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patchwork narrative - Determination


Determination


Autumn wants me persuaded to her conclusion.
She needs cooperation for her plan to vanquish
nightmares, quell exhausting daily battles.
“I’m not like you were, Ellie, unaware of the
possibility of self-determination. I am, with full
free will, after diligent warning, deliberately presuming
on our friendship with my sincere plea to share your fate,
to be your eternal companion, loving playmate through
all the days and nights. You have to see, you won’t be
condemning me to damnation. This is about our mutual
salvation. Together we can be free, outside, beyond
human evil.”
I compose horrific tumult thrashing through my mind
into a trance of speech. I must break through her
self-imposed protective spell.
“You have not seen, do not know my true pernicious guilt.
You have not seen countless unwilling conscripts I inveigle,
take from their self-determined lives to continue what I desire
ended, undone. I do not choose to feed on pedophiles because
they are evil. They present easy prey. Their hunger blinds them
to my predation. I am no hero model for aspiration. I cannot
be redeemed from ongoing damnation.
You can’t know the forever horror of this existence before you
are in it, direct perpetual experience. Then it is too late to go
back. There is no acceptable forward. You are stuck in violent
repetition. All of life rushes by without you.
I didn’t care about Geoff. He was always part monster. Let him
wear out his power fantasy, work out his bluster over eternity.
Perhaps such shadow subsistence would suit his paranoid delight
in isolation. Yet it is better that he is dead and ended. The living
world engenders plenty of temporary monsters. Supernatural
bloodsuckers are superfluous. Worshippers of violence deserve
their just termination.
That is not you. Justice would order your natural time reflect shining
beauty, elevation from destructive plight. You bring out the child from
this monster. You fill me with adoring care for you. I cannot be your
undoing. I cannot create a monster with your face.
No social utility. No moral purpose. My only vocation is to take
strangers’ lives. Deadly parasite, sudden onset disease, serial plague.
You are free to choose healthy work, proud career, well bent energy.
You have power, to will your future, build from well-wrought plans.
You are not compelled to my limitations. My illness is no cure. I am
slave to unbearable curse, continuous regardless. Freedom is not in
that place. You want power to be, to ascend from degradation. I can
aid that eventuality. Let me give safe space to help your magic happen.
What you ask of me is your tragic descent. You must see your mistake.
You are no fool obsessed with violent hunger.”
Her voice rises, shrill, insistent.
“Oh, but I am obsessed, Ellie. I’m obsessed with rage, with revenge;
but more, I’m obsessed with clarity. They will never let me be that
magical self-willed anything I put my mind to impeccable work of living
art you remind me is who I am meant to be. They’ll only let me, force me,
to be their whore – legally wed or on the fly, against whatever will and fight
I can project.
I am not like you were, raised to obedient slavery so no will could emerge.
I know my mind. I feel my rage, my indignation, my sadness so deep I am
drowning.
Hold me, Ellie, tightly. I’m spinning out. But this is not some temporary
reaction to violation, illuminated vulnerability, quiver of shame, quake of
fear, shudder of weakness. This is about reality. This is about that interminable
empty fight that I can’t, I haven’t got the grit for; it’s not here, in me.
You can’t keep me safe. You can’t keep me sheltered here, untouched by
out there. You can give me the power I need to protect myself. We can stay
together, save each other from feeling outcast, apart, eternally alone. We can
tell each other stories, share disturbing emotions, make it all alright because
that is how we transcend. Our noble work is the meaning we give each other.
Believe me, this is no momentary whim. I have thought this through. Let me
convince you. You know you want this, too, me, us, together forever.”
Autumn will not accept my experienced report. She is fixated on the picture
her trickster imagination fashions. It comports so well with her compulsive
desire to escape surmised mortal fate. She sees in her view that I am
immovable, dug in, as dawn again approaches.
Aug/30/2013, 3:38 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 
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patchwork narrative - Fatality


Fatality


Autumn feels morning wane of my energy. Daylight’s force seeps
through despite dark drapes. She hopes such hours of weakness
will ease persuasion. Her voice calm, even, engaged in conversation,
drips into me like soft summer rain.
“A person can be noble, sensible, even wonderful. People are
mean crazy. A person striving for sanity gets wiped out in the
madness. The self-justified angry crowd will just converge to pin
you down and apply deadly pressure. They’ll cry, whine, simper
that you’re the cause of their lethal behaviors. You are the enemy
who refuses to fit their expectations or unwritten rules. The truth,
that it’s not about you at all, it’s just what they do for amusement,
to fill some minute of their emptiness, what does that matter?
They win a stupid, miserable battle because they’re all about the fight,
all about taking out any foreign concept or perpetrator of perceived slight.
The war continues because soldiers are so much fun to play with,
so easy to control by those who enjoy divide and conquer games.
For the few outsiders who don’t want to play, well, we make good
training exercise targets.”
She settles into her quiet tirade, gesticulates with grace, profundity.
“That’s a lousy social function, a target to ridicule or overpower with
pain and shame. I have no effect on this world, no path to a successful
future. My best bet is what, a vampire’s house pet, me and my crazy
mom. We could be a retro macabre sitcom. Oh, yeah, in our own closed
circuit because nobody else is watching. How long would even you, oh
eternal one, have an interest in putting up with our sweet domestic
degeneration? I’m not so amusing when all my magic eye sees is
barren dust, empty recursive entropy, shattered ideations like mirror
splinters lost from reflection. So very tired.”
Her demeanor is limp. Her eyes flutter, close, reopen as dark stare.
“I know you are tired, Autumn, overwhelmed still by undigested
trauma. You need rest, recuperation. You can reclaim your energy
as you heal. You don’t have to mirror Kathy’s defeat, despair, unwillingness
to face forward. You can show her how to regroup, get stronger, live.”
She continues as if speaking rehearsed lines, unmoved by my pleas.
“What if teen suicide is just self-completion of a very late term abortion
when the mother was dissuaded from what she knew was right?
After he got her pregnant, more vulnerable to his oh so concerned
control, he was less vigilant about letting his good guy mask slip.
She saw glimpses that she tried to ignore or explain to herself, as he
gently suggested, as delusions. In rare moments of clarity she
seriously considered ending me, breaking their bond of shared
parenthood, getting away from his influence and ever more evident
cruelty. Instead, what happened happened. After all those soul
breaking years she finally left, took initiative in theory to protect me.
For her I’m not much more than an excuse to wrap her lie around.
I get to be her reasons, her harness and whip that keeps her going
ever deeper into a rut she no doubt secretly hopes grows into her
final grave. I guess we all escape as best we can once we understand
our place in this fixed casino.
We know that I attract violent, twisted men. Most likely that was
always to be my fate. You just postponed it, gave me this space to
create my mad dreams, try to erect my own meaningfulness against
unacceptable realities.”
Her eyes flare as if to singe. She draws up what power she can marshal
to grab full attention.
“If you aren’t willing to supply me with resurrection to a share in your
supernatural powers that would assure me winnable defense, then
drink me dry as I sleep in your arms. At least let me die enclosed by love.
I know I can find plenty of guys out on the street who would end it for me
with anything but. They would be so happy to rid their designated corner
here in humanity’s world of one more useless woman. Well, useful for only
one thing; and she acts like she’s in charge, can tell you what you must not
do, as if she was boss of you. You know I can so easily find them. I’m a
violent guy attractor. We certainly keep getting proof of that. It’s my fate.
I’m born with magnetic DNA.
It’s like a dumb, sad joke. A sadist and a masochist come together in
connubial entanglement. What could go wrong?
I could.”
I try to reach into her mind, to connect.
“I love you, Autumn. I am not your fatal servant or executioner.
I feel real, important, elevated by your presence. I don’t want you
gone. I don’t want to change you. I want to help, to be back-up and
refuge. I can’t protect you. I can help you better protect yourself,
patch your wounds to heal, prepare, repair, share battle stories,
outrage, strategies. Don’t demand what I can’t bear to carry in my
haunted hump of memories. We can devise workable plans that
include my freely willed contribution.”
The illusion of fire dies down. She presents wilted, desiccated.
“It’s not about getting better, having back-up, girding to get back in the
fight, strategy to win. There’s nothing to win. I’m not blind. I see all
the impossible options. They are always waiting, ready, pulling, pushing,
pissing to mark territory, assured this garbage heap they’ve invested in
reeks for their purpose, their domination. Always shooting projectiles,
throwing jabs, oppressing with tests, cuts deep and shallow, draining me.
They’re the vampires, Ellie, sucking me not quite dry to prolong their
pleasure, vying to inject their poison, infect me with their koolaid blood
so I’ll be just another beast in the pit, squabbling, disgusting, unaware of
any other destiny, because, really, there’s nothing to reach for that could
lift me out. My one chance, my miracle lucky break, was you. You can so
easily transform me into something else, a different reality, or a definite
escape. You can free me to forever, or absorb my life force to keep me safe
from your eternity and their unbearable disgrace of a world. You can be my
redeemer; but you refuse? How is that love? What you think to preserve,
this girl you so admire, I’m not going to last in this man’s Earth. It continuously
kills me in so much less pleasant a blood-letting. How can you let those
monsters win my soul, destroy me at their pleasure?”
She is silent, pensive. I watch her for a sign of where she travels.
“I haven’t eaten or slept for too many hours now. I’m wrung out,
exhausted. Even if I have some fantasy about getting real, striking
out to fight, or run, to survive, there’s not enough of me left to resist
defeat, to make a difference. This weakness is good, a readiness
to fall into fate.”
I grab and hold her close to break this deadly spell she works to weave.
She releases from me, backs away to look and speak sharp daggers.
“When you go out to feed rather than drinking me, I’ll know
what I have to do.”
Sep/6/2013, 5:06 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 
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patchwork narrative - Frontier


Frontier


I am a coward, and a fool; and a powerful mythical creature of darkness.
A poisonous serpent, always able to strike despite my innocent appearance.
I am no hero. I fear Autumn will wear me down, convince me, turn my will
to hers. To succumb, make her like me, hate her like me, never again the girl
I love. She would never become the woman she might. I am not built for
that responsibility, or sacrifice.
I am built for flight, to teleport by line of sight. I propel far and fast
beyond familiarity. My point of ultimate shame. I abandon my one
true friend for her unmeant betrayal.
I tell myself she will figure out her own destiny without my pernicious
influence, false promise of romantic demise or escape to puissant
afterlife.
Clear up here below moonshine’s city pallor. I fly to highest building top,
further my view. Sight aims toward less dense habitation. I project
past all sense of humanity. Along this trajectory some lone traveler will
provide opportune feed. My propelling need is distance. To reach abandoned
farmland, empty barn, storm cellar, before day. To move ever forward
by night, attain natural shelter, underground cavern, cave dwelling
beyond human knowledge. To learn my natural rhythm as wandering
beast, free of insane human reason, confusion of ritual and rules, depleted
meaning. Madness to remain all those decades among them. In my early
days as demon wilderness was more ubiquitous, easy to access. Foolish
assumption of compulsory penance, caught up in man’s connotations of Hell.
I did not think to believe myself outside those laws. Evil is the human
in me, the demon mere wild instinct. Now I seek refuge among besieged
creatures on dwindling grounds. What wilderness is left. There always is.
Wild things find a place to be home.
I commence to new learning curve of adaptations. To eat, be eaten, adapt
to instinctual nature, lose the habit of language.
Unexplored environs provide useful distractions. Haunts of city scenes,
seasons, sins fall back from immediacy. Mere sad mythology stripped
to random ambiance of reverie. Not my stories, my actions, my remorse.
They belong to a foolish penitent, false child of man mired in ritual
condemnation. I elude erstwhile tradition, enter apprenticeship as wild
demon. Unmanned reality becomes teacher, master, home.
Perhaps after secure reposition, authentic acclimation, I might
chance to visit urban habitat for amusement. Perhaps up the
timeline their encroachment by degrees engulfs, overwhelms,
destroys this sanctuary. I am skilled, practiced at adapting.
Wild demon unseen preys upon human waste to cull the cursed.
My mind clear of their rubble, purged of their categories, presumptions,
cult morality. I touch, taste, smell, hear, a world that makes sense.
I never belonged in their twisted, manufactured realm. Accepted
self-blame, letting hate seep through, waste and abuse.
Respectful fear, fight, kill in instinct to survive, no hate, blame,
excuses required. No referent for loneliness. All just is, interacts,
as nature intends.
Yet, my undisciplined mind insists, visits each intricate interpretation
of sin to touch pain, suffer. All these days and nights continue.
Over increments of eternity this habitually punishing consciousness
might learn better games.
Maybe learn to find that bliss of calm, to self-determine, to walk out
into the sunlight, and burn.
Sep/13/2013, 3:46 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 
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night's pages


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Oct/7/2013, 4:00 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 
Christine98 Profile
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Re: night's pages


Beautiful site, Libra. Perfect fit for the narrative. Will you continue to post installments here? or should we go to night's pages?

best,

Chris
Oct/7/2013, 6:04 pm Link to this post Send Email to Christine98   Send PM to Christine98
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: postapocalypse


Hi libra,

Thanks for the link. Your patchwork narrative, night's pages, looks good there. I spent the last few days getting caught up on the story. I was surprised that Ellie did not give in to Autumn's demand. Is this the end of the story? If so, will there be a sequel?!? It feels to me as if Autumn and Ellie will meet again someday.
Oct/8/2013, 2:50 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
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Re: postapocalypse


Thanks so much for checking out the blogsite.
The story may go on, someday. Meanwhile, I posted this version on Blogger for easier viewing and editing. I intend to reformat online as a paginated book when I find the appropriate platform and have it ready.
Oct/8/2013, 4:22 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 


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