AnOublietteofThought

Sequestered in absentia, notes of wander beckoned notice like the blooded claim of an overtly familiar bite. Too tarnished to maintain an omniscience, her need began The Unraveling. Each tug. Every touch. All sensation became a ripened prayer to yearning's phantom dismemberment, and the obligatory recycling mandated when learning to walk on two broken feet.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

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I’m working on a book of erotic poetry. I thought I'd pen some pieces to wander along beside it and wet the appetite. Those who know my writing side well know that I loathe creating titles for poetry. Titles for books are quite exciting, on the otherhand. I already know what this one will be.

Shame on the publishers who didn't catch it. Is seeing the underlying foundation and patterning really that challenging? It was bad enough when very talented authors chose to make virtual copy-and-paste books, but this...this...

It sends me into a rage. An actual rage. Fucking hell!

How do people stomach reading this fancied up slop?! That is NOT how a thesaurus is used!

No wonder AI companies are buying up rare books and texts, scanning, then destroying them. It's not just to train. Give it a few generations and no one will have any understanding of the soul or artistry of the written word.

My writing is far from perfect, but it's not garnished AI bullshit.

A bestseller should not be this heavy-handed with its AI usage. That book is far from tool level usage. It has a smattering of human touch in it, but little more than that.

I am so sick of picking up “bestsellers” only to be presented with lazy AI butchery.

Gargantuan. Crypt's grit-and-gravel save displaced me. No longer an exhumed force, I am a source to levy the abstained in retaliatory scare— a fare most swoon as gamble, or grief-seeking preamble, but never quite the scandal that piqued their interest in the first debase.

Many race towards me. The privileged face what forged me. A lucky few are gored in forked-fee, but no —one— sinks to the depths of my spare.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

It is that time of the week where I do my weekly update without really saying anything. This one will be much the same.

This past week was rough. There were a few days that were exceptionally rough. The week isn't just a blur. Really the whole month is a blur. This morning, someone I speak to every day, said that this is the first day in a month where I sound like myself. I was admittedly slightly offended because I thought I do very well at hiding when I don't feel well. And I have made extra effort to do so. I'm going to have to work on that.

I don't have a lot to say on it all. I haven't had this kind of stomach issues and migraines in a while, I think. Not for so long. It's still not over. But at least it's livable right now. There was one day, where I would not have minded if it had just taken me out.

I get eyes rolled at me quite a bit or told I'm being too sensitive when I say I can't do something or I can't eat something. I get why people think that. If it's minor and I've been really strict with myself for months, the discomfort that it will cause me is not something that I really show or acknowledge even to myself because I just don't acknowledge pain until it reaches certain levels. When you live with very high levels of chronic pain for decades and you have experienced extreme amounts of acute pain, your brain and nervous system kind of starts to rewire what pain is to you.

For me, personally, there seems to be a line. I think I am subconsciously aware that things are there, but it doesn't register for me to do something until it's close to that line or has already passed it. At that point, it is too late. My ex used to say to me that he did not understand how I could be so sensory sensitive on the one hand, but completely oblivious on the other hand.

It's kind of true that I am like that. I can feel the most subtle of breeze or vibration in a room, but not realize that I'm getting too cold until I am already spasming extremely hard from being too cold. In fact, sometimes I feel hot and want to be colder. Right now I want to be colder. It is 65° in my apartment. I should be fine. I am this close to sweating. If I start sweating I will break out into hives. Alas, I actually need to turn my AC up because the morning is starting and dropping your temperature by 40 and 50° makes the AC very unhappy.

I am rambling just so I don't have to say anything. This time was bad. I really can't eat such things out of convenience. It sucks whenever you're hurting so bad that you really aren't capable of standing up very long. I do have food in the freezer that has been prepped and cooked. Absolutely delicious food. The very thought of it makes me nauseous. That is concerning, because it is my main staple. I'm not sure what to think about that right now.

Let's see... mental health. Where is mine? Probably okay until I start thinking. Thinking can get you in trouble sometimes. Especially if you are fond of understanding things. There is bliss in ignorance. I don't know.

I also got invited to go somewhere this week that would be nice to go to. I said no. I really don't get in cars with strangers. I especially do not go off on a long distance trip with strangers. Even if I do know one person that would mean that I am subject to someone's rules that I don't know and dependent upon them for safety for an extended period of time. That is really not in my wheelhouse. I understand that people do it all the time, but I am not those people. There is a very good reason why I have not placed myself out there in the dating pool extensively. I trust no one. 🤣

I did do the trust thing a few times. I don't think the guy realizes when I said that I think he might chop me up into little pieces that I was being serious. Jokingly serious. I really just don't like to be dependent upon someone if I don't trust them explicitly. Very humorous, really. I'm going to have to get over that. Or maybe not.

In my youth, I went to places with people I barely knew quite often. As well as in my early adulthood. I was in a lot better shape then. Also, ignorance is bliss. Even still, I was always wary. I don't know. I also paid for it a few times. I have paid for it with people I've known exceptionally well, also. I guess it is little wonder why I am the way I am today, but I do understand that most people don't quite grasp it.

There is a beauty to aging. There are also things that suck about it. Seeing the world more clearly, really sucks. I used to laugh when people would say that a decade makes a difference. I was quite mature for my age when I was younger. But, I would say that every decade does seem to make quite a bit of a difference. Not for everyone. For persons like myself, I think it does.

Some people will perpetually be 13 years old both in actions and thoughts. I wonder what my 60s will bring me. I would acknowledge it partially scares me. I do not like the idea of being old and less capable in a society and world that is determined to destroy everything. I do not like it at all. I think I am better coming to terms with it, though.

I did not keep up with my chores well this past month and it shows. I think I should consider that. Anyway, I lost a pound. One would think I would have lost more, all things considered. I don't really care either way at the moment. I'm very tired and still in a considerable amount of pain. I would happily gain several pounds back if it would just give me some energy.

With all of that said, I am in a positive mindset, and I'm determined to have a good day.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

These words we say. These walls we climb. These epitaphs that fall in line. These wildly wondering wandering ways. These cruel distortions sown to fray. These lies upon lies upon lies long cast. These truths lawed forsaken to whither our past. These indignations we shed to spare. These lacerations we score as care. These bartered teachings paved from the start. These words that ensure we all play our part.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

There are footnotes on this broken bridge— legions of paralysis inkscaped from the droughts of servitude, like dismissive dilations dancing atop the dreary recalibrations of a cracked, yet tethered, dogma. I stoop and scoop in looping high. Head just shy of a mounted celebration. The hesitation is exuberant in its weariness— two steps forward (A race of wherewithal from the back.) I've gotten off track. What I'd give for time on a wrack, extending... There are footnotes on this broken bridge where crosses esteem my lope haunting.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

Dreams are funny things that come and go. Rarely do mine interrupt or intersect. However, he is a steady repeat. He's always been there. My Darkness. My Shadow. My Faerie Man. My Male of Faerie.

Tonight, he bloodied his fingers and scratched the wreathing tendrils of shadow incorporated within him to pluck the crushing weight of slab and stone that was suffocating my broken limbs, and pitch it asunder into the mighty void between dreams.

I was fading. I could feel every drop of consciousness plummeting drip by unrecoverable drip. I heard his melody thrumming through my mind. He was very angry with me, growling at my foolishness. Snarling that he had taught me better. He did not find my “tethering” cheeky. The use of “cheeky” had caused me to laugh and choke on the blood bubbling past my lips.

Everything hurt so bad, but a fog was forming around the pain as my mind began to drift through other dreams and other trips. I could hear him growling about our unfinished book. That I still owed him many more pages. That was our trade. Our agreement. Briefly, I realized it an uneven bond, for the majesty of such a book was that it had no end.

I felt the whirlpool of his essence swirling and encompassing me. Seeping into me. Merging with my blood and mending the wounds that dared to break our contract. It was a frigid, burning, soothing crutch. For the smallest of eternities, I understood everything. I tasted our memories seasoning absence with a completeness there are no words for, and then we were fractured once more.

I awoke with the memory of his smile and a song. Our song—of woods and rain and obsidian night. I awoke owing him the poetry of my soul, for he continued to doom his relevance via maintaining our lifeline.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved

I dream of you— crystal waves crashing along a cerulean shore of crumbling haste. Flickers fantasized inferno. A graduation of accelerating power. We dance the circumference of a scoured whole, never quite stabilizing on this topsy-turvy clever where worlds sweep the void of dimension-hopping suggestion aside, and acclimation becomes our tomb.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

I ran across someone who, like me, used to be a Game Master/Immortal back in the day of MUDs. We had a bit of a nostalgia trip. Then we had a good laugh discussing what we'd do in a modern game.

Back then, I designed entire realms, quests, and of course, equipment. I'd not expect a game like World of Warcraft to allow the power we had then. If it took a bunch of old Game Masters and gave them a free subscription in exchange for so many hours of community morale boosting, gave us so many perks to hand out each day, and enabled whatever our character was with a few specialized and fun skills, I imagine it would be quite the boost to the game. A boost that really wouldn't cost them anything.

Combine our creative, on-the-fly thinking and planning with modern game dynamics and graphics...it makes me want to game. Sadly, modern digital games are missing that magic. When going up and engaging with a Game Master was a real roll of the dice. We had so much power at our fingertips.

Part of the fun of the game was experiencing how we'd choose to use it. I got euphoric just witnessing the players' giddiness. Another thing I enjoyed was seeing players who'd normally rarely roleplay suddenly sink fully in character. It was such a delight.

It's hard to believe it's been about thirty years ago. A few years less for some. That was quite a time for being on the internet. Everyone was doing things for the love of it, and the vast majority were very literate. There are times when I really miss those days a lot. I definitely miss being a Game Master/Immortal. We didn't just have power. We had a responsibility to the game and to the players. We created individualized magic, and also swift, individualized repercussions. The world lived because we were invested in ensuring the players had a most fantastic and memorable time that could be unexpectedly flipped on its head at any given moment. It's too bad so many generations of gamers will never get to experience that magic. We didn't have graphics. We had words and our imagination. They are very fond memories.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.