danielcain

[danielcain]

o-face

i need to get this off my chest 

for a few years, i’ve had increasingly common problems with loved ones giving me strange looks. 

i don’t know if it’s because i might be kind of on the spectrum or something (according to my roommate, lol) or basically a hallucination but the more i got to know someone the more they’d show me this face without realizing it. 

the nuances of the expressions were always different. but there always breathe hard. they breathe very, very hard. their body language remains the same, but from the neck up, it’s like their head occupies a completely different moment in time, a completely different context and sensation. the the scenery, the reality around the head doesn’t change, but the light does. and i feel their heavy breathing, i feel it in my ears in the same way you might hear your own breathing under a sheet or in a closet. the faces were always slightly different, varied person to person, and time to time, but each individuals tended to have certain personalities.

i swear, i’ve developed ptsd symptoms from experiencing this all my life. something that only is either some massive joke played on me or actual insanity. my childhood was pretty easy, i started developing this during puberty and it just never went away. it was scary as fuck. 

only when i got my first girlfriend did i begin to recognize the expression. i was a freshman. the most intimate relationship (then 19m) and her (then 21f).  we were having sex and her face started getting weird. 

so i froze, like always. only this time, her eyes refocused, she looked at me dreamily, and said, “why’d you stop?”

“your face.”

“you looked…” i didn’t know what to say. “you looked in pain.”

she scoffed at me. “never made a girl cum before?” 

no i just saw that face all the time, and never once had it looked back at me. i didn’t tell her that. 

the next day she made the face again, i pointed it out, and she didn’t react. frozen, heavy breathing. it didn’t look exactly the same. the eyes were wider, bulging. her tongue slid out of her lips and lolled like a fat slug, where in bed she had tastefully licked them. it creeped me out.

so i only realized then it was not only someone’s “orgasm face” but it was a snapshot of the last time they orgasmed. i could tell if she faked it, or if she had masturbated in between. 

the next partner i had was a guy. i quickly lost interest in him, too, sexually. but i felt that i could experiment. he was easier to bring to orgasm than my girlfriend. i found out he cheated on me because he had made a face i didn’t recognize, wincing, like he was taking it up the ass, something he and i never did.

i slept around in between. it was interesting. i could kind of reverse engineer what they liked by the expression on their face. honestly, it was one of the few ways i could consider myself “socially adept.” i could tell who liked to be controlled a little, who liked to be hurt. i could tell who was so uptight they couldn’t look anything but ashamed when cumming. there was always a margin of error, you know, the faces always looked a little grotesque. but maybe that’s just how people look when they cum, isolated, without the context of lovemaking; an unsightly, honest mask. 

[danielcain]

Water by Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527 - 1593)

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Monique Ligons’ Biblical Insectarium

[danielcain]

Russian ID photos.

[danielcain]

my dealer: got some straight gas 🔥😫 this strain is called “carcosa” 😳 you’ll be zonked out of your gourd 💯

me: yeah whatever I don’t feel shit

5 mins later: dude I swear everything that’s going to happen has happened

my buddy rust, pacing: this is all just a dream inside a locked room, a dream about being a person

[danielcain]

草トカゲ

[danielcain]

[danielcain]

Ripe

In retrospect, I should have gotten fitted in-person for a pair of rubber boots. Ordering shoes online is always a crapshoot. The ones I had on were too big, they just collected water like a rain barrel and waterlogged my socks.

The texture was horrible. A disgusting sensation.

The foyer’s carpet squelched with every step I took. It didn’t help that I was carrying 120 pounds of dead woman.

“This always happens during the honeymoon phase,” said my friend Dan.

“You won’t want to leave the house. You’ll want to be with her all the time. The modern age enables this. Work from home, order from home, live from home, die from home…” He began to rant about how modernity. He always goes there, and I always tune him out. He married a female cop from the sheriff’s department. She came off gay when I met her. Funny.

I‘ve tried to explain my marital problems to Dan before. I had to leave out a few key details. I told him my wife was depressed, in bed all day, not contributing financially. He said wives “tend to do that” and that I make enough money, anyway. Not quite the issue.

The trouble was harder to explain; I’ve only been married to Liana for six months, and she’s killed and replanted herself seven times.

I trudged up the staircase in the loose boots. The way I carried her, the soil from her body fell before us, laying a trail like rose petals.

Creaking wood drummed up anxiety in my chest. I am not a large man. I usually make but a negligible amount of noise when I move throughout the house. That’s something she commented on when we first moved in. The word she used was unobtrusive. She liked this about me. She said we had that in common. In a lot of ways, we really were alike.

Unlike me, her cells interlocked with tightly-woven cellulose walls. She had organelles not found in over 99% of human beings: chloroplasts. When I first met her, her skin had a milky green hue. The first time I touched her, I balked. She was not hot to the touch like others. Not cold, but not hot. Her breasts, thighs, cheeks… remarkably, they had the tautness of an unripe vegetable.

I laid her down in the bathtub. The plumbing was sensitive, not terrible, but sensitive. An old house. Wood and cobblestone on the outside. Folksy, I’m told through clenched smiles of guests trying to be complimentary. Yeah, right. It looks better suited to house a coven of child-stealing hags. I tried to fix it up, stay on trend. Liana convinced me not to hire contractors. She convinced me to buy, too. “I’ve always wanted a house in the woods…”

Now I know why.

The replanting process is nothing short of a natural miracle. I will be the first to admit, it attracted me to her further. Liana could change herself at will. All it took was a little patience, two days of waiting, a 6 foot deep ditch in the backyard, some sleeping pills and vodka. I didn’t understand the science of it at first. What exactly she needed to do to push out the roots and reform her mass. When I finally found out, I was too embarrassed to admit I didn’t know she had to physically die each time.

She was always shy about the details, embarrassed, like it was some sort of bowel syndrome. I did not press her for details, but as her husband, I should’ve researched the condition. I did eventually. But not before telling her she would look good blonde. Telling her she would look even hotter upping her bra size by a letter or two…

She started to wake up.

First, the rattle. A great exhalation and inhalation. It always took me by surprise. Her facial muscles were always the second thing reanimate. Her nose twitched. Her eyes opened. They looked so dry. Matte. “Liana. This is getting dangerous.”

A couple seconds’ delay. Then, she smiled mawkishly. During this stage of regrowth, her skin is taut and verdant like the day I met her. (I once called her belle pepper as a pet name. She either didn’t get the pun, maybe.) With every hour, she begins to flush to her desired shade. She switches it up from time to time, never too dark or too white for most to notice, but I do. She carries Pantone swatches in her wallet.

She moved her lips, but couldn’t speak yet. I said nothing further. I picked up the detachable showerhead. The gentlest setting. I rinsed her body, avoiding the tender roots that twitched and protruded from the tips of her fingers and toes. I read somewhere that touching them at this stage feels like a pressing on a pinched nerve.

“I know why thish bophers you shoo much,” she gurgled, throat half-asleep. Her mouth was filled with soil and rainwater. It seeped from her firm, bloated lips.

I turned away. Washing her feet. She continued, most of the earth and excess sap that gagged her having dribbled onto her nightie.

“You like me like thish.”

I averted my eyes. I continued to bathe her, and stared at the peel-and-stick mauve tile accent above the tub. I had put it there the previous month to cover a stubborn decomposition stain.

“I like you all the time, Liana.” It felt like someone was slowly lacing my throat shut from the inside.

I didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling.

“Buh you like… thish.”

[danielcain]

hi every body i am going to also use this blog to post short stories / drabbles of the cosmic horror, body horror, magical realism, prose, parody, and possibly erotic persuasion, since all those genres are often the same thing. nothing will be tagged or warned i don’t want it to be like a ns/fw blog i will just block anyone sus and minors go away. some of this stuff will be episodic and posted in chunks of vignettes and if it becomes a series, navigate me by tag and then compiled when done. Ok bye

[danielcain]

Rowena Morrill

[danielcain]

Skull of a two-faced bottlenose dolphin prepared by Enault & Auclair-Kraniata osteology.

Edit: owned by a museum in France.

[danielcain]

Sorry if I frightened you mate, rock on! by Tomislav Jagnjic via ImaginaryBehemoths

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Francesca Encounters Iznoivaemnliuorcza VI, The Vesphilias Remnant, In The Fields Of The Sliorsomni.

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[danielcain]

Quarters only, please [x]

(done in procreate)

[danielcain]