The Lover / Nathan, So Hope, and a peice of the Bomb.
This is excerpts from stuff that I took out of dreams and enlarged. Again with my turgid prose.
01.
Before: The Lover is dead and risen again, an excerpt.
Is he around to witness the cloud reality?
That bastard always looks like me.
For the sequel: He's imprisoned by a psychiatrist, who studies him. Puzzled by his apparent timeless state, and total lack of decrepitive progress, pain response, and fear. Not to mention his disregard of authority.
Naturally he gets bored of the scene and the doctor in the asylum and frees himself. Killing a few people, but by this time, his conscience can't even stand up, so it doesn't bother. He's almost free.
Keep still...
Tap (noise repeated many times.)
...he walks outside and begins to cry briefly. He cries over what he's just done to the man inside. He feels so much like he's mitigating between two drives. Malice, and Benevolence. He drops the knife and walks away. Again he's puzzled by the truth: He's dead. How should he feel anything?
[Revis - Seven]
A couple peices of his old life still harbour him in tiny amounts. An old lover that he couldn't devote himself to leaves things out for him to collect. Like leaving food out for a stray cat. Things like tools (weapons) clothes (...clothes) pills (fun for the dead) and money(...money?).
His mother, too, now much older, has some understanding of what he is. And has settled into a senility that accomodates this enormous blasphemy of consensus reality. She helps him however she can. Intuitively she can tell that his anchor to this world is a deed left undone, and owing just as much to that intuition, she kind of knows what it is. But it's only as clear for her now, after the girl was dealt with, as it is to him. And that's not much help.
Now, he sleeps, it comes naturally. Even though before he found Chris again, he never slept. Now he does.
But, again, it's like there's a purpose to every single boon that he's granted by the madness that he is*. Sleep seems only to be the vehicle for a dream that's delivered to him every snooze.
A black cloud. Null of civilization. Awash with antiseptic presence.
And he wakes up into the dream he's been stuck in for, I dunno, two notebooks?
"How can you be happy when you've pulled people's limbs off and juggled them like flaming batons in front of them?" he asks himself. He's transcended bloody revenge. Too late.
The benevolent part of his heart wants him to toy with the concept of trying to blend in and find someone to share his heart with What's built up inside of him when he's been afforded the moments of stunning beauty along his quest that made his still heart quake and his milk eyes ring with ruddy tears of embalming fluid. But now it's fading away, with him cynically retaining only the tragic, painful memories to fan the lambent flame of self-pity. He doesn't realize it, but that's what's keeping him animated.
*: A sentient mind inside a nigh-indestructible human corpse frozen in the state that it was in before he died, clawed himself out of a pile of garbage, and went about his inscrutiable buisiness wreaking revenge and persuing an old crush and whatnot.
02.
[Halo - 20,000 tonnes of machinery to smash matter]
I understand that the characters that comprise the written Japanese word for "Atomic Bomb" individually mean "Original" "Child" and "Bomb".
Former people present at the epicenter of a Nuclear Explosion suffer what is called Molecular Death.
Lay term: Vaporized. Or "Blowed up".
They're disincorporeated into a particularly loose mist of energy and other former matter. So, they don't exactly die. It's almost like they just cease to exist. They bypass "Death" the way that we think of death, surrounded by 'throes' of one kind or another. Just return to thier original presence in reality:
inert star fodder.
But no, if they'd cease to exist, then they'd cease to exist retroactively too.
They would never have been at all. Hell. Maybe that did happen. How would we know?
C'mon, stay awake, I've yet to wring the last compelling thought out of this span of wakefulness...
03
[Tadd Mullinix - Lulla]
"I'm sorry, but I've got to go on living. Because it's not easy. I believe. I do. I'm sorry..."
The narrator gets up, dripping with blood presented from many wounds, and staggers towards the lift doors. Lighting the "Down" button, he waits for the elevator and desperately avoids looking at the blackening face that he just turned away from. The face that he can sense changing behind him, like it's forming an appendage to grip him and violate him for his defiance.The elevator comes soon enough and he gets inside, letting the door shut before he drops his weight to lean on the wall.
"Had I not suffered so much because of him, would I have had some reason to forgive?"
Bloody footprints trail backwards to the scene.
04
[We're sorry. The sprocketholes jammed on this frame. In it's stead we have a delightful rubber ducky.]
*squeak*
01.
Before: The Lover is dead and risen again, an excerpt.
Is he around to witness the cloud reality?
That bastard always looks like me.
For the sequel: He's imprisoned by a psychiatrist, who studies him. Puzzled by his apparent timeless state, and total lack of decrepitive progress, pain response, and fear. Not to mention his disregard of authority.
Naturally he gets bored of the scene and the doctor in the asylum and frees himself. Killing a few people, but by this time, his conscience can't even stand up, so it doesn't bother. He's almost free.
Keep still...
Tap (noise repeated many times.)
...he walks outside and begins to cry briefly. He cries over what he's just done to the man inside. He feels so much like he's mitigating between two drives. Malice, and Benevolence. He drops the knife and walks away. Again he's puzzled by the truth: He's dead. How should he feel anything?
[Revis - Seven]
A couple peices of his old life still harbour him in tiny amounts. An old lover that he couldn't devote himself to leaves things out for him to collect. Like leaving food out for a stray cat. Things like tools (weapons) clothes (...clothes) pills (fun for the dead) and money(...money?).
His mother, too, now much older, has some understanding of what he is. And has settled into a senility that accomodates this enormous blasphemy of consensus reality. She helps him however she can. Intuitively she can tell that his anchor to this world is a deed left undone, and owing just as much to that intuition, she kind of knows what it is. But it's only as clear for her now, after the girl was dealt with, as it is to him. And that's not much help.
Now, he sleeps, it comes naturally. Even though before he found Chris again, he never slept. Now he does.
But, again, it's like there's a purpose to every single boon that he's granted by the madness that he is*. Sleep seems only to be the vehicle for a dream that's delivered to him every snooze.
A black cloud. Null of civilization. Awash with antiseptic presence.
And he wakes up into the dream he's been stuck in for, I dunno, two notebooks?
"How can you be happy when you've pulled people's limbs off and juggled them like flaming batons in front of them?" he asks himself. He's transcended bloody revenge. Too late.
The benevolent part of his heart wants him to toy with the concept of trying to blend in and find someone to share his heart with What's built up inside of him when he's been afforded the moments of stunning beauty along his quest that made his still heart quake and his milk eyes ring with ruddy tears of embalming fluid. But now it's fading away, with him cynically retaining only the tragic, painful memories to fan the lambent flame of self-pity. He doesn't realize it, but that's what's keeping him animated.
*: A sentient mind inside a nigh-indestructible human corpse frozen in the state that it was in before he died, clawed himself out of a pile of garbage, and went about his inscrutiable buisiness wreaking revenge and persuing an old crush and whatnot.
02.
[Halo - 20,000 tonnes of machinery to smash matter]
I understand that the characters that comprise the written Japanese word for "Atomic Bomb" individually mean "Original" "Child" and "Bomb".
Former people present at the epicenter of a Nuclear Explosion suffer what is called Molecular Death.
Lay term: Vaporized. Or "Blowed up".
They're disincorporeated into a particularly loose mist of energy and other former matter. So, they don't exactly die. It's almost like they just cease to exist. They bypass "Death" the way that we think of death, surrounded by 'throes' of one kind or another. Just return to thier original presence in reality:
inert star fodder.
But no, if they'd cease to exist, then they'd cease to exist retroactively too.
They would never have been at all. Hell. Maybe that did happen. How would we know?
C'mon, stay awake, I've yet to wring the last compelling thought out of this span of wakefulness...
03
[Tadd Mullinix - Lulla]
"I'm sorry, but I've got to go on living. Because it's not easy. I believe. I do. I'm sorry..."
The narrator gets up, dripping with blood presented from many wounds, and staggers towards the lift doors. Lighting the "Down" button, he waits for the elevator and desperately avoids looking at the blackening face that he just turned away from. The face that he can sense changing behind him, like it's forming an appendage to grip him and violate him for his defiance.The elevator comes soon enough and he gets inside, letting the door shut before he drops his weight to lean on the wall.
"Had I not suffered so much because of him, would I have had some reason to forgive?"
Bloody footprints trail backwards to the scene.
04
[We're sorry. The sprocketholes jammed on this frame. In it's stead we have a delightful rubber ducky.]
*squeak*