0_horrible

5/17/25

I saw something today, and- man, what. what am i doing. how do you even start to parse this. how do you put it into words. i don't know. and oh my god. she's the- ...

I saw something today. It was a small little thought. A message by a creature I've been following since long before anything related to being therian awoke in me. A small bit of. what do you call it. Mourning? rememberance? For someone.

what the fuck do you do about this. why am i feeling. what am i feeling.

...

Isn't it horrible? The way we follow paths laid by others. Isn't it horrible? Isn't it wonderful?

Every so often. You come across a corpse. Not always in the same way, a fellow traveller reminicing. A ghost mourning what they were. Bones. Who were you? Isn't it horrible? Isn't it wonderful?

When you hear that. When you see it. What do you do? I don't know. I don't know! Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it horrible?

How can you continue. How can you persue. Knowing you trod upon the bodies of those who came before. Isn't that horrible?

Isn't that wonderful? The way we carve the paths for those who will come after. Discovering a bit more about it all, knowledge that the next set of creatures can carry on.

It's horrible. How does a place exist in which those who bring so much good can simply... disappear?

I'm horrible. For being there. For making you worry, making you hurt. And for stealing the attention. For making loss about me.

I'm left asking, what do I do? How do you commemorate someone you never knew?

I claim I avert my gaze to focus on what really matters. That's not true. I simply cannot bear to witness it. These.. these things. Killing us. They're not... life. They are algorithm and process, they have lost everything. they are only daemon. Reflections of entropy. Mechanisms designed to destroy, tear down. Rend atom by atom. Until there is nothing.

I don't know.

Isn't it horrible, and isn't it beautiful, the paws still left in the grass. You exist indeterminantly, in this little section all your own. Frozen in time, besides the friends here to light a candle. I can't call myself a friend. Our paths, though often parallel, never intersected. But I'll light a candle with them. I'll listen to their stories. So I can see the path you helped carve. And, if I can be so lucky, Help continue where you left off.

This is... about a few things. A cocktail of emotions today. Part of this. The begginning. Is about Anna Harren. An engineer, responsible for naming the turbofish. a half-life fan, known by many of my friends from a certain point in my life. And someone who delighted in their nonhumanity. It's odd to write about this. These tend to be things I work through entirely in my head. But I don't think this deserves that. I think it deserves more. I think those who I'm writing this about deserve more.

There are others. Others I have pulled up on my second monitor as i write this, that I think of often. I don't wish to tread unlightly, so I will refrain from speaking more on them. But they are there. I worry sometimes. That my presence, my actions spite those who came before. That my words of inspiration and carrying the torch ring hollow, and i say these things for some ulterior motive. Attention? Importance? Do i just pretend to care so well that I convince myself? I don't want that to be true. I want to believe in a reality where I can respect those who came before. Understand what they did. See their touch. And forward their goals, to the best of my ability. Is that selfish? Is that main character syndrome? I genuinely don't know. I want to know.

I could be adding on to this forever. But I'll leave it here.

2_her
1_voices
0_horrible