So some of you know that Gallows and I have plans.
I'll give you a second to try and guess what they are.
We're going to fucking Belgium!
Friday, 30 September 2011
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
Thoughts
Picture a city. Or a world. Whichever you find easiest.
Imagine it full of life, hustling and bustling.
Then, one day, silence.
silence
People scurry quickly from building to building, averting their eyes from corners. Some elect not to leave at all. They disappear fastest.
Public gathering places are shut down. Soon, they are followed by grocery stores and fire halls. Later still, the power goes, and with it, our confidence against the night. Those who don't drivestop doing anything. All that's left to illuminate the cities are headlights and phones. Humanity loses the darkness.
The day is all that's left. Of course, it's just as dangerous. Panicked eyes, fear, paranoia. Who's His. Who's ours? Death tolls rise, then, finally...
silence. True silence.
Slowly but surely, great trees begin to dominate the landscape. As it should be. Roots crush towers. Branches block out the sun. Nothing left but huge green-brown monuments to His will.
But this isn't the end. One summer, it might get too hot. Some rocks may knock together. Some glass might catch the sun the wrong way. All burns. The trees fall, leaves spreading across the wind like shrapnel, roots snapping like whips. The flames spread. All turns to ashes and dust.
This is what I dream about every night.
Imagine it full of life, hustling and bustling.
Then, one day, silence.
silence
People scurry quickly from building to building, averting their eyes from corners. Some elect not to leave at all. They disappear fastest.
Public gathering places are shut down. Soon, they are followed by grocery stores and fire halls. Later still, the power goes, and with it, our confidence against the night. Those who don't drivestop doing anything. All that's left to illuminate the cities are headlights and phones. Humanity loses the darkness.
The day is all that's left. Of course, it's just as dangerous. Panicked eyes, fear, paranoia. Who's His. Who's ours? Death tolls rise, then, finally...
silence. True silence.
Slowly but surely, great trees begin to dominate the landscape. As it should be. Roots crush towers. Branches block out the sun. Nothing left but huge green-brown monuments to His will.
But this isn't the end. One summer, it might get too hot. Some rocks may knock together. Some glass might catch the sun the wrong way. All burns. The trees fall, leaves spreading across the wind like shrapnel, roots snapping like whips. The flames spread. All turns to ashes and dust.
This is what I dream about every night.
Thursday, 22 September 2011
Waste
What I don't see I don't know
What I don't know I don't want
What I don't want I don't need
What I don't need I don't feel
What I don't feel I don't say
What I don't say I don't like
What I don't like I waste
Approximately two hours after making his post last night, the Glass Man began to convulse in what I presume to have been a gasoline poisoning-induced seizure. He saw none of your responses, though it was amusing to watch him desperately refresh the page every few seconds.
The Glass Man's spasms brought him to the floor, where he struck his head. This, of course, only increased the ferocity of his convulsions, and it was all I could do to keep him from causing himself further harm. When he was properly restrained (though twitching and foaming at the mouth), I realized that our fun was over.
So I killed him. I put him in the makeshift iron maiden I've been working on and jumped on it. Repeatedly.
Though I'm unsure if the Glass Man felt the pain at the end, I can assure you he died feeling completely alone.
Now I have some real work to do.
I don't know what I see
I don't want what I know
I don't need what I want
I don't feel what I need
I don't say what I feel
I don't do what I say
I don't like what I do
I just like to waste
What I don't know I don't want
What I don't want I don't need
What I don't need I don't feel
What I don't feel I don't say
What I don't say I don't like
What I don't like I waste
Approximately two hours after making his post last night, the Glass Man began to convulse in what I presume to have been a gasoline poisoning-induced seizure. He saw none of your responses, though it was amusing to watch him desperately refresh the page every few seconds.
The Glass Man's spasms brought him to the floor, where he struck his head. This, of course, only increased the ferocity of his convulsions, and it was all I could do to keep him from causing himself further harm. When he was properly restrained (though twitching and foaming at the mouth), I realized that our fun was over.
So I killed him. I put him in the makeshift iron maiden I've been working on and jumped on it. Repeatedly.
Though I'm unsure if the Glass Man felt the pain at the end, I can assure you he died feeling completely alone.
Now I have some real work to do.
I don't know what I see
I don't want what I know
I don't need what I want
I don't feel what I need
I don't say what I feel
I don't do what I say
I don't like what I do
I just like to waste
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Üpdate
The umlaut is for effect.
The Glass Man is currently short six fingers, two ears and a foot.
Highlights of the day include:
- Making him sobbingly declare that he's a monster.
- Having him scream "Why are you doing this? You're me!", which is true, but untrue.
- The moment he actually stopped screaming and simply stared at me while I continued.
- Telling him about Dante's unfortunate end.
Now, I may be a cruel man, but I'm not an unreasonable one. When he's recovered from his current fainting spell, the Glass Man will be giving you all another post. How I look forward to seeing him type with nothing but two thumbs and a pair of index fingers.
The Glass Man is currently short six fingers, two ears and a foot.
Highlights of the day include:
- Making him sobbingly declare that he's a monster.
- Having him scream "Why are you doing this? You're me!", which is true, but untrue.
- The moment he actually stopped screaming and simply stared at me while I continued.
- Telling him about Dante's unfortunate end.
Now, I may be a cruel man, but I'm not an unreasonable one. When he's recovered from his current fainting spell, the Glass Man will be giving you all another post. How I look forward to seeing him type with nothing but two thumbs and a pair of index fingers.
Tuesday, 20 September 2011
Sushi
Dear God, I love sushi. I could throw away the rest of Japanese culture in an instant, but sushi I'd keep any day.
You see, the Glass Man can't eat sushi any more. He has no teeth to eat with. I have, however, given him plenty to drink from an old gasoline can I found in the basement.
Of course, I haven't been torturing him for the last twenty or so hours. I did dodge out for some delicious sushi and I've been working on a little... project. A send-off if you will.
Having finally captured him, and most of all broken him, I feel... relieved. I win. Hahah. I finally win. And when, of course, he succumbs, I will be free to do anything!
I'm sorry, I have to go now. He's trying to tell me something, but his speech is strangely slurred.
You see, the Glass Man can't eat sushi any more. He has no teeth to eat with. I have, however, given him plenty to drink from an old gasoline can I found in the basement.
Of course, I haven't been torturing him for the last twenty or so hours. I did dodge out for some delicious sushi and I've been working on a little... project. A send-off if you will.
Having finally captured him, and most of all broken him, I feel... relieved. I win. Hahah. I finally win. And when, of course, he succumbs, I will be free to do anything!
I'm sorry, I have to go now. He's trying to tell me something, but his speech is strangely slurred.
Saturday, 17 September 2011
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
Typer
I met Typer on the 18th of July.
---
I am offended that some of you might think I have "gone rogue". Everything I do is of His will. If it was not, then He would intervene. I have earned no reprimands, suffered no consequences. It is His will that there be a culling. Our members have grown weak, and with it, the fear that was once felt towards us has waned.
There was a time when the sight of us in a hallway or on a rooftop would elicit terror rivaling our master. But now... you have to get so much closer to get the same response. They no longer fear us, for we show fear ourselves. We show fear, uncertainty, regret... And suddenly the magic is gone, and the enemy sees only a group of brain-addled thugs wearing masks.
So some will have to die. I have always served Him. I will always serve Him.
---
I was serving Him when I met Typer.
Typer was one of those souls who had never been lucky, but was almost always content. I had already begun my hunt for the Glass Man when suddenly I knew what needed to be done. I knew where to go.
The Tree... the Tree was a strange thing to behold. It simultaneously drew me in and repelled me. I likely would have died had He not stood over me, laying his claim. We moved through the forest, Him guiding, me following, until we came upon a door... a door only I was meant to go through.
Typer had been there for almost 15 years. Due to the strange events that had befallen him, he had only known about 10 years... But Typer had no watch. All Typer had was an old cot, a copy of Albert Camus' L'Étranger and, more recently, a decrepit, early 2000s model laptop computer.
We stared into each others eyes for what may have been an hour, until he finally gestured for me to take a seat at his desk. He remained on his bed and talked. He talked for a very long time, and I will do my best to recount what he told me.
---
"My mother gave me the name Olivier Barriault, but you already know this. When I was seventeen, I left home. You know this as well. You do not, of course, know the rest, unless your Master has told you... clever, how you wrote those things. You sound very much like him, you know that? It's a wonder you're unique at all...
Of course, my story. What an ungracious host I've been, though I suppose your Master is the true host. I was recruited by an organisation that was secretive... so secretive, that I did not, in fact, know its name or who owned it. All I know is that they had many open positions. I became a security guard, for what it was worth. I lived underground until I had almost reached the age of 25. I saw many... things being tested. Chemical, biological... physical. Usually not on human subjects. We weren't monsters.
I saw a disease that caused a cow's skin to grow over all of its orifices, smothering it to death! I saw a tiny sphere that could draw things to itself, defying gravity! I saw mirrors that showed new things, light that could hold objects, creatures that likely had never existed before that month...
But then there was a different test. It was simple enough. A black Box, hardly bigger than a toaster... a perfect cube, with only a slight red imperfection, a symbol... the symbol. You're almost certainly familiar with it.
An orderly brought a small piece of jade to it, pushing it against the symbol, then... nothing. The jade remained unperturbed, as did the orderly, the Box, and the wall at which it had been aimed. It appeared to be a failure, a hoax. For a long time, I was angry at the scientists, the ones who should have seen what was coming... but what good would science have done us? Science didn't make that Box. Science could not control it.
On the third day small objects began to go missing. Testing apparatuses, utensils, food, a favorite painting of mine: Bonjour, Monsieur Courbet (an original, I was quite sad to lose it). On the fourth day, maps weren't good anymore. On the fifth day, myself and three others forged (it's forged, right? Look at me... almost forty and still I make theses mistakes!) our way to the testing chamber. We lost two along the way, torn to pieces by forces that could not even be seen. My remaining partner (my... I cannot even remember his name) and I drew lots to see who would approach the Box. I was actually the lucky one, he had lost the coin toss, but then he... segued through the floor, without a word. That left me.
I took a step towards it, and hit the wall on across the room. I turned again, and found myself facing the corner. I attempted to crawl, but touched the ceiling with my hands, so I sat still and waited... for it to come to me. And it did. A single crossed eye stared at me and, succumbing to my primal instincts, I touched it.
Everything tore. Light flashed, alarms went off, gashes appeared along my arm. A hole swallowed the box and... I saw through it.
A flash, a twist. Running, limping, bleeding, crying. A figure glimpsed down a hallway. The ringing matching the pitch of the alarm. The door. Further down the hallway. Not liberty, but safety, at least for a while.
Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Almost there now. Can't stop. Too many hallways branching off. More and more. I have to get there. I have to get there. I have to get there.
The feel of smooth metal against the skin. A spin and the latch is undone. A low wail getting higher in pitch. Even inside isn't safe. Inside is another way to end. At least I'll die in my bed. The door swings shut. Silence.
I looked around my living room. Empty, of course. The box seemed to have taken everything. I walked to my bedroom and slept. When I opened the door the next day, I saw a forest. The second day, I saw a swamp. The third day, I saw a field. The fourth day, the light was on, and I found food, as I have many times since. Nine months ago, I found a computer.
That is all."
---
We talked for a very long time. We debated and discussed, parrying opinions. But the night grew late, and he sensed it.
"You have something on your mind." His face, as always, was blank. Light green eyes peaked out from unkempt black hair.
"You said... You knew something." His head cocked at this, then a thin smile drew across his lips.
"... But, of course, it's not about what I said, but what he told you to ask." Those eyes stared through me. He knew. How did he know? NO ONE KNOWS.
"Tell me. You need to tell me." It was my turn to smile and, of course, he beat me with a returned grin.
"Yes... yes I do. I need to tell someone... even if it's... I know where it is! I know where to find it!" His eyes rolled back in his head. His grin became manic. Tears poured down his face. "I saw through the hole, and do you know what I saw!"
He stopped. I leaned close. His face went blank again and his eyes returned to mine.
"... I saw a little shop, by the sea."
We were silent for a very long time. Eventually, he spoke.
"I know why you're here. You have a job to do. Do it. There are notes in the desk. You don't need to use them, just take them. Do it."
And I did it. Quickly.
---
He was a very smart man. His notes... are brilliant. They explain so many things that should have been obvious. Most of them had been written within the last few months of his life. There was a reason I was told to kill him.
Some will have to die. I have always served Him. I will always serve Him.
---
I am offended that some of you might think I have "gone rogue". Everything I do is of His will. If it was not, then He would intervene. I have earned no reprimands, suffered no consequences. It is His will that there be a culling. Our members have grown weak, and with it, the fear that was once felt towards us has waned.
There was a time when the sight of us in a hallway or on a rooftop would elicit terror rivaling our master. But now... you have to get so much closer to get the same response. They no longer fear us, for we show fear ourselves. We show fear, uncertainty, regret... And suddenly the magic is gone, and the enemy sees only a group of brain-addled thugs wearing masks.
So some will have to die. I have always served Him. I will always serve Him.
---
I was serving Him when I met Typer.
Typer was one of those souls who had never been lucky, but was almost always content. I had already begun my hunt for the Glass Man when suddenly I knew what needed to be done. I knew where to go.
The Tree... the Tree was a strange thing to behold. It simultaneously drew me in and repelled me. I likely would have died had He not stood over me, laying his claim. We moved through the forest, Him guiding, me following, until we came upon a door... a door only I was meant to go through.
Typer had been there for almost 15 years. Due to the strange events that had befallen him, he had only known about 10 years... But Typer had no watch. All Typer had was an old cot, a copy of Albert Camus' L'Étranger and, more recently, a decrepit, early 2000s model laptop computer.
We stared into each others eyes for what may have been an hour, until he finally gestured for me to take a seat at his desk. He remained on his bed and talked. He talked for a very long time, and I will do my best to recount what he told me.
---
"My mother gave me the name Olivier Barriault, but you already know this. When I was seventeen, I left home. You know this as well. You do not, of course, know the rest, unless your Master has told you... clever, how you wrote those things. You sound very much like him, you know that? It's a wonder you're unique at all...
Of course, my story. What an ungracious host I've been, though I suppose your Master is the true host. I was recruited by an organisation that was secretive... so secretive, that I did not, in fact, know its name or who owned it. All I know is that they had many open positions. I became a security guard, for what it was worth. I lived underground until I had almost reached the age of 25. I saw many... things being tested. Chemical, biological... physical. Usually not on human subjects. We weren't monsters.
I saw a disease that caused a cow's skin to grow over all of its orifices, smothering it to death! I saw a tiny sphere that could draw things to itself, defying gravity! I saw mirrors that showed new things, light that could hold objects, creatures that likely had never existed before that month...
But then there was a different test. It was simple enough. A black Box, hardly bigger than a toaster... a perfect cube, with only a slight red imperfection, a symbol... the symbol. You're almost certainly familiar with it.
An orderly brought a small piece of jade to it, pushing it against the symbol, then... nothing. The jade remained unperturbed, as did the orderly, the Box, and the wall at which it had been aimed. It appeared to be a failure, a hoax. For a long time, I was angry at the scientists, the ones who should have seen what was coming... but what good would science have done us? Science didn't make that Box. Science could not control it.
On the third day small objects began to go missing. Testing apparatuses, utensils, food, a favorite painting of mine: Bonjour, Monsieur Courbet (an original, I was quite sad to lose it). On the fourth day, maps weren't good anymore. On the fifth day, myself and three others forged (it's forged, right? Look at me... almost forty and still I make theses mistakes!) our way to the testing chamber. We lost two along the way, torn to pieces by forces that could not even be seen. My remaining partner (my... I cannot even remember his name) and I drew lots to see who would approach the Box. I was actually the lucky one, he had lost the coin toss, but then he... segued through the floor, without a word. That left me.
I took a step towards it, and hit the wall on across the room. I turned again, and found myself facing the corner. I attempted to crawl, but touched the ceiling with my hands, so I sat still and waited... for it to come to me. And it did. A single crossed eye stared at me and, succumbing to my primal instincts, I touched it.
Everything tore. Light flashed, alarms went off, gashes appeared along my arm. A hole swallowed the box and... I saw through it.
A flash, a twist. Running, limping, bleeding, crying. A figure glimpsed down a hallway. The ringing matching the pitch of the alarm. The door. Further down the hallway. Not liberty, but safety, at least for a while.
Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Almost there now. Can't stop. Too many hallways branching off. More and more. I have to get there. I have to get there. I have to get there.
The feel of smooth metal against the skin. A spin and the latch is undone. A low wail getting higher in pitch. Even inside isn't safe. Inside is another way to end. At least I'll die in my bed. The door swings shut. Silence.
I looked around my living room. Empty, of course. The box seemed to have taken everything. I walked to my bedroom and slept. When I opened the door the next day, I saw a forest. The second day, I saw a swamp. The third day, I saw a field. The fourth day, the light was on, and I found food, as I have many times since. Nine months ago, I found a computer.
That is all."
---
We talked for a very long time. We debated and discussed, parrying opinions. But the night grew late, and he sensed it.
"You have something on your mind." His face, as always, was blank. Light green eyes peaked out from unkempt black hair.
"You said... You knew something." His head cocked at this, then a thin smile drew across his lips.
"... But, of course, it's not about what I said, but what he told you to ask." Those eyes stared through me. He knew. How did he know? NO ONE KNOWS.
"Tell me. You need to tell me." It was my turn to smile and, of course, he beat me with a returned grin.
"Yes... yes I do. I need to tell someone... even if it's... I know where it is! I know where to find it!" His eyes rolled back in his head. His grin became manic. Tears poured down his face. "I saw through the hole, and do you know what I saw!"
He stopped. I leaned close. His face went blank again and his eyes returned to mine.
"... I saw a little shop, by the sea."
We were silent for a very long time. Eventually, he spoke.
"I know why you're here. You have a job to do. Do it. There are notes in the desk. You don't need to use them, just take them. Do it."
And I did it. Quickly.
---
He was a very smart man. His notes... are brilliant. They explain so many things that should have been obvious. Most of them had been written within the last few months of his life. There was a reason I was told to kill him.
Some will have to die. I have always served Him. I will always serve Him.
Monday, 12 September 2011
Interview #2
I'm in no hurry. I know where he's going, so it should only be a matter of time.
So, since I find myself in need of some stimulation, it's time for another interview!
Here's the first, so as to avoid repetition
Do you want me to tell you that I was born to a small Dutch-American family, where my father abused me for many years until I killed him? And that this lead me to my current life of violent crime, a life I was tragically never born to, but doomed to live?
Want it all you may, that doesn't make it true.
If you actually have intelligent questions to ask, now's the time to really get to know me.
So, since I find myself in need of some stimulation, it's time for another interview!
Here's the first, so as to avoid repetition
Do you want me to tell you that I was born to a small Dutch-American family, where my father abused me for many years until I killed him? And that this lead me to my current life of violent crime, a life I was tragically never born to, but doomed to live?
Want it all you may, that doesn't make it true.
If you actually have intelligent questions to ask, now's the time to really get to know me.
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