I can see them; even as the centuries have caused me death time and time again. It has built in me over these centuries until this life, when I have been given a pen to replace my broadsword and burdened with the emotion and reflection of a writer. I still remember her in 1210 AD when I came back from a crusade, only to find her dagger in my side.
I kissed her with my last moments of life and died saying nothing. War never leaves the blood. Even in death, it can only be transferred to the new soul. We will live a thousand times till we truly die from self-actualization. As I wake each day from these dreams to these future dreams in future lives, I wonder when I will be relieved of living...
I leered into the dark space between consciousness and sleep. The thousands of faces of all my incarnations met together like a big council. It's difficult to feel surrounded by people when they're all you but personalities differed enough that this young immoralist, was able to detach from his current woes and let extroversion and introspection mesh into understanding of his immortal plan.
Forever can go one of two ways when you look it in the eyes: either you become happy that anything can happen in eternity, or you become enveloped at how long eternity truly is. When you know that you will experience death and rebirth, however, the soul can weaken to the point you are literally Shakespeare's "walking shadow."
The meeting began. I awoke.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
A Horror to a Horror
The streets were dead and empty but such is always the case of small towns at 4 AM. As I walked the strip down the center of downtown Blacksburg I hallucinated the life that permeated the store's innards in the light of a mid day sun and longed for those days when I could do more than live vicariously through the late night eyes and faces of college students that talked of their day.
It was an unusual time to exist in this world with earthquakes and hurricanes attacking new areas of the country and as the disasters shifted, so did the patterns of the preternatural, who were always delighted to indulge in the misery of humans. Perhaps it was envy that made an imitation of a living thing appear in the town this very night to watch and revel in the debauchery that only human youth could display. Perhaps it was his curiosity at the change of disaster patterns or intuition that here would be a ripe place for chaos once the real natural disasters started to hit within the next 50 to 100 years; for what is a century to an immortal? Most likely, though it was sheer coincidence that I should turn the corner to see a tiny stranger to this land roosting on the roof ledge above D.P. Dough.
Weighing in at a sizable 50 grams, he was large for a common Vampire bat but the fact that he hung from the ledge alone, not to mention the unnatural, iridescent blue flame that surrounded him gave him away as one of my kind.
"You're far from the Amazon, creature, and you've landed in a town where there are people educated enough to know that this area is only inhabited by fruit bats."
His eyes opened and faster than the human eye can see, he stood in front of me at eight feet tall with a hungry glare and glowing red eyes.
"I've not seen one of our kind who could change form before," I said.
He spoke to me in my mind as opposed to out loud, "I don't know your language creature as I am most likely one of the first of 'our' kind. I hope you don't mind me using this medium..."
I gazed into his cold, immortal eyes as my expression changed from that of running into an old friend, to that of sheer terror.
Speaking in my head, he continued, "this is your first meeting with a revenant, is it not?"
I gazed, transfixed, as if under a spell and found myself unable to move or talk. My expression changed to that of anger for the first time in 800 years.
As an ecologist at Virginia Tech, I had managed to avoid the sun, gain my... God knows what number degree... and even commandeer a trip to the home of the vampire bat to see their large clumpings in the caves of Chile and Peru. They had a bad habbit of always looking as if I had annoyed or disturbed them but this time his head did not even turn to look at me before he was instantaneously something resembling a human with elf ears.
He began to telepathically drivel in my head again, "vampires have evolved different ways in the world. Perhaps ours was the most natural and godly. Whereas you cursed God and were damned to feed off his creations, ours was a matter of simple genetic mutation."
Mustering incredible strength, I forced my rebuttle into his head with vicious vigor, "you cursed bastard! I don't need to hear your story, we are both of the same ilk in the eyes of men."
He moved forward and grabbed me by the collar of my Polo shirt, lifting me off the ground. "Your wretched race of heathens mocks the primal immortals that embody the truth to the word vampyr. Feeding off primates in dirty, sweaty jungles with virulent, diseased blood, over the course of millions of years formed my race. How amusingly unexpected I should run into your kind when all I came to see was human suffering in a nearly apocalyptic world. I shall fulfil my duty, however, and exterminating you will be a delightful added bonus to this pilgrimage."
Struggling and kicking, imprisoned in his vice grip, I began my protest in telepathy and speech out loud in my captive terror, "we both feed on mortals! I'm not your enemy! I hate the humans and renounced my humanity centuries ago..."
"You are not of my kind human! You were born a human and shall always be one despite your undead viciousness. Time to die!"
The last image I had was of that haunting face of the vampire bat 80 times its normal size. Its fangs sunk deep into my jugular and drained me to undead death.
"But we are both blood drinkers..."
It was an unusual time to exist in this world with earthquakes and hurricanes attacking new areas of the country and as the disasters shifted, so did the patterns of the preternatural, who were always delighted to indulge in the misery of humans. Perhaps it was envy that made an imitation of a living thing appear in the town this very night to watch and revel in the debauchery that only human youth could display. Perhaps it was his curiosity at the change of disaster patterns or intuition that here would be a ripe place for chaos once the real natural disasters started to hit within the next 50 to 100 years; for what is a century to an immortal? Most likely, though it was sheer coincidence that I should turn the corner to see a tiny stranger to this land roosting on the roof ledge above D.P. Dough.
Weighing in at a sizable 50 grams, he was large for a common Vampire bat but the fact that he hung from the ledge alone, not to mention the unnatural, iridescent blue flame that surrounded him gave him away as one of my kind.
"You're far from the Amazon, creature, and you've landed in a town where there are people educated enough to know that this area is only inhabited by fruit bats."
His eyes opened and faster than the human eye can see, he stood in front of me at eight feet tall with a hungry glare and glowing red eyes.
"I've not seen one of our kind who could change form before," I said.
He spoke to me in my mind as opposed to out loud, "I don't know your language creature as I am most likely one of the first of 'our' kind. I hope you don't mind me using this medium..."
I gazed into his cold, immortal eyes as my expression changed from that of running into an old friend, to that of sheer terror.
Speaking in my head, he continued, "this is your first meeting with a revenant, is it not?"
I gazed, transfixed, as if under a spell and found myself unable to move or talk. My expression changed to that of anger for the first time in 800 years.
As an ecologist at Virginia Tech, I had managed to avoid the sun, gain my... God knows what number degree... and even commandeer a trip to the home of the vampire bat to see their large clumpings in the caves of Chile and Peru. They had a bad habbit of always looking as if I had annoyed or disturbed them but this time his head did not even turn to look at me before he was instantaneously something resembling a human with elf ears.
He began to telepathically drivel in my head again, "vampires have evolved different ways in the world. Perhaps ours was the most natural and godly. Whereas you cursed God and were damned to feed off his creations, ours was a matter of simple genetic mutation."
Mustering incredible strength, I forced my rebuttle into his head with vicious vigor, "you cursed bastard! I don't need to hear your story, we are both of the same ilk in the eyes of men."
He moved forward and grabbed me by the collar of my Polo shirt, lifting me off the ground. "Your wretched race of heathens mocks the primal immortals that embody the truth to the word vampyr. Feeding off primates in dirty, sweaty jungles with virulent, diseased blood, over the course of millions of years formed my race. How amusingly unexpected I should run into your kind when all I came to see was human suffering in a nearly apocalyptic world. I shall fulfil my duty, however, and exterminating you will be a delightful added bonus to this pilgrimage."
Struggling and kicking, imprisoned in his vice grip, I began my protest in telepathy and speech out loud in my captive terror, "we both feed on mortals! I'm not your enemy! I hate the humans and renounced my humanity centuries ago..."
"You are not of my kind human! You were born a human and shall always be one despite your undead viciousness. Time to die!"
The last image I had was of that haunting face of the vampire bat 80 times its normal size. Its fangs sunk deep into my jugular and drained me to undead death.
"But we are both blood drinkers..."
Making the Change
It's coming. I feel it in my gut and throughout my body like a larger entity than myself was clawing up and down the chalkboard of my spine. The chirping of the cicadas becomes so deafening I lose my sense of balance and know that I need to be indoors and quick. I already know that if someone was walking down this street instead of driving; given the time and the pause to observe me at a standstill, they might be able to see the bulging of my physical form as the demon tries to escape.
The night air is thick and chalky with an eerie fog that surrounds me as if it were conscious of my shame and reticence towards the dawn of the night creature trying to escape from my quintessence. I stare off into space as I resolve all my energy to simply make it to my house and lock the door.
My muscles become toned and the full moon is so bright, I trip on the smallest rock and fall flat on my face. For a moment I can't get up and the unconscionable thoughts that run through my mind and scream with the same thrust as a freight train at sixty miles per hour, seem to overcome me before I find my zen and quell them for what is a time too short.
For five years I have jumped from relationship to relationship because to be alone on the night of the full moon, means that I have no channels to dump the energy of the demon trying to escape into; thus putting him back to sleep; so I might remain human. His virulence and malevolence course through my body as if I had imbibed fire and it began pumping through my veins. I can see my house up ahead. Moments, I tell myself. Moments till you will be able to let him out and though the house will be destroyed, human beings will be safe for another night.
She stands there like a ghost; in front of my door and with a look and expression of sorrow.
"I know what you are, creature," she says. "I and my people have protected the world from you for centuries."
I say nothing and for a moment, time stops. I am brought out of my form like a ketamine overdose and the world is silent.
"We only have moments for you to release an amount of energy sufficient to quell the beast. Please go inside."
She vanishes with the fog and I enter my home as it becomes enveloped by a demonic cloud that coats my house and makes it seem invisible in the small cul-de-sac I live in. Once I have entered the house, however, it seems that she has disappeared. The demon begins again and I fall to the ground screaming. At first it's a quiet scream: like the ones experienced in sleep paralysis when one is screaming in a dream but then I feel the pounding in my chest and it rips out as I start to grow and my form begins expanding. As if by light, she suddenly stands next to me and rams her jewel encrusted dagger into my side.
I stop for a moment and look at her with hurt, weeping eyes.
"Silver... I have never met you and here you are ending my existence. Why have you chosen to stop me? Why are you here? Who are you..."
The questions pour out of me as does the evil bile of his soul inside me, does. I finally, through coughs of blood and a gurgling of it in my throat, no longer make sense as I attempt to speak but I see her eyes with softness and love as I slip farther into the quiet serenity of death.
"shhhhh..." she says as she holds me close and strokes my hair, "it will all be over soon, my love."
I recognize her as if I'd seen her in a different life and a different incarnation of this soul.
With the last of my strength, I crawl closer to her breast and hold her as tightly as she holds me. For a moment and the first time in my life, I feel the release from the cycles of the moon and the suppression of my passions. I feel at peace and I think that I see god. Maybe it's just her eyes... Then... nothing.
The night air is thick and chalky with an eerie fog that surrounds me as if it were conscious of my shame and reticence towards the dawn of the night creature trying to escape from my quintessence. I stare off into space as I resolve all my energy to simply make it to my house and lock the door.
My muscles become toned and the full moon is so bright, I trip on the smallest rock and fall flat on my face. For a moment I can't get up and the unconscionable thoughts that run through my mind and scream with the same thrust as a freight train at sixty miles per hour, seem to overcome me before I find my zen and quell them for what is a time too short.
For five years I have jumped from relationship to relationship because to be alone on the night of the full moon, means that I have no channels to dump the energy of the demon trying to escape into; thus putting him back to sleep; so I might remain human. His virulence and malevolence course through my body as if I had imbibed fire and it began pumping through my veins. I can see my house up ahead. Moments, I tell myself. Moments till you will be able to let him out and though the house will be destroyed, human beings will be safe for another night.
She stands there like a ghost; in front of my door and with a look and expression of sorrow.
"I know what you are, creature," she says. "I and my people have protected the world from you for centuries."
I say nothing and for a moment, time stops. I am brought out of my form like a ketamine overdose and the world is silent.
"We only have moments for you to release an amount of energy sufficient to quell the beast. Please go inside."
She vanishes with the fog and I enter my home as it becomes enveloped by a demonic cloud that coats my house and makes it seem invisible in the small cul-de-sac I live in. Once I have entered the house, however, it seems that she has disappeared. The demon begins again and I fall to the ground screaming. At first it's a quiet scream: like the ones experienced in sleep paralysis when one is screaming in a dream but then I feel the pounding in my chest and it rips out as I start to grow and my form begins expanding. As if by light, she suddenly stands next to me and rams her jewel encrusted dagger into my side.
I stop for a moment and look at her with hurt, weeping eyes.
"Silver... I have never met you and here you are ending my existence. Why have you chosen to stop me? Why are you here? Who are you..."
The questions pour out of me as does the evil bile of his soul inside me, does. I finally, through coughs of blood and a gurgling of it in my throat, no longer make sense as I attempt to speak but I see her eyes with softness and love as I slip farther into the quiet serenity of death.
"shhhhh..." she says as she holds me close and strokes my hair, "it will all be over soon, my love."
I recognize her as if I'd seen her in a different life and a different incarnation of this soul.
With the last of my strength, I crawl closer to her breast and hold her as tightly as she holds me. For a moment and the first time in my life, I feel the release from the cycles of the moon and the suppression of my passions. I feel at peace and I think that I see god. Maybe it's just her eyes... Then... nothing.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
My Luna Lover
I can't see it but I can feel it in the air like a thousand butcher knives, hung facing downward from a low ceiling.
Tonight, my lunacy translates to its literal meaning and its scorn is the big, white ass in the car door window. Damn that demon bitch with her palid white eye opened at full and staring through cloud colored glasses so she can be felt but unseen in this maniacal coffee bar filled with junkies. My moon is the calmest of them all creating virulent madness in her devious hidden corner of the coffee bar sky.
Tonight, my lunacy translates to its literal meaning and its scorn is the big, white ass in the car door window. Damn that demon bitch with her palid white eye opened at full and staring through cloud colored glasses so she can be felt but unseen in this maniacal coffee bar filled with junkies. My moon is the calmest of them all creating virulent madness in her devious hidden corner of the coffee bar sky.
Friday, August 19, 2011
A Late Night Snack
Girls.
Everywhere they pollute our town smelling like fresh laundry and Donna Karen. Their high pitched squeals speak of "boys" and other random blather as their clip clopping is reminiscent of gilded clidesdale mares.
Pumped prepubescently out of "NOVA," they meander our town with the hunger for "fun" and more alchoholic musk to cloak their various individual vapid personalities, scathed by the fact that they are indeed students bound on kicking their legs in the air like spoiled children for a rod of some king Midas.
Ugh, humans are humans because they dwell in the realm of reality. Those of us who live outside it as watchers are only demi-humans or demi-gods with a pen twice as sharp as a sword. Fixing our eyes on them and attuning our senses to them helps us realize that we are different. What was it like to think like they do? To remember reality? To be tied down to the daft and depressing norm?
I hate them as I feel the torn off wings of my back refusing to open because they're no longer there. I hate them because I can no longer cross the gate of death because I disagree with their creation and existence. As I bring one of these creatures to a darkened street to drain them of their life force till they turn to sand, I look into her very short life and laugh hysterically in the face of God for its impermenance...
Everywhere they pollute our town smelling like fresh laundry and Donna Karen. Their high pitched squeals speak of "boys" and other random blather as their clip clopping is reminiscent of gilded clidesdale mares.
Pumped prepubescently out of "NOVA," they meander our town with the hunger for "fun" and more alchoholic musk to cloak their various individual vapid personalities, scathed by the fact that they are indeed students bound on kicking their legs in the air like spoiled children for a rod of some king Midas.
Ugh, humans are humans because they dwell in the realm of reality. Those of us who live outside it as watchers are only demi-humans or demi-gods with a pen twice as sharp as a sword. Fixing our eyes on them and attuning our senses to them helps us realize that we are different. What was it like to think like they do? To remember reality? To be tied down to the daft and depressing norm?
I hate them as I feel the torn off wings of my back refusing to open because they're no longer there. I hate them because I can no longer cross the gate of death because I disagree with their creation and existence. As I bring one of these creatures to a darkened street to drain them of their life force till they turn to sand, I look into her very short life and laugh hysterically in the face of God for its impermenance...
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Thoughts in the Grocery Store
Madness. Nothing but the yellow and red, dark aura of carnage and chaos filling and surrounding me like a pack of hungry, wild dogs that have cornered and torn to shreds, a defenseless chipmunk. The burden and weight of it all makes me delirious and dizzy. People and things seem foreign and when I do recognize something there's never a positive memory attached. My gut acts like it wants sex and my head can't make up its mind on whether I want to eat or not. The world is like The Gravatron and I'm both pressed into a wall by gravity and trying to move freely in Newton's logical world and spinning violently out of control to find 10 seconds of solace at a time. My stomach hurts and my head aches like I'm drunk and I haven't touched a drop. I almost wish I could get positively wasted just to have something familiar to relate this to but here I sit; enclosed; enraptured by Satan. Madness.
Friday, July 22, 2011
To the casual observer
The deafening solitude that a lonely night in the city can produce, is filled with the observations of others.
Human beings must include themselves with other people because they are simply trying to imitate an imperfect copy of a perfect relationship with god. Those who live immortal such as I, have stopped feeling the beating hearts in our chests; the chemical reactions in our brains that amount to emotions and opinions. We live for the purpose of living; and being undead, it's a mockery of life at best. We cease to hold onto that which truly makes us human.
The pain they suffer vibrates from their eyes like a muted version of preternatural glow of my undead eyes that only those keen observers who see the vibrations of the universe can see. Their hearts beat as sonorous as tympani and they are so strong and bold that they die a little all the time without suffering the knowledge of what actual death feels like. They are opinionated and cruel and can eviscerate their fellows millions of times worse than base creatures, such as myself, ever could dream of.
Lest I turn one of their kind into a creature such as I am, they will never know a pain worse than that of being alive. In fact, even as a night stalker, they can only feel the viciousness of emotion as a memory; from a cold and still heart that does not feel but rather fabricates, with intrigue and curiosity, the proposed idea of emotional pain; imagining it like so many disney characters pondering wishes and dreams only to ignore and feel the malignant sickle of reality, the world's dejection and eventual death.
For many of them, it's not too late to acquire a new lease on life but for some, they exist as defective parts of a well oiled human machine, awaiting their permanent deletion. This is the human world at this juncture.
We are required now, more than ever, to control the flow of mortality and adverse population with zero bias; their impermanence driving their viciousness, callowness, and malignancy towards their fellow man. They disguise such things with charity but their emotions and their beating hearts say otherwise when they experience differences or real hardships.
Nothing in the world is so mean at base as the jaded and emotional mortal man. Pain stems from him and the world he has helped create if you go back far enough down the line. He seeks his fortune and competes as all humans do but in his quest for bigger and better, he finds useless fascinations on the way that elevate him beyond others just as fleshy, bloody and delicious as he.
Do not misunderstand me; his power is dependent on the weakness of other humans. In the desire to simplify their lives, they have made them so much more complicated and in the vapid process of the wants of humanity, he has grabbed the reigns and taken control.
What a pity. Not that I feel sorry for any of them for I and my kind have evolved around their mess and benefitted from the lives of both the useless stragglers and occasionally, the evil, the rich and/or the powerful.
As I sink my fangs into a New York City drifter till he dangles as loosely and free as seaweed, I think these things and ponder the curious pain and existence of modern man.
Human beings must include themselves with other people because they are simply trying to imitate an imperfect copy of a perfect relationship with god. Those who live immortal such as I, have stopped feeling the beating hearts in our chests; the chemical reactions in our brains that amount to emotions and opinions. We live for the purpose of living; and being undead, it's a mockery of life at best. We cease to hold onto that which truly makes us human.
The pain they suffer vibrates from their eyes like a muted version of preternatural glow of my undead eyes that only those keen observers who see the vibrations of the universe can see. Their hearts beat as sonorous as tympani and they are so strong and bold that they die a little all the time without suffering the knowledge of what actual death feels like. They are opinionated and cruel and can eviscerate their fellows millions of times worse than base creatures, such as myself, ever could dream of.
Lest I turn one of their kind into a creature such as I am, they will never know a pain worse than that of being alive. In fact, even as a night stalker, they can only feel the viciousness of emotion as a memory; from a cold and still heart that does not feel but rather fabricates, with intrigue and curiosity, the proposed idea of emotional pain; imagining it like so many disney characters pondering wishes and dreams only to ignore and feel the malignant sickle of reality, the world's dejection and eventual death.
For many of them, it's not too late to acquire a new lease on life but for some, they exist as defective parts of a well oiled human machine, awaiting their permanent deletion. This is the human world at this juncture.
We are required now, more than ever, to control the flow of mortality and adverse population with zero bias; their impermanence driving their viciousness, callowness, and malignancy towards their fellow man. They disguise such things with charity but their emotions and their beating hearts say otherwise when they experience differences or real hardships.
Nothing in the world is so mean at base as the jaded and emotional mortal man. Pain stems from him and the world he has helped create if you go back far enough down the line. He seeks his fortune and competes as all humans do but in his quest for bigger and better, he finds useless fascinations on the way that elevate him beyond others just as fleshy, bloody and delicious as he.
Do not misunderstand me; his power is dependent on the weakness of other humans. In the desire to simplify their lives, they have made them so much more complicated and in the vapid process of the wants of humanity, he has grabbed the reigns and taken control.
What a pity. Not that I feel sorry for any of them for I and my kind have evolved around their mess and benefitted from the lives of both the useless stragglers and occasionally, the evil, the rich and/or the powerful.
As I sink my fangs into a New York City drifter till he dangles as loosely and free as seaweed, I think these things and ponder the curious pain and existence of modern man.
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