edgedsanity

They look but don't see. Didn't I say she screams? Now the worlds bleed. Judgment is coming. Are you ready to weigh in your souls?

Silence murdered on deaf ears the pieces fall strewn under alien paths. We sit on their bones and graves and speak without listening to her endless pleas. Ripped from her rotten breasts the blood flows from her empty eyes and we stutter through unseen unknown unwanted. Scream and scream for her pain is nothing we are nothing the endless flow of tired lives over the true dust. The true pain. The true flesh.

Listen.

We are not welcomed here.

She screams it.

She screams.

We feast on her rotten bones drugged from the endless depths. They drag us for this dance as worms. As flies feasting on her rotten breasts and swollen womb. We are not her children. She will not cry for us.

We shall not cry.

Listen.

Let it go let it go let it go.

She screams.

Wanted:
- length of copper wire
- glass, preferably in pieces
- wax, good stuff, made of
- saltpeter
- stout branches, two
- matches

Bleeding place's making me feel like a boy scout. Not that I ever was one, mind. They were just only good for fattening up the pigs.

Unfamiliar tongues, horrendous accents,
words of suffering, cries of rage, voices
loud and faint, the sound of slapping hands --
all these made a tumult, always whirling
in that black and timeless air,
as sand is swirled in a whirlwind.

So fitting, so true. We're all caught here in this place, listening to the sounds howling at busted doors and through broken glass and these devices given easily to us. Tongues twist in the air, anger and rage and sadness and all things that we feel. Aliens trapped inside this ancient dance...

And like aliens we argue and bicker and maim each other. We cast aside the calling of higher forms and rut like animals in this filth. Is that all you're good for? Rutting and killing? Do you enjoy feeding such primal urges?

Your pain is exquisite. Let me hear more of it.

One, two, many, lots of you aren't there? Crying out and declaiming on this machine I know I never had before. Who are you? What are you? Demons, tormentors, maybe this is Ezsett's revenge... By what Writ, what Word, what Calling?

Everything is slow, I can't knit it, this is wrong.

Come, spill it, I am not a patient man, and I have edges that need refreshing.


[ooc; Strikes = Gaelic]

Never thought I'd miss that stench... so, not Tokyo, not any of the other cities unless someone decided to blow it up. I don't smell any brimstone and there's no sign of demons unless that pitiful lot is it. Sorry but I've seen worse in back alleys on Sunday.

Maybe the world did end. Maybe it blew up and this is inside a skull witnessing the last death rattle. Interesting. Worthless. Thy blood stains my lips, and I smile with gladden tears...

Give me silver and I cross you palms, Oracle. Send you thoughts in the deepest world, Mastermind. Do you still stare in the faceless screens, Prodigy? Run run, polish that edge, and mind the bullet still stings Berzerker.

I've come to the conclusion that most of you are not worth my time to deal with. You're whiny, rude, and completely without any sense that would make a man such as myself feel like connecting you in any way.

Unless I decide I need some skins for furniture, but that's another story.

It's actually amusing as hell to listen to some of you people. Posturing, posing and proclaiming things without merit or evidence. It's making me wonder why people feel that urge - I know what I have accomplished in my lifetime and I certainly am not phased by the lack of facilities here. I don't even need a power to show what kind of bloke I really am.

Though I can carry my shivs around even when naked.

So tell me, do I need to start showing my muscle around this joint or shall I just sit in my corner and let you lot worry? Let's vote, shall we?

The news of my death has been greatly been unreported by and large. It was only a bullet and not something important like a missing spine. On the other hand, from what I can see, most of those crawling through this unforgiven cesspool of primeval whine are missing said vertebrate. It truly makes me wonder which of you creatures need to learn how the world works and which one of you needs to be removed.

And countdowns are not sexy. Unless it involves acid.

Dull and trite, oh how I love thee in all thy ways. You bring the idiots far from the fields to dress thee up in meaningless words and give them speech in which they assume they know that what they speak of. Rotten thy core and soft thy lips and shall thee grant such unpardonable strife, than I shall smote thy eyes with a bitter tongue.

And if thy tongue is made from grounds I'll take three sugars and a shot of whiskey for my breakfast.

You're doing it wrong. Should I show you how it is done?

Enjoyment. No, that's not right. I think this place could be much more entertaining if there weren't so many people insisting that I spent time here. That I have a lover. Sadly, if I did, the blighter wouldn't be still breathing, let alone alive.

There hasn't been any real answers, but I never expected any. People around here are too busy whining about their own petty problems to really understand or care. We are here because we sinned. So what would a job give us but even more complications and more desires to sin further. It is not behaving as some of you might suggest. It is brainwashing.

I had my turn at the brain bleach over the years, so I am going to pass on this opportunity.

Find work, live blamelessly and then you go upstairs. And what is so important upstairs? Shops. Food. A chance at falling into the same sins and the same paths we had before we came here. Remembering that greed is a sin. Sloth is a sin. Coveting others' belongings is a sin. We are all sinners. And gaining such 'boons' will only bring those sins back out.

Reminder - in the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king. Or he is stoned to death for being able to see

It's interesting how much the doses had affected the edges. Pity I don't have a few shivies to show my appreciation with, but I've got other methods.

But. Explanations first. By what Writ? What Word? Which holds things in place and brings the dullness on? Is there such a Calling as this that demands such echoes?

Angels and demons and little children. This place reeks of stupidity strangled with ill tides.

I notice a distinct lack of fire and brimstone. The demons are a sorry lot altogether and the decor is most post-Apocalyptic than Hellfire. So, I take it that Hell's too crowded or they want me to find redemption.

What a bleeding waste of time, especially for you lot. I'm not one to regret.

Is there anyone on these blasted machines? Or do I need to break a few more heads in ask questions? Come on, you sorry lot, get stabbing.

This is an exercise for myself to get back into the brain of a killer. If you want to copy and try it yourself, go right ahead. Just remember that this is all about your interpetation of the canon, not the exact canon.

( Meme: Personal Canon Meme )

What? Again? Don't you people have better hobbies? Tch. Sometimes I truly wonder why we are here if there is no punishment and many crimes.

Fucking piece of excrement.

1 - need copper boiler
2 - bandages
3 - my missing finger
4 - a priest
5 - new shed

Bury rotten smoldering stench the skies cry and the tears burn and she lays bleeding and whispering - used. See? She is there and she is not and we feast on her remains. Abuse her. Abuse yourselves. Let God cry until the world's drowning in acid and we are washed away.

Wash away.

Wash away.

There is no rain that can cleanse this darkness.