Monday, 9 January 2012

I'm baaaaaack!

I've kept myself occupied. Met some nice folks out in the city. We enjoyed ourselves stringing up Runners and beating them like pinatas (oh Shady, if only you knew how much I held back, you would scream). I'm sure if Cauldhame has anything he wants to say about it, he can do it himself. Clever guy, if a bit stressed out.

But now I've figured some things out. I know what to do with the Box now, it's just a matter of timing, of alignment, of significance both cosmic and poetic... But I'm getting ahead of myself. We've still got a whole year to figure out how to end the world, and I'd hate to beat some poor bastard to the punch.

So I've been thinking, maybe those kind few of you who've taken the liberty of tracking my movements should share some of their holiday experiences. A little forum, if you may. On your marks, get set,

go

23 comments:

  1. Fuck. Off.

    Seriously, flayed puppies?

    You sick bastard.

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  2. You fuck with me on my blog, I flay a puppy. That's how it works.

    Merry belated Christmas.

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  3. ....

    So, how's that condition of yours faring? Still bleeding from the mouth? Still in constant pain?

    I ask not JUST to be a bitch, but I would sincerely like to know. For my own reasons.

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  4. It's not going to be a puppy this time.

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  5. Mhmm, let me play the world's saddest song on the world's smallest violin, just for you and whatever poor victim you're threatening me with.

    Oops! That does remind me. I don't care! You're still dodging the question, 'dearest.'

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  6. You're right, you are a bitch.
    How was Christmas. Enjoy having someone to kiss under the mistletoe? Oh yes, only I just remembered, Gallows isn't exactly the romantic type. Mainly into dismemberment and sadism, if my memory serves me well.
    So no, I'm not going to give you a laundry list of my physical ailments so that you can fetishize suffering in new and inventive ways.

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  7. You threaten to flay someone alive, and you call me a bitch? You're one to talk. Also, last I checked, my personal life wasn't up for discussion. I don't care to talk about.. well, any of that. Why the hell would you want to?

    It has nothing to do with fetishes, Ferus. I need to know. Whether you tell me or not, I can always ask someone else. Someone more willing to open up to me. Then again.. I'll find the information one way or another.

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  8. Just because I'm a monster doesn't mean you aren't a bitch. Someone's being surprisingly sensitive. You don't like talking about your little loverboy? The little twisted sack of meat I threw across your living room like a ragdoll? But why wouldn't you want to talk about him, you were getting along so well... Unless...
    A little trouble in paradise? Marital disputes and the like. Oh, let me guess, he wasn't even there for Christmas, was he? Which means you were all alone. Alone because no one would ever want to be around a psycho little cunt like you.

    Of course, I could be completely off the mark, but I don't think so. :)

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  9. I never lied about what I was, not once. How I spent my holidays is none of your fucking business, you fucked up little bastard. Who are you to say who would want to be around me and who wouldn't?

    You stereotyped me the moment we started speaking, you have no idea what I'm actually like. So shove a razor straight where the sun doesn't shine, and twist until it's just as bloody as the rest of you. Fuck. Off.

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  10. Well, my physical condition isn't your business either. And also, I think it's you who should be fucking off, not me. Remember how this started. :)

    I was spot on, wasn't I? It's always nice when I'm right.

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  11. Fine. You want to play psycho psychiatrist? Go for it. If it'll get you to tell the fucking truth about your condition, I can stand to tell the truth about what happened. It's not like there's that many people that come through this site that'll actually CARE about me.

    It started because you couldn't stop boasting! All I did was reply in kind. I wound up on your list for what, defending myself? Then there was the party, which I am STILL pissed about. And now, I try to give a fuck, and you spit in my face AGAIN. You wonder why I'm a bitch?

    You, and people like you, fucking cause me to be like this. I used to be nice, I truly, honestly did. For the record, why would you think I was alone? You aren't pulling the punches, so go ahead. Make my night and tell me why you think I'm such a psycho little cunt!

    You don't know a thing about me, and I'm going to prove it.

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  12. I don't boast. I state intentions. But you just kept jabbing and jabbing in a way I recognize very well. I'd say we're a lot alike, but then I would be lying, because I like to think I'm a lot less psychologically conflicted than you. Why I think you're a psycho? Among other things, you like the look of blood. You like Gallows. Hell, you like the look of Gallows covered in blood.
    And here you are shifting the blame to other people. We all react differently to different things. A better person, someone with a teensy little bit more humanity would still be hobbling along with a kind word for every dying soul along the roadside, but you think that because what YOU have gone through, that's an excuse? YOU THINK IT'S A FUCKING EXCUSE, DIA?
    GUESS WHAT: YOU HAVE FUCKING ZILCH TO COMPLAIN ABOUT, DIA. YOU ARE LIVING IN FUCKING PARADISE! SO DON'T LOOK AT ME, OR ANYONE ELSE WHEN YOU START HATING YOUR OWN REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR, JUST THINK OF YOURSELF, BECAUSE THAT'S THE SOURCE OF YOUR FUCKING PROBLEMS.

    See what happens when you don't play nice, Dia?

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  13. Your intentions are sick, and they're just one continuous cry for help. Poor little Ferus can't take the pain. That little nightmare of yours, it just doesn't stop, does it? Forever and ever, til the end of your life, you'll be in constant agony. Every breath, every touch, every whisper you make.. it's a constant Purgatory, and you fucking deserve it.

    You think that maybe, just maybe, you can make people understand your pain. Cause some death, cause some destruction, maybe one day yours will go away. You look down on me for what I see, for what I've gone through. You think every experience I've gone through gets posted like some jackasses do? No. Fuck no! But you think because I don't want to be nice to a conflicted little bastard like you THAT WANTS TO KILL ME TO MAKE A POINT means that I can't still be kind?

    No. Just.. no. I still have kindness in your heart, I just stopped taking in every lost soul that had a reason (read: excuse) for loving to cause pain and destruction. Gallows was.. an indulgence of mine, too much of a temptation to pass up. I was a fool to do so. What, you've never heard of bloodplay?

    You think I'm the one with the fetishes, who has the bodies stuck in his closet while he mourns over the last words of a man he killed? Your fucking little obsession with that Box will be the end of you, if someone better than the both of us doesn't come along and do it for me.

    I'm extending an olive branch, baring my neck, and all you do is go for the kill. Don't stop to think about the fact that I could help you. I could possibly make the pain stop, give the choice back to you whether to be a monster or not. You've become so adjusted to the pain, you don't know how to live without it.

    I think you're afraid. Afraid of someone that doesn't want to fight or kill you, someone that genuinely wants to help you. You want to start a war to distract from a simple question, one that you've answered happily in the past? Go for it.

    You think you can hurt me by telling me I'm in paradise. You think I hate myself. Maybe you're right. In the end, though, who despises their reflection? Who really hates the thought of living so much as to become their own nightmare?

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  14. Hey Dia, you know that little voice that whittles away at your brain when you have nothing to distract you? Listen to it. It's right.

    There's a nice difference between being living a nightmare and becoming the nightmare. I made my choice, and I hardly think your disjointed rattlings will steer me to the path of salvation.

    As for the business of reflections, I don't see myself in the mirror anymore. I see something different, and stronger. Sweet dreams, Dia.

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  15. To... salvation? Oh my lord, you actually believe in the misguided drivel you preach. I am so, so sorry for you, and anyone else that has to listen to your bullshit.

    The ugly little voices, the evil little thoughts, they're really just at the back of my mind. They're only urges, just like everyone else gets. The fact that I don't listen to them (normally) is what separates me from you. I will never choose to become my own damnation.

    You see an abomination in the mirror. A lying, sadistic, homicidal bag of bones and stitched up pieces. You're the ugly, nasty version of Sally, and I hope I never have the misfortune that Shady did of hearing that grating, hissing voice of yours. How does it feel, to know that you aren't "real?"

    That you're just the Slenderman's version of the Rubik's cube, that you live on because he just wanted to play a sadistic game of dress up with you as the victim? Does it hurt? That you killed Glass Man, that you can't stop mourning the death of yourself? Oh, but you're just a fake.

    A tormented, wrong, doesn't have a place in this beautiful world FAKE. Do you ever have the urge to start.. just sawing away at your body? Can you feel where one of your friends' bodies starts and another begins? I wonder how many fingers, how many pounds of flesh, how many useless pieces of you could fall under your blade before you couldn't cut anymore.

    All that blood.. you're right, I am a twisted little bitch. I would love to see you squirm, see if the personality truly is housed in the mind.. or if, somehow, in each of those pieces you'd lose a piece of yourself. If it made the pain stop, even for a moment.. I'm sure you'd never stop bleeding. Do you? Does the blood ever stop flowing? Or do you just keep bleeding the blood of the innocent, the stolen life from the people that've been dead for so many years?

    My dreams, my pain, they help people. You destroy them. You can rub them in my face as much as you like, it still won't change the fact that you want the end. I don't.

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  16. Guy bleeds like a stuck pig. Also, he screams a when he sleeps. Not a lot, like a little kid that's lost his voice.

    Hope that helps, Dia. A friend in need is a friend indeed.

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  17. Oh my. Frank, you and I should get acquainted. Anyone that can rile him up that quickly is a friend of mine. Though.. I'd have to guess you aren't exactly Mr. Sunshine if you know that.

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  18. No problem at all, milady. And of course I'm not, but who is?

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  19. Like a little child that's lost his voice, you say? I wonder what his dreams consist of.. the bad man coming to get him in the dark. No one to hold or comfort him through the pain, it must be.. excruciating. Heh. And he wants to jab ME over being alone? Riiiiiiight.

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  20. Something tells me this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

    Also, the man of the hour is being strangely quiet.

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  21. Mhmm. I love my fucked up little friends, it's always so nice to find another monster with manners. It's nice to meet you, truly.

    He is, he is! Maybe he's pouting. Or maybe.. what we've said hit a little too close to home. What do you think, Frank?

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  22. Hard to tell with that guy. We might have hit. We might have missed but come too close. Or maybe he's just having a hissy fit. Hard to tell.

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