward Enemy[5] Rattrapante

Snip. Snip.

The cutter in his hand grows wet, soft tissue brushing his fingers. Snip. Snip. Biological current severed. The house will be sold soon. His mother’s garden has to look decent.

She calls for him, weak as the wind.


“I want you to have something,” she says, eyebrows still dark under paling hair. Her voice is like autumn leaves crumbling from humidity.

He is acutely aware of bringing a loaded gun into his mother’s house, each bullet containing enough explosive potential to eradicate the face gently weathered across a lifetime.

“I put your father’s watch in the box.”

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Cunt Toward Enemy[4] The Birthday Effect

Lazur sits at the booth, the restaurant dim as always, black interior, cold morning light through half-drawn curtains. He wears blue jeans and a green field jacket and worn-out combat boots, black stripping to gray.

The only reason he knows about this place is because as a child he was taken in search of what was supposedly his dad’s favorite restaurant. They drove for hours looking for it as his dad explained the virtues of this particular location, hinting that it would reunite them with something that had been taken from them, imparted by proximity to an authentic mode of production, something honest and true pertaining to manhood and culture. Lazur still isn’t sure if this is the restaurant, or another restaurant his dad settled on in lieu of the perfect, still-undiscovered ideal, in whose absence their masculine trajectories have suffered. When they ate here, his dad seemed vaguely subdued, which his child-self didn’t think much of, but decades later he tried to decode the cloud of adult emotion in retrospect. Perhaps it was the restaurant, but it wasn’t as good as his dad remembered. Perhaps it would have been better never to find it at all.

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Cunt Toward Enemy[3] Demons of the Bomb

A photo floats on the ashy water, charred along the white edges. Lazur picks it up and it drips as if fished from a tray of developer fluid.

In the camera flash, the 5000K explosion of a false sun, his naked body looks snuff-film obscene, his face vulnerable and agonized from the stick of dynamite inserted in his ass, invisible except for the way his knees are thrust forward, chest arched, legs spread.
The boy next to him smiles, the half-boy, shattered boy, buried teeth glowing in the burst of light, jawbone strewn like a constellation through blasted flesh.
Their eyes are red from the flash bouncing off the blood in their retinas. They look like demons set apart from the rest of humanity. Demons of the bomb.

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Serious Weakness but with Girls

This is an expansion pack for people who finished Serious Weakness. It is the entire story in girl form, hypercompressed, violently downloaded into your head.
I’m working on a lot of projects right now so I’m not able to get to my yuri stuff as soon as I wanted. So here’s Serious Weakness But With Girls as a little treat for the girlfags out there. <3

A painting with an X carved into it. A nice house with a stranger in it.

The first thought Tria has about Insul is that those fingers have no sensation. Looks like a chemical burn.

Then she wonders if Insul’s a tranny. She has excellent bone structure and her voice is kind of deep, but maybe that’s just because of her height. The world is full of all kinds of girls, Tria thinks in a self-satisfied way.

Insul says, “Want to play?”

There’s nothing lonelier than a golf course at night. The house’s private course can’t be that big, but at night it seems to extend infinitely.

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Serious Weakness aftermath

“Art, in fact, can be nothing but violence, cruelty, and injustice.”


Simone Weil wrote, “Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring.”
Serious Weakness tries to do both.


⚠️ (massive spoilers for Serious Weakness ahead) ⚠️


I thought it would just be a quick story. I called the document:

later I named it Serious Weakness as a translation of myasthenia gravis.
my runner-up title was Blind Cleavage, a play on the art conservation term (“Blind cleavage…is a separation that has no visible rupture, but one can tell there has been an underlying separation of layers.” (the weakness Insul detects in Trianon under the mask)), crossed with Trianon’s mutilated chest.
X_X. blind cleavage!!

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Cunt Toward Enemy[2]: This Violates the Geneva Conventions

Lazur looks around the gaming hall, mentally diagramming the exits, the best place to store a bomb if you wanted to blow out the supports of the building. He’s in Semi Nova for a wargaming convention, south of the equator, the air feels different, and this is the closest he can get to taking a vacation because he still gets to gnaw on the problem via cardboard simulation, mass destruction methadone.

His little cousin is here, playing toyetic card games at the kid’s area, by a mural of Crash Bandicoot and Vegeta. Half his family is Semi Novan, from the Lechian migration to the Creciente Fértil region. He spent the morning with them, guilty at each touch, like he was involving them in something too ugly to comprehend. A physical taint, a contagious violence, or just a crippling paranoia.

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agent of innocent: maggot therapy

art by Evan, writing/design by me
game we’re working on about boys and maggots

this is the other Perfect Tense game, it’s fun seeing different interpretations of the same character and world

both artists work with paper, which is pretty unusual with games

it’s a short visual novel and if you like very gross stuff you might like it

Evan rubs dirt and spit on the paper to get that filthy texture. i love their art so much, i want to use this game to show everyone how good it is!

Cunt Toward Enemy


Everything is an explosive. Every thought is a sort of explosion inside the head. When you give me your hand I feel as if something is exploding inside you.

— Karel Čapek, “Krakatit”


The messages start at 10 AM, on the LED screens all around the Fuchsia World Mall.

Don’t move.

The parking lot explodes.

People run, of course.

Explosions from within the mall. Smoke rises from the courtyard at the center, or traps itself dark behind cracked windows.

Eventually people stop moving. Some have the presence of mind to understand what’s happening, the rest get lucky with shock and concussion, or the inability to move with their new bodies. The border is delineated by horrified bystanders, clean and unharmed, except for the powderized city drifting into the creases of their clothes and lungs.

Lazur drives into the storm of carcinogens, windshield growing grayer.

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