Date	Name/email Nom/email	What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13? Quelle est la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans?
15 Apr 2010	flipashit	The best way to kill yourself is to try not to kill yourself. (Death loves irony)
28 Mar 2010	Gangotryi	...that one asks this question is implicative enough of the fact that one is already much dead. I am another mortal (well above 13, but that is just a translational change in the co-ordinate of time and matters not greatly) who has been in the thresholds of self-destructive thoughts more than once, and in periodic bouts of a plethora of unbearable blueness. And therefore I know, when this question surmises one is then not much of alive. So maybe a thing you can put in your boon-box is a small little round mirror, so that one can look at oneself, look at the destruction, the wreckage in front of him/her, the reflection of the dilapidated existence of oneself, look at the already almost dead state he/she is in, and maybe then can have a flicker of life-force that will make the person shove aside this box of temptation which we so lovingly present to him/her as the suicide-kit.. or maybe seeing how near he/she is too the final full-stop, go ahead to write the finishing statement... Long-live hope, though, even if it is a misleading mistress. My love and nothing else, for all who wandered and were lost.
14 Feb 2010	Leon	Suicide you foul temptress; you whore on the corner of rash decisions and unbearable loneliness. You strut in your sanguine dress in the depths of night when the moon and stars are too choked by fog and foul weather to give hope with your profess of false love and release. A walking sin, tempting to the weary weak and unwanted; to those wavering in the wind or walloping in the wanton. All they wish for is saccharine stability. They see the beauty in what you offer and the ease and promise of your service. I know it is a lie, your nothing more than a snake waiting to strike. A snake hissing menacingly in a slow stance awaiting the moment to steal the soul and sanctity of those drowning in sadness. Though your body smooth and sultry I know how malicious your mind is. The eye is gullible and easy to please, but your scent gives way to your intent. The scent of tainted flowers and smoke. How willing you are to take and how patient you are in your methods. When you steadily penetrate the Cimmerian agonized mind of a man extend your bony hand to offer an apocryphal paradise, a permanent escape, an eternal night of vain surrender. Many will take your hand. Those who do are prematurely ushered in to the unknown leaving behind a burden of grief to kin and close ones. Does not the world have too much pain without it? Your pact an exchange from the sufferings of one to the sufferings of many. I pray not for you to end your service, for you are eternal, a sister to Death and a harbinger of dark reverie. No. I pray for those who are in the aphotic depths of sorrow to abstain your hand your call your sight your smell your offer. I hope when you reach for them they will hastily decline and ignore you. I hope they will create a bastion of stone and steel to harbor there hope and keep you away just long enough. Just long enough for another to reach with loving hands and pull them from the darkness into the light. I know how strong and sinister you are, for I remember your persuasive proposition, but I also know how naïve you are in doubting the resilience and vivacity of man.
20 Jan 2010	its at the bottom of what i wrote. okay?	Dear Mouchette. I'm not hear to tell you a way to kill yourself, but I do have something important that I would like to say.. For one.. I was stumbling across the internet, searching random things.. True story. I'm fascinated with the art of suicide. I have known plenty of people I know have ended their life with suicide. Life is going to end anyways, so why not just end it now? stop the uselessness sadness in ones life before it drives you to a mental breakdown. How bout that? dying in a facility where they keep the kids who have psychological problems. Well anyways, I'm getting EXTREMELY off topic. That always seems to happen to me.. Well what I was saying before.. I searched up on the net, "How to tie a suicide rope" .. and somewhere it landed me on this link.. that was about 3 or 4 days ago. Then the next day, I continue this.. um.. viewing of your site. I wiki'd it.. I studied it.. and I honestly say Im very fascinated with it. Especially the first time I ever looked at your home page. I was filled with bewilderment when I saw a floral back-round.. with very few Letters and sentences on it. And especially the picture that was of a strange white creepy vampire-like picture of a man in the top left corner. And anyways.. Im losing myself. Earlier before I searched up "mouchette.org" on wikipedia, I learned that this site was very mysterious.. After that I looked pretty much on just your pages, took in the information and quotes you had left, and the other wonderful things that others had left. I then searched on more, Learned more, and discovered some of the truth. Im not sure if what I had seen you write on one of those other pages.. But what im thinking about is that you said something that you were giving up this wonderful.. amazing.. mysterious.. lovely.. strange site and turning it into something that the internet has many of.. a blog. I have to admit.. Some blogs I see are extremely interesting, and I do take plenty of time into reading and enjoying..but The thing is.. The first time I've viewed your beautiful site, was only uptil January 17th. 2010. And it was taken away so quickly.. just for giving some information.. What I thought before this was this site was aboslutely amazing. For the fact that it has stayed 'pseudonymous' since 1996. That you had kept it a secret, and had not had given any personal information.. whatsoever, But then I see this "blog" stuff.. and this website, that had me so interested in.. just changed.. and now I wont be able to look at it ever in the same way again.. Im not complaining. Im just saying.. just giving you my point of though.. And just so you know.. My name is Veronika. Supposed to be spelled with a "C" but I like it so much better with a "K". And I am 13 years old.
19 Nov 2009	Enzyme	My dear darlin’ death-rabbits… Enzyme, captain of the rotting multitude is back. So much mercury-tainted misery on the forums these days… my poor maudlin angels! Your wings all torn off, soggy with blood and bile… Come into the fold… into the copse of pine trees. I’ll heal the maelstrom in your cerebral cortex… Stand tall little death rabbits… all is not lost. First off. One towering lament I hear again and again is that no one loves you, lil mouse. No one cares. No one really understands your delicate brainpan’s electric vibrations. You are wretched, ugly, foul and besmirched. Yes? Who will ever hold you to their neck and coo? Who will stroke your greasy hair and whisper soothing words down your raw throat? Who will cook your pancakes in the morning? Who will flip the record over? Who will lick your temples and cradle you in eternal warmth and silver salvation? But I ask you. What is the true nature of this ‘love’ you crave? Love. Our society has anointed this elusive and brief emotion to the throne of absolute human achievement. More than just a human ‘experience’ we’ve turned it into the “philosopher’s stone”. The rare ingredient that alchemists used to turn base metals into gold. The solution and balm to all our clawing torments. If you just get ‘love’ you’ll be all better. Free from all woe. At peace. Complete spiritual enlightenment. Complete joy and freedom. Those who have it are ascended deities. Immortals living the epic saga you never could. They stare down at us lonely peons, codgers, reprobates, losers, and vagabonds. That’s how it seems, yes? You’re a blip on the radar. You exist not, because no one cares if you live or die. Yes? But you are wrong, my adorable little persimmon. Dead wrong. This world we live in is but one shade of the entire story. Deep within your migrating being is another, golden universe of the dawn. The universe of your velvet soul, your chattering life force, the cathedral of your emotions, call it what you will. Your consciousness. And this consciousness IS the audience you crave for your life. You really don’t need the love, approval, understanding of another being to be happy and content. Some of the happiest people on earth live in total isolation in Tibet on the tops of snow-covered mountains milking goats. Sure, love, sex and approval from other humans are NICE and fun to have around, and kinda good for us. But they are not what truly sustains us. No one will ever love you more than your own being. Close your eyes and listen to your life force trembling and pulsating inside you. A radiating harmonium of thoughts and words and beats and dreams and images and demons and nymphs and monsters all part of you. All created by you. That glow, that universe, that place adores you, lil rabbit. Like no one else ever can. Because you sustain it. Because it is completely original. It has never existed in your distinct pattern before, and will never exist ever again. Think about it. No one exactly like you has ever existed before in the history of the universe, nor will ever exist again. You are so damn rare. If you tend to that inner world by creating things, breathing, escaping, imagining, lollygagging in your unconscious, you’ll get all the love you need. And much more. See, we’ve all been sold a bill of goods. Our social contract is hopelessly pernicious. From everywhere were are bombarded with constant tirades: “Be loved! Get happy! Get laid! Make money! Find friends! Look pretty! Have children! Be a success! If you can’t, won’t, or live with your mom, you’re a failure! Kill yourself! Give up! Life is a game! You lost! Game over!” Take a breath, lil mouse. Remind yourself. Life is NOT a game. There is no winning or loosing. Only the passage of time and the accumulation of experience. That’s it. And all experiences are worth having. Good, bad, pathetic, tender. It’s all part of the human rollercoaster ride. Take your fingers off your eyes. You don’t want to miss a thing. And always remember. Enzyme loves you. Even if no one else does. I do. I’ll enfold you in my poison arms, coo in your ear, give you head, lick your teeth, knit you mittens, braid your greasy hair, draw on your hand, crash your car, kiss the nape of your neck, put on Nick Drake, film you while you sleep, smell your armpits, clean your bathroom, let you doze off, cradle your breasts, eat your food, buy you candy, watch 30 rock with you, clap when you play air guitar, wrap you in a down comforter while it softly snows outside, rent your favorite horror film, and mull you hot apple cider. I will. You know why? Cuz I love my lil velveteen death rabbits. That’s why. Yes. Yes I do. ENZYME Song of the day: “Rock & Roll Suicide” by David Bowie.
18 Nov 2009	Ms Mercy	If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll want to know is how I like my eggs. I like them scrambled. I like them scrambled so much that I've had scrambled eggs every day for a week. What this is doing to my insides, I don't know. I can only hope that eating lots of eggs is beneficial to ones health in some way. They might give me the lustrous, shiny hair that people advertise on TV- egg yolks are high in protein, after all. If I were truly a vessel of the universe these eggs would begin some marvellous sort of transformation that would make me irresistable to middleaged lady vicars. Or at least, somebody dressed as a middleaged lady vicar. Sadly, this is one of my sexual fantasies that will never be fulfilled, even if a shared love of scrambled eggs brings me together with the lady vicar of my dreams and we begin a torrid love affair. If God exists and I am fucked by one of His representatives on Earth (in the confessional booth, natch), there will be no going back- it would be hell for me. Although, that being said, I dreamt of hell last night and it wasn't so bad at all. I met Groucho Marx.
14 Sep 2009	Enzyme	Dear Velveeta Death Rabbits… Enzyme, chortling mutant of the undergrowth, is back. Today’s post is in praise of warm french-fries, mango-chutney dipping sauce, and evil. I’m going to reach my withered hand out towards you, through the computer screen. If you pry open, and/or chew off my fingers at the knuckle, you’ll find a gift. A present. For you. Yes, you. An ornate silver box… and inside? An enchanted set of World War 1 aviator goggles. They should fit, I measured your skull last night while you slept. Upon adorning the twin periscopes, activate the mechanism on the nose bridge. There! Now notice and observe… all around you… what was there before… and what you’ve never seen. The clandestine chamber reveals itself. With these goggles you can see the world as you wish it was. A new skin of time and space painfully sutured onto this insolent reality. Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! The lifeless office temps slumming their way to work are leering jackals in pill-box hats! Billie Holiday has risen from the dead as an oscillating, gossamer specter! She whistles and coos her beaming siren call “God Bless the Child”. Breath out now, little rabbit. You are safe. Wrapped in my poison arms. Drink this mulled apple cider. Turn over the record. Know that I love you unconditionally. Know that. Now turn off the goggles. You don’t want to waste the batteries. Use them whenever you feel like a bad penny. Like a tin bucket collecting rain water. Like a set of false teeth. Enzyme P.S. “Notes from The Underground”… you are at home with me, and have a lovely lexicon.
09 Sep 2009	Enzyme	Salutations my lovely death rabbits. Enzyme here with a brief rumination about suicide. Yes indeed. While standing in the shower fantasizing about slitting my throat with a box-cutter, I had a sudden revelation. The reasons we hari-kari vary from person to person, but I believe there is a common psychological thread that weaves all self-inflicted murder together. True, there are the folks who blow their brains out to end some physical suffering or because they weary of enduring old age. The vast majority, however, are usually people that have reached some nightmarish climax of guilt, shame, isolation, terror, heartbreak, frustration or self-loathing. Consider this. As children the first lesson we ever learn is one of punishment and reward. If we do good, our god-like parental units reward us with affection, love, and gum drops. If we do bad, we are punished, sent to our rooms, smacked, or denied love and gum drops. How tragic that this bizarre confluence of crime and success is thrust upon our fresh young minds. Some people learn this lesson far too well. At first the forces of reward and punishment are all external, localized in parents, teachers, and other children. As we age we tend to internalize all figures of authority psychologically. I think it’s a survival mechanism. If a figure of power or extremity terrifies us we attempt to control the threat by absorbing that person into our own being. Like a clam turning grains of sand into pearls. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. The only trouble is that some of us internalize the wrong authority figures too deeply. Harsh morally austere task masters with zero remorse or compassion. As we grow into adults, these tyrannical voices become indistinguishable from our true inner dialogue of self-preservation. Gradually we mentally absorb large swaths of society, like a carnivorous gelatinous blob. Until we become our own judge, jury, and finally executioner. There is no doubt that we are punishing ourselves when we commit suicide. The ultimate punishment. The Death Penalty. Like that poor girl a few posts back who was going to kill herself if her STD test came back positive for herpes. Such a common, controllable, non-fatal VD. Yet to that poor darling she has to die. She has to punish herself for the crime of sleeping with a boy, for the crime of catching a disease, for the crime of being young. The most ruthless judges imaginable reside in our cerebral cortexes. Our parents eventually stop rewarding and punishing us, and we gradually take over the job with a hysterical zeal. That poor girl is on trial. In her own mind. Suicidal people who struggle with failure in business or romantic ventures never talk about giving up and becoming a vagabond or criminal. It's always about killing one's self. Punishment for their failure to procure a wife, to make enough cash, failure to stay healthy, failure to stay sober, failure to be a good parent, or a good daughter, failure to get happy and successful. The truth is, however, that these internal subconscious judges and jury members are far from objective. Heck, let's face it, they are fascistic Nazi bastards with no goddamn sense of perspective. Imagine that poor girl killing herself over a case of herpes. She's just a young kid doing her best to find love and validation. In moments of clarity all of us with suicidal tendencies can occasionally see how out of touch we really are. What was the crime we committed? Some minor infraction, in all reality. And plus, life is not a gulag unless we make it so. There is no one right way to live or experience existence. Even if you murdered someone. There's always room for redemption and progress. Let's free ourselves of the yoke of perpetual reward and punishment. Expel these false prophets from our brain pans. Let go. Let yourself off the hook. Yes, my lovely undead figure skaters. Yes, indeed. Song of the Day: "King of Carrot Flowers" by Neutral Milk Hotel P.S. Melvin, a benediction upon you. Hang in there kid. Bebop! I'm kind of a world traveler. Not in L.A. now. In the meantime, watch that film tonight and imagine I'm there, eating all your ice cream.
05 Aug 2009	Kable	I enjoy your prose, your pose, your pantyhose wrappend around you neck. They can also be used as a makeshift automobile belt in a bind. A suicide kit you ask? Almost anything can be included, from a small rubber ball that can fit your gullet to a baby seal who wishes to club you. An open ended question if you ask me and for the sake of this post I am telling. Perhaps you stumbled upon this while you were searching the best way to kill someone under 13. Until this point I was not aware there is an age limit which you pass and gain new methods. The wrists are so 10 year old, the shotgun is so 18. Hark another pill down the hatch till I awake to muse, use and abuse my bruises once again.
28 Jul 2009	Valentine	Hello Mouchette, Since you will be absent for awhile, I thought I would write this poem to be read when you come back. I hope you enjoy it (next month) : Mouchette, Mouchette, You've been away for so long Did you go on vacation? Did you play ping pong? You must be restless of us And that's why you were gone But don't worry dear You've gone thirteen years strong xoxo
23 Jul 2009	Documentary Filmmaker	I'm starting to get the idea in my head to document the events of this site. 2000-2006 was a mind blowing period here.
19 Jul 2009	jay	I don't think there is a best way or a best reason when you're under 13 to kill yourself. I don't need to imagine what you're going through, I've been there. Suicidal by 6, abused, terrorized by my abuser into silence, bipolar and poor. Statistically fucked. I won't lie and say there is always a light at the end of the tunnel or it will always get better. What I will say is that if you are under 13 I KNOW there are people who will be willing to help you, protect you, love you and try for you. I think you owe it to yourself to make this decision when you have tried everything else, including a great deal of time. I'm 41. I still feel like dying. Lately everyday. I don't know what the future holds for me, but I don't regret one moment of trying to hold on when I was 13, 14, 15 or even 21.
18 Jul 2009	drunk sailer.	I am passing this on to you because it definitely worked for me today, and we all could probably use more calm in our lives. Some doctor on television this morning said that the way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you have started. So I looked around my house to see things I'd started and hadn't finished and, before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of Shardonay, a bodle of Baileys, a butle of wum, a pockage of Prunglies, tha mainder of bot Prozic and Valum scriptins, the res of the Chesescke an a box a chocolets. Yu haf no idr how fkin gud I fel rite now. Peas sen dis orn to dem yu fee ar in ned ov inr pece.
12 Jul 2009	M.M. aka billy the freak	independence day has come and gone blown past like the ribbons in your bottle rockets. the wind catches them and they sweep across children's feet. when i was young i believed the united states was the beacon for the free world. in the past few years, through underground documentaries, the internet, and good old study i have become illuminated. lights on. and the truth is so far away the american dream. no more eating hallucinogenic mushrooms tripping out to fireworks basking in the mellow ambiance of pride, subliminal whispers spoon feeding you comfort. obey and consume. the united states is the bulldog for the shadow government, the new world order. Reason obeys itself; and ignorance submits to whatever is dictated to it. -Quoted by Thomas Paine- what if i told you a handful of people control the world and humanity. just a few dirtbags with all the power and money. the corporate elite, international bankers, media companies, and even royalty. these power brokers play with peoples lives like they play a game of chess. bent on the thought of being one of the ruling class in a one world government. what? you didn't know about them. this is sadly typical especially if you live in the united states. they control the media and what is presented to us as fact. they create the enemy. they use false flag attacks and scare tactics to frightening us into our homes and pissing us off to where we want to see the end of these 'terrorist', blood, death and destruction. we see so much tragedy. they see conquest. nazi protocols keep us in line. they use television, newspapers, and radio to tell us what to think, at the same time they are above any existing law using the current government as a tool to bring us down. the patriot act and laws during wartime. simple puppets in place to sooth the ignorant. they want to control our minds. they want to make us cattle. and when the time is right there will be death. a horrible black death it will consume the weak. we will evolve by necessity. you know this sounds right we are moving into a new age, the age of aquarius and let the water bearer wash away our sins. i don't know if i got my point across. and this is real and there is so much more. check out infowars.com and zeitgeistmovie.com this will be a good place to start. it is up to you to see the light and all their ugly faces. you don't need to kill yourself we're doomed anyway. i must have dreamed a thousand dreams been haunted by a million screams but I can hear the marching feet they're moving into the street. now did you read the news today they say the dangers gone away but I can see the fires still alight there burning into the night. there's too many men too many people making too many problems and not much love to go round can't you see this is a land of confusion. this is the world we live in and these are the hands were given use them and lets start trying to make it a place worth living in. oh superman where are you now when everythings gone wrong somehow the men of steel, the men of power are losing control by the hour. i won't be coming home tonight my generation will put it right were not just making promises that we know, well never keep. this is the world we live in and these are the names were given stand up and lets start showing just where our lives are going to. this is the time this is the place So we look for the future but there's not much love to go round tell me why, this is a land of confusion. -phil collins- billy the freak
01 Jul 2009	billy the royal court magician	one of the first rock stars and sex symbols of medieval times was merlin the royal court magician who supposedly lived in the times of king author and sir lancelot putting the year somewhere in the 1100's. it was said that merlin had the power to disappear and reappear at will. he could shape shift and summon demons,dragons, and beast of all shapes and size. by some he was described as a handsome dark haired man who dressed in the fanciest of garbs. you could imagine how young men would want to emulate such a prolific man and how women would cream in their panties. by others he was described as a hunchback ugly man who would steal your child for for the unspeakable acts of his wizardry. unlike the king and the good sir whose stories have been romanticized to the point of fairytales merlin the man may have never existed. real or not real in his day Merlin's' exploits were the talk of every village far and wide. even now his name appears in many aspects of pop culture. he is a snapshot of everything and nothing folded up in a book on your shelf. alchemy* at the time was considered to be the same as magic, because the men who practiced the craft kept its secrets well guarded, mainly for profit, but i suspect they got of on the mystery and allure surrounding the subject. to this day any respectable magician will not give away his secrets. like then and like now there is no such thing as magic. today the word magician is used at kiddie parties and retirement communities, go figure, the term now is illusionist. as if to say to believe in magic is to believe in witchcraft, you dance with the devil. one of merlins most infamous illusions were before the eyes of his king he turned lead int gold.now think about what he made them believe he could do.he took one of the most abundant metals and turned it into the most precious metal on earth. so needless to say this made merlin the mother fucking the man. this also sent the other alchemist into a frenzy trying to recreate the miracle that was nothing more than a parlor trick, and to this day people still use the phrase 'trying to turn lead into gold' when describing the impossible. now i have never turned lead into gold, but i have turned bread into mold and with that i may have done more than old merlin ever has. an illusion is merely an act of deception and the magic is in the minds and on the faces of the sucker. i am the wizard of my domain everyday and in anyway i will deceive whoever i can to get what i want. i disappear when things get heavy and i reappear at the most opportune moment. i can morph my appearance and my demeanor to fit into any crowd. i summon beast with the flick of my cell phone fury and they swoop in and destroy my enemies. by the light of day i am a handsome man on the cutting edge of fashion all the ladies want me and all the guys want to be me. in the street lights and shadows i'm mr. hyde hideous and livid. i am on the tip of every tongue, yet no one knows me. i am the modern day magician. i am the full metal alchemist. i am your drug dealer. *alchemy/noun/ a medieval chemical science and speculative philosophy aiming to achieve the transmutation of base elements into gold, the discovery of a cure for any ailments, prolonging life, and human transmutation. billy the freak
12 Jun 2009	The Sadness Tree	The truest sorrow is unknown, complete solitude. The very fact that we speak here makes us pathetic to the truth. Of course some being always has it worse. Trees are burned and chopped to bits with axes and chainsaws and so are people. Can you imagine your mother being quartered tied to horses, could you imagine your brother castrated and then pissed on? If you can imagine that then you still know nothing. I know nothing. But, the fact remains that no matter how bad some other has it, you still have your own sickness inside to deal with, my roots have rotted. However, can you embrace the madness, could you become a vigilante? Mouchette can poison your heart in the most profound way. The Sadness Tree http://www.thesadnesstree.com/
06 Jun 2009		I tried pushing the strength of my vocal chords, and all I've learned is that you can't fill nothingness with anything.
02 Jun 2009		suicide? why would i want to sue a side? i don't even know what side it is, maybe it's the good side. And it's not like I can even afford a lawyer, shit. I mean, I'll just get all tangled up in debt, and probably end up killing myself to escape payment.
25 May 2009	Enzyme	Hello my velveteen death-rabbits, a thousand evil butterfly-kisses upon your tortured brows! Mouchette! I brought this still beating mailman heart for you! Wrapped in candy-corns, jaguar eyes and silt! See how it glistens in the wide, rich light of dawn? That’s real cosmic loneliness I garnished it with. Just for you my darling ruffian. How delightful your shimmering canines are! May I offer my forearm up for you to affectionately tear the flesh off my bones? I adore you so my little persimmon… Let me tell you all about a vacancy. Take the late-late gilded one stop train deep into the aorta of my homeland. Waiting to carry your bags is a positively charming World War I flying ace with empty holes instead of eyes. He grins with a wide copper smile and steps forward to kiss your hand. “You poor, poor thing. Right this way.” And into the asphyxiated night he leads you through cobble-stoned paths and pale fire to the All You Can Rest Stop. Everyone there is drowsy and adorable, intoxicated with warm lamplight. Dryads, Demons, tall thin train conductors with artificial internal organs they keep wrapped in wax paper on their laps. Here you’ll be safe my sweet Mouchettelings. Come here anytime and cuddle with the malnourished scarecrows, belligerent angels, and pouting zombie children. Sway to The Ink Spots and dip long needles into the living meat pastries. Here’s a buy-one-get-one-free ticket. Keep this place deep in your heart. And instead of slashing your lovely wrists go here in your volcanic mind. Visit it whenever you like. I’ll be in the back near the jukebox that runs on human blood, giving away free benedictions and nuzzles. The point being, I want you all to flee whole-heartedly from reality. Just pack your bags and get the hell out of dodge. The world of the everyday is laced with cyanide and sobbing railroad apartments. The agony of tying one’s shoelaces. The magnetic yearning with all your exploding blood vessels for something you can’t fully articulate. Happiness doesn’t seem to be woven into the fabric of the day to day. That’s why the trembling furnace in our dawn-soul’s imagination exists. Let go of all your mundane, earthly needs. Acceptance, wealth, marriage, fame, sex, beauty, everlasting joy. The pursuit of happiness will yield more misery than anything else. Yessssss… Good. Now feel the suppurating beetle of guilt and shame withdraw its revolting proboscis from your swollen neck. Remember, you’re still alive. Feel that expanding cataclysmic sunrise in your ribcage? That’s the miracle of your demonic life force shuddering and expanding. How rare. How extraordinary that you are. Stuffed with emeralds and goblin tyrants. No, you are not incomplete, but whole and burgeoning. Everything you need is in your heart and skull. This is not a competition, not a race for happiness, freedom or achievement, not a transition, not a buffet. You are already the goal, to exist as the lovely and hideous creature that you are. The specimen drifting peacefully in formaldehyde on the shelf. You are a self-perpetuating motion machine. A short-wave radio. Meant simply to be sensitive enough to emote. By existing you have already fulfilled your destiny. There will never be another exactly like you in the history of the dark, expanding cosmos. Enjoy it. And go watch: “Let The Right One In” by Tomas Alfredson. Swedish vampire films always cheer me up. Love Enzyme. P.S. Hello Billy the Freak, I bow low to you my liege, my scalp scraping the hard wood floors. I am indeed a deity. The god and goddess of shy nooks and awkward corners.
24 May 2009	M.M. a.k.a. billy the freak	(Rape, Murder and Suicide Are Easier When You Use a Keyboard Shortcut: Mouchette, an On-Line Virtual Character Leonardo - Volume 38, Number 3, June 2005, pp. 202-206) this quoted from web site project muse in brief review of mouchette enzyme, i noticed i spelled your name wrong on my last post. i was key stroke off. please do not take offense. some years ago mouchette asked me to stop making spelling errors, because she didn't have time to correct them. mouchette has given few a interviews over the years and in one of her early interviews she was asked how much time she spends at her computer. she did not want to answer for it was so much. i was not upset, in fact i was happy she took the time to correct my post long as she did. she wanted my words to be right and further more she challenged me to do this myself in a sense make my own work better. with that she helped me design the way my post are styled. i do this by copy and paste from my yahoo mail account. that way i can see it spread out and i use spell check. pretty smart, huh. then finally she asks me how i started spelling so good. i told her i used spell check. the bangles manic monday plays in the background. now, i don't really know if my post have gotten better, but i do feel as if they have matured, however they still give the opposite vibe. hey, i'm a freak. you said you had a screenplay. i fancy myself a writer as well. mouchette says: to become an artist you simply make something and call it art. i guess you can do that with writing as well. i make a few post in the kit and now... i'm a writer. in an interview with peter luining mouchette says: (I am the kind of person who thinks that art is never where you expect it, and that art is only in the eye of the beholder: a true descendant of Marcel Duchamp.) i agree with this one hundred percent and i consider what i'm doing right now art. a revolutionary type of art where you are allowed to contribute even if you are tricked in to doing so. after the first time you then pick your level of involvement. i bet there are souls who have been visiting for years and never once posted and of course i only speak of the kit. there is so much more. she has so much allure. in the reviews of mouchette they try break it down with psychology, and i can tell from your post you know a little something about that. in the interviews it seems to me the person answering the questions instead of answering the questions as if they were mouchette they speak of mouchette like it is piece of art that is influenced b the hands of many and left to interpretation. please don't get me wrong mouchette does provoke you on a psychological level and does a good job of steering your thoughts in a certain direction, but what two psyches are the same. so i feel it is definitely up to your interpretation. they say mouchette allows you to flirt with the thought of death, maybe... it also allows you to flirt with the thought of life. with all the searching i have done and personal interaction i have had with mouchette i am no closer to knowing what she is then when i first began, but i do know how she makes me feel. if mouchette was music i would download her onto my i pod. if mouchette was an herb i would smoke her. you know what? i am getting way off track. enzyme, i'm sorry i spelled your name wrong. i noticed you didn't have any typos in your post. perfect. god. are you god? well if you are. i'm sure you know what you are getting into and can handle it. don't let us down. your friend, billy the freak p.s. we all know mouchette is on the cutting edge of pop culture but has anyone noticed how wattle chick sounds and reads like lewis carroll's jabberwockey? curiouser and curiouser. billy wins the award for most mentions of mouchette in one post, he chortles in his joy. mouchette i love you.

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