I whispered to the richly embroidered wall, breathing life into its ancient death.
"Where can I find Elysium?"
A moment passed before a small female voice replied from the depths of the wall itself,
"Before you."
An almost disappointingly normal notebook materialized eye-level in the air right in front of me. Red cover, almost pristine condition, one subject college-ruled (lol) but upon opening it was discovered to be numerous notes scribbled and drawn in numerous styles of handwriting by gods know how many predecessors who asked the right question and had the right knowledge.
So I added my own.
I added my love to my forebears, and to those that would come later.
The Elysium magick:
It spoke of how to drain the life force of others to replenish mine. Not to kill - just exhaust.
Never kill. But drain yes. Take it without asking.
Then there were some cracked-out gargoyles and vampires, Skyrim style. Such a nerd.
More later. I've got a headache.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Monday, October 28, 2013
Talking to Paulie makes me reflect... IT'S A GOOD THING, I SWEAR!
It's weird how things work.
Each new traumatic event cracks the shell that tragedy formed. I look back on the worst memories of my life with a sort of savage fondness, the ferocity of the energy it fills me with is legitimately insane. The filter through my thoughts is spattered with blood both old and new, and electrically charged.
Things that are broken... Things that are dead.
Some memories still have a horror sheen over them. "Did I really do that? Did my fragmented mind just make that up... how did this even happen to a kid like me, what the fuck did I turn into?" Honor roll straight-As. Awards from 'Presidents'. Perfect attendance. Some good friends that she played with every day for years. Happy times; simple times. Sane times, maybe.
Things that are broken...
Lock on the outside of her door so her mom or dad could trap her in. Glasses twisted in a mangled scribble from her father's flat-handed strike; because she was on the phone before her homework finished. Fingertips callused from a multitude of forced violin practice; calluses that were once sore or even bleeding gashes from erosion. Drugs... oh, drugs. Alcohol... OH, ALCOHOL!
Oh, where is my head at now? I am a whirlwind.
Things that are dead. More later maybe. I should get in the habit of writing this crap down so my psych can fit me for my straightjacket, lol
Each new traumatic event cracks the shell that tragedy formed. I look back on the worst memories of my life with a sort of savage fondness, the ferocity of the energy it fills me with is legitimately insane. The filter through my thoughts is spattered with blood both old and new, and electrically charged.
Things that are broken... Things that are dead.
Some memories still have a horror sheen over them. "Did I really do that? Did my fragmented mind just make that up... how did this even happen to a kid like me, what the fuck did I turn into?" Honor roll straight-As. Awards from 'Presidents'. Perfect attendance. Some good friends that she played with every day for years. Happy times; simple times. Sane times, maybe.
Things that are broken...
Lock on the outside of her door so her mom or dad could trap her in. Glasses twisted in a mangled scribble from her father's flat-handed strike; because she was on the phone before her homework finished. Fingertips callused from a multitude of forced violin practice; calluses that were once sore or even bleeding gashes from erosion. Drugs... oh, drugs. Alcohol... OH, ALCOHOL!
Oh, where is my head at now? I am a whirlwind.
Things that are dead. More later maybe. I should get in the habit of writing this crap down so my psych can fit me for my straightjacket, lol
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