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~~C Y R E N~~ · (02-05-2013)

(MOOD MUSIC)

A smudge, a splatter, a
cat cloaked by the night
served upon a platter,
now all our dinner guests howl.

And in the gut, on the morrow
our veins freeze as a ghost
invades our bones!
And we crave it, shelter it
embrace it!

Now we are seduced by sorrow,
mesmerized by cringes and sneers
held tight by sins of yester-years
as we weep at this phantom's
sweet rescue.

We don a yellow cape
born of circumstance,
and then a craving for chance stirs, just a chance
to wipe away this puddle, this well
of black ooze that his dripped
all over us...

We(allofyouandiandthems) dream of a purging.
A house-keeping of souls!
But we just stand and listen
to screams dangling in the wind...

There's a chill here, you see...

Like early morning in a shoddy cabin, the sway of the world around us becomes criminal as it's winds whip against us and halt all other thoughts except those filled with warmth...

Yet, there's none to be had. I went from pillar to post, was broken down and now what remains is left to blow away within the dark coldness of Hell.

Where did I go wrong?

As I float in this echo chamber, I can't help but feel as if I've suddenly got all the time in the world. I feel immortal in this moment and in a brief flash, that's a positive prospect. It only takes a moment though before the idea of eternity in solitude quickly sours. I would do anything to vanquish this isolation.

Inevitably, my minds eye turns to the past, roaming over everything I've ever done to try and pinpoint what went wrong and how... so it's no happenchance that most of my memories are of the XWF, of my 'arena' and all the horrors I wrecked there...

19 August, 2007

This son of a b*tch is mine, I'm not letting him take one more thing from me! It's mine!

Blood spurts against a wall in front of me. It drips down the drywall in a gentlemanly fashion: slow and steady. As it drips, I come back unto mysellf, realizing where I am in the maze of my mind.

This is the lead up to my showdown with Bigg Rigg for the juiciest prize in the industry... this is where a viciousness was born in me that would prove to be my legacy. This is where the 'Sickness' became a plague - this is where I stunned the world with the depths of my depravity.

This was my sterling moment, my day of announcement, the instant in which I transformed myself from a quirky personality into a man worthy enough to instill fear into others. After this moment in time, I would no longer be someone to be discarded because of the politics of it all - after this, they'd speak my name in a hushed tone with their hands cupped over mouth.

He didn't make it through this attack; he didn't pull through.

I was picking his brain matter out of my boots for weeks after this.

The violence isn't the element here worthy of inspection though, I guess. No, while I stand here suspended in this cold, dark conclave, I suppose I'd want to look at my intentions...

I wanted to 'shock' the people. Wanted to shake them awake, scream in their face and make them know that I was there. It was all about being known, about being feared, about... being real.

I had been going through a bout of disassociation; not something particularly unique to that moment in time nor something that has ever dissipated throughout my existence for that matter. No, I've been prone to moment of detaching and truly wondering if I'm floating in space and time and whether or not anything I do has any merit to at all or if I'm just kidding myself...

This was an abnormally long period of that, though. So it's with that in mind that I wanted to jolt the world around me with a surge of energy to make sure I was still here. I wanted to have my existence echoed and confirmed with the squeals and screams of the throngs.

When you're losing your mind, it happens slowly. Not in an instant, not as a fanciful whim - it's an intentional, self-inflicted wound. It truly is a 'sickness', and whilst I proclaimed myself the embodiment of such, I was not immune to said affliction. In fact, I'd argue that I've succumbed under it's weight after all these years.

"Be still and know that I am God."

That's a phrase that has resounded in me throughout the turning of the wheel of time, not because as one might suspect that I'm a religious person, quite the contrary. No, the reason for my fascination with the phrase is that it's a very logical one. It promotes introspection, reflection and deeper, more meaningful thoughts. It's a wonderful tool of brainwashing that in and of itself might hurt it's own cause on face value but beneath the semantics, lies a very true and real process.

All I'm doing, after all the devils have poked and they've prodded, is 'being still.' Though I be dead, in this darkness I feel newborn, newly 'alive' and encumbered. I am 'stillborn.' I'm 'stillhere.'

If I could weep, I'd do it now.

If I had eyes to tear up.

Flesh to carry the rivulets.

A soul left intact to care with...

... maybe in the wanting it, I've proven I still have it.

[i]But I am lost and not yet found.
[/i]

That's the last thought my brain's able to snap off before I'm forcefully shoveled away from this dark abyss.

When next, I open my eyes, I'm in a whole new world.

Coffee.

Cool chill.

The slow whiny creak of an old door to my left.

Melody drowned by commercial voices blaring in the background.

And sweat on my brow.

On my brow?

With a start, my eyes flash open. And I see a most precious sight, something that greets me and is poignant enough to cut through the marshy fog of darkness that has clouded my thoughts for so long now. Something truly miraculous.

I see a ceiling fan.

I'm in a bed.

And I'm alive.

???: Dear, are you awake?

A soft, lilted voice floats toward me, caring and gentle.

Turning my head in that direction, a startlingly beautiful woman stares at me.

I must make some kind of groan as I stretch out what must be newly crafted limbs because she comments.

???: Grab a shower, hun. You're smellin' somethin' fierce!

She's Irish.

I'm alive.

I also stink.

What Gods or Devils have given me back my lif---

Stopping the thought before it bears fruit, I decide to enjoy the moment and a hot shower before I question it any further.

Barely able to see through eyes that haven't blinked to life fully, I stumble to the show and quickly jump behind a pristine curtain, soaking in the hot and freeing fumes.

As I take a few minutes longer then one might normally, the Celtic companion makes her presence known.

???: I have fresh linens here for you, deary. You've been gone a long time...

As I step out, I hold the curtain roundst my nether regions and begin to towel off as she has her body turned from me, out of view.

She continues speaking and I've yet to shake myself awake.

???: You know, we really must get down to the grocer today, we're running a bit low on spuds...

She continues to babble about what goods she need procure and other sundries, whilst prattling off other inane 'normal' babble.

And suddenly, I can't sit through any more further interuptions... as I'm turning to shake my hair off and stare into the mirror, sure to find a deep stubble, I catch her off guard.

CYREN: ...I'm sorry... who are you?

This causes her to stiffen but before she can retort, my legs nearly go out from beneath me.

I'm now no longer caring who SHE is...

.... for there's a stranger's face greeting me from the other side of the mirror...

... I want to know who I am...

(Edited by BlairSully)

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode 'StillBorn, StillHere, Being Still.'
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