Post of Obscene Length

I had a dream. A rare occurrence.
There was the usual gibberish at the start. My longer dreams generally start with flashes of nonsensical images before settling down into something concrete. In this case, something to do with kittens of various sizes climbing stairs made of tiny houses, with the one on top entering a space dungeon to collect shiny objects and shoot down a red and green spiny moon. I didn't dwell on that for too long.
Then there was me. And Danica. The setting changed rapidly from an ice rink to a children's theater to settle on a cinema. A few people miled around near the front. We sat together in an empty row. The film was something experimental: a series of sixteen shorts that flowed together. The first started. It was pale, yet rose-tinted. Danica laid her head on my shoulder and turned her face towards me. I stared into her eyes and put my arm around her. A beautiful moment.
The second. People were driving in cars and buses through a small canyon. I watched from above. I raised my rifle, aimed for one of the drivers, and fired. Chaos below. Vehicles were swerving and crashing, and people ran for their lives. I fired again and again. I couldn't see if I was hitting anything, but it was having an effect. I was at the bottom, amongst the people. Someone was shooting at us. I fired back and missed. I ran. The bridge was so close.
The third. Alone on a narrow suspension bridge. It is guarded by a rotund fish monster. It is a musical; monsters, frightened people, and unseen voices sing fear and destiny. Fat raptors appear at each end of the bridge, trapping me. The creep closer and closer. Then they leap past me and strike the fish monster. They devour it. I run, across the bridge, away, down. There's a stony path down to a beach. I've reached the ocean. I'm free. There's an orange pillar topped with a thick grey liquid. I touch it. A horrible wrenching and I'm drawn into it.
I wake up. Danica is talking to someone. She says that I began acting strange, going through the motions as though I was in the film. She is relieved to see I've come back, but she asks me to move away. She doesn't want to be near me if it happens again. She is very nice about it and though I am reluctant to leave her side, after a minute I do.
The fourth. I reform on a small bridge. There are orange pillars lining the side. People walk by. They seem not to notice me. The little pillars move things from one place to another. If you could use them to go anywhere, where would you go? I am wearing a trench coat. Something is wrong with my face.
The fifth. It is night. I have left the bridge and am walking down the cobbled street running alongside the river. There is no one in sight. A small, dark-skinned boy is sitting on the corner, where the river turns. He smiles at me. A flash and he is a grinning demon. I leap at him, crushing him to the ground. He is a boy again. I don't want to hurt him. He is a pale-faced robot reaching for me, and I tear at his face before he can hurt me. I have to kill him. He is a boy, hurt and barely conscious, and I hold him in my arms with tears streaming down my face whispering apologies. I feel unbearable guilt. He is a monster. I pound at him. Danica finds me. She runs at me and drags me off of him. I scream, crying uncontrollably. The boy does not move. They are squirming, hissing piles of entrails. I throw her down and crouch. The yells at the boy to run and he slithers off. She is Danica again. I dive and claw at her, cackling inhumanly, pushing her into the river, forcing her under the water. She thrashes and kicks and screams at me but I force her down again and again and she finally stops moving. I am me again and I stare at her as the water closes over her head and all I want to do is hold her in my arms again.
I wake.
(My interpretation: first, the desire to love and be loved. In this moment when I know this to be true, I am happy. When I disappear into the film it shows my mind's ability to draw me into things that it knows are not real, and are often more dangerous and frightening than reality. Being asked to move away shows my fear of being abandoned because of my disconnection from the popular reality. But when this happens, I just lose myself even more in the frightening dreams. Finally, the attack at the end is my ultimate fear: that some delusion will drive me to hurt someone. I don't want to do it and it doesn't even make sense, and on some level I know this but in the moment I can't stop myself. I feel unbearable remorse because I know what I've done and I can' t live with myself. When Danica arrives to stop me I kill her instead. This is to show that even if they save me, should I ever snap the ones I love will be the ones who are hurt the most. Beloved, I don't want to ever hurt you...)

"Well," said Prophet, "it's sure a good thing we got out of that one."
Lank blinked. He blinked again, slowly, and looked around. They were outside of the Citadel of Serpents. The door was still caved in, but the path home appeared to be danger-free. "How..." he stopped. Prophet was smiling. There was no point; he would never get an explanation out of him. Most likely there was no explanation, and this was one of those inexplicable things that just happened. "Yep," he finished lamely. Whisk, seeing that Prophet wasn't at all fazed by the development, simply shrugged and went along with it. Lank ran his eyes over her body. A little stuck up, he thought, and not the most brainy, but in a good light she looked pretty... hot.
Prophet saw Lank's gaze and took Whisk's arm. "We should be getting back." To Whisk, "There's a place up north I think you'd like. It's near the swamp but it's cozy and has a great view and it doesn't smell at all, I promise."
Whisk didn't answer. She was staring up at the sky, far beyond the Citadel. "Look at that," she whispered, her mouth slowly dropping open. The others looked.
Far above, illuminated in red light, was the edge of the Dream Jar. Great black shards that spun lazily through the sky, connected in places to one another by sinewy strands. "You can't see this from the Blue Mountain," gasped Lank.
"The Dream Jar is a sphere," Prophet explained calmly. "We think of our world as a sphere as well because it's easiest. Certainly it wraps around to the east and west, joining the far oceans, but it appears that the north and south are open and flat. You can probably see a similar view from the Northern Sea."
They stared for several minutes. Finally Whisk said, "We should go." They turned and headed for home.

"This is really stupid," muttered IMPACT as he trudged up the cold grey path. Rubble and debris were all around him. Ahead was the grim purple palace set into Grandfather's Mountain. "I don't see why I'm alone." The grumbling continued. All sounds faded as he approached. There was silence save for the wicked calling of scraggly birds overhead (probably Doom Vultures or something equally ominous). A menacing porticullis was set into the side of the mountain, no doubt leading through some dark and dangerous passage through the mountain up to the castle. IMPACT approached the narrow gate. It was made of soft stone with skulls set into the sides. "Okay, a ghost wall," he remarked. "That's okay. I'm not afraid of curses." He stretched out a hand. "Where does one get skulls around here anyway..." the hand passed through the barrier.
An invisible force picked up IMPACT and hurled him away from the gate. He landed roughly on a pile of stone. "Ow." He sat up. "Okay..."
There was a flash. A streak of blinding light rose from the top of the Blue Mountain and moved rapidly towards him. Skeleton appeared, clad in full battle armour, and struck the ghost wall with his war hammer. He vanished with a small popping noise. IMPACT stared in disbelief. "Okay..." he said. "That didn't happen."
The light at the top of the Blue Mountain went out. The sky went dark. A rippling blackness shot out of the sky and pierced the mountain's peak. Cracks formed. The earth began to split. "No, no, no," shouted IMPACT, terror rising in his voice, "this isn't happening! This isn't happening!" He ran, tripping and stumbling, away from the wall. The air became darker and darker. There was a rumbling and a great scream. Everything blew apart.
A tiny push as he breached a barrier. IMPACT tumbled to the ground, then looked up. There was no darkness. The Blue Mountain was whole. Skeleton's familiar light shone at the top. IMPACT looked back. The purple mountain still loomed, forbidding. He hastily composed himself. "Okay," he said aloud, "that really didn't happen. It's a Palace of Fear of some sorts. I should have guessed." He set off back to the shore to make a new plan. The sound of faint laughter echoed on the wind.

Red Swallow

I've been thinking. I've spoken with the Beast, been blessed by the Lord, seen the beauty of the Goddess, flown with angels, battled demons, witnessed glimpses of both Heaven and Hell, suffered wounds, been a reason for living, predicted the future, escaped the past, parted the clouds and nearly died... and yet despite all that I can't escape the notion lately that I am still nothing but dust, and the awesome powers I have seen serve only to remind me how insignificant I am. Next to God and even those who would call themselves gods I am nothing. Endured so much, accomplished so little.
I've had these feelings before. They pass quickly. I think it's why I try to love; to keep such matters out of perspective. It's hard to feel insignificant with someone in your arms.

Where are you, beloved? I miss you.
It occurred to me the other day that we both have father issues. Of course, yours are more literal while mine are more along the lines of 'some paranoid/delusional fantasy my self-obsessed mind dreamt up because in some roundabout way it justifies my existence' which doesn't really help either of us. I guess it's not really fair to compare us that way. Or is it? I don't know.
I've been really depressed the past couple days because of the possibility that most of my life is really delusions and absurd rationalizations. I know I'd rather be crazy than right. But if I can't believe in myself, how can I believe in anything? For all I know I really do talk to thin air.
This again dredges up the question of how anyone could love an insane freak like me. I don't want to have those thoughts. I'm sorry. I can't help it. I've been hurt before... not that that's any excuse.

Whatever. Maybe I'm dust and maybe I'm delusional, but maybe I'm strong anyway and someone loves me. I go on. It's what I do.

Twenty-seven

What value/ideal do you uphold the most?

Basic human empathy. People should feel for each other. Hypocritical, I know, since I spend so much time hiding my emotions… but maybe that’s why it’s so important to me.
-Styx

Strength through adversary. No gain without pain. Muscles must be torn to be strengthened.
-IMPACT

*strange barking noises*
-the haich

Um. I don’t know. Love?
-Wraith

I live to protect. Security is what I value.
-Skeleton

Happiness?
-Clarence

Hmm. Most things that people support are really non-issues blown out of proportion. I’ll have to get back to you on that one.
-Lank

Love and freedom between all people. To an extent, of course.
-Prophet

Hope.
-Whisk

What do you fear the most?

I’d like to say the Druj, or someone I love getting hurt, but to be honest the thing I fear the most is loneliness. I don’t want to be unloved.
-Styx

What I fear the most is that when we die we find out that God really does hate anyone who’s black, female, crippled, liberal, or anything other than one denomination of one religion, along with anything else us or Him can think up. The implications would be... worrying.
-IMPACT

Is it unknown if the haich has any concept of fear.

When asked, Wraith burst into tears and ran away. We didn’t press the issue.

The only thing that I fear is that I will be unable to perform my duties. I will not fail.
-Skeleton

…monsters.
-Clarence

Pigs. Seriously, pigs. Do you know, farmers who have heart attacks or fall unconscious in pig pens are often eaten alive? They’ll chomp down on anything. Cut through bones like butter. They terrify the hell out of me.
-Lank

Persecution, I suppose. I’m not like most people in a lot of ways I can’t quite explain. I guess people might hate me for that.
-Prophet

I dunno. I’m scared of a lot of scary things. No, being cut down. Told I’m not as good as I think I am. I’m not just some prissy girl, you know. It’s not easy being me. I hate it when people tell me I can’t cope. Because I can.
-Whisk

What would you find at the Crossroads?

In the end, family. One way, darkness, madness and power… the other, strength, light and peace. My dark ancestor or the good Father. I still don’t know which way I’ll go.
-Styx

I concur. Family.

-IMPACT

[Wraith]
-the haich

The… the haich.
-Wraith

I am [Guardian]. Your question is meaningless. However, for your purposes… myself.
-Skeleton

Family. We’ve never had a home.
-Clarence

Yeah. That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? Family.
-Lank

Love or power. So… family.
-Prophet

Family. All we ever really wanted was to be loved.
-Whisk

Answers Forthcoming

Lately when I've been lying in bed at night I've felt an immeasurable desire to hold someone. Just hold, nothing else. In my arms. Just a normal longing to be touched, I thought. At times I can't stand to be touched, but at the same time I seem to need it. A painful drug. I've spent the past week only able to fall asleep with my arms wrapped around myself. I considered bringing an old stuffie into bed with me, but I didn't. Not because it's something I felt was beneath me - I've done it before, when I needed something to cuddle - but something was stopping me. Some nagging feeling that something, fundamentally, just wasn't right. Something, somewhere, had gone wrong.
It was then that I had a sudden, jaw-dropping realization.

Humans were never meant to sleep alone.
Pause for a moment to let that sink in.

It's something that probably dates back to the Origins. I have no idea when the modernization occurred. Children slept with their parents, spouses slept together. Even if you didn't have a partner, you always had a family. At some point, sexuality raised its ugly (yet unreasonably attractive) head and people started to say, hey, maybe we shouldn't be doing this, it might be kind of... wrong. Ever since sharing a bed began to mean the same thing as sex. Human association killed a basic part of human nature.
And now it's impossible to find someone to sleep with. I'd get slapped, for a start, and then go through the various layers of management with It's just sleeping, literally, sleeping, nothing else, and none of them would believe me. There's family, of course, but I don't think they'd quite understand. Besides, human association... no one would be quite comfortable sleeping with a family member. Not any more. And since the definitions of children and adults have changed, so much, the relationship model is pretty much destroyed, and homosexuality is on the rampage, these days finding someone to share your bed is damn near impossible. I continue to sleep restlessly.
You ever wonder why babies cry so much at night? I'm just saying.

An Average Night At Youth:
Arrive. Spend several minutes standing around awkwardly while people arrive that will let me talk to them.
When Danica arrives she hugs me briefly. I wonder if she does this for me or for her.
We talk. We catch up. I make something of an effort to talk to other people. I don't want to seem dependent on her.
There's music. I stand at the back and listen. People don't seem to care as much as they used to. Maybe that will pass.
There's a talk. In the end, everything comes down to the same message. At times it is geared towards giving of yourself, being less selfish, thinking more of others. The usual spiel. I feel guilty.
There's music again, a softer music. If anything meaningful is to happen, it will happen now. Sometimes there's a call for those with troubles to come up to the front. I've been up there more times than most.
As usual, God is right. He supports me and wants me to get better. The only one who's keeping me down is myself. I sometimes hate not being able to blame God as others do. If I am feeling brave, I will let Him touch me. It is painful. Healing hurts.
I let dangerous emotions emerge. Hate, despair, loneliness, the ones that cannot be controlled but cannot be released. They course though me, tearing me apart. I sit with them until they go back down again. I have to feel them sometimes.
Occasionally people will ask if I'm okay. I answer "yes" when I am and "I'm fine" when I'm not. This is their time as well as mine. I don't want to spoil it.
If I'm not looking well, Danica might hold my hand. I think public displays of affection still make her slightly uncomfortable, so I almost wish she wouldn't. At the same time, though, I'm glad that she's there for me. For all my talk, I don't really want to be alone.
I go outside a lot, when I need a moment to collect myself. Some of the most important moments of my life have happened in one spot out front, next to the pillar. I find that no matter the time of the day, time of the year, or even the time of the month, from that spot the sky always looks beautiful.
I spend a lot of time alone. For reasons I can't explain I don't want to feel anything.
A lot of the time I think what God wants for me is to be healed. Just like that. Made better, to become the giant I have the potential to be. The thought scares me. Moloch says it's because I don't want to take responsibility for my life. Then the others laugh. They're right. Broken is what I've always been. I don't think we could cope being whole.
Sometimes there's happiness. There's always that to hope for.

Gratuitous loneliness

We asked each of the Nine what they look for in a relationship. Here are the results:

I dunno. Someone to comfort me when I'm down, and stuff, without just mothering me. I think I'd like someone who'll be kind and supportive during the bad times and strict and encouraging the rest of the time. I guess someone borderline abusive, without dissolving into actual abuse. That sounds harsher than I mean it... I guess I mean someone who has high expectations of me, but is there for me when things to wrong.
-Styx

Devotion. Someone who is subservient to me, even in some small way. Someone concerned with my happiness. Someone to have just a small amount of power over while the rest of the world spins its ordered chaos around us. Power is so hard to come by for the honest. Please don't take this the wrong way - honestly, I want a partner, not a servant - but is a little control too much to ask?
-IMPACT

[Fear.][Compassion.][Understanding.][Body. Give.]
[Want.]
-the haich

Boys? I, um, I guess I'd, um, I guess...
It's just hypothetical. You don't have to worry.
Um... I don't, I don't know...
-Wraith

We will not find the ideal partner. This we know.
But say you had to choose...
I am [Guardian]. It is not my place.
-Skeleton

*blank stare*
-Clarence

My girl? She'd better be nice, is all. Reasonable, not too nagging, not too distant. Clingy I can deal with. Not a total pushover, but someone I can have some influence on. Not afraid to give a little of herself. Seriously though, my standards are low, so I think I'd probably be happy with any piece of tail who's not a total bitch.
-Lank

I dunno. What I really want is a guy... or, yeah a I guess a girl... who I can just share things with. One who's smart and nice and kind of crazy in the same way I am. Someone I can just be myself with and not have to explain myself. That would be nice. For me.
-Prophet

OMG, I want a boy who'll treat me like a princess. I want to be chased, and admired, and, like, adored. Course, Skeleton isn't really into that, so we'll end up with a girl, which I am totally not cool with, but they don't listen to what I want. It would be cool if she was like my BFF, but no. I'm not out often enough for that. I'll just keep dreaming of my perfect guy...
-Whisk

How far would you go... physically?

Kissing, I guess. I'm hoping she'd stop me if I tried to go further, but wouldn't push me away completely.
-Styx

Physically? You disgust me.
-IMPACT

[WANT!]
-the haich

We didn't dare ask Wraith.

As far as was necessary.
-Skeleton
We are frightened of the prospect of finding out what he means.

*blank stare*
Clarence

You know how far I'd go... too far, probably.
-Lank

Can't say I know. I've never done anything more than hold hands.
-Prophet

All the way... if he was cute enough ;)
-Whisk

What song describes you?

Depends on my mood. On a good day, That Green Gentleman; on a bad day, Dead Boy's Poem. Runs In The Family as well.
-Styx

Debatable. I have yet to find a piece of music that adequately describes my... frustrations. GS Screamer's Bowser the Shredder is a good start.
-IMPACT

It is unknown if the haich understands the concept of music at all.

Half Jack. Defnitly.
-Wraith

Irrelevant. Music will not incidentally match a person's [character] to any great extent. However, for your purposes, I will [select] Lux Aeterna. [And/or] perhaps Lux Libera Nos.
-Skeleton

Hiphopopotamous vs the Rhymenocerous!
-Clarence

It's a stupid thought, but I've kind of always hoped that some day an ex of mine would listen to My Immortal and think of me. For me, though, I'll say Beauty of the Beast or Animal I Have Become.
-Lank

Not really sure. I don't listen to much music. I'll say Rock Lobster.
-Prophet

Slide, the Dresden Dolls. I'm ashamed but it's so much like me.
-Whisk

(Edit: finally added links for clarity. Shouls have done that ages ago.)

Accepting requests for questions...

Adventures happen when they happen

"So... we're stuck."
Prophet smiled sheepishly. "Yeah."
"You know," said Lank angrily, "when I agreed to camp out here, I was under the impression that it was because we could leave at any moment. Not," he added emphatically, "for exactly the opposite reason." He smacked his hand against the rock and dirt blocking their exit. Behind them, Whisk was quietly hyperventilating. "God-dammit!" The other two flinched. "So, what do we do now?"
Prophet shrugged. "I dunno."
Lank sighed. While not particularly brave, he was at least realistic. "Well, we may as well see about this mutant serpent thing. It may give us a clue." They went back downstairs to the central chamber and took the left-hand passage.
It was, indeed, a mutant. Much smaller than a Serpent, but much larger than a Centipede, it coiled and writhed in a shallow basin set into a similarly-sized chamber. It was long and tubular, like an ordinary snake, but in places it was knotted or bloated, and its dark purplish skin was rough, gnarly and rotted. Its face appeared to be crushed inwards. The trio stared at it for awhile. "Is it dangerous?" asked Lank.
"It doesn't appear so," remarked Prophet. "While it is obviously a Serpent of some sort, it's markedly different somehow. Perhaps it will not behave like the others."
The serpent's eyes flicked towards them. For a second it ceased its limp thrashings. Lank stepped forward to the rim of the basin. "Hello," he called out. "What's your name?"
The beast raised its deformed head towards him. "Thhh-laaa-ikk," it hissed between bloated, toothless lips. Then it curled back onto itself.
"Oh my God," said Lank, stepping back. The other two flinched. "It's Slaik." Seeing the others' confusion, he explained. "He was before your time. Before mine, even. One of our intentional creations, much like the Velocarachnid- and, similarly, it seems to have gone horribly wrong." He shook his head. "We used to create monsters for our entertainment. How many others are lost here somewhere, twisted against us? White Dragon? The Ice Angel? Iox? God, can you imagine..."
"Will you stop-" Prophet composed himself. "So. This character is one of ours. And it has something to do with the Serpents. The question is, how can we use this?" They individually thought for a moment, imagining horror after horror. "Maybe it's like the werepyre stories. Kill this one, the original, and all the others die."
"No!" cut in Whisk. "We can't kill it. It's one of ours, and it's not evil. Maybe Darkmother's just taken its image."
"Not to use an overpopular line," added Lank, "but to both of you: maybe that's just what they want you to think." He paused to let this sink in. "We don't know what's going on. We're just going to have to take this one step at a time."
By this time Slaik had grown still, breathing gently. It was asleep.

Still feeling bleh. Eh, whatever.
A lot of trauma. A lot of stress. The R key on this keyboard is still only working two-thirds of the time. Whatever. Headache still going strong.
In need of hugs.
Finally getting pills down unassisted. Bleh. I hate it, but... but what? I don't know. Maybe it'll all be worth it.
Seems everyone's getting sick right about now. A few bugs going around. Well, Spring just around the corner.

It is march the second.

It is one in the morning.
What is wrong with me?

...aside from the obvious. Meh. I guess a hell of a lot of stuff is wrong with me, put like that.
You know, studies show that people with depression have a better understanding of the world than everyone else. Makes you think, dunnit.
I hate being in a house with cats at night. I keep hearing doors opening and closing. And the creaking. Footsteps. I can't tell which are real and which aren't.
I am tired. I should sleep.
And yet...
And yet what?
It's the pills. I think. No, I don't, that's the problem... I can't think at all. My head is filled with fuzz, white noise, a constant buzzing and humming. It drowns out everything else. Where am I? I don't know. Maybe that's the real secret behind them; they just fuzz everything out until you're an empty, smiling shell. I hope this wears off. I couldn't live like this forever. The search for cyanide and happiness will have to continue somewhere else.

They've been trying to get me to take pills. Bleh. I hate it. But I can do it. Some might call it a mind over matter thing... really it's the opposite. Mind over matter may work for some people, but not me. I find it's mind under matter - just letting yourself go and realizing that the only thing stopping you from doing something is you. Focus on the matter and the mind becomes irrelevant. Makes me question my morality, but what doesn't?

It is my opinion that people become crazy for two reasons. Either you ingest too much bullshit and start to believe something that isn't true, or you ingest too little and start to believe something that is. I hope I belong to the latter group. Or do I? One of my greatest desires has been for everything I've ever believed in to be wrong. Self-defeating, but whatever. I hope I'm out of that by now. People on the whole don't want to accept responsibility for anything. That's why they don't want to commit to belief. I say you can't be an atheist or nihilist and then complain about the meaninglessness of existence. That's just not fair to anyone.

Like I get any sleep anyway.