The Long Road Home; pt. 2

He walked through the tight hallway corridors, the walls seemingly closing in on him by the time he made it to the stairs. There was a strange smell in the air, not bad per se, but certainly alarming. The smell of years of whores and johns and killers and thieves and scoundrels making their presences known throughout the tiny rooms of the dingy hotel. This was an unholy place.
He walked downstairs to the bar. Cigarette smoke clouded his being, to which his only response was to light another cigarette. He made his way to the dingy and dimly lit bar. There were an assorted group of individuals there that night. He sat at an open stool next to a biker gang. They had equal length of hair, and they smelled something awful, the result of old leather and days on the road at the time. He looked at the girl and noticed that at one point or another she might have been attractive, but years of abuse (both from thy self and from others) have left her run down, and beat up, not even a shadow of her former self, but a different entity all together. The life of the nomadic American.
He ordered a Bud Light. It tasted acidic going down his cotton-mouth ridden throat and his stomach was having trouble accepting it. The speed was running down finally and he was left with an unpleasant sweat and jitters in his muscles. He looked around the bar. So many lost and wandering souls all gather to places like these. A refuge for those without refuge; taking comfort in the familiar feeling of an alcohol buzz and a nicotine rush.
After the first beer went down, the rest seemed far easier.
“Have I been headed here my whole life?” he thought.
He took out a picture from his wallet. Her shimmering gold hair and full and protruding lips seemed miles away from him now. He didn’t know the person she once loved any longer. He felt cold and distant. Emotions seem so scarce on the road.
Someone put a Van Morrison song on the jukebox, and the music soothed him to an extent. He tried to contemplate how he had gotten to his hotel, this bar, this place, and with these people. Was he one of these people? Though the thought terrified him, he really couldn’t seem to care.

Are we all useless?

A stereotype that young students are constantly faced with is the fact that elder generations feel that we are nothing more than lazy, substance abusing narcissists who have none of our priorities in order. Of course this cliché is very hard to combat considering the portrayal of young college kids in film and television. The characters are generally over-drinking womanizing fraternity brothers and submissive and vain sorority sisters. And the fact is, many times those stereotypes hold to be true. We, and I am certainly included, are holding on to our last breath of youth before we have to enter the real world and be faced with the same complex issues that we have seen our parents bare since we were born. Many of us do not want to face the world, but I’d say more of us are trying to enjoy these four years prior to them being over, and when living amongst a culture where alcohol and even drugs are so commonplace, there are of course going to be casualties.
The fact is, students today are clocking more studying time and working hours than any generation prior to us. The elder generation can raise their nose but the fact is, those of them went to college had far less competition than we do today. They also seem to ignore the fact that this is their future generation; we will be the ones holding this ultimately damaged country up long after their gone, so why continue to write us off as lazy underachievers when they will one day rely on our accomplishments? Four days a week I leave for campus at 7 a.m, and generally do work until 7 at night. My mind is constantly exhausted and yet I am still able to produce quality journalism, as well as even create short stories that seem to be improving by the day. And yet I am looked at with disdain for wanting to drink beer and smoke grass on the weekends? Is this something that makes me a bad person? Hardly. It makes me a normal person. The mind can only take so much stimulation before it needs to kick back and enjoy these twilight years of my youth.

The Long Road Home, pt. 1

He looked down upon that long winding road, knowing where it would lead, but still excited about the way he’d get there. Possibilities seemed so infinite, and yet, time was running out. He couldn’t any longer tolerate the complacence of common life, he needed something more; danger, passion, love, hate. He wanted it all.
There were no good-byes. In fact, there were no greetings either, not even names, only faces. The faces of all shapes and sizes, some beautiful and some ugly, some quite enchanting. One back alley bar after another, he experienced the world, but a world different from the one 9 to 5ers live in. The world he lived in was one of mysticism and unknown, every road a dream, every dead end a spectacle. And oh how there were dead ends. Everyone met them at some point.
“When will I meet my dead end?” he thought.
He had been driving for days, no sleep necessary thanks to the amphetamines he picked up at a truck stop some time back. His heart rate was jacked, and he could feel sleep pulling at his consciousness’, begging him to give in and close his eyes. He noticed a motel and a bar to the side of the road. He no longer remembered, or cared, where he actually was or where he was going. The destination was obsolete; it is only the journey that matters, for the destination can not ever be measured.
He walked into the hotel. A seedy place; he could smell the past of the joint. Violence, sex, and death were emanating from all corners of the packed in lobby. He noticed an old couple in a chair eating fried chicken; they looked so content. Contentment to him was just a nice word for boredom. He didn’t like this place.
“How long will you be staying?” the bellman said.
“Too long,” he replied, “I guess just for the night.”
He brought his things up to his room, and lay for a bit in the hard cold mattress. He felt he should miss his home at times like this, but he didn’t. Not even her. He was heading to his real home, and what is the illusion of home compared to the real thing? He tried to sleep but the speed was flowing in his blood stream strong, and his heart was so elevated he could see the hairs on his arms sticking up straight. He decided to get some drinks.

I think I already have the Flu

I arrived home at 11 p.m. I was extremely fatigued and did nothing to enhance personal hygiene and instead only made efforts to satiate myself by collapsing on my bed. I lay there for minutes until realizing I am completely congested and the aches were surging through my body, a reminder of the bacteria's effects on it. I got up and thought, "Please not now."

I retrieved Benadryl from my cabinet, believing that the fatigue created by the drug would somehow lull me into a state on non-consciousness. The pills had no effect, and the queasiness and pain began to grow more intense. Lying there in the dark, focused on nothing other than the malicious bacteria infecting my otherwise healthy body, making me weak and fragile. I noticed I could no longer make a full fist, and began to worry this was more than the run-of-the-mill Cold.

"What I really need is Valium," I thought.

I lay there until 5 a.m, restless and depressed at the mere thought of illness. I look upon myself in a mirror and notice I already look pale and gaunt, the circles under my eyes a sign of disabled state. I watch the news awhile, an activity that could never bring one to a state of peace. Fluff stories about cats in trees followed by stories of horrific crimes followed by biased political reporting all lend an heir of mania to my already sleep deprived and addled mind. I somehow manage a shower and walk to campus. I am a zombie, I need a doctor, I need to feel healthy, it's too damn hot, why now?

Awake, pt. 6

He so desired to have a companion that could rival his own blood lust, his own lust for cruelty and brutality, that he almost mistook the feeling for general loneliness. A ridiculous idea he though. He looked through the prison records, but he could already here the riot degenerating around him do to him having murdered every correction officer within the facility. He heard the chaos and it gave him a feeling of glee.
There were many promising candidates on the list of thieves, rapists and, murderers. Still though, if he was going to travel the darkness with another man, he knew it would have to be a man capable of pure unadulterated evil, as the sexual gratification he received from Lilah would no longer come into play. He didn’t care about sex anymore anyways; he still liked it of course, but couldn’t disassociate it from violence. Sexual tendencies just seemed too human to him. Then, he found him. Gustav Zapotek, responsible for the rape and murders of 7 women before being arrested in Prague and sentenced to death, of which was going to be carried out within days. His psychological profile described him as, “intelligent but not overtly so, single minded in his approach to murder, incapable of forming real relationships, major sexually sadistic tendencies.”
Caligula made note of his appearance and cell and went to track the man down amongst the rioting. He stepped into the holding section of the prison and witnessed mayhem. Men all fighting for their freedom; killing and snapping and burning and cutting. Caligula felt intoxicated from the fear and confusion that pervaded his vision, and joined into the mayhem. He killed every prisoner that crossed his path, though he felt no real desire to feed off a bunch of mangy scoundrels. He mostly cracked necks, beat them to death or his favorite, ripped their throats out. Then, he saw Gustav. The man, short in stature, no taller then 5 foot 4, young, with Aryan blond hair and blue eyes, but with a deadened face, cold and emotionless, he was already devoid of humanity, and Caligula was jubilated with the thought of the Vampire that this man would make. Gustav was cutting a man’s neck with a piece of a razor, apparently for no reason other than to make the man suffer.
Caligula sped forth with blurry intensity; he had grown very fast and strong. He ripped Gustav’s victim from the predator’s knife and finished the job, biting into the man’s wound and drinking his surprisingly fruitful blood. He looked at Gustav, and for the first time in centuries, noticed the man felt no fear from Caligula’s presence, and his icy body felt warm from the realization.
Gustav looked at him, raising his knife, as if baiting him. Caligula grabbed him by his beck, and beat into his jugular vein, tasting the man’s evil as his blood flood from his neck. He let go, and threw Gustav on the ground.
“You feel no fear, you feel nothing?” said Caligula.
“I feel like I am dying, what are you?” said Gustav.
“You don’t have to die. You can come with me, and you can kill and rape and lust and take forever. No jail, no consequences, I can take out the pain and give you a new eternal life, all you must do is walk with me.”
“And if I saw no?” said Gustav.
“Then I leave you for dead, or to be butchered by these other rapists and criminals.”
Caligula noticed Gustav’s acceptance in his expression, and lunged his fangs forth and drained the man until his heart began to slow. He then cut his wrist with his fang, and fed Gustav. Gustav started hesitant, but seemed to enjoy the sheer bizarreness of the experience, and soon began to drink the blood like an alcoholic does whiskey. He died. But he would soon awake.

English 306 Writing Prompt; Persuasion

In my community, one in which there are hundreds of thousands of opposing views, the only way to change someone's mind to counter arguments with cold hard fact, dynamic speech patterns, and a whole lot of charisma, but even when delivering an argument perfectly, I still highly doubt the mind of the unchanging modern American can be changed. People in America are stuck in their ways, we are bred to think our views our right, and when we cross lines into opposing views, are loyalties are called into question. If I was arguing the pros of a universal health care system with someone say in the conservative media, I could offer the most dynamically perfect argument in history, and still be met with nothing but fear mongering and forthright hostility. Logical reasoning appears to be a dead art when I put on these debate shows on CNN or Fox News and all I am presented with is fully biased opinions. This lack of contextual debate is bad for democracy and bad for our country as no reconciliation or plan ever seems to emerge from them.

The other night, well morning, it was about 3 a.m., I was with about 15 other people after a party was winding down. For whatever reason, a young girl there, clearly extremely Catholic in her religious upbringing and far to the right in her political beliefs, wanted to discuss religion. I couldn't help but think this absurd considering how pointless theological debate ultimately becomes when you are in a room of so many people from all parts of the world. Then the girl shocked everyone in the room. She asked a Muslim student, a friend of ours in the room, to deliberate on his views on Jesus Christ, totally singling him out. She then went on to talk of how wrong it is that people couldn't think of him as God. The other people in the room, some Christian, some Jewish, many Atheist, then all started shouting at each other all their personal beliefs and ideas. I couldn't help but think what a drag it was, so I simply stood up, spoke in a witty and dry tone, and said, "Listen, there are 15 people here all from very different backgrounds, there is absolutely no way we can achieve a unanimous opinion in this matter therefore we might as well shut up and go back to having fun." Everyone in the room seemed to agree, even the girl, who had already proved nothing but ignorance and intolerance to those around her. I didn't convince anybody of anything other than that some things we can't convince one another of and therefore they are fruitless to debate. For this reason, I feel I was successful.

Awake;pt. 5

The year was 1918.
It had been over 100 years since Caligula had killed his creator and for some time he loved the single mindedness that came with having no one or no thing be able to hold him back. He simply desired, and took. Immortal life was so simple. Caligula began to become bored with the complacence, simplicity, and effortlessness with which he took innocent life. For the last century he had tried to elevate murder to an art form, but slowly realized that mass slaughter came so natural to him, he couldn’t help but become a tad hackney in his ways. He was rather off put by this. He put himself in situations that were dangerous to try and re-discover his former lust for eternal life. In Prague, he murdered the family of a wealthy merchant, and then purposefully and with cunning allowed himself to be taken into police custody. When in questioning, he could feel his blood curdle with excitement as the young detective looked upon him with disgust at the sheer evil of the act.
“I know you murdered those people, what were those neck wounds?” he said, “Those two twins girls were seven years old, and you killed them, and their mother, and the father is insane because of it, do you realize how sick you are.”
Caligula stared blankly into the detective’s face, showing not a shred of guilt or remorse.
“I know no sickness,” he said.
Caligula quickly snapped his hand cuffs with ease and ripped the throat out of the detective, blood spurting from his neck as water does a faucet. Caligula stared at the mangled flesh and smirked. Seemingly every officer in the building came before him, armed with guns and rifles. They unloaded shots into Caligula, the pain reminding him of what the point of his existence is. The officers were shocked to see the bullets made very little damage upon Caligula’s medium built frame. Caligula laughed blood and stared them all in the face, half of the officers were dead before the others could blink, and then they were dead before they could blink again. Caligula looked at the carnage and reveled in it.
“That was easy, but fun,” he thought.
Caligula made his way to the records, realizing the potential for a new companion that could be found in prison was enticing. Thieves, scoundrels, rapists, and murderers. These were men that were already without remorse, who killed to feel, as Caligula did. Caligula proceeded to go through the records and to find a particularly brutal new friend, one that he could gift with the powers to kill freely of society’s standards and rules.

Awake, pt. 4

30 years passed and Stephen became legendarily feared. He adopted the name Caligula, after the particularly brutal Roman emperor. Caligula and Lilah terrorized through London, Paris, Rome, Venice, Amsterdam, and countless small villages, always on the move. Caligula had lost count a of the amount of innocents he had slaughtered along time ago, and was beginning to feel bored with the endless routine of never changing, never growing older, hunting and feeding and torturing and killing. He grew stronger with every kill, every live snatched by his own hand made him feel more superior, an eternal mark of the dominant on the weak. And yet, he never felt the sheer satisfaction from the kills that he felt that very first night, murdering Anabelle and Frederich. He was drawn to murder like an addict is to his drug; he spent all his time chasing that first high but never fully achieved it. He came close of course, quite a few times. His massacre of a wedding ceremony in Paris was particularly fruitful; a massive Catholic wedding, he risked massive exposure from this act, and the first thing Lilah taught him was that a Vampire must always avoid an angry mob. Yet, when he looked at the contentment on the beautiful Parisian couple’s faces, he could not resist. He entered quietly; the ceremony was just after dark, his favorite time to hunt. He moved with such grace and speed that he was able to lock every conceivable exit prior to the mass murder.
When the groom and bride both made their vows, he knew the time was perfect. He leapt from the balcony, landing on the podium. People were quite surprised and confused, as Caligula did not break his legs or even acknowledge pain.
“Sorry for interrupting,” Caligula said, “But weddings are such happy times, so happy, that I very much so desire to murder every single person in this room.”
The priest was exasperated, but had no time to acknowledge the situation before Caligula grabbed his neck and snapped it as if it were kindling. Fear and panic broke out into the church, the guests scrambling to the doors like ants from a dissembled hill, helpless to escape, helpless to do anything but wait for the ugly death coming.
The groom made the effort to protect his beloved, but Caligula with almost no effort ripped his arms from their sockets, and the man laid there, blood spurting from his shoulders like geysers, in too much pain to scream. Caligula took great satisfaction in this, and made it a point to suck the bride dry during the groom’s last excruciating minutes. He noted how particularly sweet her blood tasted, virgin blood of the best kind. He had never seen so much fear, and the sense of it made his blood curdle. He did not leave one man, woman, or child alive in that church. He loved murdering in a church; God, should such a being exist, was staring directly at him, scorning him, but Caligula knew that no god, heaven, or hell could touch him, he was immortal. He left the heads of the couple just below the cross; an eternal signifier of one of his finest cruelties.
He punched through the church’s back exit, and ran at full speed back to his lair, to meet Lilah. Lilah was home, feeding on a streetwalker. Caligula, though only a Vampire for some 30 years, couldn’t help but feel he had surpassed his sire. Night after night, year after year, she stuck to the same routine; she’d make herself pretty and draw stupid heinous men in with her sexuality, leaving them dead very fast. Caligula was not impressed by this, it was too easy, and if they have that much power than they surely should elevate their acts of evil beyond that of a mere malicious human. While thinking this, he noticed a fire-lit bottle of grain alcohol into their lair. He had attracted a mob, his massacre of the wedding so clearly not just the result of plain human malice.
“You bloody fool!”, said Lilah, “You’ll have us staked and burned by dawn.”
Caligula was bored with Lilah, she had lost something since his creation. He felt remorseful in a way, she had made him, but not remorseful enough to prevent him from doing it.
“Well, Lilah,” said Caligula, “While you were here eating this filthy bastard I was out laying waste to and drinking from half the women and children in Paris, you are no longer the Vampire you claim to be, and I shall release you from your complacence.”
“What?”, she said, “I made you, you have no power over me.”
At this mere statement, Caligula attatcked her at full force, he needed a weapon, Lilah was stronger than him. Lilah through him into the wall, making him feel pain for the first time in decades.
“This is nonsense Caligula, you are my eternal,” she said.
“I am no one’s anything, I am Caligula, though very young I have surpassed some of the greatest Vampires in the world, and that includes you my love.”
Caligula gathered his composure. Lilah charged at him one more time, so fast Caligula forgot she was there at all. And then, Lilah appeared, but Caligula, through a tremendous act of intensity, caught her at the right angle and grabbed her at the throat, she pleaded with him. After all the pleas and cries for help he had heard in his existence, none sounded as pleasing as Lilah’s, to carry the life of something that powerful in your hands and make it beg is so empowering Caligula felt akin to God, or perhaps beyond a God. With one gesture he ripped Lilah’s dead throat from her 575 year old corpse. The blood seeped on to the floor, and she tried to scream. She was shocked, she thought Caligula loved her, but Caligula only loved death. Caligula grabbed his sword and cut off Lilah’s head, he thought to himself it came off rather quickly considering it was removed from the neck of an immortal. Lilah lay there dead, for the second and final time, and in moments crumbled into dust.
“I have killed my sire, and yet, I don’t care,” Caligula thought, realizing that killing another vampire, let alone one’s maker, was one of the only things looked down upon in vampiric culture, but Caligula felt he needed no laws or rules, he was now free.
By the end of the realization, Caligula’s lair was totally up in flames. He saw there were about 500 men outside waiting to kill him, some were soldiers carrying weapons; guns, arrows, stakes. They knew he wasn’t human, and he was going to prove it to them. He crashed outside of his lair onto the street and emerged before the mob. An arrow flung and Caligula caught it in mid air, avoiding it piercing his heart. Caligula looked up, and knew they would all be dead within minutes. He smiled to himself, and decided he would find a new companion, one whose lust for murder could rival his own.

Stephen spotted Anabelle and Fredrich leaving the tavern together. He followed them lurking behind the shadows, the anticipation was boiling beneath his icy skin, and his mind was totally attuned to the task at hand. He watched from outside as Frederich and Anabelle made their way to bed together, totally unaware of the future horrors at hand. He then felt, no, he knew, it was the right time. With incredibly intensity he leapt from the street to the young couple’s second story bedroom, and with a flare for over-dramatization, he crashed himself through the window, as making a statement was not nearly enough. The couple screamed and leapt their fully exposed bodies out of the bed, shock and fear permeated their faces, and at this very expression, Stephen felt elated, stimulated, thirsty.
“Stephen, you’re supposed to be dead, we buried your body!”, said Anabelle.
“Oh my love, sorry to disturb you, Stephen is dead, and only that is left is I, what stands before you.”
“Stephen you sound crazy, I don’t understand what you are saying,” said Anabelle as she quivered, the terror was like an aphrodisiac for the young vampire, he could feel her fear and he craved more.
Frederich grabbed Anabelle and they tried to escape downstairs, only to their astonishment, Stephen was already sitting at the kitchen table, smoking some of Frederich’s tobacco.
“This tobacco was far tastier when I was alive,” he said.
He leapt forward at such speed that neither Anabelle nor Frederich could see him, and there he was right next to them, his face was altered somehow, his eyes gleamed with ferocity and he bared fangs, exuding a mark of viciousness of his expression.
“You see Anabelle, I hate Stephen as much as you did, and only more because of the fact that he let himself be seduced and courted by a whore so low in her morals she would betray him for a faggot like Frederich,” he said laughing crazily.
Stephen grabed Frderich by the neck and through him as if he were a pebble into the wall, cracking his arm in the process. Frederich was unconscious.
Frederich awoke to find himself tied to a chair, as well as Anabelle tied to the bed, naked, at the mercy of whatever Stephen had become. He was shaking with fear, and knew what was coming, the very thought of his death at the hands of such a monster infuriated him.
“You bastard Stephen, let her go, let us go, there is no point to this,”
Stephen leapt across the room, and inserted a knife into Frederich’s thigh, “The point is there is no point Frederich, you are pathetic and meaningless, and your exit from the world shall not be remembered; now watch as I take what you took from me.”
Frederich was delirious with the pain, and he felt the blood flow from the wound like a grand waterfall onto a lake, he was helpless to him or Anabelle.
Stephen approached Anabelle silently, she sat bound and gagged on the bed in the position that Stephen arranged for her, the tears streaming down her eyes and the dead white of her skin exhilarated Stephen until no end. He had felt lust for her as human, but this was a lust of primal ferocity, carnal lust.
“Would it shock you if I said I still wanted you?” said Stephen.
She could not respond, which Stephen liked, as he wished this to be a singular experience. He then began to violate her mentally, sexually, and physically, he couldn’t believe how natural this act of despicable evil came to him. He penetrated her and cut her and bruised her, with every scream emanating from her tiny mouth leaving him only more blood thirsty. The brutality went on for hours, and he only stopped when he realized he could no longer hear Frederich’s puny screams and pleas for mercy. Realizing Frederich had bled out and was dead, as a doornail, he felt it was time to finish this act of murderous artistry.
He stroked her beautiful curly blond hair for one last time, and looked into her eyes, staring through her. She looked at him, she had already been beaten into nothing, and her will and her strength were already depleted. She saw his long brown hair and his prominent jawline and deep brown eyes and it was Stephen, but it wasn’t, there was something in him.
“You are my first Anabelle, I shall not forget this.”, he said.
He bit into her with such intensity she could not scream. Her blood flowed from her neck into his body, making him warm, and full, the flavor so sweet than no human could ever imagine it. He drank from her and he drank more, until she lay there lifeless, and cold.
Lilah walked in the room, and was taken with the carnage. She laughed and crashed into Stephen pinning her to the ground
“Congratulations my dear,” she said, “You have severed your ties to humanity, you are mine forever and together we will bring waste to the masses of innocents.”
Stephen felt empowered, and alive. He ripped Lilah over and penetrated inside of her cold and lifeless form. They laughed and made love and went out, excited for a fulfilling eternity of sadism and torture.

"Awoke" pt. 2

As he laid on the outside of his grave beside her, his murderer, he noticed that he did not feel anything, except lust, and thirst.
“Who the fuck?”, he said, “Who wha, what are you?”
“I’m your savior, but I believe you already know what I am, and what you are,” she said, “but I have been called Lilah for over five centuries now.”
As much as he wanted to deny the possibility of his new Vampiric nature, he knew she was telling the truth. He knew she was his master, his lover, his mother, and his companion for all times, and he knew he would already be fiercely loyal to her, but he also knew he couldn’t ever love her. And she knew that too, for their nature was one of masochism and sadism, and love was a word not within their realm of emotion. Nor was hate in fact, Stephen didn’t hate Anabelle, but he wanted her to suffer, he wanted to see the fear and the panic in her face as he ripped her insides out onto the floor. He took pleasure in the very fact.
“Anabelle…”, said Stephen
“Yes, Anabelle hurt you, she will be your first won’t she, my love?”, said Lilah.
“I want her to die painfully, to snuff her out with my very hands, to smite my former human self as much as her.”
“Yes, yes, yes!”, she said, “You have the power now, take what you want, any which way you want, I will teach you everything and you shall be a glorious vampire.”, she said.
They went out into the dead of the night together. As they walked through the streets of London, Stephen felt powerful, and predatory. These humans, these pathetic creatures spilling their emotions out into the world like slaves, he had nothing in common with them anymore. Oh how he desired his first kill. He could feel the pulses of those in the streets around him coursing inside of his lifeless body, offering temptation so powerful that he’d be denying his nature not to indulge. He could smell their blood, some more tempting than others, and the women he once sought to indulge and cherish he now viewed merely as prey, and oh how he wanted them all.
“So my sweet boy, do you feel it, the need to kill?”, Lilah said, “Do you feel the power you possesses, we are perfect killers my darling, free from restraint of the human conscience and the laws of society, no one can stop us dear, certainly no humans.”, she said
“I feel it, I want to take them all, I want to see the expressions on their face as I brutalize them,” said Stephen in a way that surprised him, he would have never said such things in life, but in death, the mere mention of the slaughter of innocents was enough to bring him to joy. In death, he was now free to really live, free of a bourgeoisie society’s restraints.
“I must find Anabelle, and that pathetic, effete bastard Frederich, I wish to make them watch each other die,” he felt this was appropriate.
Stephen and Lilah were out for a couple hours already. Lilah had already killed three humans that very night. One was a john looming the street for streetwalkers, Lilah in all her wickedness appeared to the man a lovely entrancing prostitute, and told him what a wonderful night she could offer. She drank him dry, and Stephen laughed as the man screamed for mercy and tried clawing away with all his might from the rather petite woman. Lilah had been doing this for a long time. She offered him blood, but Stephen wanted Anabelle to be his first drink. Lilah was very appeased by this; she knew she had created a monster of pure malevolent evil, one that can rival her own thirst for blood, torture, and destruction.

"Awoke", Part 1

He awoke.
Never had he seen, experienced, felt such darkness. Pure blackness; not a shred of vision within his periphery. He tried to move, but noticed that he was somehow solidified in his position. After trying to sort his thoughts for a moment, he struggled to move around. He was stuck within a small box like structure, and he panicked. He shot his hands forward with great force, and to his fascination, his hands penetrated the thick wood with ease, he was imbued with an unexplainable strength that was beyond his imagination.
His momentary epiphany was interrupted when pounds of soil and dirt and all the life that hibernates within the depths of the Earth came pouring into his prison. He closed his mouth to avoid suffocation and with tremendous fervor began to climb his way out of this strange and dark oblivion. It came a surprise when his long climb out of hell brought him almost no physical fatigue, in fact he felt like he didn’t even need oxygen. The confusion was remarkable, but he felt different; stronger, dominant.
He felt his hand reach the surface, the cool air bringing him relief and comfort. He slowly dragged his way out of his cell, and entered a new world. The world was the same, technically, but in his mind he new it had been inalterably changed somehow. He looked around while lying on the ground, the sky was as dark as it gets, he figured it must have been around midnight. He looked to his left, to the hole he had emerged from, and noticed a stone, no, a grave, right behind it. It took moments for his eyes to clear and his vision to sharpen, but when they did, he saw things more vividly than he had ever previously. The grave read; “Stephen Caine: Beloved Son”. “Is this death?”, he thought. He heard someone approach him from behind.
“You wanted to see my world, now you’re in it,” said a female voice.
He remembered.
It was just last night when he beloved Anabelle made the revelation that she could never truly love a man such as him, that Frederich was the one who could give her what she needs.
“I have grown tired of your childish ways, there are plenty of fellers in London that choose to drink and brawl every night, I need a man that can take care of me.”, Anabelle said.
He pleaded with her to stay with him, but it was clear the decision had been made. He was devastated, and made his way to the tavern to drink himself blind.
He drank a liter of whiskey, and his consciousness was suspended between awareness and oblivion. Frederich entered the bar with his mates, and Stephen decided now was the time to confront the motherfucker.
“So mate, you been plunkin’ my sweet Anabelle behind my back?”, he said.
“Listen Stephen, I don’t want any trouble, you’ve been too drunk these past years to satisfy a woman as graceful as Anabelle,” Frederich said.
Stephen was furious, he smashed his pint of beer over Frederich’s head, leaving a mighty pool of blood.
“You little bastard!”, Frederich said.
Frederich and his mates proceeded to drag drunken Stephen out to the alley and beat him into a merciless pulp.
“You stay the bloody hell away from Anabelle,” Frederich said.
Stephen had never felt so beaten. The bruises and cuts were only outweighed by the mental anguish. He almost broke into tears, and yet, then she appeared. He immediately was taken out of his misery and taken with this strange beauty approaching him in the alley. She had deep brown hair, highlighted by the full moonlight shining down upon the locks. Her eyes were an ice blue, fierce and haunting, she looked right into him, and he looked back. Her skin was pure white, and smooth, and he wanted it.
“Now I dare say, what kind of night could bring a man of such beauty and distinguished appeal to tears?”, she said.
“It’s nothing, um, what’s your name love?”
“Do not mind that yet. Are you satisfied with life? Or has it become stagnant, meaningless, does you anger and your guilt outweigh your happiness and contentment?”
“Well, uh, likes, everyone has problems my lady, mine just seem rather massive at the moment.”
“What if I told you I could show you a new world, a world in which those plaguing feelings of guilt, anger, and sadness could never touch you, a world without consequences and without regret, is that a world you could see yourself living in?”, she said.
“Well it sure as bloody hell sounds better than this one,” Stephen replied.
“So will you come with me, will you walk these nights, and be by my side, always?”, she said.
“Yes”, said Stephen.
Her face of delicate beauty and mysterious appeal then morphed into something awful, her eyes became fiery and focused, and she bared two razor sharp protruding fangs. Before he could see her coming, he felt her teeth sink into his neck. He tried screaming for help, but his blood, his life force, was leaving his body and nourishing hers. He felt his heart began to stop, and she let go. She cut her wrist.
“Now drink, drink and live forever”, she said.
Without a moment’s notice, her blood was entering his throat. His life hanging in the balance, a new sixth sense, a lust for blood, had entered his being. The blood tasted sweeter than life itself, suffusing his being, giving his near lifeless body animation.
She pulled away, laughing maniacally. He then sat there, his heart beat was slowing, his life seemed so far away, and yet a new one seemed so close within his grasp. His eyes closed, and the last thing he saw was Anabelle, only his love was now replaced with maliciousness, a need to destroy. And then there was nothing.
And then, he awoke.

Maths Balance Volumes-Lower Forms (self released cd)

Maths Balance Volumes has bewildered and interested me for the past year or so, as they have been releasing records on labels like Dylan Nyoukis' "Chocolate Monk". Their sound is true junk/dada electronics, and the bizarre sounds that emanate from their records are unique and wierd even in the scope of DIY junk noise bands. Lots of white noise and tape hiss and sounds that I am not familiar with to identify, Volumes create a whirlwind of fiery and agonizing tape hiss as well as some true psychodelia industrial that even the most seasoned noise vets might have trouble letting thier ears adjust to. The album is 100 percent homemade, and the hiss on the recordings comes off as a legitimate layer of filth covering many more layers of filth. The "songs" contained on the record are all soundscapes built on layers of murky feedback and waves of strange hissing sounds as well as a healthy use of tape loops. When listened to stoned, the album is liable to bring you into a lull state, shifting between states of conciousness, getting lost in the alarmingly bizarre sounds. The vocals are processed and come off as inebriated chants, in fact at one point I thought I was listening to a recording of voodoo rituals. And I feel that these images of horror archetypes are not unique when listening to this type of music. In any case, Maths Balance Volume have come up with a noise sound that is startingly original in the face of a scene that has become increasingly watered down by over-release and too much hype, and for this fact alone I think they are worth and interested listener's attention.

Cultural Amnesia "Enormous Savages Enlarged" Cd

One of my absolute favorite compilations I've heard this year, UK Post-Punk/Industrial Act Cultural Amnesia have re-issued this formerly import-only compilation and added five unreleased tracks to this impressive set. The band have long been known for their ties to other UK Industrial acts such as Coil and Psychic TV, but to me they have a sound that goes far more sonically diverse than the previously mentioned acts, as well as much of Industrial music in general. Their sound is rooted in the dark and menacing electronics of groups like Cabaret Voltaire and Throbbing Gristle, but with a decidedly funky punk edge with grooves emanating from the influence of the Pop Group and even some of the rhythms of Gang of Four. The songs collected on the compilation were all recorded from 1980-1983', and the tracks are far less noisy and abrasive that one would expect from Cultural Amnesia, with the songs taking on the form of very abstract pop and mega-skewed punk. Most interesting is the five unreleased tracks on the record were all recorded in this past decade, and they show Cultural Amnesia playing less with synthesizers and electronics and embracing a more straight ahead and almost anthemic rock n roll sound, with markedly clearer production. It's nice to see that Cultural Amnesia has let their sound grow instead of sticking to the same f-ed up electronics and tape hiss quality of their early records and become more or less a classic UK Post-Punk band. Some songs swagger like the fall at their best while others pummel your senses into nothingness like Neubauten, but in any case, if you are at all interested in 80's underground UK you must track this compilation now.

Weekend Tedium

It is strange how the school years seem to roll together into one long singular experience. Week ater week I find myself faced with task after task, accomplishing them as best I can, one at a time. Weekend after weekend, faced with nothing but drinking and whoring and not sleeping. These weeks of constant work followed by two days of constant play seem to drag on after a while. I feel very lucky to be in school, but nonetheless, there are times when the tedious grind of study becomes very tiresome to me. So tedious that on weekends, acts of debaucery idiocy are the only things that make sense. It's almost being like suspended in this fantasy world between childhood and adulthood, during the weeks accepting my more mature responsibilities, and on the weekends totally rejecting them. I feel that college kids in general are concsiously holding onto thier youth, knowing that in four or six short years it'll be over. The urge to binge seems to be such a common thread among young twenty somethings that it almost seems normal to see kids puking, fighting, taking drugs, and acting like fools, as much as it's normal to see them reading and studying in a library. Is this how we're supposed to act? Do people ever really break free from this period of suspended growth, or do we just accept our lives for what they are, and try and take the good and bad throughout all life. As I sit here, with three hours of sleep since Thursday, I question my intentions in life. It seems that at times partying and drinking and drugging are quintessential experiences to young life, and yet, there is a part of me which almost feels that this sort of lifestyle isn't experience at all, but instead just a distraction, meant to keep us complacent under the weight of our lives and responsibities. And yet all of me remains complacent to not care, as I surely wouldn't live any other way at the moment.

the Watchmen: the Film

After initially being very dissapointed wth Zack Syder's adaptation of "The Watchmen" when seeing it in I-max upon its release, I have since become rather dazzled with the movie upon giving it further viewings on DVD. Of course the amazing graphics and CGI effects and brutal fight scenes left me smitten upon firt view, but I simply could not help but compare it to the imcomparable comic book was adapted from. Now I realize that "The Watchmen" was almost unfilmamble, and the fact they were able to create such a cohesive and memorable plot from such a complex narrative is astounding. As I'm sure people know by know, the film/comic is a re-creation of American history in which masked vigilante super heroes are known to the world, the Cold War with USSR has reached its absolute peak, and nuclear holocaust is seemingly totally imminent. The film begins with the murder of Edward Blake, a.k.a., the Comedian, a former super hero turned super soldier. He is thrown out a window by an unknown assailant. The film then follows the 5 other super heroes trying to discover the truth behind this Mask killer theory and then unwittingly unveil a plot far more diabolical and letal.

I don't want to bore with all the details of the film and narrative because the philosophical overtones of the film should be experenced by the individual, but I would like to discuss the implications of the scene's final climactic scene. Superheroes Dan, a.k.a., Nite Awl, and Rorshach, discover that the conspiracy, including Blake's murder, as well as other acts of savagery and evil, were perperated by Adrian Veidt, a.k.a. Oxymandias, a former super hero that was the only one to reveal his identity to the world. During a scene at Veidt's pyramid in Anarctica, he reveals his plot to Dan and Rorshach. Veidt tricked Dr. Manhattan, the movie's only true super being with the powers to bend matter at will, into creating a machine recreating Manhattan's under the pretense of creating unlimited power.Veidt asserts he took Mahattan's power to create a nuclear explosion that would destroy several of the world's largest cities, making it look like Manhattan was responsible. To the audience's surprise, Veidt pulls this off. He then, by murdering millions, actually ends the nuclear threat, while the Soviet Union and the United States end the cold war to unite agaist the new common enemy, Dr.Manhatan. Veidt, in an act of evil truly despicable, actually saves the world in a way, "killing millions, to save billions." The scene is truly affecting. If the world did come that close to Nuclear War, it is true that this apocalypse might only be prevented by an act of evil, such as Veidt's. To save the world, there must certainly be sacrifices. The movie/comic the begs us the question, is peace built upon false pretenses and lies still preferable to mutually assured destruction? I am most certain we would all agree it is. Three of the four super heroes then even vow to keep thier silences about Adrian's crimes, due to the fact exposing his evil would only re-doom the world to nuclear war. Adrian Veidt is a highly ambiguous charachter, he is clearly brilliant, sinister, and even deluded, but he did in a way save the world, just in a very morally questionable way. The movie implies that it might take a being as morally loose as Veidt to save the world from such a disaster and to make that impossible decision.

"Suspended"

Joy Harjo’s “Suspended”, is a brief but powerful recollection of an author trying to decipher when she exactly became aware of a specific stimulus that would prove to be important to her later in life. In this case, she describes being a child, still very young as she says, “Once I was so small that I could barely peer over the top of the black Cadillac my father polished and tuned daily.” She uses this allusion to give an idea just how young and impressionable she was, wanting to see everything but not being able to understand the things she desires to see. She describes music as her introduction to language. She describes her sudden revelatory moment of discovering music as a singular and powerful moment in her life, “My concept of language, of what was possible with music, was changed by this revelatory moment. It changed even the way I looked at the sun.”
She makes the distinction that this moment wasn’t even noticeable to her parents driving the car, proving the singular importance of this moment on her life. She claims she can’t remember the destination she was traveling to, but she remembers the sensory details of the experience vividly, “I don’t know where we were going or where we had been, but I know the sun was boiling the asphalt, the car windows open for any breeze as I stood on tiptoes on the floorboard behind my father, a handsome god who smelled of Old Spice, whose slick black hair was impeccably groomed, his clothes perfectly creased and ironed.” She claims she loved the radio at this point, but she hasn’t yet had that one true revelatory experience.
She refers to the moment as a “loop in time”, an interesting phrase used to describe that momentary feeling of time standing still, being in that moment for what seems like an eternity. She says she became completely aware of the sound emanating from the speakers, a sound she would now properly identify as Miles Davis. She wasn’t able to verbally utter the feeling that the sound gave her, but was still totally aware of the sensation it created. She even pities her parents for not having been able to share the moment with her.
Harjo writes, “My rite of passage into the world of humanity occurred then, via Jazz.” She credits Jazz as giving her first feeling of being truly alive, truly human. She refers to the listening experience as a bridge, possibly the bridge between ignorance and knowledge. She sees jazz as tapping directly into her African and Anglo-Saxon heritages, as Jazz is basically European methods of composition and improvisation applied to African tribal music. She recognizes this moment, and all moments, as transcending language. These moments of being as more than just mere expression of an idea, they become the idea incarnate, true living.

Uncertainty

Uncertainty has to be one of the worst of all human emotions. Here I am, so close to graduating from a University and I am still not even sure what course my like will take. Coming into college I had no idea what I wanted to do, I knew what my strengths were but I couldn't decide where to apply those strengths to. I initially joined the University as an undecided major, which of course seemed like the most appealing decision for someone who had never considered what to with life after education. I spent my freshman year taking a variety of courses that could possibly lead me into the right direction. After a full year as an undecided major, I knew writing and reading were my strengths but I also enjoyed keeping up with the world. Therefore, journalism is what I chose. Immediately when I entered the journalism major, I felt constricted by the tight rules that apply to journalism writing and didn't not like being free to right in a fashion that I felt was best suited for myself. What I really would like to do is music criticism, rock n roll writing if you will. Music has been my passion since I was a young child, and what I have lacked in sheer musical talent (I'm only a moderately good guitar player" I have made up for in sheer exuberance and ear for all sorts of varied and weird musics. Unfortunately, the University of Arizona doesn't seem to treat this type of writing as actual journalism, and I have been left to do these sorts of things on my own time. I stuck with the journalism major because I figured it will allow me some sort of breathing room when I graduate, but I have no clue what to do when that time comes.

True Blood; This Show Got Me

Finally, after having mixed feelings toward the show during its first season, I can fully say that True Blood has been blowing my mind. I have always loved the supernatural, and Vampires especially, the idea of an all-powerful, night stalking, sadistic and predatory creature preying in the innocent always makes for a truly entertaining experience. But Vampires in True Blood are of a truly different nature, with series creator Alan Ball using the show's supernatural themes to comment on true human issues; sex, hatred, intolerance, and violence. The characters, natrual and supernatural, are all of a highly complex and fascinating nature. Anna Paquin is brilliant on the show as Sookie Stackhouse, a telepathic waitress. Her relationship with 173-year old vampire Bill Compton (played by real life fiancee Stephen Moyer) is a gripping affair. Plagued with the ability to read minds, Sookie finds natrual love with Bill because she can't read his mind, as Vampires on the show don't project thier thoughts. Their love is alluded to much as a standard interracial relationship in the south would be; they are constantly judged and harassed untill more or less the town's people of Bon Temps except that Bill's love for Sookie is pure. There was a fantastic scene in the first season in which Sookie's accepting grandmother recruits Bill to deliver a lesson on the Civil War, as before he was turned he fought for the Confederacy, and this decision earns the grandmother both scorn and praise. Bill himself is fascinating. Previously enjoying a century of sadistic murder and torture, Sookie comes into his life and makes him feel human pasion for the first time in over a hundred years. Bill refers to Sookie as his "miracle" and loves her completely. Excellent in this season was the entry of Lorena, Bill's maker and a representation of the darkness within him. A flashback is shown of Bill and Lorena in the 1920's sadistically torturing and murdering a couple, with Lorena holding down the husband as Bill rips the wife's larynyx out, the man says, "Why are you doing this?", to which Bill retorts in very exuberant manner, "Because We CANNNNN!" The scene was disturbing but alsop emphasized the show's focus on redeption, showing how hard and far Bill had to come to restore his own humanity. I sometime's can't help but draw parrallels to tv's last supernatrual human/vampire relationship between Angel and Buffy, but the show's graphic nature is able to represent in it in a far different fashion.

The show seems to display a belief that there is neither evil nor good in the world. Charachters who at times seem ireedemably evil are prone to showing signs of human weakness and compassion. Eric,1,000 year old Vampire sheriff of Louisiana, is at times portrayed a sadistic and mericless killer, totally devoid of human emotion. Best example obviously when he held Lafayette in a basement and tortured him for two weeks. But, he has often displayed signs of strong devotion and loyalty to the charachters. He treats other Vampires with respect, even Bill whom he clearly doesn't like. When his 2,000 year old Vampire sire/maker Godric lets himself be burned by the sun, Eric breaks down into tears. The two male vampires clearly had a strong love, platonic but it was also strongly hinted at as sexual as well. Eric also shows strong affection for Sookie, going out of his way to save her life on a few occasions throughout season two. The Fellowship of the Sun, an anti-vampire Church are extremely ambiguous. Steve Newlin, leader of the church, is portrayed as the show's most hateful and wrathful charachter since last season's homicidal and misogynist Rene Lenier. He seems to be at times ireedemably evil, but Godric tells Eric that when he was held by the Fellowship, he was treated fairly, and that most of the members were, "extremely holy".

Mary Ann is perhaps the show's only ireedemably evil charachter. She is a maenad, an immortal being derived from Ancient Greece an high priestess to god of Wine and fertility, Dionysius. From the beginning of the show she displays a will to create nothing but chaos. Her powers are also wierd and awesome. She starts fluttering during sex and chants and channels the power of Dionysius to create wild and violent orgies. She grows massive claws that exude a powerdul neurotoxin that can kill basically any creature. Her perhaps most despicable acts are her powers of mass hypnosis, she has coaxed innocents into murdering and taking the hears from thier victims. She also force feeds humans these hearts to create powerful mass spread violent chaos. The writing for her charachter is just phenomenal. It is even hinted at that Mary Ann was nothing more than a bored housewife in Athens who's husband was sleeping with 14 year old boys, as many wealthy Athenians did. Therefore Mary Ann started engaging in wild sex and debaucery and discovered the ways of the Maenad. She became so psyhcologically bent on the fact that she was this immortal being that she actually became the powerful immortal that she is on the show. Because of her ireedemably evil nature, the last two episodes saw all the various charachters coming together to defeat her. In the final episode, all vampires and humans will be joining together to defeat this one gigantic evil and thus restore the natural order. True Blood isn't about good or evil, it's about the good and evil that emanates from all beings.

Van Morrison-Astral Weeks

There have been few records so have such a vast impact on my life as "Astral Weeks". My father, an avid music fan who's love for rock n roll rivals mine, first played the cassette of the album in the car when I was a young boy. Instantly I was blown away, just something so pure about the way Van sings is astounding and made a lasting impression on my being. What Van Morrison may or may not lack in sheer lyrical prowess he makes up for in powerful emotional delivery. There is no voice on Earth that sounds like his, so full of human expression, mourning, pain, loss, love, and life. The album has followed me through some of my post painful and happy experiences.

As I got older and more into music my love for "Astral Weeks" didn't subside, but only grew due to my new understanding of what a deep and complex record it really is. Released at the end of 1968, critics and listeners were all immediately blown away by the complexity in the lyrics and the arrangements but also by the sheer listen-ability of the album, even in the face of some very dark subjects and themes. The rhythms and string arrangements are very un-traditional and even frenzied for Pop music (possibly due to musicians from free jazz whiz Eric Dolphy's crew coming into lend some horn and reed work), but the beauty that emanates from them is tremendous. Van's lyrics on the album are better than his lyrics on other records; he wrote in a strange and evocative style that promotes images as opposed to narrative arc. The songs, even the saddest ones, evoke strong images of hope and in a few cases, redemption. The very first lines off the record's first track, "Astral Weeks", read, "If I ventured into a slipstream, between the viaduct of your dream, would you find me?" Two of the record's most famous tracks, "Cyprus Avenue" and "Madame George" are written in a stream-of-consciousness style that is very hard to decipher the text, but the themes of the song still resonate with the listener in a vivid fasion. And it really is all about Van Morrison's voice when talking about his music. He has the most unique voice of any white-male vocalist I've ever heard, with such a powerful understanding of human emotion it's phenomenal. He howls and the listener weeps, or smiles, or thinks. Easily one of the greatest emotional rides in the history of recorded music, and an album so full of human emotion and range that it remains truly timeless.

Dan Melchior und das Menace-Obscured by Fuzz

England's Dan Melchior has been forging his own unique brand of raw and dirty punk rock and soulful and swinging blues since the early 1990's. His second album of the year, "Obscured by Fuzz" seems to take thing in a different direction than his acclaimed double album, "Thank You Very Much", that was released earlier in the year. While that record saw Melchior playing around with some of the classic UK art punk influences he's already embraced numerous times in his career, such as the Fall and Swell Maps, as well as the psychedelic drug-blues of artists like Syd Barret and Roy Harper, "Obscured by Fuzz" is a far more traditional, though no less exciting, record. The songs are all romp and fury, throwing back to the Killed by Death compilations with crunchy power chords topped by lots of nice fuzz and feedback. The lyrics, as always, are on point. The songs detail some of the more depraved aspects of pop culture; tales of Hollywood violence, Janet Jackson's exposed breast on the super bowl, a Werewolf named simply 'Glen, greedy vegan farmers, and the jaded hipsters that pervade the "scene". The album is downright anthemic and angry in tone. The album largely ditched the most obscure psychedelic stylings of Melchior's previous albums in favor of a straight ahead punk fury. Stand out track is "Smut", a Stooges-influenced garage dirge anthem with a lyrical narrative I'm sure your mind would let you imagine. Dan Melchior is a seasoned veteran who is making the most pure rock n roll in music right now. Well Kurt Vile comes close, but he gets a little too far out to apply, perhaps?

Circuit des Yeux-Sirenum

After blowing my mind last year with her limited run lp "Symphone", Haley Fohr, a.k.a., Circuit des Yeux, returns with her first wide release LP. "Sirenum"is a true homedade psychedelic record, recalling the best records of these types from mid-90's Siltbreeze catalog. The sounds are made up of a plethora of instruments; guitars, pianos, drums, and fx all come together to create a swirling collage of eerie psychedelic tones. Her vocals have gotten even more far out and bizarre; continuing on in the vocal eerieness of US Girls and pushing them in to the outer realms in which chanting and drum circles are as prevalent as guitars and feedback that the ESP-disk catalog used to be known for. The most abstracted tracks on the records apply feedback and drones to the haunting melodies, coming off as 80's synth-goth as re-envisioned by one of today's psychedelic noise nuts, and the combinations couldn't be any more refreshing. The tracks on the album are dark, but not in a disturbing way. These are very emotional songs, love songs if you will, but re-imagined as true pieces of psychedelic head fuckery. One of the best records I've heard this year.