This time, this moment, I grasp, I wonder, I reach at wisps of thought that stretch and fall out of tune with the song that plays in my head. Gentle caresses, the touch of a love lost to the wind, a desire carried past by the sins I’ve wrought. I used to live, I used to be a part of the greater glory of good; but now, I’ve changed. I’ve fallen down a hole to a darker place. That place bellows, it mewls, it echoes with the sadness that splits the infinite spaces greater than that of the all, the all that is both near and far. I twist, I gambol, I strike out timorously towards any direction that might lead to surcease. There is hope, always; there is a possibility, that within the wretched dark, that success may be snatched from the malignant claws of the unknown; that perhaps, this time, a plateau of something better than the dark, may be achieved. Maybe not.
Cry out in pain. For the loss of oneself is the final insult in this land of the living. Spiritual, emotional, intellectual – deny it all one wants, in the end, you are what you are, good and bad, happy and sad. Pick the path that fits, and the path that fits will pick you.
One notices things, one stands back and watches how the world wanders along its path of believing in what it believes. Have you never seen the Darkness? Felt its icy claws dragging across your back, up past your neck to raise the follicles there? Have you ever witnessed the Darkness as it lurks behind the eyes of the person you are speaking with? Nor the shadow that one might have worn while perfuming tasks in the Dark’s name?
In the Dark, we trust many things. Some of these things we call true, some we call otherwise. Vampiric feelings of brothership and solidarity interspersed with the will to carve our initials in the flesh of our enemies, while they bleed out the remainder of their lives into the dust.
We are the Dark, the Darkness is ourselves. At our best, at our worst, we are the symbols of the perfidy that we perform, and we are the emblems of the empowerment that springs forth from the most unusual of wells. The dichotomy is strange, wrapped in the Wyrd that is Life. How we humans can be so consumed with the Bright and at the same so filled with the Dark. The struggle is Eternal, constant, a game played both back and forth.
For this moment, this peculiar pinpoint of time – I rant. I rail against the Universe, at how the blind can see, while the sighted remain unseeing. There are so many things to comment upon, that a lifetime alone is insufficient to comment on them all. But, one day, I will get the upper hand on all things Bright and Dark, and woe be to they who remain upon the face of the Earth …
My zombie flying monkeys, they come, they come for you.