10 October 2010

Sneaking Behind Myself

This Saturday last, my network connection failed and I was compelled to disavow my DSL ISP and attain lease on Cable-Connect. Only a small count of my days later the cable was connected and I still could not attain network connectivity, so I discovered the problem was both a failed on-board NIC and a long since failed Wireless Card, replaced the card and achieved a connection. After being without connection for such a long time, the new terminal speeds are 20 times faster and I have been previously in time several days. I wish I would have snagged a lottery number or a better coat, but for those days, I could not attend to my business, sneaking around my previous self. When I returned at my departure, I have come to realize that I have not lost time nor wish to gain any anew. In my journey, I’ve finished the plot to the second book and sketched a cover without the means yet to upload it, and I though everyone, (the site counter marks unique visits, not total visits…or what has been read) could use words of wisdom, maybe a reflective supposition. I get more from listening to metal, than from most conversations. The voices are no more than what they were when my mind was young. If I write what people say, I would not have anything to write that is my own.

The next volume (M2)will be much more violent than anything I’ve ever seen, the grammar precise beyond finite, with a darker morose verbal assault wholly full of metaphorical nonsense and evil magical acts, I’m trying to send a message into time, frightfully so. I feel that the books are advanced, with malice and vernacular of higher if not highest education, but I feel that it is not only complex but equally well written so that despite the intricacy the text will be easily understood. I wish not of words glossed ambivalently because the reader cannot read them, but of words learned with inherent aptitude, with the apparent simplicity of seeing and believing. Writing or typing the old words for the first time, the surface of everything becomes grey, dull and lifeless, a chromatic distilled electric static that bathes everything, my instinct being often that if I detect any imperfection in the surface of time I must leave my musing meditation. In this course, I believe that I have lost my short-term memory within only moments, as if being a blonde-haired person was contradictory or like something. My only recourse has been to wager with the gods to learn the plights and means of their magic, and write a message beyond this time. If I were to say that I don’t know what is reality any longer, than I would be insane, but if I cannot see the reason that god has given, I’m just melancholy. So in refute I tell of deities and divinities and let every voice of my mind tell the tale and their whispers, and dare bid you read the allegory with great caution.