September 17th, Year of the Vampires

I see no reason to materialize images that repeat themselves for my pleasure. They have been viewed countless times, but every frame continues to excite me. Things I dare not confess to anyone, though they are good and wholesome. Those that are not, lack all power to injure anyone. I see no way I can succeed in acquiring that which I long for. They say it is the first step that proves to be difficult, but it is the second. The first is inspired, while the second often has little to no power driving it.

No one voluntarily paints themselves into a corner, concealed by a dying plant. Not everyone is fit to rule. Especially and definitely, when it is impossible to follow the guidelines, because illiteracy veils our eyes. You say, I never wanted to have power over anyone, just myself. But, I have always liked the idea of a throne.

For a fraction of what the court jester knows, I will give him my mismatched thoughts. For his full instruction, I will give him every holy word I know, never to pass my lips again. For his position, allowing for me to get closer to what I desire, my heart. But he sees that what I offer, has no value. Even the fool will not make a trade.

Do I dress myself well? Do I feed myself properly? Am I sleeping enough? Are things so basic, and easy to master, difficult for only me?

I have lost my soul, with the same facility with which a child loses a train of thought. It might be under a rock, but I will not disturb the frog that sleeps atop it.

September 17th, Year of the Vampires

September 16th, Year of the Vampires

When I was nine, my brother told me about the Illuminati. He had to clarify that he was not talking about a halogen night-light, but an elite secret society. Over time, those dedicated to uncovering what goes on behind closed doors, have had some success. Thanks to their efforts, we know they take orders directly from extraterrestrials, and that they are aiming to wipe out most of humanity. Masonic lodges are treated like recruitment centers. There, men learn how to control their own minds, and eventually, everyone else’s. Within months, they will be able to levitate, communicate with the dead, and telepathically transfer information with each other. Upon successful completion of the program, members get a certificate, followed by sex with Satan and his pet goat.

I believed all of it.

My initial reaction to this information was absolute terror. I prayed to God for humanity’s salvation, followed by asking for a sign, if He planned to do anything about our impending doom. Had my prayers won his favor? Hearing and seeing nothing that would indicate he gave a shit, I turned to the faeries. I would leave them bread and water, promising my first-born, if they could prevent our damnation. I often promised my first-born to anyone I thought would take it.

After noticing that the bread was always gone by morning, and before I discovered it was the cat that ate it, I lived a period of peace, feeling good had prevailed over evil. Soon, I was thrown back into hysteria, when brother said that the Mayan spirits would continue the battle to destroy us, should the Illuminati fail. In fact, they often worked together on creating things to harm people, like chemtrails and extermination camps.

This was when I decided to take charge. Life had thrown a purpose at me. I was to learn ten languages, Judo, and whatever else was necessary to become the army of one, who would take the dark empire down. Everyone is impressed by a polyglot, and they do not contradict a black belt.

The exact plan was as follows: Grow up to be beautiful. Marry the head of the Illuminati, killing him after our honeymoon. Take over. Kill everyone involved. Become ruler of the world.

Unfortunately, I was too lazy to learn a new language, and I am an awkward beauty, at best. I have also realized that the only way to dispel or defeat fear, is to examine it. Research all that seems threatening. Develop a skeptical mind. If none of that works, join the Illuminati. Those bastards have it good.

September 16th, Year of the Vampires

September 12th, Year of the Vampires

Descartes is in France. Descartes is in Sweden. Descartes is dead. We mourn only those we knew well, and when we never knew them at all, it is our own future death we cry over. Now, Descartes is covered in semen, somewhere under a collegiate’s bed. When the semester is over, he will travel to Japan to spill his borrowed knowledge, much like he did his seed.

Every day, I pick a new father, even though I begin to accept my own. Today, it is Henry Darger. We have cold cereal in the mornings, and he tells me about what kind of trouble the Vivian Girls will get into by nightfall. All the noises and thunder bolts belong to them, so that they can transfer over to me. I notice how the colors he uses are as bright as his smile. But, I think I heard somewhere that he was a sexless man, so I am brought back to my own reality. No worries, the cold cereal is here, too.

For each goal I do not pursue, my will to live grows weaker. The darkness has returned, brought by a relative of the dictator, who has come to avenge the murder of one of his own. It’s ha-hee-achoo, down deep into the blue.

Happiness is found in what I do not know.

September 12th, Year of the Vampires

September 8th, Year of the Vampires

If it seems that I lack sincerity when speaking of love, it is only because I no longer know where to place it. It is above a letter, or it crosses and completes one. It is underneath each sentence, blanketed by nonsensical expressions. It holds two swords, aiming for a major artery.

It does not take much time, before everything begins to blur at the edges. Moments that brought happiness, lose their shape, and quickly blend with yesterday’s laments. There are people that produce an overwhelming sense of love within us, and as immediately as it comes, it goes. What is chrysanthemums and maudlin poetry during the storm, morphs into time wasted on a man with a wrecked mind. The letters mother wrote to father, when distance separated them, and the longing for an embrace turned into a desperate terror, did nothing for her. What was given in return was not emotion, but fists and bullets. Oh, father. Oh, mother. Your blood is my blood, my bones are your bones. I keep your story, but I can no longer live it. I have all the things, ugly as they are, to write my own.

The hours are once counted in childlike anticipation. When the leaves change color, attention to numbers is given to pills. Look at the rope, is it strong enough to hold your weight? Is it possible to undo the understanding that drove away those that swore to remain by your side? And now, it is about everyone else. Contemplating foreign misery, recognizing we are all vagabonds with dirty faces, but I have not yet reached those depths. I see though, I see the similarities. Look at our fucked, little heads. We have the tremors, so we cannot draw straight lines.

September 8th, Year of the Vampires

September 5th, Year of Vampires

It is possible to be a part of something, but share almost nothing in common. Still, you were formed to compliment one another. Finding how, is a challenging objective. Or, you can move away from those frustrations, and never become the person you were meant to. I would advise that most pursue the former, while I explore the latter.

Every passing second brings sister closer. I cannot stop her from arriving.

I dream of running through rolling hills, illuminated by the soft glow of the new moon. By the ancient tree, with eyes borrowed from a crow that felt it had lived too long, I write spells with invisible ink that smells of lavender. I am serenaded by a river that runs backwards, as a path to the past. It has swallowed violins, and harpsichords, and banjos, and a fat lady from Sweden.

I prefer this dream, over the one that featured a man born out of my reflection, my longing, my request. In it, he rejected my love. I think about how different that is from what takes place in the waking world. My efforts with people are not concentrated on creating bonds, but on offering such resistance, that it would break them if they continued in their pursuit to form a relationship with me.

Ruey picks up on my need for all to remain at arm’s length. On our walks, he is quick to bark from the pit of his stomach, intimidating anyone who would dare to approach me. While I know he is all aggressive bark, and defensive stance, I am glad to be left alone by those that fear him. I have said it many times, but it bears repeating, there is something profoundly beautiful about being the dog and his girl.

September 5th, Year of Vampires