Funny Jonny becomes Sly Nicholai
Backposts of past mistakes (are they really mistakes if you don't regret them?), words of a childish caster. I say this every time I walk away, knowing the words will remain. Now it's hard to speak plain. Verse has become inherent in my brain. Ugh.
I could start over. But I already am starting over. The same damn way...a simulacra that grows into a human horror. Seattle will be interesting, willingly playing a character with a man behind him...instead of what I've been thus far in here: a prop, demanding rights as a man.
It's so strange that there is a certain point where every truly aware being says "I am". Says "I demand". Says "I can". Those that don't float through their lives like the ghosts of their own ill-conceived notions. I've met a few...drank their potions, gone through the motions to see if they had anything to teach. But the only thing I learned is a greater thievery.
Oh indeed I've met some mages. Witches more powerful than any...these ages. What did I do with their contaigon of freedom and agency? I squandered it, trying to teach, see? TO lift up fellow brothers and sisters out of misery whispered constantly in their ear by their own fear. Futile, it was. Sub-servile, I became to their frame of understanding. And they wished to brand me amongst their elite. What a treat. What a fucking treat.
Now I'm again at the crossroads of where I've been. Everett was the last place I did this. Did I fucking miss it? No. And yet, I still wonder how I could've gone amiss, lying in the den of iniquity with them. So too shall it be here. And but for one, I'll cry not, instead turning toward this new sun.
Brother, I'm sorry I failed you. Again.
I could start over. But I already am starting over. The same damn way...a simulacra that grows into a human horror. Seattle will be interesting, willingly playing a character with a man behind him...instead of what I've been thus far in here: a prop, demanding rights as a man.
It's so strange that there is a certain point where every truly aware being says "I am". Says "I demand". Says "I can". Those that don't float through their lives like the ghosts of their own ill-conceived notions. I've met a few...drank their potions, gone through the motions to see if they had anything to teach. But the only thing I learned is a greater thievery.
Oh indeed I've met some mages. Witches more powerful than any...these ages. What did I do with their contaigon of freedom and agency? I squandered it, trying to teach, see? TO lift up fellow brothers and sisters out of misery whispered constantly in their ear by their own fear. Futile, it was. Sub-servile, I became to their frame of understanding. And they wished to brand me amongst their elite. What a treat. What a fucking treat.
Now I'm again at the crossroads of where I've been. Everett was the last place I did this. Did I fucking miss it? No. And yet, I still wonder how I could've gone amiss, lying in the den of iniquity with them. So too shall it be here. And but for one, I'll cry not, instead turning toward this new sun.
Brother, I'm sorry I failed you. Again.