Three words in glaring red:
Subject appears disturbed.
I do not deserve this treatment.
Another storm that you're left to fight alone.
Remember that you brought this on yourself.
Another excuse to curl up at home.
I'm sorry, but you brought this on yourself.
You're reaping what you sow,
and nobody has to know,
but everybody raises their heads
at the just the wrong time.
Hope is difficult in this time.
Stability shifts with every step
and you're frenetic again
clutching at your face
perfectly still
growing like a vine
like a flower
like a flame
stability shifts with every movement
so don't move.
Subject appears disturbed.
You did this to me.
I'm writing in character
or I'm saying nothing
but trite complaints.
The machinery in my head
rusts away.
The harshness of the day
strips me clean.
The administrations of strangers
fail to soothe
my fevered form.
Who am I, and why do you matter?
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Baelor
Dear Sir,
I am writing to inform you that as of this moment, I am tendering my resignation as Justicar of the Ivory Tower. I understand that my term has not been completed, but there are a great many other considerations to account for, considering the recent instabilities. My representatives will of course continue to advise the Directorate, and my retinue will be at your disposal, but my own personal movements and resources will no longer be beholden to the Inner Circle. These are dangerous times, and the call of blood is strong. I must honor an agreement made many years ago, when a life was ended. I do not expect you to understand.
B.
P.S - I am to understand that your haven is currently besieged by Sabbat forces, and that at time of writing you have most likely already fallen to your attackers. I find this regrettable, but I have observed proper protocol by sending this message, and consider my duties discharged. If, by some miracle, my messenger reaches you and you are still in good health, know that any attempt to thwart my resignation will be met with extreme disapproval.
Dear Madam,
I regret to inform you that as of time of writing, our liaison must immediately halt. It is no longer politically expedient for us to associate. With the recent developments, we must look to our own - you are no doubt consolidating the borders of your haven as we speak, and gathering your underlings to you to prepare for the coming storm, and I must do the same.
I wished for you to know, however, before we both entered the hurricane with teeth bared, that you have given me no small amount of pleasure over the last century. It is uncommon for those of my blood to have a 'shameful secret', as it were, and I confess that you caused my blood to stir in a manner it has not seen since my mortal days. I would consider it a great shame if we were never to meet again, but times and troubles being as they are, I believe it unlikely that we shall.
We will always have the Red Diamond - I bought it and preserved it, and the door is always open to you, if you manage to escape what lies in wait for you.
Your undying lord,
B.
P.S - I will ensue that my successor, whoever he may be (and assuming that one is appointed) does not meddle in your affairs. The sword is drawn, and you hold it sure and true. It may yet save us all before our heads are severed entirely. Wield it well, my love.
My daughter,
You have done we
I remember with fondness the night of your
I regret that circumstances have caused our
There comes a time in every father's
Father.
I am writing to inform you that as of this moment, I am tendering my resignation as Justicar of the Ivory Tower. I understand that my term has not been completed, but there are a great many other considerations to account for, considering the recent instabilities. My representatives will of course continue to advise the Directorate, and my retinue will be at your disposal, but my own personal movements and resources will no longer be beholden to the Inner Circle. These are dangerous times, and the call of blood is strong. I must honor an agreement made many years ago, when a life was ended. I do not expect you to understand.
B.
P.S - I am to understand that your haven is currently besieged by Sabbat forces, and that at time of writing you have most likely already fallen to your attackers. I find this regrettable, but I have observed proper protocol by sending this message, and consider my duties discharged. If, by some miracle, my messenger reaches you and you are still in good health, know that any attempt to thwart my resignation will be met with extreme disapproval.
Dear Madam,
I regret to inform you that as of time of writing, our liaison must immediately halt. It is no longer politically expedient for us to associate. With the recent developments, we must look to our own - you are no doubt consolidating the borders of your haven as we speak, and gathering your underlings to you to prepare for the coming storm, and I must do the same.
I wished for you to know, however, before we both entered the hurricane with teeth bared, that you have given me no small amount of pleasure over the last century. It is uncommon for those of my blood to have a 'shameful secret', as it were, and I confess that you caused my blood to stir in a manner it has not seen since my mortal days. I would consider it a great shame if we were never to meet again, but times and troubles being as they are, I believe it unlikely that we shall.
We will always have the Red Diamond - I bought it and preserved it, and the door is always open to you, if you manage to escape what lies in wait for you.
Your undying lord,
B.
P.S - I will ensue that my successor, whoever he may be (and assuming that one is appointed) does not meddle in your affairs. The sword is drawn, and you hold it sure and true. It may yet save us all before our heads are severed entirely. Wield it well, my love.
My daughter,
Father.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Something from Nothing
I've eked out something from nothing.
I suppose it began with my parents
combining biological material
and infusing me with life
and bringing me into the world.
But my mother was a poor wife,
my father was a bad man
and they fell apart.
From nothing, something, and then nothing.
It wasn't that they had a plan.
But I think that they were doomed right from the start.
I've made something from nothing.
I suppose it began when I left
that horrible, ill-fitting nest
and chose a place to lair.
I was adrift; bereft
of all the sensible things a soul should have.
But my leaning on others to get where I needed
fell on deaf ears
and I wasn't heeded.
From nothing, something, and then nothing.
It wasn't that my new home lacked flair.
It was quite the castle
but built on empty air.
I've fabricated something from nothing.
I suppose it began when I flooded
my biological casing with fluids and fogs
to confound and confuse
I try and be hot-blooded,
but I know that I can't lose.
Even if this all falls to pieces,
the shards on the ground will slice
and my blood will flow again
and I'll use it to entice another empire.
From nothing, something, and then nothing.
It's not that I'm uncertain.
It's just that I know to expect fire.
And eventually the day will come
and it will be my pyre.
I suppose it began with my parents
combining biological material
and infusing me with life
and bringing me into the world.
But my mother was a poor wife,
my father was a bad man
and they fell apart.
From nothing, something, and then nothing.
It wasn't that they had a plan.
But I think that they were doomed right from the start.
I've made something from nothing.
I suppose it began when I left
that horrible, ill-fitting nest
and chose a place to lair.
I was adrift; bereft
of all the sensible things a soul should have.
But my leaning on others to get where I needed
fell on deaf ears
and I wasn't heeded.
From nothing, something, and then nothing.
It wasn't that my new home lacked flair.
It was quite the castle
but built on empty air.
I've fabricated something from nothing.
I suppose it began when I flooded
my biological casing with fluids and fogs
to confound and confuse
I try and be hot-blooded,
but I know that I can't lose.
Even if this all falls to pieces,
the shards on the ground will slice
and my blood will flow again
and I'll use it to entice another empire.
From nothing, something, and then nothing.
It's not that I'm uncertain.
It's just that I know to expect fire.
And eventually the day will come
and it will be my pyre.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Bacchus
One,
One two,
One two three four,
two three four,
two three four one.
Head back and sing.
Eyes shut and sing.
Fists clenched and sing.
You are as old as the earth.
You are the son of
the son of
the son of
the son of God.
They are as ants before you.
Head back and sing.
Fists swing and sing.
Blood flows and sing.
You are as strong as the bull.
You are pouring forth
and they are full.
You will drink your fill.
Head back and sing.
Chest out and sing.
Life fades and sing.
She took you to bed.
Her words were as honey.
You're wrong in your head.
This isn't right.
Lie with kin.
The baby cries.
Steep her in sin
and her words will humble him.
Take him and sing.
Stop them and sing.
Reborn a thing.
Head back and sing.
Eyes shut and sing.
Fists clenched and sing.
Slow them with song.
Their touch is wrong.
It is too late.
Bones break and sing.
Flesh fails and sing.
Soul wails and sing.
My Lord?
One two,
One two three four,
two three four,
two three four one.
Head back and sing.
Eyes shut and sing.
Fists clenched and sing.
You are as old as the earth.
You are the son of
the son of
the son of
the son of God.
They are as ants before you.
Head back and sing.
Fists swing and sing.
Blood flows and sing.
You are as strong as the bull.
You are pouring forth
and they are full.
You will drink your fill.
Head back and sing.
Chest out and sing.
Life fades and sing.
She took you to bed.
Her words were as honey.
You're wrong in your head.
This isn't right.
Lie with kin.
The baby cries.
Steep her in sin
and her words will humble him.
Take him and sing.
Stop them and sing.
Reborn a thing.
Head back and sing.
Eyes shut and sing.
Fists clenched and sing.
Slow them with song.
Their touch is wrong.
It is too late.
Bones break and sing.
Flesh fails and sing.
Soul wails and sing.
My Lord?
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Taste of Blood
taste of blood
it's murder
was it worth it?
this is your fault
you - you chose this path.
take your orders
it's working
are you worth it?
this is their fault
they - they earned your wrath.
it's murder
was it worth it?
this is your fault
you - you chose this path.
take your orders
it's working
are you worth it?
this is their fault
they - they earned your wrath.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Malkwoman
prim
still
crushed ice in a murky drink
untouched.
frozen chips in her eyes
my, she's a tough one
but brittle, too
like she's about to break
and we don't
want to be
in the blast zone
still
crushed ice in a murky drink
untouched.
frozen chips in her eyes
my, she's a tough one
but brittle, too
like she's about to break
and we don't
want to be
in the blast zone
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
.
i kissed.
it was soft
and powerful
and everything before
poured into it
and everything after
ceased to matter
and
that should have been enough.
it was soft
and powerful
and everything before
poured into it
and everything after
ceased to matter
and
that should have been enough.
A World of Good
it would do you
a world of good
to throw your head back
and laugh
until you feel
something shift.
you're better than this.
i know
that you feel
that the world
doesn't deserve your
footfall.
i would do you
a world of good
to hold your head back
as you threw up
and the bile spills
on the earth.
this is right
this is proper.
do me
a world of good.
give me this
and change
or don't.
this isn't right.
a world of good
to throw your head back
and laugh
until you feel
something shift.
you're better than this.
i know
that you feel
that the world
doesn't deserve your
footfall.
i would do you
a world of good
to hold your head back
as you threw up
and the bile spills
on the earth.
this is right
this is proper.
do me
a world of good.
give me this
and change
or don't.
this isn't right.
Onward
my eyes are streaming
in the darkness
perhaps this is how it feels to cry
but i will raise a hand
to my unfamiliar face
no care, not anymore
and dash that away
because there isn't room
that space was claimed
and we'll trudge forward
and the road will fork
i smell like months ago
and we won't break
and we won't break
and we won't break
because nothing
has
changed
and nothing will
change
because we're free
it'll keep hurting
but you owe
nothing
and you won't
thirst for it.
.
Encircle the
world with a
sweep
of your arm
with your
power
that you've wrested
from hands
undeserving.
world with a
sweep
of your arm
with your
power
that you've wrested
from hands
undeserving.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
I am adrift
I am adrift.
No, stop that.
I'm lighting incense and resisting cigarettes because I know that one would be one too many.
I'm refusing to write down the details of my life because I know that I would become lost
lost
in these ridiculous spirals of breakdown and build-up
breakdown and build-up
breakdown
and
build
break
down.
Around and around and around.
Seven months?
Five?
Four?
Too many.
No, stop that.
You can't have it both ways.
I go around and around and I am adrift.
I spurn the flesh that bore me.
Cradle, creator, desecrater.
Mother or friend, not both.
Blood or mud.
Not both.
I'd rather have mud.
Blood binds.
I'm refusing to remember the details of my life because I know that I would become lost.
Tangled up in the endless broken bonds
that have become a web
that cloud my sight
that snare me
that knock me to the ground
that strangle
that define
that keep.
Give a little half-sigh in the cold grey light
with your belly empty.
You've been breaking all your life.
Just once more and you'll be free.
Adrift.
Free.
Perhaps you'll be able to build in this wasteland.
One would be too many.
You can't have both.
Blood or mud.
Around and around.
Around and around.
No, stop that.
You can't have it both ways.
I am adrift.
No, stop that.
I'm lighting incense and resisting cigarettes because I know that one would be one too many.
I'm refusing to write down the details of my life because I know that I would become lost
lost
in these ridiculous spirals of breakdown and build-up
breakdown and build-up
breakdown
and
build
break
down.
Around and around and around.
Seven months?
Five?
Four?
Too many.
No, stop that.
You can't have it both ways.
I go around and around and I am adrift.
I spurn the flesh that bore me.
Cradle, creator, desecrater.
Mother or friend, not both.
Blood or mud.
Not both.
I'd rather have mud.
Blood binds.
I'm refusing to remember the details of my life because I know that I would become lost.
Tangled up in the endless broken bonds
that have become a web
that cloud my sight
that snare me
that knock me to the ground
that strangle
that define
that keep.
Give a little half-sigh in the cold grey light
with your belly empty.
You've been breaking all your life.
Just once more and you'll be free.
Adrift.
Free.
Perhaps you'll be able to build in this wasteland.
One would be too many.
You can't have both.
Blood or mud.
Around and around.
Around and around.
No, stop that.
You can't have it both ways.
I am adrift.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Sewer Rat
Nah, man, there's no denying that we're straight up evil fuckers, but this guy was talking some shit even Hugh wouldn't listen to, and you know what he's like when the twitches get on him. Kept talking about some 'dark master' like some fucking kine satanist, or some goddamn preacher. I would have kicked his head in, but he had this look in his eye and ol' Fido told me in no uncertain terms that kicking his head in would have been a bad idea, a bad fucking idea. So I told him we weren't in the market for a new religion and Lewie gave him the old strong-arm treatment and he laughed in his face - laughed, in Lewie's face, like he wasn't a Sewer Rat! Didn't even flinch at the boils, and Lewie was in the leaking stage, you know what he's like. So Lewie unfolds that pigeon frame of his and goes to take a swing - his Fido wasn't paying close attention, that I know, he'd been getting the shakes for a few days now - and this guy shadowsteps out without missing a beat. I dunno if the local Keepers know about him, but we're keeping our goddamn mouths shut. I've seen some straight up evil shit, but I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched. Fido ain't happy, I ain't happy, and we're gunning for the horizon as soon as we can steal a car. Watch Evie for me, will ya? And if you got any sense, you'll be wingin' it too. I know you Rockheads don't think the same way we do, but...
Well, just look after yourself.
Well, just look after yourself.
Fever Dreams
I feel at home in this
sleep-steeped sickness of
troubles
And this place reeks of
fustian delights
and pursuits of esoteric and ethereal
ideals.
You flicker under the lights
with the folds of your shirt
sliding upwards to display
a piece
of tantalizing flesh the world does
not
acknowledge
but that which I cannot possess
or caress
or own.
They melted away under the halogen lamps.
Don't speak too loudly or they'll return.
I'd hate to see them
especially after they burned.
I feel at home in this
fever-fucked fervor of
hatreds
And this place sweats out
primal desires
and pursuits of physical and earthly
ideals.
You flicker under the lights
with the words from your lips
floating forward to display
a piece
of tantalizing mind the world does
not
acknowledge
but that which I cannot return
or understand
or know.
They melted away under the halogen lamps.
Don't touch me here or they'll return.
I'd hate to see them
especially after they burned.
They're on their way.
sleep-steeped sickness of
troubles
And this place reeks of
fustian delights
and pursuits of esoteric and ethereal
ideals.
You flicker under the lights
with the folds of your shirt
sliding upwards to display
a piece
of tantalizing flesh the world does
not
acknowledge
but that which I cannot possess
or caress
or own.
They melted away under the halogen lamps.
Don't speak too loudly or they'll return.
I'd hate to see them
especially after they burned.
I feel at home in this
fever-fucked fervor of
hatreds
And this place sweats out
primal desires
and pursuits of physical and earthly
ideals.
You flicker under the lights
with the words from your lips
floating forward to display
a piece
of tantalizing mind the world does
not
acknowledge
but that which I cannot return
or understand
or know.
They melted away under the halogen lamps.
Don't touch me here or they'll return.
I'd hate to see them
especially after they burned.
They're on their way.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Light-Blasted
Bide your time in the light places.
Soak it into your marrow.
You've had a harrowing time of it,
but now you're in good graces.
Believe that we didn't know,
It's too much to let slip away.
From the earth a shoot will grow,
and infuse itself with the day.
Drums, drums, drums on your skin.
What do you hear?
What do you seek?
The destruction of the weak,
the scourging of the self.
Bide your time in the light places.
Soak it into your bones.
You've had a blasted time of it,
but now you're headed home.
Soak it into your marrow.
You've had a harrowing time of it,
but now you're in good graces.
Believe that we didn't know,
It's too much to let slip away.
From the earth a shoot will grow,
and infuse itself with the day.
Drums, drums, drums on your skin.
What do you hear?
What do you seek?
The destruction of the weak,
the scourging of the self.
Bide your time in the light places.
Soak it into your bones.
You've had a blasted time of it,
but now you're headed home.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Something Nice
Maybe something nice will happen WHY THE FUCK WOULD ANYTHING NICE HAPPEN.
Blood beats on blood while blood sits by and watches and yes he's a wayward child but he'll grow out of it and meanwhile you're in hell, you're all hell and you're just sitting there watching why the fuck are you watching there's soot and smoke and ash boiling out of your beloved blood's mouth and you all just sit and watch as he melts away before you why the hell, why, why.
It's all about the money these days they say but why the fuck would you have any money you insignificant peasant you can't hold a job you can't hold a life down you can't even stay in the right fucking place when you need to be there for somebody else I've never been all that convinced, really, although I do my best to keep abreast of that situation.
It's just a rain of salt through your fingers but don't lick it, you see, you'll taint the purity of the drink, because this is high class stuff, you know, not like that orange shit that you buy in bottles at your local supermarket and the streets are so fucking quiet that a rustling in the bushes will send you flying out of your skin, because this place is so hostile that the only noises you hear have to belong to something that wants you dead so you just have a sip of this, my brother, and you'll be feeling alright after that.
But you're back, that's what matters. You're back and we can all be together again because after all we're a little family, aren't we, just a little family, a clan, a brood, a FUCKING BLOODLINE and everything spirals, doesn't it, everything in on itself until you're quiet and shut in and surrounded by those that care about you and their hands reach up towards you and you have to suppress the urge to spit because it reminds you of home and home is sick and wrong.
Maybe something nice will happen.
Why the fuck won't something nice happen?
Friday, October 5, 2012
Research Notes
Four ampules of the transhermative substitute,
Seven drops of delirious blood.
A scraping of bone.
There has to be a scientific explanation.
There has to be a scientific explanation.
There has to be a scientific explanation.
Re: patient screaming - severing the vocal chords somehow? Too much blood to legibly write. Nancy too useful to scribe notes and tape recorder cluttered with constant sound. Investigate.
Incision C closed. Attempt treatment of Incision D with transhermative substitute.
Specimen six unusable. Remind Nancy to hose out the sub-basement.
Specimen seven returned for reanalysis. Perhaps more to be learned underneath the retinas. Re-admitted.
[illegible]
[several pages torn out]
Specimen seven released. Nancy's memories altered. All relevant notes collated and sent to [removed] and the weirdlings. Matter closed until transhermative substitute yields more positive results.
There has to be a scientific explanation.
Five ampules next time.
Seven drops of delirious blood.
A scraping of bone.
There has to be a scientific explanation.
There has to be a scientific explanation.
There has to be a scientific explanation.
Re: patient screaming - severing the vocal chords somehow? Too much blood to legibly write. Nancy too useful to scribe notes and tape recorder cluttered with constant sound. Investigate.
Incision C closed. Attempt treatment of Incision D with transhermative substitute.
Specimen six unusable. Remind Nancy to hose out the sub-basement.
Specimen seven returned for reanalysis. Perhaps more to be learned underneath the retinas. Re-admitted.
[illegible]
[several pages torn out]
Specimen seven released. Nancy's memories altered. All relevant notes collated and sent to [removed] and the weirdlings. Matter closed until transhermative substitute yields more positive results.
There has to be a scientific explanation.
Five ampules next time.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
An Open Book
N,
I sincerely apologize for disturbing you with this inelegant method of communication, but I simply must request that you loan me those discourses as soon as possible. I'm happy to pass on Netchurch's results in fair exchange; truth be told, I'd value your opinion on them. The results are...unsettling. Certain parallels are drawn that you may find objectionable, and in truth I would appreciate a voice willing to debunk them. The doctor is...meticulous, and thus far I haven't managed to find a loophole. Pay particular attention to his second experiment and you'll know why I'm so uncharacteristically eager to get my hands on those discourses.
Let us descend into the blind world,
V.
P.S - Malcolm went back, the fool. Hargraven must be spinning in his sepulcher.
I sincerely apologize for disturbing you with this inelegant method of communication, but I simply must request that you loan me those discourses as soon as possible. I'm happy to pass on Netchurch's results in fair exchange; truth be told, I'd value your opinion on them. The results are...unsettling. Certain parallels are drawn that you may find objectionable, and in truth I would appreciate a voice willing to debunk them. The doctor is...meticulous, and thus far I haven't managed to find a loophole. Pay particular attention to his second experiment and you'll know why I'm so uncharacteristically eager to get my hands on those discourses.
Let us descend into the blind world,
V.
P.S - Malcolm went back, the fool. Hargraven must be spinning in his sepulcher.
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