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View Profile Scuinox
Artist of sorts.

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Posted by Scuinox - 3 weeks ago


One of the new stories I wrote

I wasn't sure if there was a place to just post stories on ngs so I just posted it here


Hearts That Pump Battery Acid

How is it that so many people are warped and controlled subconsciously? Do they even notice how pathetic they really are? It’s almost as if they’re acting or just pretending and they don’t have any power. Without power they’re unable to control themselves. Their power is stripped from them at such a young age before they can even fathom doing anything about it.

Human beings are strange creatures, but they always need a purpose. There must be something to fuel their hearts to keep on beating. People need a reason to get out of bed and a message to hold true inside of them. There’re so many reasons to be here and live these lives of ours.

We’re introduced to culture from our youth and we decide what we cultivate. We make the choices of what we want to be and believe. We reach out for satisfaction and we must fight for our very existence. Forming together to make each other stronger and helping those in need. We live and survive because of the cultures we find.

Everyday and every second life is being taken away and granted to new people. We are fortunate to be born such intelligent creatures. I could’ve been born a fish in the ocean, but somehow I’m human. Maybe in the future I’ll live a fish life for a while.

The gears turn in my head every waking second that I’m conscious on this planet. I think and think some more but I’m never able to escape insanity. I leave everything behind that I come to know and believe as it becomes dull. I’ve discovered the reasons to be alive and the purpose to stay alive and fight.

My brain never turns off completely until I’ve died. My heart never stops pumping until my brain turns off. The heart of compassion and love never gives up unless I want it to. So how do I do away with all the triggers and issues I have with anything? These problems drill into the center of my mind leaving me starving and blind.

At times my experience in this life is very intense. I start imagining the earth turning and the planets rotating. The entire solar system and the humongous universe as I feel so small. So small as a person and it has its pros and cons. On one hand it makes my problems seem to have little importance. On the other I feel so tiny as if nothing matters at all. That was only before I pushed further past those thoughts.

There are techniques to reason with oneself about anything. These concepts of mind and journeys of discovery become this climax in our heads. We travel in and out of what we are or need to be in any given situation. We’re disposable just as our states of being are. We could say any number of things about ourselves or anything.

My heart pumps these thoughts into a new love. A new understanding of compassion where my hands grow cold. My face stops its expression and my stomach stops its instinct. My mind bends and I move out of the perspective alterations I underwent. My heart pumps a numb feeling of analytical synergy in my thoughts of reason and trials of purpose.

I start to feel nothing, but my understanding requires me to feel nothing. My purpose and everything I’m up against directs me to drop emotional interruptions. To discard all the pieces and inquiries about past explanations to weave a new spider web of thought. The dots connect and my chest expands and releases its intake of oxygen. This is rare territory where one’s mind and heart can choose to live.

A scientist can cure all diseases and offer miracles to the people. If only I had the inspirations to pursue the life of a procedural intellectual. I could make a new routine but how far could my brains take me before I was irrelevant? Could I ever be substantial in any way that I sought out? With any skill or trade could I offer anything that is valuable?

The sweat pours down my face and the water runs down my throat. If all that mattered was love and honor, then I need it to encase me. I need to find what makes me whole and dispose of useless weak ways. I must force myself into something and be something. The best possible outcome of this broken soul.

The blood pumps through as everything I define passes me by. My brain only gets lost some more before it can wake up. I need to wake up and that’s all I ever wanted to do was just wake up. I need to live but see life for what it is and be happy. If only I could just think myself into happiness or hypnotize myself in some way.

I branch off and break off into different thought processes all the time and this makes me crazy. The thoughts and conclusions I reach become scattered and unorganized. I become disassociated with anyone else and everything they understand. A madman on his own leash just barking at every subject matter that passes him by.

All the attempts to explain this seem to bounce of the ears of listeners. They most likely won’t remember or ever realize what they’re up against. They don’t want to fight or see the world in such an intense way. Most are the average commoner that lack the ability to break themselves. They will never subject themselves to the real strength they have.

Their capabilities are overlooked and undermined by others. The icons and idols they worship are a symbol of strength or a reason for them to keep going. Battery acid pumps in their blood as the robot they’ve become functions in an ordinary fashion.

How is anyone to blame when the facts are in front of their faces? We’re all consumers and either citizens or soldiers. We’re residents of this massive system created for the benefit of individuals. We all might as well have a cattle tag attached to our ear with a number on it. Getting in line to be slaughtered by the risks that oppose our purpose.

So, what’s the big deal with everyone anyways? When the responses and criticisms are so similar on any given day for any number of random people. We’re these cattle robots with this fuel pumping us up or down to exist in this world of whatever we make it into. Our choices are so substantial but irrelevant as our entire world inside in the same.

We’re pushed to fight or to rot on the pavement in the sunlight being flipped like a pancake. Which side of us will we expose or chose to burn next? The heat hits all angles of our existence and we’ll exploit and dispose of anything we please. So as our hearts pump whatever fluid we make it to be the fire either burns us from the inside or outside. Whichever way we end up being burnt we exist as a conscious conceptual creatures with rare decisions.


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Posted by Scuinox - 1 month ago


Story I wrote for this upcoming short story book I'm writing

The Mystery Of Pine Street

All the surgical tools were organized on the table as a signal that this was going to be a torture scene. We all know how these scenes go and we’ve witnessed the star escape in many ways. Most of the time it seems there’s one technicality overlooked by the evil savage torturer. I’ve recently noticed that the evil villain about to inflict pain gives a speech. Although in some movies there isn’t a speech. The person might die tied in the chair or however they’re restrained.

Screams chains and a purpose of the main character pushes the scene further as the typical story structure progresses. We’ve all seen numerous stories unfold in so many ways and it reflects their talent. Just because foolish people seem to favor these intense dramatized story lines they’re so predictable. It seems like the writing of yesterday and what was good is becoming terrible.

So anyways the point wasn’t to write an essay but to write a story. A short story of a killer in some ways I wonder if this is a fantasy personality. Do I secretly have such ugly disgusting ways about me to write such a gruesome story? Or are these writing gifts or whatever of another nature. Either way I suppose it’s time I begin the plot.

There were several disappearances and disturbances reported on Pine Street. The street has a long history of violence more than that of others. Some say the street is cursed and anyone that lives on it might not live to fulfill their lease or mortgage payment. They would book their stay for an idea set amount of time while they worked their jobs. A normal idea life for a modern American citizen with a place in a nice community.

In the early days there was never a connection made between the Street and all the missing people. There wasn’t enough crime going on to carry on about the street as cursed. I mean to say something is cursed in the first place is crazy. Things are random or just normal without any supernatural affiliation. That’s what most people seem to believe this day in age anyways.

Still the people that vanished and the blood still lingers in the air. The strange noises are remembered and sometimes even recorded by the people that lived there. An eerie cold dark feeling lurked around the houses and the residents sometimes would conversate about the atmosphere. Something just wasn’t right about the cursed street.

Once the police established a stigma of the reports from Pine Street it spread through out the city. People seemed to enjoy telling the legend of the street and the odd number of people that disappeared. There weren’t that many missing person reports filled in any other area in the world making Pine Street a legend.

Some people would play with the idea of moving into one of the houses for fun. It was just exciting to think that someone or something was kidnapping the people. Taking them off and murdering them somewhere or something of sorts. More and more of the houses were becoming vacant as the years passed and more people went missing.

A group of college kids rented out one of the houses, but all agreed to carry guns and sleep with guns. They would sleep in cycles and patrol the neighborhood while setting up cameras. They heard the legend and they were going to expose whoever was doing this to people. They went towards the strange noises only to find nothing. They searched and waited for two years and never found anything. Although other people on Pine Street were still going missing.

Then one night they seen a man running down the road and vanishing into thin air. The camera caught a glimpse of his face and they took the footage to the police. As it turns out the man was one of the missing people. His name was Fred Brently but he odd part was is he went missing twenty years ago. The image showed that the man appeared to be the same age as he was when he disappeared. The story blew up around the city and more people decided stake out on the street.

Since most of the houses were vacant groups of interested people were able to easily get a place on the street. They all were in communication with each other and had a block party. The block party was only an after party to the planning committee to discover the cause of the disappearances. Before they started cooking out, they all got together and talked about their plans to find the truth of Pine Street.

There were even a few people that held their testimony of their loved one. Expressing how much devastation and heart ache they went through for their missing loved one. The entirely ordeal empowered everyone involved and the street became lit up with lights and people outside at all times. Half of them would be outside during the day and the other during the night.

Of course, people had to go to school or work their jobs. Still they all kept a tight grasp o everything that was going on the street and nobody disappeared. It seemed like for a while that they defeated the curse of Pine Street or scared off whatever was causing the disruptions. Some were planning on moving on with their lives and moving somewhere else. Giving up on solving the mystery of Pine Street.

An entire house and all the people inside disappeared over night as people watched it happened. At three am the neighbors watched the house vanish into thin air right before their eyes. All that was left was a patch of grass where the house used to be. The strange occurrence was even caught on camera. The news story blew up with this new evidence.

Everyone was out to find out what was happening on Pine Street. There were people camping in the streets and cults being formed among some. The cultists were claiming that it was a portal to another dimension and the chosen ones were going to paradise. When they reached the other side hey would become immortal and never age.

Even for the skeptics this wasn’t too far from a possibility as the provided evidence was authentic. This was even confirmed by a film expert that could tell when footage was manipulated. The whole ordeal was so odd and mysterious but to some people this incident held the answers to life. If they could only find out what was happening, they might find out how they existed.

The entire street turned into a huge party with cultists from all around occupying the area. There were a few rich individuals that were funding the parties as they needed to know. The life of a rich person can be very depressing when you can’t pay God or anyone to know the truth. There wasn’t a price to pay that could reveal our purpose. So, they were here to fuel the people and be of service to the cults that formed.

Aside from the never-ending parties and people talking about being the chosen ones. People were still disappearing right in front of everyone. It got to a point that whenever someone would start disappearing the crowd would chant “You are Blessed”. Some more of the houses were disappearing as more and more people came from around the world. It became a tourist destination and a supernatural phenomenon.

A police officer was doing his patrols in the neighborhood and once he got to Pine, he didn’t hear anything. The entire area was bought and turned into private property by the people there. There was just nothing there but grass. He was the first to discover that he entire street had disappeared.

People grew scared and some would go there to vanish. Eventually if you stuck around long enough you would vanish. So that’s what the area became was this supernatural place where dying people went. It was a humane way to end your life or go to whatever was on the other side. Even people that weren’t dying went to find out what was there for them.

So that’s who it is to this day and nobody knows how any of it happened. They just know that things disappear when they go in the area of Pine Street. So that’s how it is and who knows. Maybe all those people that disappeared will come back one day.


Posted by Scuinox - April 27th, 2019


To make it as an artist you have to make it as a fan. What do I mean by that? Everyone finds something relatable or some form of purpose as a fan. When you really find yourself you will make it. Being a fan or an artist has a very significant purpose. To help you and be there. Even if it seems like no one else is.


Posted by Scuinox - April 27th, 2019


I must be the god of weird and terrible. Also a magnet and beacon for criticisms and hatred. With the inability to make it as an artist in any way shape or form. I'm an outcast in my own world separate from everyone elses. I am the god of weird and terrible. Maybe not I don't know but it sounded good.


Posted by Scuinox - January 29th, 2019


Padawan ,

I have summoned you to make the absolute best art of the internet. To do this you must learn all that you can while putting in your blood sweat and tears. Sacrifices must be made and unnessesary alliances could be required. When the process seems to be too overwhelming you will push through it to make a career. You must execute all of your art aspirations professionally and triumphantly. Designating you as the world's best in your specidic interests. Every time it seems a celebration is in order or you find time to relax. Realize this is a distraction posed by your enemies for they will work through these times. No matter what you make your process of success into a montage. Which will ultimately lead to your complete utter domination of your desired industry. The fate of the universe depends upon your success.

May the force be with you