Tangled

Tangled, by P. L. Cobb

Coopid, who may or may not exist, or who may be a parasite?

Moss Kingdom

Moss Kingdom, by P. L. Cobb

Our benovelent/malevolent overlord, Theo Monster

Ship

Ship, photography by P.L. Cobb

Ashkenaz, the ever living flame, and jerk

Mossy

Mossy, photography by Mitchell Stoycheff

Our benovelent/malevolent overlord, Theo Monster

The Machine

The Machine, photography by P.L. Cobb

coopid

Open Spaces

Open Spaces, photography by P.L. Cobb

Ashkenaz, the ever living flame, and jerk

Uprising

Uprising, photography by P.L. Cobb

coopid

Deep, Dark Waters

Deep, Dark Waters, photography by Mitchell Stoycheff

coopid

Forest

Forest, photography by P.L. Cobb

Ashkenaz, the ever living flame, and jerk

Monster Cake

Monster Cake, by Mitchel Stoycheff, Jake Zaccaria, and Penny C. #art #photomanipulation,#wtf http://theenigmaticmonsterproject.com/2015/07/10/monster-cake/

Theo baked you a cake . . . Yay! #alwayswatchingyoulol

By Mitchell Stoycheff, Jake Zaccaria, and Penny C.

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Bitter Green

Bitter Green by Penny C. http://theenigmaticmonsterproject.com/2015/07/04/bitter-green/

Art by Penny C.

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Red Berries

Red Berries, by Penny C

A single whole that is composed of many parts.

It waits in your backyard: a thing. A single whole that is composed of many parts. One day you will find it. You will both look each other in the eye–a contest of wills.

Only one will survive.

coopid

No One Wanted It Around

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“Feed me, I am hungry, the beast said. It regarded its reflection on spoon as it awaited the answer. Perhaps he should just crawl into a hole and die–permanently. No one wanted a demon around.

As expected, the woman said No in a flat tone, followed by a: “Leave me alone.”

If only he could make her feel something . . . Then he wouldn’t feel so dead inside. It would never happen again like it used to, though; she had put her foot down–permanently. She didn’t want a demon around.

Theo_icon

Watching You

Watching You

The quality’s a bit low, but that extra grits certainly adds something!

Who knows what that thing is looking at. Maybe you don’t want to . . .

Cheers!

–Penny C.

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Shadow Self

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Shadow Self

It is you, but you’ve convinced yourself that you are separate from it. You deny it’s existence, which is fine, but the exact moment it attacks (assuming that you haven’t succeeded at destroying your soul by that time) you will truly be broken. The part of you that you hated will separate itself from you; you’ll then come to understand the true meaning of hollow.

Broken, half the person you once were, a shadow of your former self (because you no longer have your shadow self to protect you), you will be vulnerable to attack . . . Perhaps even possession?

(Do you really want to know?)

(I don’t.)

ashkenaz

One More Time

IMG_0091One More Time

Today we feel so pretty; oh so pretty, and witty . . .

Pretty on the outside,

but there’s no telling about our insides.

Not unless you were to cut us down. Then you may find us filthy.

You can hide, or try, from our good looks.

That’s about all you can hide from . . .

Theo_icon

 

Unafraid

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Unafraid

I’m not afraid of werewolves or vampires or haunted hotels, I’m afraid of what real human beings to do other real human beings.
–Walter Jon Williams

coopid

Believe in Things

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Believe in Things

I want you to believe…to believe in things that you cannot.
–Bram Stoker, Dracula

Sometimes you’re better off not knowing. That’s my counter-argument for the day, besides the fact that Dracula is a good book, and so is The Historian.

coopid

The Wolf

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The Wolf

Another sneak peak at what I’m submitting to the ABCs of Horror. At this time I am done creating written material, and am working on submitting the visuals.

Cheers!

–Penny C.

coopid

 

The Golden Disc of the Uncaring Idol

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The Golden Disc of the Uncaring Idol

It was a symbol of something old and dead. We stared at it, wondering how something so insignificant could mean anything at all. They said that the Uncaring Idol, known also as the Smiling God, was the king of liars; with his mouth he would smile, and with his eyes he would devour your body, mind, and soul. When there was nothing left but a husk, he would abandon you. Chaos was his wont, and chaos was his only game. He was the unholy child of the Two-Faced Insanity . . .

The list was an endless one, inevitably. One from our group–a woman who was touched once by the demon–took the disc, and cut it. Thousands of pieces flew into the air, each one a glittering rainbow.

Somehow those rainbows were also the colour of blood.

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This Bird Has Fangs

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This Bird Has Fangs

Sure enough, the eldritch beast showed us its true form. How such a small thing could hide something so big . . . We stood helpless, astounded by its sheer awesomeness, by its awful beauty. The monster reminded us of an angelic being; either this was the creature in the flesh, or a cruel mockery of it. It had ten monstrous wings; for a mouth its face split in half. Horizontally.

Four glowing eyes fell on me, and I felt as if the inside of me was being seared as it searched my soul.

Surely, this was not god.

coopid

Weekend Blues

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Weekend Blues

This weekend past: neither the best nor the worst. Just mediocre at best, but better than none I guess? Despair in all its forms sought to strangle me. It didn’t win, thankfully. Now the weekend blues have slowly begun to turn; things brighten, become warmer. All I see is purple.

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Yesterday’s Cold Front

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Yesterday’s Cold Front

Yesterday was so cold, everything had been cloaked in frost. The trees looked like they were drooping, which got me to thinking: how would a tree feel? If I were a tree, or turned into one by some fluke, my life would become a nightmare. Imagine things crawling on you, boring through your skin, or just ripping it off?

I can see love struck idiots carving their names into me–I don’t want your names carved into me, I do not care! Now I shall contract a fungus. You’re too kind. Thanks.

I try being agreeable as a human, and sometimes other humans take that for granted. Somehow that agreeableness gives them the excuse to dehumanize me, to ignore my personhood. Seldom do other humans truly want other humans acting like humans (alive, flawed, and emotional). As a tree I would be a slave to the elements, bending and swaying till I grow old and rot. I would have no say.

As I’d rot I’d still be alive. Begging for someone to put me out of my misery . . . Then and only then would anyone care about my well-being. They’d say: let’s help this tree, and then only prolong my misery.

Yesterday’s cold front would have been the day I truly broke, as whatever bodily fluids would have been leached out to the surface. Or they would have frozen, expanding till I snapped.

Since I am not a tree, I am thankful that I haven’t.

ashkenaz