A.Journal

Checks

668 checks

Challenging

A painter's nightmare, etched in bodies and fire.

Easy

You picture the words in bold on the cover of the world's least enthusiastic travel brochure.

Medium

The fleeting shapes of ghost-words flit through your vision.

Challenging

Terrifying sterility. The inherent cruelty of human curiosity.

Medium

Rapturous fantasies of masturbatory death overtake them.

Medium

Your controller's razor-edged voice comes to you, cold light from an infinitely distant star.

Formidable

The immense, blubbery mass of a manatee's lower half appears in your mind, utterly out of proportion with the svelte female torso that protrudes from it like a tumour.

Legendary

A sunken grey cunt lost amid vast expanses of rubbery skin.

Medium

Anglerfish smile. Predatory. Testing. Infinitely patient.

Medium

A card would have been a good start. One reading 'Condolences We Met'.

Medium

Reality itself is the text, and you the dyslexic third-grader. It lies before you, open for perusal, and yet utterly impenetrable.

Challenging

A small bird flutters onto his mind's shoulder, catching him completely by surprise.

Formidable

What had been foreshadowed was significantly darker. Everything post-extraction is, in a sense, already an unlikely best-case scenario.

Medium

The answer comes to you in the moment -- he's always been a frustrated poet first, spy second.

Medium

Sinking into quicksand thought.

Easy

You can almost hear the emotional blast doors slamming shut.

Medium

'Modern' in this context doesn't mean 'new'. It refers to an old future, as obsolete as the buildings that represent it.

Medium

Man-alley symbiosis, neither doing great.

Easy

You can almost hear the emotional blast doors slamming shut.

Medium

No dreams of peace, justice or equality -- only those of a well-oiled machine.

Easy

Life is a palliative measure.

Easy

The last impression you register is the brush hairs scraping ineffectually over a layer of sad decrepitude that is not exactly filth.

Easy

Tomorrow, the dust will have spread again. Objects will erode, and total amount of dust in the world will have increased by an infinitesimal amount.

Easy

'Nice Campaign' certainly sounds better than 'laboratory of urban decay'.

Easy

The way you phrased that makes it sound like you're in possession of a knock-off.

Easy

It's you, but from a bad dream.

Easy

He's staring at the sky like it's his first time seeing it.

Easy

From this altitude, it looks like Portofiro has been caught in a web of dark yarn.

Medium

He wanted to meet his nemesis head on. He wanted it to have a face.

Easy

Tarsier shaped! A little curled-up tarsier!

Challenging

He looks like PSEUDOPOD.

Challenging

If you want to eulogise him properly, use someone else's words.

Challenging

Not exactly eulogistic material, but better than anything you can produce.

Formidable

The boat has been set alight, the chants intoned, the cuts made on the body to attract the vultures. Some kind of ritual action performed to obtain closure from death.

Challenging

His aura sketched in lightning.

Easy

Hemorrhoidal anus, disabled bird, squiggly line of undefined intent.

Medium

A jagged cathedral, wreathed in smoke and flames, quivering against a bruised sky.

Medium

The rituals of a bureaucratic autopsy.

Easy

All self-perpetuating cycles are a form of the hunt. Addiction, anxiety, conquest. The Chase, the Flight.

Medium

Easy

The glow of the candles' collected light reflecting on the awning, their warmth cutting through the cold.

Easy

Perhaps the mountain will keep a little of your voice. For company.

Easy

Dormant stars waiting for ignition.

Medium

It seems they lack an artist's spirit.

Medium

No one in this establishment has a chance at understanding your art. Perhaps no one does.

Easy

You at least deserve to be judged by someone with an eye that has been trained by years of experience.

Easy

This promotes the analysis of soul-work as if it were a logic puzzle. It's pity-inducing.

Medium

There should never have been any doubt about that. You are possessed with art.

Medium

Scancions, used to represent stressed and unstressed syllables. Prosodists have fought over whether they're worth anything for millenia.

Formidable

Did you hear it? The song in your head? 'Twas the sacred art of versecraft, inaccessible to all but the most radiant of hearts.