Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Things... All These Things...

Marie- Deceased. Unknown circumstances. Last seen in the company of a man who goes by the alias "Shepherd". "Shepherd" denies involvement in her death. Called it "a waste". Later notes revealed her family to be involved in some form of conspiracy. None of the relevant people are alive now, other than Jared. Sacrifice, Bitter Fruit, Poison Thorn

Blake- Deceased. Shot with a .38, hollowpoint. Multiple shots to the stomach and chest. Last in the company of Tia. Had developed paranoia and delusions that he was the only one capable of keeping her safe. "Safe", in this case meant holding her captive in a basement. Body missing. Taken by the Tall One. Lover, Twisted Heart, Betrayer

Tia- Missing. Presumed Deceased. Last seen in the company of Lis. Supporting her as they got us away from one of the anomalies that has trapped those who have been documenting events on this blog in previous accounts. Had cut herself off from all but this small group. Grew more and more protective of Lis and the rest of us over the last few months, but especially Lis. After the abduction a month ago, as well as other incidents, she barely let her out of her sight. The tendrils were encroaching. Champion, Sparrow, Protector, Mother

Lis- Missing. Presumed Deceased. Last seen in the company of Tia. Mostly unconscious, and emanating a "light" to the way out of the anomalous location. Possible hallucination due to the nature of said location. She and Tia sacrificed themselves to get us out. Had been suffering increased amounts of weakness due to physical wasting, despite preventative efforts. Also had started to suffer from an increase in her "synesthesia" in ways that fall outside of the definition of such, after the incident with the sensory deprivation tank a month ago. Bloodstained Handmaiden, Heroine, Dreamer, Hummingbird, Delphi

Jared- Living. Injured. Whereabouts unknown beyond a note saying he'd "keep in touch" and that "there's always a light, she showed us that. Bloodstained or not. What she did was a final 'fuck you' to those who would have used her and used Tia against her. Especially after all that's happened over the last few months. They'll be watching you still, remember that, kid. I know you're not going to want me around after this. You're not the type. It was the girls who were keeping that from being an issue. You can take care of yourself. Even if it means lying low, that's probably a better option than my modus operandi. Take care of yourself, okay? For them, if not for you." Toppled Knight, Rusted Armor, Hidden Face

Kailin- Living. Increasingly cynical. The desire to be alone and disconnect grows stronger. For now, it may be the best to go alone against the Tall One. Raven, Butterfly, Changeling

...I don't know what to do anymore. I don't belong here anymore. It's getting colder. It's time to move on. No more mum's and no more lecherous flirts. This internet thing is too risky, too hard. And I'm thinking bonding is just the thing I shouldn't do anymore.

Lis. Tia. They were too good for these things. I'm the sort of scum that gets it. Alone is better.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." We will remain.

Bared myself wholly heart and body unadorned
Stripped down solely
To the evil and the good
Felt no shame
Naked to the world
And all illusions shattered

Running all the time
Ain't going nowhere
It's a new page in the same book
It's a new game with the same rules
The lights go down
Fade to black on the set
And we ain't seen nothing yet

So don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
Hunger only for a taste of justice
Hunger only for a world of truth
'Cause all that you have is your soul

Friday, July 13, 2012


"All Bette's stories have happy endings. That's because she knows where to stop. She's realized the real problem with stories — if you keep them going long enough, they always end in death."

That's our problem somewtimes isn't it? We just keep writing and writing. To us, it's not a story, but to someone out there, it is. To someone out there, we're nothing but the brainchildren of amateur writers with too many or two few ideas.

Thing is, it's not a story, and it's probably not going to have a happy ending. But this isn't for others, really. This blog was started as a way for me and my friends to keep track of the things that were happening... That is, once it was switched over from being an assignment from my therapist.

Funny how much things change in a year. Sometimes it takes the threat of death or worse for someone to start to live.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Radio Silence

We exist. We're not dead. Funny, that. It's been an interesting little time, playing the game that isn't a game.
This is not a game.
This is not a game.
This is not a game.
The mantra of an ARGer, now become real. We've all seen that. We've more than seen that. We've been helping where we can. Maybe we've been lying a bit too low. Watching, waiting, listening.

It's almost funny to some, I feel sure. Like a butterfly on a pin, struggling. Even if it manages to get free, it's not going to survive. That's what people think they see. Maybe it's better sometimes to let people keep those perceptions.

We hang on, we laugh. We find life and make the most of it. To live is an awfully big adventure, after all. We dance, play, fight, run, sing, and learn.

An uninterrupted sleep is rare and valuable commodity.

We cry. We have lost people, and we will probably continue to do so. Cutting ourselves off from others isn't going to prevent that. Oh, we've seen some of the things going on recently, and they're unpleasant as heck. Does that mean we sould lie down and bare our throats?

There are always so many paths that can be taken. sure, it's easiest to follow certain ones, but we must do what we can, I suppose.

Hopefully, we'll be posting a bit more, soon. Things have been hectic recently, working on things.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Dream a little dream

How many dreams does a person have in a night? Too many.

Stars going out like candles, an image shown in so many media. The splintering of bone.Why dream about something like that? When we're children, we have nightmares even then. Glowing green eyes in the depths of a cave. A whispered name.

I dreamed tonight that I was in a maze. Not a labyrinth, a maze. A multicursal stucture, rather than a unicursal structure. The walls were not stone. The were gray, gray, gray and brown, with writing on them. Some form of concrete or stucco? Beside the point.

Alchemical symbols. Antimony. Silver. Platinum. Magnesium. Gold. All beneath a layer of dust so thick that I could see my footprints in it. Ahead of me was evidence of someone passing before. Small of stature, bare feet. Bare feet in that mess... I've  stepped in worse, I guess.

As I ran a hand along the grime and rust-covered wall, watching the flowering of the rust along the surface, I began to notice lighter spots along the wall. They were rectangles, reaching from above my head to the floor. Like when you have a piece of furniture in a single place for a very long time and it leaves a mark when you move it.

It took a long moment as I looked at the marks, and I began to realize that they were doors. Or where there were doors. Places where the doors had vanished. What would happen if you were in a room and the door vanished? Would you try to go through the wall?

What if you couldn't go through the wall due to being trapped in an extradimensional pocket? Set fire to the room? Listen to the voices? Try to press on anyway? Curl up in a ball and give up? Rage against the sky that you no longer had access to and that would not listen, anyway? Skies are very bad listeners. They have no ears.

Pc ypn wngf ittlwf qxpy sff httn dwhh ui, ak ah httrw oqixs bw ttwozs tq evmccw spr rdrlmps.

There were true openings in the walls now. Tiny altars of perhaps-dead things that have been forgotten for many a year. A woman robed in cobweb, the wet, glittering black of her eyes shielded by skeletal fingers, a ring glinting on each. A small, stout man with the face of an reptile of some sort, eyes sparkling and following every movement, completely nude. A many-horned creature, vague in form, leathery and violent in its very appearance.  A young woman with the eyes of a cat, snakes and the tails of scorpions woven into her sooty hair, a shattered hand outstretched in supplication. A child with her hands over her eyes, wings of light broken and shattered. Offerings become dust themselves, scattered and strewn away.

Tell the king; the fair wrought house has fallen
No shelter has Apollo, nor sacred laurel leaves
The fountains are now silent; the voice is stilled.
It is finished.
Some less forgotten,  a woman of ironwood will, a misbegotten child, a singing cold wind, the faceless bachelor thief, and many more. Teir numbers grow. There are many ways to give something power, but why do people choose to? Do what ways they choose matter to the chosen? The dust was stirred more around some than around others, this part of the path heavily trodden and lit by the glow of screens unseen.

Other tiny staues are tucked in smaller nooks, most of them toppled over on their sides, a spread of acrid liquid spilling from their bases, discoloring the air and the mind with shades of dreams lost and unseen.

As I went further, the hundred alcoves became fewer. They were all empty, except for more graffiti, and the walls have elaborate water stains, dripping rust and orange colors down the concrete. One of the spaces had a small round opening, perhaps six inches in diameter, presumably the mouth of a pipe. It was also surrounded by a flower of rust stains, and some individual with a very strange sense of humor left a ragged black scrawl reading “The Chicken Goes Here” with an arrow pointing to it.

If only I’d thought to bring a chicken... and that was an odd place to wake up from, babbling and clinging.

Monday, May 14, 2012

Talk, Talk, Talk

So I have trust issues.

And I invited someone else to join the party.

Some of you may in fact be wondering why the hell I would actually do such a thing. Especially with trust issues. And all that jazz. Jared's poked me a couple of times about it himself. Why I decided to trust him when he puts Lissie in such a fit. One who endlessly comes onto the both of us (though it's harmless really, he's just a slut acting exactly like he's always acted), and who seems careless when it comes to considering other's points of views.

Okay, he's not really that bad. And there's a couple of legitimate reasons that I let him take the keys to the truck from time to time.

The first is simple: experience. He's got a whole bucket load of that. And we, as in Lissie and I, have like zilch. And we could use someone whose better at surviving and not being persuaded and all that shit.

The second? He's familiar with Shepherd. And though the man's been quiet, I don't think he's quite slipped out of our lives. Doesn't seem his style to let go, more his style to let us get comfy then come on full force when we're not expecting it. And I don't like not knowing what to expect.

I guess the last is that he's hot. I'm going to just be honest and blunt and let you all know how shallow I can be. He's totally banging. (Read my sarcasm and snarky bitch tone in that please. You're welcome.)

And that's that. I have no regrets. Except all of my regrets.