Sunday, March 12, 2006

You already said, ‘Spite.’

The world needs to be cleansed.

There is me, that is, Isaac.  And there is the rest of them.  Yes, the rest of them.  But mostly there is just me, that is, Isaac.

It’s not that I don’t put much stock in love and friendship and family and all of that (the ties that bind, as it were).  It’s not that.  I put incredible stock behind the ties that bind.  I know them.  I know their power.  But they hold little sway over me.  It seems I either will accept no ties or the ties simply will not hold.  In the end, it is the same as the beginning, the same as it always was: me. on my own. against the world.

The world could use more innocence; it has lost so much; silence.  It won’t come from me.  I have lost mine.  I am nothing more than a corrupt and desiccated shell of a man.  With a spirit of madness brooding within my soul.  But at least I can mourn its passing.  At least I can do that.

Turtle hesitated as he opened the aged wooded case.  “They were your grandfather’s.  He too crossed over.  He too was a Prophet of the Blades.  I suppose they belong to you now.”  They were heavy bladed daggers, twins.  The hilts were modified to include what seemed to be a form of brass knuckles.  The most remarkable aspect of the blades, however, was their inky black hue.  It was as if they drank in the light.  And the contrast between them and the blood red velvet lining was stark and forbidding.  These were no hunting knives.  These blades thirsted for the blood of men.  Turtle looked upon them with a reverence that Billy had never seen in him.  He knew what the blades meant; he had seen them do their ghastly duty.  He knew what bringing them back into service would mean.  “They are Dai Shari dueling blades.  The most prized weapon of the Pits.  Only the best fighters would be granted the honor of using them.  And then only after their 100th kill.”  Billy gingerly picked one up.  He held it for a moment, then reconsidered.  Somehow he knew, felt, that they were meant to be held blade down.  “As you might have already guessed by the design of the hilt and guard, they were used as much for punching as anything else.”  Billy picked up the second blade.  He hefted the two of them together adopting a modified pugilist stance.  Haymakers would bring the blade around.  Straight punches would break a man’s face on the guard.  This was indeed a fearsome weapon for close combat.  “I will kill with these.”  It was not a question.

“anyone lived in a pretty how town.”
- Edward Estlin

“Riddle me this.  Riddle me that.  Who’s afraid of a big black bat?”
- Edward Nigma

Death to all Pigeons.  Them and theirs will never be welcome in the House of the Gods.  They shall never walk the perfumed paths of the Nameless Ones.  They shall be cursed to the Thousand Deaths of Hadran’s Fires.  Cry sweet relief.  But I shall give you none.  The Prophet has Spoken.  Thus it is written.  Thus shall it be so.

Death comes to us all.  So it is not how well we avoid Him that matters.  But rather, how well we may accept His passing.  And to live in accordance.

Sometimes we all have to deal at the Crossroads.  The time simply comes and we do as we must.

It’s the small things.  Small things, true, but they leave their mark.  They steal your soul.  A little piece at a time.  And slowly, slowly, they kill you.  And I just can’t take it any longer.  To quote the Queen, “I want to break free.  Oh how I’ve got to break free.”

To face the dawn with blades drawn and teeth bared.  It is the way of my ancestors; and all those of my calling.  Back to the beginning.

I cannot understand how a man can develop such obvious adoration for such a faceless, soulless corporation.  Ah yes, the mission statement to “do good things” and “make the world a better place” uttered in true pageant queen sincerity.  But fuck, seriously?

It is a deep aching need in the soul, in the indefinable place in the middle of your chest.  It cannot be censored.  It cannot be held back.  And it is all I can not to let it loose on all of those fuckwit bastards who assail me each and every day at work.  fuck them and all of their petty bullshit; all those lies and fantasies they use to string their numb soulless lives together.  Fuck them and fuck the powers that be.  Fuck the powers that prevent me from giving those bastards each and every thing they deserve.  

The world needs to be cleansed.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

hmm...interesting..the whole thing seems to have the same type of tone of something that might have been written by j.d. salinger..the whole disparity of it all..keep writing and see where it all goes...