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The following part of this blog entry is pure fiction and no relation to existing people or events is implied.

Skeleton key: Hidden place part 1
by drs. Efthimia Dilpizoglou
(c) 2014 all rights reserved

The blogger stands outside the giant hermetically sealed castledoor of your HideYourFaceBook ChildFuckerBook account. The door reaches all the way up to the sky and beyond, the blogger looks tiny standing there before the door looking up at the lock. “Coward.”, she mutters. She pulls out her skeleton key, tries it for a bit on the lock, throws it away. She walks around to the other side of the door, and it’s the exact same door that was on the other side. “Just like in the Neverending Story… Can’t you have one original thought of your own once in a blue moon?”.

Tο Γρύλισμα approaches the blogger in the form of a three-headed cerberus, looking even more awful and disturbing in its ancient Greek form than it does in its contemporary form. “I’m hungry. You. You always got food.”, it demands from the blogger, grinning to show its sharp teeth. The blogger grins back. Her crooked teeth are even more awful than το Γρύλισμα’s, causing it to back off. “He left us both outside because he is conceiving right now and cannot be disturbed.”, explains το Γρύλισμα. “All I gotta do is wait for him to open the door and he will let me back inside. He cannot do without me. You on the other hand,”, 3 pairs of eyes stare the blogger up and down bemused, “you are going to have to suck up to him really hard for him to ever let you in.”

“There is nothing to suck up to. Toten Hosen.” remarks the blogger, wisely and well-informed. “The point is not for me to get inside, the point is to get him to come outside.”

“Do you really think he is just gonna come out and play?” asks το Γρύλισμα incredulously. “Come out and play, come out and play.”, echo the other two ugly heads in unison.

“If I can get him to lock himself inside because of my blogging, I can get him to come out.” says the blogger confidently.

“Who taught you these clever tricks, anyway?”

“I once read it in the .sig of a hacker: ‘You can take down your opponent by studying the methods he uses to fight you.’.”

“And what method is being used here, miss smartass?”

The blogger stares up at the door. “Silence is merely resistance through other means.”, is her cryptic answer.

And then she waits. And waits and waits. To keep herself busy while waiting she weaves together short stories, nightmarish, incomprehensible and chaotic, the way she likes it, not caring whether anyone else does.

The door opens, κάποιου η πόρτα θα ‘ναι ανοιχτή. The blogger turns her back at it, she’s too busy making up stories to care. Just as το Γρύλισμα approaches to enter, she reaches out with her gauntlet, grabs it and snaps its neck with her crooked teeth. She can see the bone protruding from the broken neck, but she doesn’t have much time. Using an old knife the blogger quickly skins το Γρύλισμα and dresses herself up with its fur. She herself is now the multi-headed cerberus hellhound, and thus she sneaks inside undisturbed.

“Never turn yourself into a dog, shapeshifter. Dogs are such stupid animals. A three-headed dog only makes you thrice as stupid.”. The blogger hates dogs, but she is a good actress and plays the part well, because she has a mission to fulfill and will go down on all fours to get the job done if she has to. One woman, one blog, one mission.

“Hey there bitch!”, she hears the professional S&M pornographer barking at her in the distance, “Let’s go outside for a walk. Bitch, come here! HERE BITCH!”

“Bitch…”. The blogger bites all three of her tongues. It’s that term that is the most triggering for her, the term for which there is no equivalent for men. “That’s the type of language you use behind closed doors, eh? You locked me out so you could talk like this and run your filthy mouth all day where I can’t see you. You’ll be so sorry the moment we step outside.”, she vows.

The blogger notices something dripping from above and looks up. Hanging from the ceiling, which is nearly invisible in the far distance, are countless of human forms. Is it a Japanese Butoh performance she walked into? No, it’s the gutted corpses of naked pre-pubescent girls hung out to dry in the upper currents. Imagine, “Περιμένω να δω σε κάποιο νεαρό κορίτσι το πρόσωπο της φίλης μου που κρεμάστηκε στα 17 της”. Imagine that, times innumerable, everywhere you look, again and again. The blogger remembers the words well: “αν δεν το ταϊζω γυμνά κορίτσια τρεις φορές τη μέρα θα με ρίξει σε κατατονία”. She might end up catatonic herself if she keeps looking up at all the dead girls. Κοίτα ψηλά μοιραίε αντίκρισε την όψη της ιστορίας, all of us girls have been dead for so long. The blogger, still reeling, has a quick look around the room. The yellow wallpaper is covered with a nauseating hand drawn pattern of stars&stripes and cycles of greed. There is a huge poster of 22-year-old Elliot Rodger with the words “INCEL HERO” underneath. The blogger catches herself before she can gasp for air.

She runs away and seeks refuge in another room. There she finds a half naked woman drawing sperm-like figures in pink and white onto the yellow wallpaper. The woman has clearly been there for a while, she has managed to cover a good portion of the wall she is working on but she still has a long way to go to cover the remaining wall and the rest of the room. The woman has bags under her eyes, a stoned look that is more fatigue than intoxication and dyed black hair. She only wears a tight shirt with the letters “VF” on the back.

“VF, does that stand for VERY FUCKED?”, asks the blogger staring at the woman’s back trying not to look down at her bare naked ass. “Or rather VAIN&FRIVOLOUS? VETERAN FASTFOOD? VEGAN FASCISM?”.

“It stands for ViFi, that’s my name.”, answers the woman quietly.

“What kind of a fucking name is that?”, scoffs the blogger. “Fifi, that’s a name you give to a dog.”

“It’s a name given out of love.”, insists ViFi. “Οι άνθρωποι δεν αγαπούν τα σκυλάκια τους;”.

The blogger raises all three pairs of her eyebrows at such infantile morosity. “Given how their love puppies generally turn out, I honestly wonder.”. There is no point in arguing with people who are this morose so the blogger walks out of the semen-covered room.

The barking starts again. “Look at me, bitch. LOOK UP AT ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU, BITCH. We’re going outside now.”. The professional S&M pornographer steps outside, the blogger follows him like a dog on a leash. He smells something weird, looks down and notices the skinned decomposing carcass of το Γρύλισμα just outside the door, a cloud of huge Cronenbergian flies buzzing over it. “WTF?!” he shouts. He instinctively turns over to his cerberus for protection, but the blogger has already disappeared inside, throwing the giant door shut behind her.

“Dumbass porno creep. A good hacker always closes the doors behind them.”, she smirks as she discards the cerberus pelt from her back. She was a blogger in a bitch’s fur clothing and it worked. She notices now she is covered all over with the blood of το Γρύλισμα. “How does that nasty thing always manage to get blood on me?”. She sighs and pulls out a paper napkin from her leather bag.

(to be continued)


“The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.

All of us girls have been dead for so long”, excerpts from the novel ‘Pussy King of the Pirates’ by Kathy Acker.

Various song lyrics and Facebook entries by The Boy.

το Γρύλισμα appears courtesy of ΜΟΥΣΙΚΟ ΚΙΝΗΜΑ: (ΜΑΥΡΕΣ) ΤΡΙΧΕΣ.



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