Author: Sophi Nielsen

Mechanical engineer, writer, filmmaker, writer of the weird and lover of the strange.

ya dig?

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We all deserve a chance to be scared, don’t we Victor?

Do you remember the next part Victor?

I do, I did it on my own, and it felt good.

And one day, the whole of the world realigned so two little twinks could fall in love

No, it didn’t happen over night. It felt like it would because everything changed so fast that summer, but it took those two little twinks two years to realize how they really felt about each other.

Thank god, some words that finally feel normal.

-You are my best thing, Victor, but you’re not my only good thing, and it want that to me true for you too.

So yeah, my grandfather was the missing beat king, a little German twink named Victor Löwen

“I can be myself now finally”

And if it feels true, maybe that’s because it is.

Maybe that’s because you don’t own truth anymore. We do now it’s our turn, so shut the fuck up and listen, you dig?

-One breath at a time, Soph, you got this. It’ll all work out. Keep saying it, because the more times you say it, the truer it is.

I don’t want to be invisible anymore

See, now I’m sure of it. Death doesn’t happen after life, it happens before. We all start out dead and must crawl our way back to the living.

Ghosts, gods, myths, legends? Well, we’ve all just been around the time spiral a few more times.

clean it up ya self

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5/19/2024

I’m feeling a bit high octane today. All these past lives bouncing around my head. Everything making so much sense all at once. Sent me into a tailspin.

I can see where all this is going, yes, and it’s much better than anything I’ve had before. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel absolutely mad half the time for having all these thoughts I was never allowed to have.

You see, I was raised to believe the whole world was unsafe dangerous shrouded in a cave of grief almost since the moment of my birth.

I could tell you more, but for now I think I need to take a breath, get grounded.

You see the tailspin didn’t start now, the spinning I’ve been doing all my life has been to spin this world into focus and make it make sense again.

I try to be gracious because I know all life is precious that every moment matters, but I’m angry, angry at the situation I was forced into. Angry at all the silence surrounding the secrets that would define my entire life.

I’m done. I’m done living others lives for them. Always happy to help a fellow time agent and all that, but when will I get a chance to live my own life, where did we budget that into the timeline?

Because knocking at the back door of my brain is all the fear and loathing, all the shame and guilt. Every time someone said I was crazy or blamed me for the mess that is my life.

You see, I’m tired of living life on other peoples timelines. cleaning up their messes.

where are all the zombies?

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The moment I saw him in his shiny red jacket with his zombie back up dancers, I knew that man was trouble. Michael Jackson was his name. He shared it with an older white man with a skeletal face. I had yet to discover the connection between these two.

The man had come upon the zombies in a cemetery after taking in a particularly horrific werewolf movie with his then girlfriend. Man and zombies joined together in a long difficult dance number during the instrumental. After this gruesome display, the two young lovers escaped to an abandoned house to seek meager solace in each others’ arms. But the cruel zombies pursued them still, smashing through the boarded windows with shattering accuracy.

They escaped without a scrape, physically anyway, but I have suspicions about this man and his claim that he’s truly human.

Day to day I seem to have a grasp on what’s fiction and fact, but some things just bother you and the lines get greyer and greyer and greyer and greyer. And these zombies, it seems, would continue to haunt me, be the great thorn in my side for many years to come. I knew a few things about these zombies: I knew they were persistent, I knew they were flesh hungry, and I knew they liked to come through windows.

I was twelve years old when I first became aware of these facts and this man. Twelve years old and trying desperately to wrap my head around Michael Jackson and his gruesome back up dancers.

My parents, that night wondered why I had yet to turn out the light. I told them all I had seen that day, imparting the mystery of the two Michael Jacksons and the horror of his dance ensemble. It turns out, as they then informed me, these men were one and the same. He had contracted the skin condition vitiligo, leading to unnatural white patches on the skin. I was also assured that zombies were not real. I believed this for the most part, but how could they not be real when I still felt their eyes crawling over my skin as they waited to slam their dead limbs against my window?

I discussed this at length with my good friend, Phil Collins. Phil was one of the good guys, always keen to make amends and remind us all of man’s great commonality. A real good guy. And night after night I would loose precious sleep pondering this question unable to dislodge it from the cogs of my mind.

This man, Michael Jackson continued to follow me. He consorted with Carol Burnett as a young boy. I find it harder and harder to believe that he really a bad egg after all. But it was hard to trust the man after seeing him with the horrors that lurked outside my window.

There were many more mysteries that would surround this man, Michael Jackson – Was he white? Was he black? Did he sexually abuse the child of a family friend? Where was his nose? But the greatest mystery of all, still haunts me. When I stand near open windows, when I hear his name, when I hear the deep tone of a narrator’s voice. Michael Jackson is gone. I know that, and I have know it for a long time. But the question remains that I ponder to this day…where are all the zombies now?

tarintino

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blue walls who paints a

room that blue

she ODed in his apartment

mouth fuckin’ foamin’

red shirts, just washed em’ too

What are we going to do with the guy in the

backseat

in the trunk

He can’t live there forever

[mostly because he’s dead]

Scorsese, Tarintino a drop of

                                     blood

suspended

or a fountain splattered against

the back windshield

the distance from the chair to the screen is                                                 

safe

as the distance between me

and the motherfucker

who ball-gagged me

[what a fuckin’ creep]

we’ll storm his shop, mow him down, won’t know what hit ‘im

get medieval on his ass

Like Kingsman \ foot in the chin sliced through the balls

                                                                         suspended

The distance between me and the real world is

safe \ You’ll never guess who 

was playing us

all along the boardwalk he doesn’t expect to die

[come on, it’s so fuckin’ obvious]

                         but they don’t find his body until next spring

suspended

                         in water as it is

but they blew up the chicken man and the racket boys

won’t know what hit ’em

the distance between me and

Atlantic City is not safe

I’ve got a 

little favor to do,

for a man who

won’t meet with me

[don’t you think that’s strange]

come on

everything that dies

doesn’t really

[I don’t really want to know

where they go

after the boardwalk]

(wouldn’t think about it)

wouldn’t think outside the screen where

my emotions are

                                                suspended

and the distance is safe

american graffiti

Featured Sophi Nielsen2 Comments

It only took me one night to realize if brains were dynamite you couldn’t blow your nose

My table, no
mine
Chemistry’s too interesting
When I could be in bed?!

Oh, no, not me. Not old Carol. The night is young and I’m not hittin’ the rack till I get a little action.

Colin is gay
Gordon loves sheep
What about Jonathan?
Honestly, uh, I’m, uh leaning towards anyone

She spoke to me, she spoke to me right through the window. I think she said I love you…That means nothing to you people?…You have no romance, no soul?…Someone wants me. Someone roaming the streets wants me.

How does it feel to be standing over there?
Up against the young bucks

Cla Crunk

Your car is uglier than I am!

Rock and roll’s been going down hill
ever since Buddy Holly died
NSA is watching
Stand by for justice!
We’re Americans, and we’re gonna do democracy
Bootleg
Bootstrap
Dogma
Oh baby!

Yeah, I’ll die soon, then it’ll all be over

Forget about Rachel, Danny
Never shag an Essex bloke

You would, you grungy little twirp.

Do you want to end up like John? You just can’t stay 17 forever!
Hey, Kroot! Why don’t you go kiss a duck?

Don’t look Da Da Da Down
I’m batman
I have become death destroyer of worlds

A double Chubby-Chuck, a chili-barb, two orders of French fries


and literally millions of jellyfish