DEATH IS ETERNAL #404

2,000 words

For the first time or, at least, for the first time in my memory, I’m beginning to write the current DEATH IS ETERNAL before publishing the weekly one. Today is Monday, June 3, 2024. The current time is 4:45 PM, which means DEATH IS ETERNAL #403 is still fifteen minutes into the future, my future at least. And why is that relevant? Why am I mentioning this? I wanted to say something deep and meaningful, but, in reality, I’m only mentioning it because I’m feeling like Dr. Manhattan when he gives up Earth and goes to Mars. And, you know, it’s nice to feel like Dr. Manhattan. So, yeah...

Contents

1. VEILED WHISPERS IN BRITANNIA

2. Writing: fast

3. Bye!

4. Life (from June 3 to 16, 2024)

5. Review #280: COCAINE BEAR

6. The end

1. VEILED WHISPERS IN BRITANNIA

In the heart of the Britannia Mine Museum, where whispers of industry lingered in rusted corridors and forgotten shafts, Avery, a curious historian with a penchant for uncovering secrets, sought solace from the world above. Each step they took reverberated against the cold stone walls, a testament to their tireless pilgrimage through the labyrinthine tunnels.

On a serendipitous journey, Avery stumbled upon a clandestine chamber, ensconced as if sheltered by the mine’s very essence. Amidst the soft luminescence of lantern light, Quinn emerged—a solitary silhouette, haunting yet bewitching in their solitude.

Quinn was a canvas of contradictions: eyes as abyssal and enigmatic as the tunnels they roamed, a smile adorned with the burden of yesteryears. Despite the eerie ambiance of the chamber, Avery found themselves ensnared by Quinn’s mysterious allure, a gravitational force defying rationale.

Their rendezvous evolved into a choreography of silence amidst the mine’s shadows. With each encounter, Avery and Quinn wove a tapestry of connection transcending spoken words, their unspoken bond growing more resolute with every passing moment.

As they delved into discourse, Avery unravelled the tapestry of Quinn’s essence—each revelation a whispered sonnet, a glimpse into a past veiled in mystery. Quinn recounted the mine’s secrets, of echoes reverberating in the void, of murmurs insinuating unspoken horrors lurking in the abyss.

Amidst the shadows of the Britannia Mine Museum, a tender romance blossomed between Avery and Quinn, their love an oasis of warmth amidst the cold, unforgiving embrace of the mine’s history.

Together, they ventured through the sinuous passages of the mine, their footsteps composing a symphony against the stone, their hearts entwined in harmonious rhythm. Yet, as days passed, whispers crescendoed, and shadows darkened until Avery could no longer avert their gaze from the truth unfurling before them.

Quinn was not a denizen of this realm but a spectre of bygone epochs—a soul ensnared in the eternal embrace of the mine, forever bound to its depths. And as darkness encroached, Quinn extended a hand, icy and invitational, beckoning Avery into oblivion.

In the heart of the Britannia Mine Museum, where history and myth intermingled, two souls discovered an unforeseen entwining—one destined to endure beyond temporal confines, ensconced in the eternal embrace of the earth.

The end

2. Writing: fast

Photo by Alistair MacRobert on Unsplash

I sincerely don’t know if I have enough for a whole section here, but I do want to discuss... I do want to express the idea to the world. I feel the urge to write about it, so I’ll write about it—regardless of whether it’s enough for an essay or if anyone is genuinely interested in what I have to say.

(It’s not a discussion because I’m the only one talking.)

I write fast because my thoughts come to me in a torrent, demanding to be written down before they slip away. It’s not a matter of boasting but a necessity. If I don’t keep up, I risk losing them and marring the essence of what I’m trying to convey. To capture my thoughts accurately, I must write swiftly. If I lose my train of thought, my writing feels like gibberish—a joint struggle of writers: “impostor syndrome.” The story always seems more vivid in my mind.

Despite my speed, my writing isn’t always as polished as I’d like. My racing thoughts often lead to an embarrassing number of typos and missing words. What seemed like a coherent phrase in my head often translates to a few scattered words on paper. This frustrates me deeply because I can’t always recall the perfect phrase I originally had in mind. Instead, I have to piece together something from the remnants, which never quite feels right. This intensifies my impostor syndrome, making me question, “Am I really a writer?”

When I try to write slowly, I can’t write at all. I need to match the speed of my thoughts; slowing down disrupts my process. This constant struggle to keep pace with my thoughts leaves me wondering if anyone else faces the same challenge.

Does anyone else grapple with the rapid flow of their ideas? I hope so because being alone in this would be both sad and tragic.

3. Bye!

Here’s where we say our farewell to the free subscribers. If you want to read the rest of DEATH IS ETERNAL, consider becoming a paying subscriber. If you already are a paying subscriber, first of all, thank you very, very much! And second, I’ll see you on the other side of the paywall.