Diabolus

Been sitting here half an hour unable to write one word. Blogs still seem like a mysterious puddle of putrid vocalized piss, diarrhea of the mouth. Can't understand how anyone would want to sit and hear about the mundane happenings of today, secret crushes, ruminations about the sadness of an unrequited heart-beacon. Does not anyone have their own lives to lead, or does this vicarious publication serve as the mind's sustenance to fuel feeling? It is a vehicle towards gossip, finding things about others, so deeply self-indulgent, ecstasy found through lives not our own. Though, I will admit, the swords has two edges--for understanding of this mysterious phenomenon does flirtatiously jam a hand down the front of its dripping wet mini-skirt just out of my mind's grasp.

I guess people maybe just want to understand something about each other. Well, if you want to know something about me, there is someone very special to me who I will see soon. They make me happy, I hope I can do the same.

There is a deck of shuffled cards sitting on my desk. I will draw three, and they will tell me my future.

First card- the nine of clubs. Nine is the metaphysical number, metaphysics being emotions. Certainly that must be relevant, perhaps the clubs indicate that I am at war with my feelings. What utter shite.

Second card- the eight of clubs (not a very well shuffled deck, eh?) Eight is the Buddhist number of freedom. Again, the clubs must suggest that I need to free myself the emotions that I am at war with.

Third card- the seven of diamonds (9-8-7, suspicious?) Seven is the number that represents luck (either good or bad) and chance. Perhaps this means that I need to try my luck, a diamond is something beautiful that is not easily come upon. I guess maybe my fortune suggests that I should take a chance for something great.

Overall, the numbers have been counting down, which suggests that I am running out of time.

If you want me to interpret your fortune based on regular old playin' cards, I'll be happy to oblige. Unless the sight of you sickens me, in which case every card means bugger off to a secluded life of melon farming you pissant agitator.

(Sidenote: if it means anything to anyone, the next three cards were the three of diamonds, the queen of hearts and the king of spades... see, the deck was shuffled...)

The Oracle

Have a friend, used to be girlfriend. Reluctant to admit the oracle-like qualities about her. Her ability to predict me in the future uncanny, wonder if she knows one thing or two things about fate. Maybe prophecies just self-fulfilling. Not sure. Told me long time ago I'd feel one way and do something, I did. Similar prophetic challenge was made again not long ago, at the time dismissed it but now seems like strangling truth. Feeling just the way she said, awful feeling of knowing that someone said something in face and it was correct. Wonder how see-through this self has become. Perhaps not prophecy at all, just obvious outcome right under nose, a feeling that they can all tell is blossoming, except me.Why? Skull too chaotic: hate, fear, greed. Won't let it come true. Why?

Hate when other people are right about life. The cord will be cut at any cost, even if it means doing terrible things. Don't know what is worse, being miserable or being in no way in control of own life--absolute predictability. No. The summer months come and soon all the trappings and torments of this wretched sector of earth will be scorched from memory. Wonderment at the swirling fantasies, terror and rage at the un-underminable reality of the matter. Wrongness and rightness are not so easily named anymore. Naught much remains to do but crush potentiality under the boot heel with whatever fork-tongue malice is needed. Cut off the talking head of the snake, apple still on branch, ending unknown.

You want something to chatter about? You want something to chew on in your filthy mouths and regurgitate into the sopping wet hearing orifices of your so called friends? Well, you'll get all you want and more. As long as its still funny, as long as the corpse is prettied, the erupted arteries covered up with clownish gaudy makeup, the rough, crushing stain of the rope concealed like a hickey in the casket. The only remedy for pain is disguise. As this mask slowly chips away, I wonder whose pain I've been remedying.

Bit by bit, the little flakes
Fall away from that ugly face

One pill, two pill, three pill, four
spills my body on the floor.
Recess, abscess, absence, gone
is all the joy that made me strong.

The creatures have changed, evolved to protect themselves from the herbs which once afflicted them. For your protection, you should read this message in the case of our deaths, unless the race be lost and the blood be polluted by the demons. Garlic is no longer effective; an immunity has developed, but with that tolerance they've left their fragile systems susceptible to the oil of certain natural nuts, most notably the peanut. The sun seems to no longer pose a problem to them, unless caught in a sunrise without proper preparations being made. They are still identifiable by their strange appearances however, including unusually pale skin and definition of vascular organs through the flesh. For some time now I have felt the presence of darkness and now understand why. One of the creatures has been living right under the ceilings of my own residence. Not much is known, they seem to have assimilated their dwellings into human society, but is unclear how vastly they number amongst us. Arm and protect yourselves. If we are to die, let it not be in vain. If this entry is deleted, and you see us, it means that we have been turned. Do not be fooled, the creatures retain human qualities of charm and emotion... but please, if we are to turn: kill us. It is what we would want, were we able to retain our humanity.

Protect yourselves, for the love of our kind.

~John Thomas Wetmore