We went book shopping the other day. My mum wouldn't let me get We Need To Talk About Kevin. It's about a school shooting. I can understand why she wouldn't want me reading that. But, see, the reason I want to read about it is for the same reason I want to read about DID - because I think it's relevant to my life. I don't think I'm the type to go on a rampage, but... I worry. If I ever snap. Anyway, the point is the book isn't so much about the incident as it is how people react to it and deal with it. That's why I wanted to read it. But no. I'm not going to argue with her.
Wrote up my resume. I'm applying for a job at the Home Hardware opening nearby. Ideally I just want to be a shelf-stacker or something. Anything but a cashier. That's practically one of my nightmares. Anyway, the thing won't be built until November or something so whatever happens the job is a long way off.
I don't have a zit, I have what seems to be chunks of gravel growing between layers of skin. Rrg.
Jun 28, 2009
Jun 24, 2009
Breakfalls
I've decided what I think would be the most romantic things anyone could ever say to me.
"I don't care. Take me with you."
Obviously this is highly situational. The idea is that even though I worry that I'm a monster, even though I think I'm no good for anyone, someone loves me enough to hold on to me. But not by dragging me back to their world; staying with me as I fall deeper into my own fantastical life. I would never ask anyone to do this... I would change for a person I loved. But I can dream that I won't have to make such sacrifices to find someone.
I can dream. I haven't lost that.
I cleaned the office today. Papers and unmarked discs lying all over the place. Funny how things pile up. I hate it when things move around, and I can't remember if I did it and I'm supposed to remember it or if someone else did it and I'm not. Like a muffin wrapper spilled on the floor next to my desk. Milo's bath in the middle of the bathroom. Clothes that stink of sweat. Internal communication is getting worse and worse. It's so hard to concentrate. A lot of the time I just want to sit and do nothing. I can't seem to find the energy to move.
Ugh.
I'm okay. I think I know that now. I have deep frustrations, but I'm okay.
Watch me long enough, and you'll notice I never relax my shoulders. I don't know when it started. It's been a long time. One day while out walking I did relax. I straightened up, smiled, uncurled the tentacles on my head. I relaxed my shoulders. Two long, ropelike strands rolled down my back and landed softly on the ground.
Confused, I studied them. I couldn't move them as easily as I could my tentacles, and they were entirely the wrong shape for wings. I had wings, a long time ago. They were ornamental mostly. They were broken when my back was slashed - how long ago? I do not remember. They never quite healed properly. Over time they grew smaller, at some point vanishing. Now I had these. Curiosities. Eventually I managed to roll them back into nibs beneath my shoulders.
A few weeks back, at camp, I found a use for them. In a tender moment I found myself lashing out at someone, wrapping the rope around him and hooking it into his chest. Though he showed the slightest signs of discomfort, physically there was no indication that he was aware of what I'd done. It took a moment to work it out. I brought the perplexing extremity back to me, holding it in front of my face. The end had split open into a webbed, four-pronged hook. I closed it up. Although it was tempting to practice with these, I told myself not to use them on another person.
Now I'm growing two more, beneath the first ones. Just lumps now, but they'll get bigger. I wonder what this says about my ethereal body. I guess there's no reason why it should stay the same shape. Either that or I've fallen to yet another level of delusion.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
I keep catching myself repeating the last word or phrase of sentences. I don't remember if it used to be intentional. It's not now. I'm trying not to draw attention to it, but it's only a matter of time before someone notices. Thus far they think I'm doing it on purpose.
Losing control of speech. Word salads. I worry.
Watched some Japanese horror short films tonight. I think it's important to be familiar with the Japanese style to fully appreciate them. A lot to do with death. Several had the same theme; basically be nice or dead people will kill you. Alternately, that dead people can show up anywhere, at any time. How strange it is.
My mother didn't like them. I found them interesting. Perhaps I've become insensitive to violence. I don't feel much fear. (or anything else.)
One of my fears is that if someday I do snap and do something... regrettable, everyone will blame it on something unrelated. A blog, a desire to prove a point, a scary movie I saw, blind madness. Not me. They'll see their own values and their own causes and they won't see the real person behind the madness. Any good that could have been grown from this tragedy will be lost.
I'd like to end on a happy note. Yes, that's what I would like to do. It would be really nice if I could do that.
"I don't care. Take me with you."
Obviously this is highly situational. The idea is that even though I worry that I'm a monster, even though I think I'm no good for anyone, someone loves me enough to hold on to me. But not by dragging me back to their world; staying with me as I fall deeper into my own fantastical life. I would never ask anyone to do this... I would change for a person I loved. But I can dream that I won't have to make such sacrifices to find someone.
I can dream. I haven't lost that.
I cleaned the office today. Papers and unmarked discs lying all over the place. Funny how things pile up. I hate it when things move around, and I can't remember if I did it and I'm supposed to remember it or if someone else did it and I'm not. Like a muffin wrapper spilled on the floor next to my desk. Milo's bath in the middle of the bathroom. Clothes that stink of sweat. Internal communication is getting worse and worse. It's so hard to concentrate. A lot of the time I just want to sit and do nothing. I can't seem to find the energy to move.
Ugh.
I'm okay. I think I know that now. I have deep frustrations, but I'm okay.
Watch me long enough, and you'll notice I never relax my shoulders. I don't know when it started. It's been a long time. One day while out walking I did relax. I straightened up, smiled, uncurled the tentacles on my head. I relaxed my shoulders. Two long, ropelike strands rolled down my back and landed softly on the ground.
Confused, I studied them. I couldn't move them as easily as I could my tentacles, and they were entirely the wrong shape for wings. I had wings, a long time ago. They were ornamental mostly. They were broken when my back was slashed - how long ago? I do not remember. They never quite healed properly. Over time they grew smaller, at some point vanishing. Now I had these. Curiosities. Eventually I managed to roll them back into nibs beneath my shoulders.
A few weeks back, at camp, I found a use for them. In a tender moment I found myself lashing out at someone, wrapping the rope around him and hooking it into his chest. Though he showed the slightest signs of discomfort, physically there was no indication that he was aware of what I'd done. It took a moment to work it out. I brought the perplexing extremity back to me, holding it in front of my face. The end had split open into a webbed, four-pronged hook. I closed it up. Although it was tempting to practice with these, I told myself not to use them on another person.
Now I'm growing two more, beneath the first ones. Just lumps now, but they'll get bigger. I wonder what this says about my ethereal body. I guess there's no reason why it should stay the same shape. Either that or I've fallen to yet another level of delusion.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
I keep catching myself repeating the last word or phrase of sentences. I don't remember if it used to be intentional. It's not now. I'm trying not to draw attention to it, but it's only a matter of time before someone notices. Thus far they think I'm doing it on purpose.
Losing control of speech. Word salads. I worry.
Watched some Japanese horror short films tonight. I think it's important to be familiar with the Japanese style to fully appreciate them. A lot to do with death. Several had the same theme; basically be nice or dead people will kill you. Alternately, that dead people can show up anywhere, at any time. How strange it is.
My mother didn't like them. I found them interesting. Perhaps I've become insensitive to violence. I don't feel much fear. (or anything else.)
One of my fears is that if someday I do snap and do something... regrettable, everyone will blame it on something unrelated. A blog, a desire to prove a point, a scary movie I saw, blind madness. Not me. They'll see their own values and their own causes and they won't see the real person behind the madness. Any good that could have been grown from this tragedy will be lost.
I'd like to end on a happy note. Yes, that's what I would like to do. It would be really nice if I could do that.
Jun 22, 2009
Incidentally, post 200. How we've changed.
Classic paranoia: the fear that someone is standing behind you, right now. Probably with a weapon.
New classic paranoia: the fear that someone you know is standing behind you, right now. Possibly with a weapon.
Irrelevant paranoia: the nagging doubts about whether The Pharaoh Sails to Orion is or is not a love song.
This isn't real paranoia: the fear that some or all of your life is a dream or simulated reality.
This can't be happening! paranoia: the fear, based on a seemingly impossible event occurring right before your eyes, that some or all of your life is a dream or simulated reality.
Self-indulgent paranoia: the near-certainty that someone left the vacuum cleaner in the on position and that as soon as you plug it in it will roar frighteningly to life, followed by disappointment when it doesn't.
Self-destructive paranoia: the near-certainty that the vacuum cleaner could roar frighteningly to life at any moment, regardless of whether or not it is plugged in.
Suicidal paranoia: the fear that it's only a matter of time before you snap.
Homicidal paranoia: the fear that an emotion, for example a slowly-growing hatred of humanity, will one day cause you to perform actions you will later regret.
Skull paranoia: the fear of symbols that have lost all meaning through overuse.
Shut up shut up paranoia: the fear that other people are reading your mind, specifically the dirty thoughts.
I'm not a little kid any more paranoia: the fear that the people around you dismiss your thoughts as being unimportant.
Young on the inside paranoia: the fear of being considered childish for performing childish activities.
Classic social paranoia: the fear that your peers are talking about you behind your back.
Empty social paranoia: the fear that no one is talking about you behind your back. In fact, they never think about you. Ever.
Reverse social paranoia: the fear that your peers know what you've been thinking about them.
Disgusting paranoia: the fear of being hit by a dead bird falling from a roof.
Nasty paranoia: the fear of being walked in on in the middle of an unpleasant act.
Tumor paranoia: the fear that something is growing inside of you that you aren't yet aware of.
Cancerous paranoia: the fear of revealing a severe illness or injury to others.
Surreal paranoia: the fear that there isn't a bigger harmonica.
Despairing paranoia: the fear that after ten years together, your partner doesn't love you.
Terrifying paranoia: the fear that after ten months together, your partner doesn't love you.
Hesitant paranoia: the fear that after ten minutes together, your partner doesn't love you.
Both ways damned paranoia: the fear of determining if you have sinned.
You'll see paranoia: the fear that you're not crazy after all.
They're coming paranoia: the fear that they are coming. Possibly for you.
Don't open that box paranoia: the fear of the anonymous.
New classic paranoia: the fear that someone you know is standing behind you, right now. Possibly with a weapon.
Irrelevant paranoia: the nagging doubts about whether The Pharaoh Sails to Orion is or is not a love song.
This isn't real paranoia: the fear that some or all of your life is a dream or simulated reality.
This can't be happening! paranoia: the fear, based on a seemingly impossible event occurring right before your eyes, that some or all of your life is a dream or simulated reality.
Self-indulgent paranoia: the near-certainty that someone left the vacuum cleaner in the on position and that as soon as you plug it in it will roar frighteningly to life, followed by disappointment when it doesn't.
Self-destructive paranoia: the near-certainty that the vacuum cleaner could roar frighteningly to life at any moment, regardless of whether or not it is plugged in.
Suicidal paranoia: the fear that it's only a matter of time before you snap.
Homicidal paranoia: the fear that an emotion, for example a slowly-growing hatred of humanity, will one day cause you to perform actions you will later regret.
Skull paranoia: the fear of symbols that have lost all meaning through overuse.
Shut up shut up paranoia: the fear that other people are reading your mind, specifically the dirty thoughts.
I'm not a little kid any more paranoia: the fear that the people around you dismiss your thoughts as being unimportant.
Young on the inside paranoia: the fear of being considered childish for performing childish activities.
Classic social paranoia: the fear that your peers are talking about you behind your back.
Empty social paranoia: the fear that no one is talking about you behind your back. In fact, they never think about you. Ever.
Reverse social paranoia: the fear that your peers know what you've been thinking about them.
Disgusting paranoia: the fear of being hit by a dead bird falling from a roof.
Nasty paranoia: the fear of being walked in on in the middle of an unpleasant act.
Tumor paranoia: the fear that something is growing inside of you that you aren't yet aware of.
Cancerous paranoia: the fear of revealing a severe illness or injury to others.
Surreal paranoia: the fear that there isn't a bigger harmonica.
Despairing paranoia: the fear that after ten years together, your partner doesn't love you.
Terrifying paranoia: the fear that after ten months together, your partner doesn't love you.
Hesitant paranoia: the fear that after ten minutes together, your partner doesn't love you.
Both ways damned paranoia: the fear of determining if you have sinned.
You'll see paranoia: the fear that you're not crazy after all.
They're coming paranoia: the fear that they are coming. Possibly for you.
Don't open that box paranoia: the fear of the anonymous.
Jun 20, 2009
I wish I could tell you
Apologies for slowness. I've been... a wreck.
Bloodknot. It's like a tumor, sitting in the middle of the chest. It churns. It rolls. It's rough and pressing and painful, but bad as it is you really don't want it to burst. Lose-lose.
I want to be able to move on with my life.
Hate. Hate.
I need rest. I never get any rest. Not for years.
I don't feel love. I don't feel much of anything. It feels like one or more of my internal organs has died and is sitting in me rotting, a dead weight. Literally and figuratively. Oh, and I'm sick. Got a cold. Annoying cough.
Exams are over. Yay? Sigh. I've stopped caring.
I just. Sometimes I don't know why I keep fighting. I'm too subtle. You can see it, if you watch me closely; the twitches, the pained looks, the time spent staring at seemingly nothing. The edges of my mask are clearly visible, I'm just waiting for someone to care enough to want to know what's underneath. I would never ask anyone to lower themselves for me. I don't want to latch onto someone (again) and have them merely put up with me for eight months. I want to be loved. The real me, not the idealized version people think they know. Me. I want. The real me. To be loved.
But why would anyone. After all, I'm hiding. You don't throw away your false leg to get more sympathy.
Sick of it. Sometimes I wish there was no afterlife so I could die in peace.
Bloodknot. It's like a tumor, sitting in the middle of the chest. It churns. It rolls. It's rough and pressing and painful, but bad as it is you really don't want it to burst. Lose-lose.
I want to be able to move on with my life.
Hate. Hate.
I need rest. I never get any rest. Not for years.
I don't feel love. I don't feel much of anything. It feels like one or more of my internal organs has died and is sitting in me rotting, a dead weight. Literally and figuratively. Oh, and I'm sick. Got a cold. Annoying cough.
Exams are over. Yay? Sigh. I've stopped caring.
I just. Sometimes I don't know why I keep fighting. I'm too subtle. You can see it, if you watch me closely; the twitches, the pained looks, the time spent staring at seemingly nothing. The edges of my mask are clearly visible, I'm just waiting for someone to care enough to want to know what's underneath. I would never ask anyone to lower themselves for me. I don't want to latch onto someone (again) and have them merely put up with me for eight months. I want to be loved. The real me, not the idealized version people think they know. Me. I want. The real me. To be loved.
But why would anyone. After all, I'm hiding. You don't throw away your false leg to get more sympathy.
Sick of it. Sometimes I wish there was no afterlife so I could die in peace.
Jun 13, 2009
Emeralds
Just watched The Terminator and Terminator 2. There was a street party, and I really didn't want to have to be around people. I guess I should be more social, but still. My mother in particular seems disappointed that I didn't want to go out. What can I say? I have no place in a group of middle-ages and smallchilds. Even if I collected with the small group of teens, what's there to say? "Hey, we're normal and don't know you." "Hey. I sound like a complete nutcase but really I'm a nice guy." "I'm sorry, you're so quiet and socially inept that we can't hear you over the sound of people enjoying themselves." Exaggeration. I've been reading Parrotfish. It shows.
People seem to approach things at around a thirty-degree angle. Just dodging the actual issue ever so slightly while still getting your point across. It's something I've never been able to get the hang of. I either scuttle across things sideways or approach it head-on, nothing in between. I guess it's because I've been talking to myself so long, my style of communication has shifted. I don't infer the same things from certain words as others. Leads to a lot of problems that way. Oh well. I try. Maybe it will get better in time.
I've seen the future, you know. Or at least, what for want of a better word you might call the future. I've seen the place where I die, a little under three years from now. I think it's a courtyard. There are trees. Details are sketchy, but I'll know it when I see it. I've seen my daughter. She has brown hair and pink skin and a smile. Her eyes are chameleonic, like mine, but they sparkle like her mother's. I recognize that this is a contradiction; if I die I will never be a father. Just because the future is set doesn't mean it can't be changed. We can only predict the forks in the road, not the direction we will choose. That's something that's left to each of us.
I have work to do. Sigh. End of school year. Repeated sigh.
Examine the World model. On the surface, a hard shell. Painted over in bright colours. In some places peaceful, in some places hostile, in some places, broken, all covering up what lies underneath. Slip through the cracks and you'll find that this carefully constructed surface is very, very thin. Underneath, the majority is made up of something dark and molten; seething, churning, ever so silent. Hot and cold are indistinguishable. Massive, glass-sharp shards of something drift through. In the very center, pressure has fused together something harder than diamond. The Sapphire, the Opal and the Ruby. Clear, incandescent and shining.
Whatever. It's just a model, don't take it literally.
I feel very young again. I'm being all, "Eeeh, does she like me?" I don't even mean it in a romantic sense. Absurd. I hope I don't have to rip out my heart with a corkscrew again. I get so sick of people. I'm very tired.
People seem to approach things at around a thirty-degree angle. Just dodging the actual issue ever so slightly while still getting your point across. It's something I've never been able to get the hang of. I either scuttle across things sideways or approach it head-on, nothing in between. I guess it's because I've been talking to myself so long, my style of communication has shifted. I don't infer the same things from certain words as others. Leads to a lot of problems that way. Oh well. I try. Maybe it will get better in time.
I've seen the future, you know. Or at least, what for want of a better word you might call the future. I've seen the place where I die, a little under three years from now. I think it's a courtyard. There are trees. Details are sketchy, but I'll know it when I see it. I've seen my daughter. She has brown hair and pink skin and a smile. Her eyes are chameleonic, like mine, but they sparkle like her mother's. I recognize that this is a contradiction; if I die I will never be a father. Just because the future is set doesn't mean it can't be changed. We can only predict the forks in the road, not the direction we will choose. That's something that's left to each of us.
I have work to do. Sigh. End of school year. Repeated sigh.
Examine the World model. On the surface, a hard shell. Painted over in bright colours. In some places peaceful, in some places hostile, in some places, broken, all covering up what lies underneath. Slip through the cracks and you'll find that this carefully constructed surface is very, very thin. Underneath, the majority is made up of something dark and molten; seething, churning, ever so silent. Hot and cold are indistinguishable. Massive, glass-sharp shards of something drift through. In the very center, pressure has fused together something harder than diamond. The Sapphire, the Opal and the Ruby. Clear, incandescent and shining.
Whatever. It's just a model, don't take it literally.
I feel very young again. I'm being all, "Eeeh, does she like me?" I don't even mean it in a romantic sense. Absurd. I hope I don't have to rip out my heart with a corkscrew again. I get so sick of people. I'm very tired.
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Jun 10, 2009
The inner cold, heartless bastard
Exams fast approaching. One, English, on tuesday. The other, Chemistry, friday. Truth be told, I'm not particularly worried about either of them.
Summatives are done. English handed in, Media Arts pretty much finished, Lit done and submitted, Chemistry finished yesterday in class. The year is nearly over.
And yet... I don't know. I'm not really apprehensive. I don't feel much of anything at the moment. To be honest, I don't really feel anything. At all.
If I know that I'm acting strangely, does that mean it's intentional?
I'm in a dangerous state of mind lately. The other day I asked a girl out. It was one of those if-you-don't-do-this-now-you'll-never-get-another-chance moments. Of course, she's already got someone. No hard feelings. I don't really know what I'd have done if she'd said yes... Ah well. She's nice, and all. Probably doesn't need someone like me in her life.
It does stir some things about, though. Not up, just about. Some part of me still craves, no, demands attention. I want to be part of someone's life. I want to matter to someone. I wonder how much of this is just my hunger impulse. Well, I won't give in to it. An I continue to blog about feeling empty inside, so be it.
My mother once asked me to describe how I was really feeling. I said words didn't exist to say it. She said I'm creative, put words together. I told her it felt like there were purple insects eating my brain from the inside. She asked me why purple. If you have to ask, you'll never know, I thought. But I didn't dare say it. People don't get it.
I dreamed I found a baby septapus. (An octopus with seven legs, that is.) I cradled it in my hands and tried to find a home for it. Even when by all signs it should have been dead I kept carrying it. Its tiny, unseeing eyes drove me forward. I fought past the people who didn't seem to care, found that those who said they would care for it simply left it as they found it, ran down a hall of full aquariums as it shriveled in my arms. I wonder if I was able to save it. That I don't remember. It doesn't seem likely, does it?
Song I'm obsessed with of the month: Straight, by Amanda Palmer. It seems to suit me. Except I'm not female.
I sat down awhile ago and had a good think about my overall identity. I decided that I'm not gay and I'm not transgendered, though I do have a lot of feminine characteristics. I'm male and I (generally) like girls and that's the way it's likely to stay. But sometimes, when things get difficult, I really wish I'd been born a girl. The world would just make so much more sense that way.
Summatives are done. English handed in, Media Arts pretty much finished, Lit done and submitted, Chemistry finished yesterday in class. The year is nearly over.
And yet... I don't know. I'm not really apprehensive. I don't feel much of anything at the moment. To be honest, I don't really feel anything. At all.
If I know that I'm acting strangely, does that mean it's intentional?
I'm in a dangerous state of mind lately. The other day I asked a girl out. It was one of those if-you-don't-do-this-now-you'll-never-get-another-chance moments. Of course, she's already got someone. No hard feelings. I don't really know what I'd have done if she'd said yes... Ah well. She's nice, and all. Probably doesn't need someone like me in her life.
It does stir some things about, though. Not up, just about. Some part of me still craves, no, demands attention. I want to be part of someone's life. I want to matter to someone. I wonder how much of this is just my hunger impulse. Well, I won't give in to it. An I continue to blog about feeling empty inside, so be it.
My mother once asked me to describe how I was really feeling. I said words didn't exist to say it. She said I'm creative, put words together. I told her it felt like there were purple insects eating my brain from the inside. She asked me why purple. If you have to ask, you'll never know, I thought. But I didn't dare say it. People don't get it.
I dreamed I found a baby septapus. (An octopus with seven legs, that is.) I cradled it in my hands and tried to find a home for it. Even when by all signs it should have been dead I kept carrying it. Its tiny, unseeing eyes drove me forward. I fought past the people who didn't seem to care, found that those who said they would care for it simply left it as they found it, ran down a hall of full aquariums as it shriveled in my arms. I wonder if I was able to save it. That I don't remember. It doesn't seem likely, does it?
Song I'm obsessed with of the month: Straight, by Amanda Palmer. It seems to suit me. Except I'm not female.
I sat down awhile ago and had a good think about my overall identity. I decided that I'm not gay and I'm not transgendered, though I do have a lot of feminine characteristics. I'm male and I (generally) like girls and that's the way it's likely to stay. But sometimes, when things get difficult, I really wish I'd been born a girl. The world would just make so much more sense that way.
Jun 6, 2009
Even Angels Cry
I wonder how many senses humans actually have.
I see with my eyes, but the things only I can see I perceive with my hind eyes, hidden behind my foreeyes. People and objects I can feel somewhere in my inner ear, but other things I sense in a place I don't have a name for - partway down my neck, on either side towards the back. There's a hollow there, a bit like the temple. Certain kinds of energy I feel in the very middle of my head. Things I can't even begin to describe I feel in my gut, in my second heart. There's a sort of tingling when I sting someone as the energy travels through me to my head. All these things... it's not right. I know it's not right.
I've been taking Melatonin. Seems to be helping my sleep a bit. How can I explain to people that I'm tired on the inside?
I see with my eyes, but the things only I can see I perceive with my hind eyes, hidden behind my foreeyes. People and objects I can feel somewhere in my inner ear, but other things I sense in a place I don't have a name for - partway down my neck, on either side towards the back. There's a hollow there, a bit like the temple. Certain kinds of energy I feel in the very middle of my head. Things I can't even begin to describe I feel in my gut, in my second heart. There's a sort of tingling when I sting someone as the energy travels through me to my head. All these things... it's not right. I know it's not right.
I've been taking Melatonin. Seems to be helping my sleep a bit. How can I explain to people that I'm tired on the inside?
Jun 2, 2009
Summative break
I was writing a commission for a friend. I then got a bit distracted and wrote this instead.
Radiant:
A love story in five acts
Act 1
Susannah: What character is this?
The Pharaoh: I beg you, do not look upon my face.
Susannah: A strange face it must be, but I will not look.
The Pharaoh: How alone am I.
Act 2
The Pharaoh: Pray, look upon my face.
Susannah: Why this change, when before you wished to hide yourself from me?
The Pharaoh: You cared to respect my wishes, though you knew not why.
Susannah: My, what a sight is this!
The Pharaoh: I have borne this mask a long time.
Act 3
The Pharaoh: You must leave me now.
Susannah: Why, after you have given me so much?
The Pharaoh: Harm comes to those who follow me. My heart could not bear it if I should lose myself and kill you.
Susannah: Knowing this, why did you tempt yourself by trusting me?
The Pharaoh: I was lonely. Or perhaps hungry.
Act 4
Susannah: If you meant to harm me you would have done so, else you would have left.
The Pharaoh: I am harming you with every word.
Susannah: I will not be consumed by you. Do you deny that this device serves but to entice me into regretful servitude?
The Pharaoh: Upon my oath, I deny it.
Susannah: Your oath! I would not float an ant upon your oath.
Act 5
The Pharaoh: I must away.
Susannah: Where will you go?
The Pharaoh: To distant lands, to end myself.
Susannah: Take me with you.
The Pharaoh: Pursue me not. I dare not find reason to go on. I am a monster.
Susannah: And I will tame you.
End
Radiant:
A love story in five acts
Act 1
Susannah: What character is this?
The Pharaoh: I beg you, do not look upon my face.
Susannah: A strange face it must be, but I will not look.
The Pharaoh: How alone am I.
Act 2
The Pharaoh: Pray, look upon my face.
Susannah: Why this change, when before you wished to hide yourself from me?
The Pharaoh: You cared to respect my wishes, though you knew not why.
Susannah: My, what a sight is this!
The Pharaoh: I have borne this mask a long time.
Act 3
The Pharaoh: You must leave me now.
Susannah: Why, after you have given me so much?
The Pharaoh: Harm comes to those who follow me. My heart could not bear it if I should lose myself and kill you.
Susannah: Knowing this, why did you tempt yourself by trusting me?
The Pharaoh: I was lonely. Or perhaps hungry.
Act 4
Susannah: If you meant to harm me you would have done so, else you would have left.
The Pharaoh: I am harming you with every word.
Susannah: I will not be consumed by you. Do you deny that this device serves but to entice me into regretful servitude?
The Pharaoh: Upon my oath, I deny it.
Susannah: Your oath! I would not float an ant upon your oath.
Act 5
The Pharaoh: I must away.
Susannah: Where will you go?
The Pharaoh: To distant lands, to end myself.
Susannah: Take me with you.
The Pharaoh: Pursue me not. I dare not find reason to go on. I am a monster.
Susannah: And I will tame you.
End
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Jun 1, 2009
Haunted
First off, is dias seriously not a word? As in, a raised stone table or platform with a hole, container or mark on it for placing and displaying an object? Does that not exist? Sigh.
Tired. Breaking. Things are starting to fall apart again. I'm very weak.
I need to find a safe place to rest.
I'm tired. I'm scared. Things have started shifting again. I'm in no condition to fight back.
So sick of it. Almost overwhelming.
But not quite.
I have power.
I can control myself, to some extent. I can mold my energy into shapes and move it in the air around me, although I've yet to find any use for it. I've learned how to sting people for their thoughts and feelings and, more importantly, how not to. I can see souls, but I can't make any sense out of what I see. I can suggest, but I can't control. I've met demons, and usually gotten beaten up by them.
Let's face it, I'm lost. I haven't a clue what I'm doing. I need a mentor.
Tired. Breaking. Things are starting to fall apart again. I'm very weak.
I need to find a safe place to rest.
I'm tired. I'm scared. Things have started shifting again. I'm in no condition to fight back.
So sick of it. Almost overwhelming.
But not quite.
I have power.
I can control myself, to some extent. I can mold my energy into shapes and move it in the air around me, although I've yet to find any use for it. I've learned how to sting people for their thoughts and feelings and, more importantly, how not to. I can see souls, but I can't make any sense out of what I see. I can suggest, but I can't control. I've met demons, and usually gotten beaten up by them.
Let's face it, I'm lost. I haven't a clue what I'm doing. I need a mentor.
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