"You ever read Ray Bradbury? He's a ****ing head. He knew. He wrote the mother****ing book, say hallelujah."
Because God can piss down your back every day, but he can only drown you once.
Did you know I watched Titanic when I got back home from the hospital, and cried? I knew that my IQ had been damaged.
You tricky man of science, you can't fool me. It's turtles all the way down!
Add to the list Windows Movie Maker. Some business you got going down, huh?
Notice how "effects" and a new folder have also been opened.
Always loved the Dune Sea.
They say that there is more to life—that nothing's what it seems; They say there's deeper meaning behind one's human faults They give you books and pamphlets and a pocket full of dreams Then set you off, in three-fourths time, upon their shifting waltz.
Just gonna borrow this .
See, without those useful things society has created, I am not able to tell if you are asking a question or making a statement. Spacing can be useful, too. Is "idont" some hip-hopping new age slang? Drug? Torrent website? Is it a .net, .org, or .com?
So are punctuation marks.
Man, I just realized how life is like an apple.
Merry/happy whatever you celebrate if you celebrate anything.
Chapter 3: The Lone Exile seeks the Lone Wanderer - The desert screamed its hunger. Traveling steadily, the man rode on horse back. Yes, he could still smell it. The smoke. Smoke that could only be caused by demons. Only a demon, or something worse. The exile, for that was what he was, had a name. Only one true name, unlike the Wanderer. The Jester. Whatever you called him. Still the dry winds of this barren land carried that smoke, over this dead world. Death had come, and death was a wanderer. The man’s name was not but Masquerade. Seeking redemption as well as the final damnation, he carried on. The wanderer and he, like it or not, were very much alike. The wanderer was the jester, the timeless joker, and he was the purser. Going the final distance to hear the punch line, to hear why the world had died. Died it had. Everything had stopped, most machinery had stopped working, and only the laughter could be heard. Civilization failed, and most of the machinery that was savaged was dangerous and overtime most was forgotten how to be used. Only he had answered the call and lived to follow it. Laughing it had come, along with the bandits. The robbers. The corrupters. Yes, they had come to corrupt and they had done quite a nice job. The seeds had been planted by a clown in a spiral-shaped pattern. They had only given them water. Quickly they had grown indeed, for few things were stopping them. Many had died, and many more had gone insane. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but this Rome burned in a day. He set it on fire. Such an abomination which was so great should be put out of its misery. Yes. ‘Twas proper and it was right. What one might have been great towns were reduced to bars overnight, what was once great monuments became a funeral pyre for humanity. How it had burned! Yes, still he heard tales when he stopped at these bars of the Great Fire. The fire that has eaten all, both righteous and not righteous. It had come down in the form of God’s Judgment. God’s Judgment hadn’t been made by God, no. It had been made by man. Judging the population to be a cancer, they finally killed a good bit of themselves off. With radiation. All of it had died away by now, yet traces remained. Mutations. He was the greatest mutation of all, the greatest abomination. Maybe when his quest was through he’d set himself on fire. Until then though, he would seek the wanderer. Seek his punch line. Follow the laughter. Follow the smoke. Follow destiny. Every now and then, creatures thought only to exist in the shadows of man’s mind peeped out of him from the corners of man’s ruins. Maybe man’s mind was his ruins. A fortress, constructed brick by beloved brick and oppression by oppression. Sole patient beyond cure, sole doctor gone fishing. Couldn’t go fishing anymore, though. Not enough time. Only enough time to wander after the wanderer, and seek him. For, he was the cause of all. He had laid the insane spiral, and he had led them spiraling down and down and down until his previous life of calm and peace had gone… crooked. Yes, that was the word they used to describe it now. Crooked. Letting out the last breath, the horse had ridden out of his hometown died. No grace, no dramatic death, just died. So ends another life. So laughs another laugh. Shadows stirred, and h e sighed. They would come soon, the horrible Mutant survivors. They would come and try to kill him all for the simple food his dead horse provided. If anything it had eaten had caused it to die, they would want that, too. Radiation had eradicated what little brains that could have been passed down to them and they had forgotten that there were quite many a way to commit the gentleman’s final act if one had a mind to do so. Yet, maybe it had killed off some of his mind, too. Maybe that was better.
-Notice the edit.
Seven Days of the Spiral Alternate title: Seven Days of the Crooked Spiral “They are the Legion of the Damned… God help them.” “It begins where it ends and it ends where it begins.” Kind of connected to Crooked Walls and maybe other stuff I‘m doing… Click on the link to read Crooked Walls. You‘ll still get the story even if you don‘t, but it may be more fascinating to know a few connections: http://www.kh-vids.net/showthread.php?t=91947 Day I: Arrival - I arrived, and yet this town felt bad. Worse then bad, horrible. I wouldn’t of wanted to be here if I didn’t have to be. I don’t know what we go by in your part of the forever loved earth, but for now I’ll call ourselves/myself Squad X. I’m but a member, and yet I feel that this mission was both a test and… more. Like this town. Nobody else could be called out, so they sent me. We deal with stuff, I’ve said more then I should have but I feel these will never be found. They clone us, funny huh? We’re just soldiers, following orders. That’s all the Nazis did in a way, yet they did them willingly. I wander if I have a choice. Did I ever have one? Looking back now, I should of seen the signs. The way the people looked in the shadows of the buildings as a left my escort and took residence. I didn’t think I’d leave this town then, and I don’t think Ill leave it now. My soul is crooked. -Entry ends with laughter that sounds like its both one and many. Legion. Day 2: Why are We in Hell? - “Why do we suffer?” I don’t know why, but these words were spoken into my mind as I awoke. I shuddered, but thought it was just nerves. The town is dead. Needs to lay babies. I read once, I think it was about Wasps. They lay their babies inside there prey right? When the babies hatch, they eat and eat and oh God, faddah that is in Heaven, they eat. The prey isn’t always dead by then, ether. Maybe it was spiders, I don’t know. Whatever it was, it reminds me of this town. The walls sound like maggots, and they are all crooked every morning I awake from now. Crooked. A hotel burned down, and during reconstruction they made planned to… expand. This wasn’t the first time it was expanding. The hotel was on the town border, and the border itself was expanding. Death was expanding, and I think I’m part of Death now. Maybe I wasn’t then, but now I’m… crooked. Water was found under some room where the fire was supposedly started. I hope whoever started that fire is safe. Water runs in the shape of what it runs in, right? This water, it ran in our souls. Our souls our spirals, always and forever spiraling down and down and crooked and betwixt and between. Running through the cracks of the Crooked Spiral, lies insanity. The Spiral is insanity. The spiral is us. We are Legion, for we are many. Maybe if I try I can think separate long enough to do this… it’s so hard, though. Day 3: Suspicions - Nothing much happened that day, just taking measurements. As soon as I saw how high they were, I should of ran. I didn’t though. The maggots sing there chorus in my ears and the rats run free, but oh sweet jays-us among-us, I think the rats are maggots. They feel this place is bad, like we do, but also like us, they ignore there instinct. The maggots get them, and they chase us down. Like dogs, except dogs have souls, right? Dogs have rabies, too, and I think we have rabies. If we do, they turned it crooked. We did. Heard sounds outside my door. Heard water running, spiraling with a crooked smile as the Jester laughs. What Jester? The Jester? Where do these thoughts come from? I’m breaking, and the pieces fall. We all end up in the same place, though. In the spiral. Because here we’re all (in)Sane. Day 4: Something… Just not Human. - We’re something... just not human. Was I ever one? The old saying “Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?” thing comes to me, and I am crookedly proud to say before our laughing father, be he Legion or French Foreign, that I am washed in the blood of the clown. The source of all this blood. The stars are the blood of the Gods, yet nothing except his blood shines here. Is it really blood, though? We’re all bleeding insane. Day 5: Calm Before the Storm Feels calm today, the town preacher held a parade in honor of the expansion of the hotel. Religious nut jobs. I may need some saving now, though. Heard water again in dreams. Blood. Insanity. Legion. Crooked. End entry. Day 6: Found Out I was found out yesterday. I just found out, and I didn’t get to appraise the information too long, ether. I saw them. Naked. Saw the Devil through Legion, looked him in the eye, and I blinked. I blinked, they charged. He charged. I charged. They were besides the water source, I believe it has grown… into a lake. A mouth. Grinning. My eyes are now crooked like my soul, so I can’t recall. Ha! Ha! Ha! Must remain (in)sane. Poison drenched my body now. They were besides the… crooked mouth… they were being washed like I was in my dreams. It rinsed my brain, it rinsed there bodies. I don’t know why. They saw me, and they weren’t human. Nope. They glowed, they laughed. They said one word, evoked God’s name. His name is Jester. I ran, because then I still felt sane. Day 7: End - Sitting now, hid for a day-aya-day. Whoo! Ranting and raving like a dead dog taking a smog in his momma’s bog. Ha! I hear them, marching the merry wedding march, or is it the funeral march? What’s the difference? They both symbolize the death of a soul! I stifle my laughter, but I know you, voice recording diary, oh you, will hear it. Maybe they won’t. Who am I kidding? I am them! Whoo-hoo! Covered myself in poison. When they drown me, like I know they do, I want to poison that mouth. Want it to die. Want it to-mouth becoming numb, at least my face isn’t dumb. Oh, yes it is! Tingly wingly like mamma’s pingly and dadda’s dingly! I hear the door open, and hide this and pray to Jester. Amen, hallelujah. - Excerpt from the next day’s newspaper. Special run: Strange visitor, no record of entering this town, was found dead in the reconstructing site of our beloved town’s hotel. Poison, judged to be suicide. Found by the preacher who was helping out to set a good example for the young ones. (See reward given to him on page 3) For a body just found, it was strangely infested with maggots. Story continued on page two.”
Some of the stuff in that book is better than the stuff in the horror comics. People getting boiled in oil or hanging themselves like Judas...
