Since i heard the voice, since i heard the first call, i haven't been able to think of anything else. Since that night that the lightning struck and filled everything with light, along with my eyes. But it was no normal lightning. It was... Something more. It didn't last that consecrated fraction of a second. It blined me, even if i never looked at it with my own eyes. It deafened me, even if no sound was heard by it.
And then I heard the first voice, the first calling. A sound, a word, a dissorientation, a song of terror, a mixture of notes and twisted melodies from an orchestra of screams. It lasted a second or a century. I haven't been able to understand, nor will i ever be. Time had no essence, no importance.
From the screaming, from the otherworldly sounds and not from somewhere in space, for there was no space as well that moment, that millenium, one more speech tangled in the sound, an abyssal voice, so eldritch, so ancient, so booming and horrible, that it made the whole dissonance that spawned it sensible, it made it melodic in a strange way.
And from the voice came the first Elder. The first giant, the first form, the first indescribable interlacement of limbs, feet, gils, tentacles, wings, limbs phenomenicaly made of flesh and ooze, and no characteristic that the human mind could recognise in its entirety. In size, that ancient creature that was there since the begining of everything, before the stars ever saw their first dawn, the horizon could not hold it and it never would. Every scar, every scab, every crater and crack on it could be seen with every daunting detail. Its eyes were the sun and the moon and all the stars, glowing with a light that exceeded fantasy, red as the first drop of blood that ever fell.
The truth is that it did not need a voice. Its presence was enough to drive you mad or enlighten you, showing you the deepest, darkest places of the human mind, where fear is born and hope dies.
I felt it pointing at me, recognising my being, making sure that my small mind could bear him, even in that demeaning and small version of his eternal presence of his in the universe.
It was looking at me. From the start, it was looking at me, all of me. And along with me, everything. It's point of focus was the existance of everything itself. Its eyes were drawing near, and if one thought of his size and the space it consumed, one couldn't help but remain speechless from terror and excitement from its speed, even though in front of such a sight, you couldn't do elsly from the very begining.
I was staring as well, unable to do anything else. I noticed that the sounds and the screaming were gone. Its voice, its breath or its thought have taken the place of the cosmic silence, in the same way that horns and car engines become part of the background, back in normal life.
All I could do was watch. And after some breaths or some lifetimes, what i was seeing was the outter space. Stars, rocks, no point of reference whatsoever. No familiar planet or even a sign of one. And suddenly everything obtained movement, everything consecrated their orbits and and tracks, those which they woould hold for years thousands of thousands, millions of millions. From where my vision couldn't reach, the creature appeared, smaller by far, moving towards somewhere in front of me. Observing it for a while, i realised it wasn't the same with the one that appeared before me at first. The one i saw then was younger, closer to its first eras. The fact that later there appeared more of those terrifying creatyres, each one uniquely more horrible than the other one, helped me assure of my suspicions. Creatures ancient, older than darkness, and every one of them moving towards the same spot.
Without moving in this endless abundance of space, i followed them. I was an observer by that time. Of what though, i did not know yet. And since i had gone so far, as much as i wished i knew nothing, as much as i wished nothing happened, that it was all a dream, i knew it was all true. So much so, that they surpassed the truth itself.
From this limitless black i followed them, passing by some deserted and unknown planets over time, bathing in the light of a squadron of suns from other galaxies, far away. That journey must have lasted long, even for those Ancients, yet none would say a word., or at least i didn't have what it took to hear them or behold their words, heavy as newborn galaxies.
Until the One, he who had summoned me, let out a gutual and bile voice, and everyone stopped. Me as well.
I looked around me, and a horrid feeling of recognition took hold of me. I saw the Moon. Our Moon. It took some time for me to realise because it didn't have one crater on it, but what i was looking at was definitely the moon. That meant that... I looked elsewhere. Jupiter, small. Saturn, without its planet rings. Mars, with some blue specks on it. I didn't want to see where they were heading. Because i knew. Yes, inside my i knew it well, that which seemed impossible for me. And I looked.
And i saw Earth.
And the creatures cut something from one another, making disgusting sounds of ripping flesh and and membrane. These pieces they threw at the Earth, an Earth with more land than water. And in my thoughts i suddenly knew the pieces were seeds. They wanted to plant their kind in Earth. To grow, to flourish, to control, to enslave and in the end devour.
Witnessing all this, terror was eating me away on the inside like a bore-worm. The top of all this horror was when He, the First One turned to look at me. And he showed me, not by some move but with just a thought, to observe closer and see the creation and at the same time the malediction of a world. And then..
Eearth. Plants, trees. No sound and no sound of one nowhere. Comets were falling from the sky. One of them fell in front of me, throwing fire, spew and tissue everywhere, but i was left untouched in that macabre vision of the past. The seasons changed in a breath, leaving the seed to grow, untill it hatched, and from inside it came one of them, lurking with its rotten limbs, followed by other, smaller spawns. But that fact had no importance then, nor did it carry a feeling of comfort or hope. On the contrary, it ominously foretold the dark fate of this world.
Time passed and Their species flourished. Slowly, man appeared, unsure and small in his first steps on Earth, which was to become a huge chessboard of the Ancients, with humans, their slaves as pawns.
Oh, with what guile, with what zelousy and tyrrany they reigned, they, the Elder ones, older than the darkness itself, with what presicion they weaved their cosmic plans and plots without a sign of mercy, goodness or weakness..
Suddenly, something changed. Like a tiny cog in a hyper-galactic machine that stopped working as it should, as it was written, because it obtained consciousness. Knowledge. Anger.
Freedom.
And I was in space again, gazing at that fouled planet. Earth was changing. The ground at first, and then the oceans. The planet was being painted red, the oceans were becoming giant lakes of blood of both human and Elder. And as that red sea drowned the land, I realized why at first i thought that the Earth had less water than it should have, and why as i observed the planet was becoming identical to what it is today.. My god, we're swimming in the blood of our ancestors and theirs as well...
War. The first one, the biggest of them all, the most macabre, the one that brought drastic changes. And from what i could grasp, it must have lasted for whole generations. The most terrifyinf thing was that humanity was losing.
Until they decided that they didn't want to wipe us out, not for any other reason, not of mercy, but because we were convenient to them as slaves, as food. As toys. The Ancients were leaving. They decided to let us multiply,. like the animals we were. They left behind someone to watch us, while he slumbered deep, in the bottom of the darkest ocean, in the ruins of their drowned city.
Their city had a name that could not be pronounced by a mouth other than theirs, bun on its first stone They wrote its name in a language and writing that was the escape of mankind from its beastly cries and growls. And the city's name was decyphered many aeons later, as much as it was possible. Its name was R'Lye. The Sunken City.
And the one They left there, the one that slumbers deep and dreams, mankind also learned his name, along with the fear of pronouncing it, lest he heart the call from the darkest depths of the sea and awaken, bringing with him madness, horror and anihilation. His name would forever remain in the unconscious of the mind: Cthulhu.
Still lost in that revelation, i was again in front of the Ancient that summoned me. In front of this entanglement of dead but moving tentacles where other animals had their mouths. Faced with these eyes that saw everything. That still heard the echoes of the first dead stars. And then I heard his voice in a language i could comprehend, for the first time.
I AM AWAKE.
MY ARRIVAL IS NIGH.
I had never imagined that two sentences could ever invoke so much fear, so much awe and horror.
Cthulhu had awoken. And i had heard his voice, the first call. I saw the world being made, and now i had to watch its doom.
Suddenly, i felt that light of the vision blurring. The eternal lightning that led me to all of this was fading. I was afraid to go back. I was afraid to do anything in a world that is already dead and doesn't even know it.
And then, i submerged in deep sleep.
-Epilogue-
I open my eyes and am forced to shit them again due to the sudden and strong change of light. When i open them once more, i observe my surroundings, losing any sense of direction or place.
I am inside a white room. There are no windows, only a door. The walls are covered in what appears to be white pillows. A plain and simple lamp hangs from the ceiling.
What the hell...
I try to move my hands, make sure i'm alright. But i cant. My hands are tied. With a mixture of surprise and agony i look at my chest, which is tied as well. A white shroud.
My god, i'm in a sanitarium.. And i have no idea as to how or when i got here..
I desperately fight to free myself from my bounds, but to no avail. When i give up, i hear a male voice from some nearby room. At first i cant make out what he's saying, until a woman starts to repeat the phrase he said. More and more voices join this chant, for that's what it comes to. And when it reaches its top, when everyone is chanting rhythmically at the top of their lungs, the phrase becomes understandable to me as well.
IA.
IA.
CTHULHU F'TAGHN.
Again and again. The summoning of Cthulhu. Which not only means that they know he's awake, but that these men are becoming heralds of his coming.
I get up and run to the door. I begin hitting it with my feet and head. I am taken over by a burning rage and i start shouting and spitting at those who so unjustly locked me in here.
Fools! Ignorant idiots! How can you not hear it? How can you be so blind?! The whole world will be lost because of your foolishness! Cthulhu has awaken and destruction follows him! Die! We're all gonna die! Hahahaha!
I laugh. I laugh and I cry at the same time. And all the time, I keep hearing this world's requiem.
IA.
IA.
CTHULHU F'TAGHN.
-The End-
Κυριακή 23 Νοεμβρίου 2008
to prwto kalesma
Απο τοτε που ακουσα τη φωνη, απο τοτε που ακουσα το πρωτο καλεσμα, δεν μπορω να σκεφτω τιποτα αλλο. Απο 'κεινο το βραδυ που η αστραπη ελουσε τα ματια μου, οχι ομως μια κανονικη αστραπη.. Ηταν.. Κατι παραπανω. Δεν κρατησε το καθιερωμενο κλασμα του δευτερολεπτου. Με τυφλωσε. Κι ας μην την κοιταξα με τα δικα μου ματια. Με κουφανε, κι ας μην ακουστηκε κανενας ηχος απο κεινη τη λαμψη.
Και τοτε ακουσα τη πρωτη φωνη, το πρωτο καλεσμα. Ενας ηχος, μια λεξη, μια φρικη, ενα τραγουδι τρομου, συνοθηλευμα νοτων και διεστραμενων μελοδιων απο μια ορχηστρα με μοναδικα τις οργανα κραυγες. Κρατησε ενα δευτερολεπτο ή ενα αιωνα. Ουτε μπορεσα ουτε μπορω να καταλαβω. Ο χρονος δεν ειχε καμια υποσταση, καμια σημασια.
Απο τις κραυγες, απο τους αλλοκοσμους ηχους και οχι απο καπου στο χωρο, γιατι ουτε χωρος υπηρχε εκεινη τη στιγμη, εκεινη τη χιλιετια, ενας ακομα λογοσ μπλεχτηκε στον ηχο, μια αβυσσαλεα φωνη, τοσο αρχαιγωνη, τοσο βροντερη και φρικιαστικη, που εκανε την παραφωνια που την ξεβρασε να βγαζει καποιο νογμα, να αποκταει μελωδια.
Και απο τη φωνη προβαλε ο πρωτος Παλαιος. Ο πρωτος γιγαντας, η πρωτη μορφη, το πρωτο αποκοσμο συμπλεγμα μελων, ποδια, βραγχια, πλοκαμια, φτερα, μελη φαινομενικα απο σαρκα και γλιτσα και κανενα χαρακτηριστικο που να μπορει να αναγνωρισει ο ανθρωπινος νους στην ολοτητα του. Στο μεγεθος, το αρχαιο αυτο πλασμα το οποιο βρισκοταν εκει απο την αρχη των παντων, πριν ακομα τα αστερια να δουν την πρωτη τους αυγη, ο οριζοντας δεν το χωρουσε κι ουτε ποτε θα μπορουσε. Καθε ουλη, καθε χαρακια, καθε κρατηρας και ρωγμη πανω του φαινοταν με αποκαρδιοτικα μεγαλη λεπτομερεια. Τα ματια του ηταν ο ηλιος και το φεγγαρι κι ολα τα αστρα, μ'ενα φως που ξεπερνουσε τη φαντασια, κοκκινο σαν τη πρωτη σταγωνα αιματος που επεσε ποτε.
Η αληθεια ειναι πως δεν χρειαζοταν φωνη. Η παρουσια του ηταν αρκετη για να σε τρελανει 'η να σε διαφωτησει, δειχνωντας σου τα πιο βαθια και σκοτεινα μερη του ανθρωπινου μυαλου, εκει που γεννιουνται ο φοβος και ο τρομος και η ελπιδα πεθαινει.
Ενιωσα να με δειχνει. Να αναγνωριζει την παρουσια μου, να σιγουρευεται οτι ο μικρος νους μου μπορουσε να τον αντεξει, εστω και σε αυτην την ατιμοτικη γι αυτον μικρογραφια τησ ααιναης και ανυποτης παρουσιας του στο συμπαν.
Με κοιταζε. Απο την αρχη με κοιταζε, ολον. Και μαζι με μενα τα παντα. Το σημειο εστιασης του ηταν η υπαρξη η ιδια. Τα ματια του με πλησιαζαν, κι αν σκεφτει κανεις το μεγεθοσ και το χωρο που καταλαμβανε δεν θα μπορουσε παρα να μεινει αφωνος απο τρομο και ενθουσιασμο απο την ταχυτητα του, αν και μπροστα σε ενα τετοιο θεαμα απο την αρχη δεν μπορουσες να κανεις αλλιως.
Κοιταζα και γω, ανημπορος να κανω διαφορετικα. Παρατηρησα οτι οι ηχοι και οι φωνες ειχαν τελειωσει. Η φωνη, η ανασα ή οι σκεψεις του ειχαν παρει τη θεση της κοσμικης ησυχειας, με τον ιδιο τροπο που οι κορνες και οι μηχανες των αυτοκινητων γινονται μερος των καθημερινων ηχων, πισω στη φυσιολογικη ζωη.
Μονο να κοιταζω μπορουσα. Και μετα απο λιγες ανασες ή λιγες ζωες, αυτο που εβλεπα ηταν το διαστημα. Αστερια και βραχια, χωρις κανενα σημειο αναφορας. Κανενας γνωστος πλανητης ή εστω καποιο ιχνος του. Και ξαφνικα ολα απεκτησαν κινηση, ολα καθιερωσαν τις περιστροφες και τις πορειες τους, αυτες που θα κρατουσαν για χρονια χιλιαδες χιλιαδων, εκατομοιρια εκατομοιριων. Απο κει που δεν εφτανε η οραση μου, εμφανιστηκε το πλασμα, μικροτερο ξατα πολυ, κατευθηνομενο προς τα καπου μπροστα. Παρατηροντας το λιγο, καταλαβα οτι δεν ειναι το ιδιο με αυτο που εμφανιστηκε μπροστα μου στην αρχη. Αυτο που εβλεπα εκεινη τη στιγμη ηταν πιο νεο, πιο πολυ κοντα στις πρωτες του εποχες. Το οτι μετα εμφανιστηκαν κι αλλα απο αυτα τα τρομερα οντα, το καθενα μοναδικα πιο φρικιαστικο απο το αλλο, με βοηθησε να σιγουρεψω τισ υποψιες μου. Πλασματα αρχαια, πιο παλια κι απ το σκοταδι, και ολα κατευθηνονταν προς το ιδιο σημειο.
Χωρις να κινηθω σ'αυτην την αχανη και ατελειωτη απλα, τους ακολου8ησα. Ημουν πλεον παρατηρητης. Σε τι ομως δεν το γνωριζα ακομα. Και αφου ειχα φτασει ως, οσο κι αν ευχομουν να μην ηξερα τιποτα, να μην ειχε γινει τιποτα, να ηταν ολα ενα ονειρο, ηξερα οτι ολα αυτα ηταν αληθινα. Τοσο, που ξεπερνουσαν και την ιδια την αληθεια.
Απο αυτο το ατελειωτο μαυρο τους ακολουθουσα, περνοντας καθε τοσο διπλα απο καποιο ερημο και αγνωστο πλανητη, λουσμενος απο το φως ενος λοχου απο ηλιους αλλων γαλαξιων, περα μακρια. Αυτο το ταξιδι πρεπει να κρατησε πολυ, ακομα και γι αυτους τους Παλαιους, ομως κανεις δεν εβγαζε μιλια, ή τουλαχιστον εγς δεν ειχα οτι χρειαζοταν για να τους ακουσω ή να συγκρατησω τα λογια τους, βαρια οσο νεογεννητοι γαλαξιες.
Μεχρι που ο Ενας, αυτος που ηρθε να με βρει, εβγαλε μια κολλοδη και χολερη φωνη και ολοι σταματησαν. Μαζι και γω.
Κοιταξσα γυρω μου, και ενα φριχτο αισθημα αναγνωρισησ με κατελυσε. Ειδα τη Σεληνη. Τη δικη μας Σεληνη. Αργησα λιγο να το καταλαβω γιατι ακομα δεν ειχε ουτε ενα κρατηρα, αλλα αυτο που κοιταζα ηταν πραγματι το φεγγαρι. Πραγμα που σημαινε οτι.. Κοιταξα κι αλλου. Ο Διας, μικρος. Ο Κρονος, χωρις τα αστρικα δαχτυλιδια του. Ο Αρης, με μερικες μπλε πινελιες. Δεν ηθελα να δω που πηγεναν εκεινοι. Γιατι ηξερα. Ναι, μεσα μου το ηξερα καλα, αυτο που μου φαινοταν απιστευτο. Και κοιταξα.
Και ειδα τη Γη.
Και τα πλασματα εκοψαν κατι το ενα απο το αλλο, αφηνοντας απαισιους ηχους σκισηματοσ σαρκας και μεμβρανης. Αυτα τα κομματια τα πεταξαν στη Γη, σε μια Γη με περισσοτερο εδαφος παρα νερο. Και μεσα στις σκεψεις μου ξαφνικα ηξερα οτι τα κομματια ηταν σποροι. Εκεινοι ηθελαν να φυτεψουν το ειδος τους στη Γη. Να μεγαλωσουν, να ευημερισουν, να ελεγξουν, να σκλαβωσουν και στο τελος να καταβροχθησουν.
Μπροστα σ'ολα αυτα, ο τρομος με ετρωγε μεσα μου σα σαρακι. Η κορυφψση ολης αυτησ της φρικης ηταν οταν γυρισε να με κοιταξει Εκεινος, ο Πρωτος. Και μου εδειξε, οχι με καποια κινηση αλλα με μια του σκεψη, να κοιταξω πιο προσεκτικα και να δω τη δημιουργια και συναμα την καταρα της καταστροφης ενος κοσμου. Και τοτε..
Γη, βλαστηση, δεντρα. Κανενα ζωο και κανενας ηχος απο καποιο που8ενα. Απο πανω επεφταν κομητες. Ενας επεσε μπροστα μου, πετωντας παντου φωτια, βλεννα και ιστο αλλα εγω εμεινα ανεπαφος σ'αυτο το μακαβριο οραμα του παρελθοντος. Οι εποχες αλλαζαν με μια ανασα, αφηνοντας το σπορο να μεγαλωσει, μεχρι ποθ απο μεσα του βγηκε ενας απο εκεινους, ερποντας με τα σαπια μελη του, ακολου8ουμενος απο αλλα, μικροτερα νεογνα. Ομως το μεγεθος του δεν ειχε καμια σημασια τοτε, ουτε εφερνε καποιο συναισθημα παρηγοριας ή ελπιδας. Αντιθετα, δυσοιωνα προμηνυε τη σκοτεινη μοιρα αυτου του κοσμου.
Ο χρονος προχορουσε και η φυλη Τους ευδοκιμουσε. Σιγα-σιγα εμφανιστηκε και ο ανθρωπος, αβεβαιος και μικρος στα πρωτα του βηματα στη Γη, που εμελε να γινει μια πελορια σκακιερα των Παλαιων πλασματων με πιονια τους σκλαβους τους, τους ανθρωπους.
Ω, με τι δολο, με τι ζηλο και τυραννια βασιλευαν, εκεινοι, οι γηραιοτεροι του σκοταδιου του ιδιου, με τι ακριβεια υφαιναν τα κοσμικα τους σχεδια χωρις κανενα οικτο και κανενα σημαδι καλοσυνης ή αδυναμιας.
Και ξαφνικα, κατι αλλαξε. Σαν ενα μικρο γραναζι σε μια υπεργαλαξιακη μηχανη που σταματησε να λειτουργει οπως επρεπε, οπως ηταν γραφτο, γιατι απεκτησε συνειδηση. Γνωση. Θυμο.
Ελευ8ερια.
Και βρεθηκα παλι στο διαστημα, να κοιταζω το μιασμενο αυτο πλανητη. Η Γη αλλαζε. Το εδαφος πρωτα και υστερα οι ωκεανοι. Η υδρογειος βαφοταν κοκκινη, οι ωκεανοι γινονταν τεραστιες λιμνες απο αιμα ανθρωπων και Παλαιων. Και καθως η θαλασσα αυτη η κοκκινη επνιγε τη στερια, καταλαβα γιατι στην αρχη μου φανηκε οτι η Γη ειχε λιγοτερο νερο απ' οτι επρεπε, και γιατι καθως παρακολουθουσα ο πλανητης γινοταν πανομοιοτυπος με το σημερινο.. Θεε μου, κολυμπαμε στο αιμα των προγονων μας και των δικων τους μαζι...
Πολεμος. Ο πρωτος, ο μεγαλυτερος ολων, ο πιο μακαβριος, αυτος που εφερε ριζικες αλλαγες. Και απ' οτι μπορουσα να καταλαβω, πρεπει να κρατησε γενιες ολοκρηρες. Το πιο τρομερο και φρικιαστικο συναμα ηταν οτι η ανθρωποτητα εχανε.
Μεχρι που εκεινοι αποφασισαν οτι δεν ηθελαν να μας εξαλειψουν, οχι για καποιο αλλο λογο, οχι απο ελεος, αλλα επειδη τους ημασταν βολικοι σαν σκλαβοι, σαν τροφη. Σαν παιχνιδια. Οι Παλαιοι εφυγαν. Αποφασισαν να μας αφησουν να πολλαπλασιαστουμε, σαν τα ζωα που ημασταν. Αφησαν πισω τους καποιον να μας προσεχει, οσο θα κοιμοταν βαθια, στον πατο του πιο σκοτεινου ωκεανου, στα ερειπια τησ πνιγμενης τους πολης.
Η πολη τους ειχε ενα ονομα που δεν μπορουσε να προφερθει απο στομα διαφορετικο απο το δικο τους, μα πανω στον πρωτο της λιθο γραψανε Εκεινοι τ'ονομα της σε μια γλωσσα και γραφη δικη τους, που ηταν η εξοδος του ανθρωπου απο τις ζωοδεις κραυγες και τα μουγκρητα του. Και το ονομα της πολης πολλους αιωνες μετα μπορεσε να μεταφραστει, οσο ηταν δυνατο. Την ειπαν Ρ'Λυε. Η Βυθισμενη πολη.
Και εκεινος που αφησαν εκει, εκεινος που απο τοτε κοιμαται κι ονειρευεται, η ανθρωποτητα εμαθε κι αυτου το ονομα, οπως και τον τρομο του να το προφερουν, μηπως ακουσει το καλεσμα και απο τα σκοτεινοτερα βαθη της θαλασσας ξυπνησει και φερει στο διαβα του τρελα, τρομο και ολεθρο. Το ονομα του θα παρεμενε παντοτινα στο ασυνειδητο του νου: Κθουλου.
Ακομα χαμενος σ'αυτην την αποκαλυψη, βρισκομουν και παλι ενοποιων του Αρχαιου που με καλεσε. Ενοπιων αυτου του φρικαλεου συμπλεγματος απο νεκρα αλλα κινουμενα πλοκαμια εκει που τα υπολοιπα ζωα εχουν το στομα τους. Μπροστα στα ματια που βλεπουν τα παντα. Που ακουν ακομα τους αποηχους των προτων νεκρων αστεριων. Και τοτε ακουσα για πρωτη φορα τη φωνη του σε μια γλωσσα που μπορουσα να κατανοησω.
ΞΥΠΝΗΣΑ.
ΕΡΧΟΜΑΙ.
Δυο λεξεις. Απλες, καθημερινες. Ποτε δεν ειχα φανταστει οτι θα μπορουσαν να προκαλεσουν τοσο τρομο, τετοια ανατριχιλα και δεος.
Ο Κθουλου ειχε ξυπνησει. Κι εγω ειχα ακουσει τη φωνη του, το πρωτο καλεσμα. Ειδα τον κοσμο να φτιαχνεται, τωρα θα επρεπε να παρακολουθησω την καταδικη του.
Ξαφνικα, ενοιωσα εκεινη τη λαμψη του οραματος να σβηνει. Η αιωνια αστραπη που με οδηγησε σε ολα αυτα ξεθοριαζε. Φοβομουν να γυρισω πισω. Φοβομουν να κανω οτιδηποτε σε ενα κοσμο που ειναι ηδη νεκρος και ουτε καν το ξερει.
Και τοτε, βυθιστηκα σε βαθη υπνο.
-Επιλογος-
Ανοιγω τα ματια μου και αναγκαζομαι να τα ξανακλεισω αποτομα λογω της εντονης διαφορας φωτος. Οταν τα ανοιγω αλλη μια φορα, παρατηρω το περιβαλλον μου χανοντας καθε αισθηση προσανατολισμου.
Βρισκομαι σε ενα λευκο δωματιο. Δεν υπαρχει κανενα παραθυρο, μονο μια πορτα. οι τοιχοι ειναι καλυμενοι με κατι που φαινεται σαν λευκα μαξιλαρια. Απο το ταβανι κρεμεται μια λαμπα, απλη και σκετη.
Τι διαολο..
Προσπαθω να κουνησω τα χερια μου, να σιγουρευτω οτι ειμαι καλα. Ομως δεν γινεται. Τα χερια μου ειναι δεμενα. Με ενα μιγμα εκπληξης και τρομου κοιταω το θωρακα μου. Δεμενος κι αυτος, με σαββανο λευκο.
Θεε μου, ειμαι κλεισμενος σε τρελοκομειο... Και δεν εχψ ιδεα πως ή ποτε βρεθηκα εδω...
Παλευω απελπισμενα να ξεφυγω απο τα δεσμα μου, αλλα ματαια. Οταν παραδινομαι, ακουω μια αντρικη φωνη απο καποιο κοντινο 8αλαμο. Στην Αρχη δεν καταλαβαινω τι λεει, μεχρι που μια γυναικα αρχιζει κι αυτη να επαναλαμβανει τη φραση που εκεινος ειπε. Ολο και πιο πολλες φωνες μπαινουν σ'αυτην τη ψαλμωδια, γιατι σ'αυτο καταληγει. Και οταν φτανει στο αποκορυφωμα του, οταν ολοι ψελνουν ρυθμικα με την πιο δυνατη τους φωνη, η φραση γινεται κατανοητη και σε μενα.
ΙΑ.
ΙΑ.
ΚΘΟΥΛΟΥ Φ'Τ'ΑΓΚΝ.
Και ξανα και ξανα. Η επικληση του Κθουλου. Που σημαινει οτι οχι μονο ξερουν οτι ξυπνησε, αλλα οτι αυτοι οι ανθρωποι γινονται τελαληδες του ερχομου του.
Σηκωνομαι και τρεχω στην πορτα. Αρχιζω να τη χτυπαω με τα ποδια και το κεφαλι μου. Με κατακλυζει μια φλεγομενη οργη και αρχιζω να φωναζω και να φτυνω για να μ'ακουσουν αυτοι που τοσο αδικα με κλειδωσαν εδω μεσα.
Ανοητοι! Αγνομωνες ηλιθιοι! Πως γινεται να μην το ακουτε; Πως γινεται να ειστε τοσο τυφλοι;! Ολος ο κοσμος θα χαθει λογω της ανοησιας σας! ο Κθουλου ξυπνησε και η καταστροφη τον ακολουθει! Να πεθανετε! Θα πεθανουμε ολοι! Χαχαχαχα!
Γελαω. Γελαω και κλαιω ταυτοχρονα. Και συνεχεια, ακουο το κυκνειο ασμα αυτου του κοσμου.
ΙΑ.
ΙΑ.
ΚΘΟΥΛΟΥ Φ'Τ'ΑΓΚΝ.
-Τελος-
Και τοτε ακουσα τη πρωτη φωνη, το πρωτο καλεσμα. Ενας ηχος, μια λεξη, μια φρικη, ενα τραγουδι τρομου, συνοθηλευμα νοτων και διεστραμενων μελοδιων απο μια ορχηστρα με μοναδικα τις οργανα κραυγες. Κρατησε ενα δευτερολεπτο ή ενα αιωνα. Ουτε μπορεσα ουτε μπορω να καταλαβω. Ο χρονος δεν ειχε καμια υποσταση, καμια σημασια.
Απο τις κραυγες, απο τους αλλοκοσμους ηχους και οχι απο καπου στο χωρο, γιατι ουτε χωρος υπηρχε εκεινη τη στιγμη, εκεινη τη χιλιετια, ενας ακομα λογοσ μπλεχτηκε στον ηχο, μια αβυσσαλεα φωνη, τοσο αρχαιγωνη, τοσο βροντερη και φρικιαστικη, που εκανε την παραφωνια που την ξεβρασε να βγαζει καποιο νογμα, να αποκταει μελωδια.
Και απο τη φωνη προβαλε ο πρωτος Παλαιος. Ο πρωτος γιγαντας, η πρωτη μορφη, το πρωτο αποκοσμο συμπλεγμα μελων, ποδια, βραγχια, πλοκαμια, φτερα, μελη φαινομενικα απο σαρκα και γλιτσα και κανενα χαρακτηριστικο που να μπορει να αναγνωρισει ο ανθρωπινος νους στην ολοτητα του. Στο μεγεθος, το αρχαιο αυτο πλασμα το οποιο βρισκοταν εκει απο την αρχη των παντων, πριν ακομα τα αστερια να δουν την πρωτη τους αυγη, ο οριζοντας δεν το χωρουσε κι ουτε ποτε θα μπορουσε. Καθε ουλη, καθε χαρακια, καθε κρατηρας και ρωγμη πανω του φαινοταν με αποκαρδιοτικα μεγαλη λεπτομερεια. Τα ματια του ηταν ο ηλιος και το φεγγαρι κι ολα τα αστρα, μ'ενα φως που ξεπερνουσε τη φαντασια, κοκκινο σαν τη πρωτη σταγωνα αιματος που επεσε ποτε.
Η αληθεια ειναι πως δεν χρειαζοταν φωνη. Η παρουσια του ηταν αρκετη για να σε τρελανει 'η να σε διαφωτησει, δειχνωντας σου τα πιο βαθια και σκοτεινα μερη του ανθρωπινου μυαλου, εκει που γεννιουνται ο φοβος και ο τρομος και η ελπιδα πεθαινει.
Ενιωσα να με δειχνει. Να αναγνωριζει την παρουσια μου, να σιγουρευεται οτι ο μικρος νους μου μπορουσε να τον αντεξει, εστω και σε αυτην την ατιμοτικη γι αυτον μικρογραφια τησ ααιναης και ανυποτης παρουσιας του στο συμπαν.
Με κοιταζε. Απο την αρχη με κοιταζε, ολον. Και μαζι με μενα τα παντα. Το σημειο εστιασης του ηταν η υπαρξη η ιδια. Τα ματια του με πλησιαζαν, κι αν σκεφτει κανεις το μεγεθοσ και το χωρο που καταλαμβανε δεν θα μπορουσε παρα να μεινει αφωνος απο τρομο και ενθουσιασμο απο την ταχυτητα του, αν και μπροστα σε ενα τετοιο θεαμα απο την αρχη δεν μπορουσες να κανεις αλλιως.
Κοιταζα και γω, ανημπορος να κανω διαφορετικα. Παρατηρησα οτι οι ηχοι και οι φωνες ειχαν τελειωσει. Η φωνη, η ανασα ή οι σκεψεις του ειχαν παρει τη θεση της κοσμικης ησυχειας, με τον ιδιο τροπο που οι κορνες και οι μηχανες των αυτοκινητων γινονται μερος των καθημερινων ηχων, πισω στη φυσιολογικη ζωη.
Μονο να κοιταζω μπορουσα. Και μετα απο λιγες ανασες ή λιγες ζωες, αυτο που εβλεπα ηταν το διαστημα. Αστερια και βραχια, χωρις κανενα σημειο αναφορας. Κανενας γνωστος πλανητης ή εστω καποιο ιχνος του. Και ξαφνικα ολα απεκτησαν κινηση, ολα καθιερωσαν τις περιστροφες και τις πορειες τους, αυτες που θα κρατουσαν για χρονια χιλιαδες χιλιαδων, εκατομοιρια εκατομοιριων. Απο κει που δεν εφτανε η οραση μου, εμφανιστηκε το πλασμα, μικροτερο ξατα πολυ, κατευθηνομενο προς τα καπου μπροστα. Παρατηροντας το λιγο, καταλαβα οτι δεν ειναι το ιδιο με αυτο που εμφανιστηκε μπροστα μου στην αρχη. Αυτο που εβλεπα εκεινη τη στιγμη ηταν πιο νεο, πιο πολυ κοντα στις πρωτες του εποχες. Το οτι μετα εμφανιστηκαν κι αλλα απο αυτα τα τρομερα οντα, το καθενα μοναδικα πιο φρικιαστικο απο το αλλο, με βοηθησε να σιγουρεψω τισ υποψιες μου. Πλασματα αρχαια, πιο παλια κι απ το σκοταδι, και ολα κατευθηνονταν προς το ιδιο σημειο.
Χωρις να κινηθω σ'αυτην την αχανη και ατελειωτη απλα, τους ακολου8ησα. Ημουν πλεον παρατηρητης. Σε τι ομως δεν το γνωριζα ακομα. Και αφου ειχα φτασει ως, οσο κι αν ευχομουν να μην ηξερα τιποτα, να μην ειχε γινει τιποτα, να ηταν ολα ενα ονειρο, ηξερα οτι ολα αυτα ηταν αληθινα. Τοσο, που ξεπερνουσαν και την ιδια την αληθεια.
Απο αυτο το ατελειωτο μαυρο τους ακολουθουσα, περνοντας καθε τοσο διπλα απο καποιο ερημο και αγνωστο πλανητη, λουσμενος απο το φως ενος λοχου απο ηλιους αλλων γαλαξιων, περα μακρια. Αυτο το ταξιδι πρεπει να κρατησε πολυ, ακομα και γι αυτους τους Παλαιους, ομως κανεις δεν εβγαζε μιλια, ή τουλαχιστον εγς δεν ειχα οτι χρειαζοταν για να τους ακουσω ή να συγκρατησω τα λογια τους, βαρια οσο νεογεννητοι γαλαξιες.
Μεχρι που ο Ενας, αυτος που ηρθε να με βρει, εβγαλε μια κολλοδη και χολερη φωνη και ολοι σταματησαν. Μαζι και γω.
Κοιταξσα γυρω μου, και ενα φριχτο αισθημα αναγνωρισησ με κατελυσε. Ειδα τη Σεληνη. Τη δικη μας Σεληνη. Αργησα λιγο να το καταλαβω γιατι ακομα δεν ειχε ουτε ενα κρατηρα, αλλα αυτο που κοιταζα ηταν πραγματι το φεγγαρι. Πραγμα που σημαινε οτι.. Κοιταξα κι αλλου. Ο Διας, μικρος. Ο Κρονος, χωρις τα αστρικα δαχτυλιδια του. Ο Αρης, με μερικες μπλε πινελιες. Δεν ηθελα να δω που πηγεναν εκεινοι. Γιατι ηξερα. Ναι, μεσα μου το ηξερα καλα, αυτο που μου φαινοταν απιστευτο. Και κοιταξα.
Και ειδα τη Γη.
Και τα πλασματα εκοψαν κατι το ενα απο το αλλο, αφηνοντας απαισιους ηχους σκισηματοσ σαρκας και μεμβρανης. Αυτα τα κομματια τα πεταξαν στη Γη, σε μια Γη με περισσοτερο εδαφος παρα νερο. Και μεσα στις σκεψεις μου ξαφνικα ηξερα οτι τα κομματια ηταν σποροι. Εκεινοι ηθελαν να φυτεψουν το ειδος τους στη Γη. Να μεγαλωσουν, να ευημερισουν, να ελεγξουν, να σκλαβωσουν και στο τελος να καταβροχθησουν.
Μπροστα σ'ολα αυτα, ο τρομος με ετρωγε μεσα μου σα σαρακι. Η κορυφψση ολης αυτησ της φρικης ηταν οταν γυρισε να με κοιταξει Εκεινος, ο Πρωτος. Και μου εδειξε, οχι με καποια κινηση αλλα με μια του σκεψη, να κοιταξω πιο προσεκτικα και να δω τη δημιουργια και συναμα την καταρα της καταστροφης ενος κοσμου. Και τοτε..
Γη, βλαστηση, δεντρα. Κανενα ζωο και κανενας ηχος απο καποιο που8ενα. Απο πανω επεφταν κομητες. Ενας επεσε μπροστα μου, πετωντας παντου φωτια, βλεννα και ιστο αλλα εγω εμεινα ανεπαφος σ'αυτο το μακαβριο οραμα του παρελθοντος. Οι εποχες αλλαζαν με μια ανασα, αφηνοντας το σπορο να μεγαλωσει, μεχρι ποθ απο μεσα του βγηκε ενας απο εκεινους, ερποντας με τα σαπια μελη του, ακολου8ουμενος απο αλλα, μικροτερα νεογνα. Ομως το μεγεθος του δεν ειχε καμια σημασια τοτε, ουτε εφερνε καποιο συναισθημα παρηγοριας ή ελπιδας. Αντιθετα, δυσοιωνα προμηνυε τη σκοτεινη μοιρα αυτου του κοσμου.
Ο χρονος προχορουσε και η φυλη Τους ευδοκιμουσε. Σιγα-σιγα εμφανιστηκε και ο ανθρωπος, αβεβαιος και μικρος στα πρωτα του βηματα στη Γη, που εμελε να γινει μια πελορια σκακιερα των Παλαιων πλασματων με πιονια τους σκλαβους τους, τους ανθρωπους.
Ω, με τι δολο, με τι ζηλο και τυραννια βασιλευαν, εκεινοι, οι γηραιοτεροι του σκοταδιου του ιδιου, με τι ακριβεια υφαιναν τα κοσμικα τους σχεδια χωρις κανενα οικτο και κανενα σημαδι καλοσυνης ή αδυναμιας.
Και ξαφνικα, κατι αλλαξε. Σαν ενα μικρο γραναζι σε μια υπεργαλαξιακη μηχανη που σταματησε να λειτουργει οπως επρεπε, οπως ηταν γραφτο, γιατι απεκτησε συνειδηση. Γνωση. Θυμο.
Ελευ8ερια.
Και βρεθηκα παλι στο διαστημα, να κοιταζω το μιασμενο αυτο πλανητη. Η Γη αλλαζε. Το εδαφος πρωτα και υστερα οι ωκεανοι. Η υδρογειος βαφοταν κοκκινη, οι ωκεανοι γινονταν τεραστιες λιμνες απο αιμα ανθρωπων και Παλαιων. Και καθως η θαλασσα αυτη η κοκκινη επνιγε τη στερια, καταλαβα γιατι στην αρχη μου φανηκε οτι η Γη ειχε λιγοτερο νερο απ' οτι επρεπε, και γιατι καθως παρακολουθουσα ο πλανητης γινοταν πανομοιοτυπος με το σημερινο.. Θεε μου, κολυμπαμε στο αιμα των προγονων μας και των δικων τους μαζι...
Πολεμος. Ο πρωτος, ο μεγαλυτερος ολων, ο πιο μακαβριος, αυτος που εφερε ριζικες αλλαγες. Και απ' οτι μπορουσα να καταλαβω, πρεπει να κρατησε γενιες ολοκρηρες. Το πιο τρομερο και φρικιαστικο συναμα ηταν οτι η ανθρωποτητα εχανε.
Μεχρι που εκεινοι αποφασισαν οτι δεν ηθελαν να μας εξαλειψουν, οχι για καποιο αλλο λογο, οχι απο ελεος, αλλα επειδη τους ημασταν βολικοι σαν σκλαβοι, σαν τροφη. Σαν παιχνιδια. Οι Παλαιοι εφυγαν. Αποφασισαν να μας αφησουν να πολλαπλασιαστουμε, σαν τα ζωα που ημασταν. Αφησαν πισω τους καποιον να μας προσεχει, οσο θα κοιμοταν βαθια, στον πατο του πιο σκοτεινου ωκεανου, στα ερειπια τησ πνιγμενης τους πολης.
Η πολη τους ειχε ενα ονομα που δεν μπορουσε να προφερθει απο στομα διαφορετικο απο το δικο τους, μα πανω στον πρωτο της λιθο γραψανε Εκεινοι τ'ονομα της σε μια γλωσσα και γραφη δικη τους, που ηταν η εξοδος του ανθρωπου απο τις ζωοδεις κραυγες και τα μουγκρητα του. Και το ονομα της πολης πολλους αιωνες μετα μπορεσε να μεταφραστει, οσο ηταν δυνατο. Την ειπαν Ρ'Λυε. Η Βυθισμενη πολη.
Και εκεινος που αφησαν εκει, εκεινος που απο τοτε κοιμαται κι ονειρευεται, η ανθρωποτητα εμαθε κι αυτου το ονομα, οπως και τον τρομο του να το προφερουν, μηπως ακουσει το καλεσμα και απο τα σκοτεινοτερα βαθη της θαλασσας ξυπνησει και φερει στο διαβα του τρελα, τρομο και ολεθρο. Το ονομα του θα παρεμενε παντοτινα στο ασυνειδητο του νου: Κθουλου.
Ακομα χαμενος σ'αυτην την αποκαλυψη, βρισκομουν και παλι ενοποιων του Αρχαιου που με καλεσε. Ενοπιων αυτου του φρικαλεου συμπλεγματος απο νεκρα αλλα κινουμενα πλοκαμια εκει που τα υπολοιπα ζωα εχουν το στομα τους. Μπροστα στα ματια που βλεπουν τα παντα. Που ακουν ακομα τους αποηχους των προτων νεκρων αστεριων. Και τοτε ακουσα για πρωτη φορα τη φωνη του σε μια γλωσσα που μπορουσα να κατανοησω.
ΞΥΠΝΗΣΑ.
ΕΡΧΟΜΑΙ.
Δυο λεξεις. Απλες, καθημερινες. Ποτε δεν ειχα φανταστει οτι θα μπορουσαν να προκαλεσουν τοσο τρομο, τετοια ανατριχιλα και δεος.
Ο Κθουλου ειχε ξυπνησει. Κι εγω ειχα ακουσει τη φωνη του, το πρωτο καλεσμα. Ειδα τον κοσμο να φτιαχνεται, τωρα θα επρεπε να παρακολουθησω την καταδικη του.
Ξαφνικα, ενοιωσα εκεινη τη λαμψη του οραματος να σβηνει. Η αιωνια αστραπη που με οδηγησε σε ολα αυτα ξεθοριαζε. Φοβομουν να γυρισω πισω. Φοβομουν να κανω οτιδηποτε σε ενα κοσμο που ειναι ηδη νεκρος και ουτε καν το ξερει.
Και τοτε, βυθιστηκα σε βαθη υπνο.
-Επιλογος-
Ανοιγω τα ματια μου και αναγκαζομαι να τα ξανακλεισω αποτομα λογω της εντονης διαφορας φωτος. Οταν τα ανοιγω αλλη μια φορα, παρατηρω το περιβαλλον μου χανοντας καθε αισθηση προσανατολισμου.
Βρισκομαι σε ενα λευκο δωματιο. Δεν υπαρχει κανενα παραθυρο, μονο μια πορτα. οι τοιχοι ειναι καλυμενοι με κατι που φαινεται σαν λευκα μαξιλαρια. Απο το ταβανι κρεμεται μια λαμπα, απλη και σκετη.
Τι διαολο..
Προσπαθω να κουνησω τα χερια μου, να σιγουρευτω οτι ειμαι καλα. Ομως δεν γινεται. Τα χερια μου ειναι δεμενα. Με ενα μιγμα εκπληξης και τρομου κοιταω το θωρακα μου. Δεμενος κι αυτος, με σαββανο λευκο.
Θεε μου, ειμαι κλεισμενος σε τρελοκομειο... Και δεν εχψ ιδεα πως ή ποτε βρεθηκα εδω...
Παλευω απελπισμενα να ξεφυγω απο τα δεσμα μου, αλλα ματαια. Οταν παραδινομαι, ακουω μια αντρικη φωνη απο καποιο κοντινο 8αλαμο. Στην Αρχη δεν καταλαβαινω τι λεει, μεχρι που μια γυναικα αρχιζει κι αυτη να επαναλαμβανει τη φραση που εκεινος ειπε. Ολο και πιο πολλες φωνες μπαινουν σ'αυτην τη ψαλμωδια, γιατι σ'αυτο καταληγει. Και οταν φτανει στο αποκορυφωμα του, οταν ολοι ψελνουν ρυθμικα με την πιο δυνατη τους φωνη, η φραση γινεται κατανοητη και σε μενα.
ΙΑ.
ΙΑ.
ΚΘΟΥΛΟΥ Φ'Τ'ΑΓΚΝ.
Και ξανα και ξανα. Η επικληση του Κθουλου. Που σημαινει οτι οχι μονο ξερουν οτι ξυπνησε, αλλα οτι αυτοι οι ανθρωποι γινονται τελαληδες του ερχομου του.
Σηκωνομαι και τρεχω στην πορτα. Αρχιζω να τη χτυπαω με τα ποδια και το κεφαλι μου. Με κατακλυζει μια φλεγομενη οργη και αρχιζω να φωναζω και να φτυνω για να μ'ακουσουν αυτοι που τοσο αδικα με κλειδωσαν εδω μεσα.
Ανοητοι! Αγνομωνες ηλιθιοι! Πως γινεται να μην το ακουτε; Πως γινεται να ειστε τοσο τυφλοι;! Ολος ο κοσμος θα χαθει λογω της ανοησιας σας! ο Κθουλου ξυπνησε και η καταστροφη τον ακολουθει! Να πεθανετε! Θα πεθανουμε ολοι! Χαχαχαχα!
Γελαω. Γελαω και κλαιω ταυτοχρονα. Και συνεχεια, ακουο το κυκνειο ασμα αυτου του κοσμου.
ΙΑ.
ΙΑ.
ΚΘΟΥΛΟΥ Φ'Τ'ΑΓΚΝ.
-Τελος-
Σάββατο 22 Νοεμβρίου 2008
Περί της όψης των πραγμάτων
Ακούω από τότε που ήμουν μικρός, να λένε συνέχεια πως 'τα πράγματα δεν είναι όπως φαίνονται', ή πως 'ό,τι λάμπει δεν είναι χρυσός'.
Για να πώ την αλήθεια, το δεύτερο δεν είναι και λάθος, άλλα αν σκευτεί κανείς το πρώτο, ότι τα πράγματα δεν είναι όπως φαίνονται, αν κάποιος το ξανασκεφτόταν, θα έφτανε ίσως στο συμπέρασμα πως, ίσως αυτοί που δεν μπορούν να δούν είμαστε εμείς οι ίδιοι. Δεν είναι, δηλαδή, ότι το υποκείμενο κρύβει τη φύση του πίσω από πέπλα ψεμμάτων, ψέφτικων χαμόγελων και μπλόφας.
Ας αναλογιστούμε λίγο την κατάσταση κρατώντας ένα αρκετά απλό παράδειγμα κατά νού:
Έστω ένας άνδρας, ο οποίος έχει προβλήματα όρασης. Και καθώς διαβαίνει το μονοπάτι του, βρίσκει εμπρός του μια πανέμορφη γυναίκα, την οποία, φυσικά, θέλει να ακολουθήσει. Τώρα, δεν μπορεί να το κάνει αυτό εύκολα καθώς δεν μπορεί να δεί καθαρά το τί βρίσκεται μπροστά του. Υπάρχουν τρόποι να βοηθηθεί. Υπάρχουν τα γυαλιά. Υπάρχουν τα λευκά μπαστούνια, τα οποία θα τον βοηθήσουν να νιώσει τι βρίσκεται στο διάβα του. Μπορεί κάλλιστα να υπάρξει μια λάμπα ή ένας πυρσός, αν είναι σκοτεινά είτε απο την ώρα της ημέρας είτε λόγω των ματιών του.
Τώρα, αυτός ο άνδρας σχεδόν σίγουρα δεν θα ακολουθήσει τη γυναίκα αν δεν έχει στην κατοχή του τα προαναφερθέντα αντικείμενα. Στην πραγματικότητα, μπορεί εξ αρχής να δεί λανθασμένα, περνόντας την γυναίκα ώς άσχημη ή αποθητική, και εν τούτις δεν θα την ακολουθήσει καθόλου.
Ο άνδρας αντιπροσωπεύει τους ανθρώπους, και η γυναίκα συμβολίζει την αλήθεια. Τώρα, αν η λογική του ανθρώπου ή η αντίληψη που έχει πάνω στο πώς έχουν τα πράματα είναι λανθασμένη (αποικονιζόμενη ώς η χαμηλή του ικανότητα όρασης), είναι σίγουρο πώς θα παρερμηεύσει την αλήθεια, ή να φτάσει στα δικά του συμπεράσματα. Αυτό δεν σημαίνει απαραίτητα πως ό,τι νομίζει ειναι στην ουσία μια αντικειμενική αλήθεια, ούτε ότι η αλήθεια είναι διαφορετική απο αυτήν που στην πραγματικότητα είναι. Εάν έχει μελετήσει το πως έχουν τα πράγματα, τότε του δίνεται ο πυρσός, και αν είναι πρόθυμος να αφήσει τα δόγματά και τα αυτεπιβαλλόμενα δεσμά του κατά μέρους της λογικής και της κρίσης του, κερδίζει τα γυαλιά του. Γνωρίζοντας μερικά γεγονότα για την αντικειμενική αλήθεια, μην αφήνοντας τα συναισθήματά του να μπλεχτούν ή να μπούν στη μέση της, του δίνεται το μπαστούνι, με το οποίο ξέρει που βρίσκεται.
Άλλο ένα παράδειγμα. Ο Αλέξανδρος είναι ένας απλός άνθρωπος, χωρίς αυτό να τον κάνει κουτό. Η Λένα είναι πολύ καλή στο να λέει ψέμματα. Εάν η Λένα πεί ψέμματα τον Αλέξανδρο και ο δεύτερος την πιστέψει, τότε το λάθος είναι του τελευταίου, επειδή δεν έχει μελετήσει την φύση των αν8ρώπινων ψεμμάτων αρκετά έτσι ώστε να μπορεί να κρίνει αν η Λένα προσπαθεί να του πεί ψέμματα ή οχι. Μπορεί να ακούστει λάθος στον Αλέξανδρο, αλλά η Λένα σίγουρα θα συμφωνούσε. Και βασικά, η Λένα θα έλεγε επίσης ότι η ικανότητες της στο να λέει ψέμματα ειναι τέλειες, περιαυτολογόντας, αλλά αυτό είναι επίσης ο τρόπος με τον οποίον παρεμβαίνει στην αλή8εια.
Δεν είναι ότι η Λέννα δεν είναι όπως φαίνεται. Η Λένα είναι ψεύτρα. Κάποιος που την έχει μελετήσει, ή κάποιος που απλά την γνωρίζει για αρκετό καιρό μπορεί να το ξέρει ως γεγονός. Συνεπώς, αν ο προηγούμενος υποστεί ένα απο τα ψέμματα της Λένας, θα το καταλάβουν και θα ξεφύγουν απο αυτά, αγγίζοντας την αλήθεια πίσω απο το ψέμα τησ Λένας.
Και θέτω για άλλη μια φορά το ερώτημα. Είναι ότι τα πράγματα διαφέρουν απο αυτό που φαίνονται να είναι, ή είναι ότι απλά εμείς δεν μπορούμε να τα δούμε με έναν απρόσωπο τρόπο; Θέτωντας το αλλιώς, είναι ότι το γυαλί είναι θολό, ή μήπως το θολώσαμε εμείς με την ανάσα μας;
Πιστεύω πως είναι θέμα ανάλυσης. Όταν σταματήσουμε να πιστεύουμε ότι είμαστε ανενεργοί παρατηρητές και αρχίσουμε ουσιαστικά να μελετάμε το περιβάλλον μας, αρχίζουμε να βρίσκουμε πρότυπα, συμπεριφορές και πράξεις που πολόι άνθρωποι μοιράζονται, και τότε μπορούμε να αρχήσουμε να κατανοούμε καλύτερα και βαθύτερα ό,τι γίνεται τριγύρω μας, που πας οδηγεί στο δεύτερο βήμα, που είναι να κάνουμε κάτι γι' αυτό.
Το να έχεις μελετήσει την φύση των ανθρωπίνων ψεμμάτων, ας πούμε, σου δίνει δύο πολύ ευρείες επιλογες. Να πεις ψέμματα τέλεια, ή να αναγνωρισεις το ψέμμα και να βρείς την αλήθεια πίσω απο αυτό. Φυσικά, τίποτα δεν έχει μόνο δύο πλευρές, ή άσπρο και μαύρο. Συνεπώς κάποιος θα μπορούσε να κάνει εύκολα λίγο απ' το καθένα, να λέει ψέμματα και να τα καταλαβαίνει όταν του λένε εκείνου, ή να μην ψεύδεται καν. Είναι μια υποκειμενικότατη επιλογή, που κάποιος θα μπορούσε να κάνει προς το συμφέρον του, μετρώντας όμως τις συνέποιες.
Άρα, το σημερινό μάθημα; Να κρατάτε το μυαλό σας ανοιχτό, φαντάζομαι. Προσπαθήστε να δείτε τα πράγματα ως έχουν, όχι όπως θέλετε να τα δείτε, και μά τους θεούς, όχι, επαναλαμβάνω ΟΧΙ όπως θέλουν οι άλλοι να τα δείτε. Το μυαλό είναι σαν το αλεξίπτωοτο, δουλεύει μόνο αν είναι ανοιχτό, και όταν είναι σε σώζει.
Αυτά για σήμερα
Για να πώ την αλήθεια, το δεύτερο δεν είναι και λάθος, άλλα αν σκευτεί κανείς το πρώτο, ότι τα πράγματα δεν είναι όπως φαίνονται, αν κάποιος το ξανασκεφτόταν, θα έφτανε ίσως στο συμπέρασμα πως, ίσως αυτοί που δεν μπορούν να δούν είμαστε εμείς οι ίδιοι. Δεν είναι, δηλαδή, ότι το υποκείμενο κρύβει τη φύση του πίσω από πέπλα ψεμμάτων, ψέφτικων χαμόγελων και μπλόφας.
Ας αναλογιστούμε λίγο την κατάσταση κρατώντας ένα αρκετά απλό παράδειγμα κατά νού:
Έστω ένας άνδρας, ο οποίος έχει προβλήματα όρασης. Και καθώς διαβαίνει το μονοπάτι του, βρίσκει εμπρός του μια πανέμορφη γυναίκα, την οποία, φυσικά, θέλει να ακολουθήσει. Τώρα, δεν μπορεί να το κάνει αυτό εύκολα καθώς δεν μπορεί να δεί καθαρά το τί βρίσκεται μπροστά του. Υπάρχουν τρόποι να βοηθηθεί. Υπάρχουν τα γυαλιά. Υπάρχουν τα λευκά μπαστούνια, τα οποία θα τον βοηθήσουν να νιώσει τι βρίσκεται στο διάβα του. Μπορεί κάλλιστα να υπάρξει μια λάμπα ή ένας πυρσός, αν είναι σκοτεινά είτε απο την ώρα της ημέρας είτε λόγω των ματιών του.
Τώρα, αυτός ο άνδρας σχεδόν σίγουρα δεν θα ακολουθήσει τη γυναίκα αν δεν έχει στην κατοχή του τα προαναφερθέντα αντικείμενα. Στην πραγματικότητα, μπορεί εξ αρχής να δεί λανθασμένα, περνόντας την γυναίκα ώς άσχημη ή αποθητική, και εν τούτις δεν θα την ακολουθήσει καθόλου.
Ο άνδρας αντιπροσωπεύει τους ανθρώπους, και η γυναίκα συμβολίζει την αλήθεια. Τώρα, αν η λογική του ανθρώπου ή η αντίληψη που έχει πάνω στο πώς έχουν τα πράματα είναι λανθασμένη (αποικονιζόμενη ώς η χαμηλή του ικανότητα όρασης), είναι σίγουρο πώς θα παρερμηεύσει την αλήθεια, ή να φτάσει στα δικά του συμπεράσματα. Αυτό δεν σημαίνει απαραίτητα πως ό,τι νομίζει ειναι στην ουσία μια αντικειμενική αλήθεια, ούτε ότι η αλήθεια είναι διαφορετική απο αυτήν που στην πραγματικότητα είναι. Εάν έχει μελετήσει το πως έχουν τα πράγματα, τότε του δίνεται ο πυρσός, και αν είναι πρόθυμος να αφήσει τα δόγματά και τα αυτεπιβαλλόμενα δεσμά του κατά μέρους της λογικής και της κρίσης του, κερδίζει τα γυαλιά του. Γνωρίζοντας μερικά γεγονότα για την αντικειμενική αλήθεια, μην αφήνοντας τα συναισθήματά του να μπλεχτούν ή να μπούν στη μέση της, του δίνεται το μπαστούνι, με το οποίο ξέρει που βρίσκεται.
Άλλο ένα παράδειγμα. Ο Αλέξανδρος είναι ένας απλός άνθρωπος, χωρίς αυτό να τον κάνει κουτό. Η Λένα είναι πολύ καλή στο να λέει ψέμματα. Εάν η Λένα πεί ψέμματα τον Αλέξανδρο και ο δεύτερος την πιστέψει, τότε το λάθος είναι του τελευταίου, επειδή δεν έχει μελετήσει την φύση των αν8ρώπινων ψεμμάτων αρκετά έτσι ώστε να μπορεί να κρίνει αν η Λένα προσπαθεί να του πεί ψέμματα ή οχι. Μπορεί να ακούστει λάθος στον Αλέξανδρο, αλλά η Λένα σίγουρα θα συμφωνούσε. Και βασικά, η Λένα θα έλεγε επίσης ότι η ικανότητες της στο να λέει ψέμματα ειναι τέλειες, περιαυτολογόντας, αλλά αυτό είναι επίσης ο τρόπος με τον οποίον παρεμβαίνει στην αλή8εια.
Δεν είναι ότι η Λέννα δεν είναι όπως φαίνεται. Η Λένα είναι ψεύτρα. Κάποιος που την έχει μελετήσει, ή κάποιος που απλά την γνωρίζει για αρκετό καιρό μπορεί να το ξέρει ως γεγονός. Συνεπώς, αν ο προηγούμενος υποστεί ένα απο τα ψέμματα της Λένας, θα το καταλάβουν και θα ξεφύγουν απο αυτά, αγγίζοντας την αλήθεια πίσω απο το ψέμα τησ Λένας.
Και θέτω για άλλη μια φορά το ερώτημα. Είναι ότι τα πράγματα διαφέρουν απο αυτό που φαίνονται να είναι, ή είναι ότι απλά εμείς δεν μπορούμε να τα δούμε με έναν απρόσωπο τρόπο; Θέτωντας το αλλιώς, είναι ότι το γυαλί είναι θολό, ή μήπως το θολώσαμε εμείς με την ανάσα μας;
Πιστεύω πως είναι θέμα ανάλυσης. Όταν σταματήσουμε να πιστεύουμε ότι είμαστε ανενεργοί παρατηρητές και αρχίσουμε ουσιαστικά να μελετάμε το περιβάλλον μας, αρχίζουμε να βρίσκουμε πρότυπα, συμπεριφορές και πράξεις που πολόι άνθρωποι μοιράζονται, και τότε μπορούμε να αρχήσουμε να κατανοούμε καλύτερα και βαθύτερα ό,τι γίνεται τριγύρω μας, που πας οδηγεί στο δεύτερο βήμα, που είναι να κάνουμε κάτι γι' αυτό.
Το να έχεις μελετήσει την φύση των ανθρωπίνων ψεμμάτων, ας πούμε, σου δίνει δύο πολύ ευρείες επιλογες. Να πεις ψέμματα τέλεια, ή να αναγνωρισεις το ψέμμα και να βρείς την αλήθεια πίσω απο αυτό. Φυσικά, τίποτα δεν έχει μόνο δύο πλευρές, ή άσπρο και μαύρο. Συνεπώς κάποιος θα μπορούσε να κάνει εύκολα λίγο απ' το καθένα, να λέει ψέμματα και να τα καταλαβαίνει όταν του λένε εκείνου, ή να μην ψεύδεται καν. Είναι μια υποκειμενικότατη επιλογή, που κάποιος θα μπορούσε να κάνει προς το συμφέρον του, μετρώντας όμως τις συνέποιες.
Άρα, το σημερινό μάθημα; Να κρατάτε το μυαλό σας ανοιχτό, φαντάζομαι. Προσπαθήστε να δείτε τα πράγματα ως έχουν, όχι όπως θέλετε να τα δείτε, και μά τους θεούς, όχι, επαναλαμβάνω ΟΧΙ όπως θέλουν οι άλλοι να τα δείτε. Το μυαλό είναι σαν το αλεξίπτωοτο, δουλεύει μόνο αν είναι ανοιχτό, και όταν είναι σε σώζει.
Αυτά για σήμερα
Τετάρτη 22 Οκτωβρίου 2008
On the look of things.
There's a saying i've most often heard in my life. It goes, 'things
are not always as they seem', or, 'not everything that shines is gold'.
Well, the second one might be right, but when you think about the
first one, that things are not always as they seem, one could actually
give that a second thought, and get to the conclusion that, perhaps the
ones that cannot see are us. It is not, so to say, the subject itself that
hides its nature under mysterious veils of lies, fake smiles and bluff.
Let's look at it keeping a rather simple example in mind:
There is a man, who has vision problems. And as he walks his path, he
finds in front of him a beautiful woman which, naturally, he wishes to
follow. Now, he cannot do that easily for he cannot see clearly what's
ahead. There are ways to help him. There are glasses. There are canes,
which will enable him to feel what lies ahead in his way. There can be a
lamp or a torch, should it be dark either by the hour of the day or by
his own eyes.
Now that man will most certainly not follow the woman if he does not
possess any of the aforementioned items. In fact, he might even see
wrongly from the start, capturing the woman as ugly or appalling,
therefore not going after her at all.
The man depicts the people, and the woman symbolizes the truth. Now,
if the man's logic or perception of things is flawed (depicted as his
low vision), he is bound to misinterpret the truth, or reach his own
conclusions. That doesn't necessarily mean that what he thinks is in
fact a fundamental truth, not that the truth is something other than
what it, in fact, is. If he has studied the ways of things, he is armed
with a torch, and if he is willing to leave his dogmas and self-imposed
boundaries out of his logic and judgment, he acquires his glasses.
Knowing some facts about the fundamental truth, disallowing his fillings
to mix or mess with it, he is given the cane, with which he knows where
he stands.
Another example. Alex is a very simple man, without that making him
daft. Lena is a very good liar. If Lena lies to Alex and alex believes
it, then it was the latter's fault for not having studied the nature of
human lies enough to be able to judge wether or not Lena is lying to
him. It might sound wrong to Alex, but Lena would surely agree. Well,
Lena would also say that her lying skills were flawless, and boast about
them, but that is also her way of interfering with the truth.
It isn't that Lena is not as she seems. Lena is a liar. Someone who
has studied her, or someone who plainly knows her for some time might
know it for a fact. Therefore if they are lied to by Lena, they will
understand and elude it, reaching for the truth behind Lenas' lie.
So I pose the question once again. Is it that things are other than
what they seem, or is it that we don't see them in an impersonal way? In
other words, is it the glass that's blurry, or did we blur it with our
breath?
I believe it is a matter of analysis. When we stop being passive
viewers and actually start to study our surroundings, we find patterns,
behaviours and acts that many people or things share, and then we can
begin to better understand what is around us, which leads us to the
second step, which is doing something about it.
Having studied the nature of human lies, let's say, gives you two very
broad choices. To lie, flawlessly, or to detect lies, and find the truth
behind them. Of course, nothing is two-sided, or black and white.
Therefore one could easily do little of both, lying and understanding
lies, or not lying at all. It is a choice most subjective, which one may
take for their advantage, measuring the consequences.
So, today's lesson? Keep an open mind, I guess. Try to see things as
they are, not as you want to see them, and by gods, not, I repeat NOT as
others want you to see them. A mind is like a parachute, it only works
if it's open, and when it does it saves you.
And I guess that's all for today.
are not always as they seem', or, 'not everything that shines is gold'.
Well, the second one might be right, but when you think about the
first one, that things are not always as they seem, one could actually
give that a second thought, and get to the conclusion that, perhaps the
ones that cannot see are us. It is not, so to say, the subject itself that
hides its nature under mysterious veils of lies, fake smiles and bluff.
Let's look at it keeping a rather simple example in mind:
There is a man, who has vision problems. And as he walks his path, he
finds in front of him a beautiful woman which, naturally, he wishes to
follow. Now, he cannot do that easily for he cannot see clearly what's
ahead. There are ways to help him. There are glasses. There are canes,
which will enable him to feel what lies ahead in his way. There can be a
lamp or a torch, should it be dark either by the hour of the day or by
his own eyes.
Now that man will most certainly not follow the woman if he does not
possess any of the aforementioned items. In fact, he might even see
wrongly from the start, capturing the woman as ugly or appalling,
therefore not going after her at all.
The man depicts the people, and the woman symbolizes the truth. Now,
if the man's logic or perception of things is flawed (depicted as his
low vision), he is bound to misinterpret the truth, or reach his own
conclusions. That doesn't necessarily mean that what he thinks is in
fact a fundamental truth, not that the truth is something other than
what it, in fact, is. If he has studied the ways of things, he is armed
with a torch, and if he is willing to leave his dogmas and self-imposed
boundaries out of his logic and judgment, he acquires his glasses.
Knowing some facts about the fundamental truth, disallowing his fillings
to mix or mess with it, he is given the cane, with which he knows where
he stands.
Another example. Alex is a very simple man, without that making him
daft. Lena is a very good liar. If Lena lies to Alex and alex believes
it, then it was the latter's fault for not having studied the nature of
human lies enough to be able to judge wether or not Lena is lying to
him. It might sound wrong to Alex, but Lena would surely agree. Well,
Lena would also say that her lying skills were flawless, and boast about
them, but that is also her way of interfering with the truth.
It isn't that Lena is not as she seems. Lena is a liar. Someone who
has studied her, or someone who plainly knows her for some time might
know it for a fact. Therefore if they are lied to by Lena, they will
understand and elude it, reaching for the truth behind Lenas' lie.
So I pose the question once again. Is it that things are other than
what they seem, or is it that we don't see them in an impersonal way? In
other words, is it the glass that's blurry, or did we blur it with our
breath?
I believe it is a matter of analysis. When we stop being passive
viewers and actually start to study our surroundings, we find patterns,
behaviours and acts that many people or things share, and then we can
begin to better understand what is around us, which leads us to the
second step, which is doing something about it.
Having studied the nature of human lies, let's say, gives you two very
broad choices. To lie, flawlessly, or to detect lies, and find the truth
behind them. Of course, nothing is two-sided, or black and white.
Therefore one could easily do little of both, lying and understanding
lies, or not lying at all. It is a choice most subjective, which one may
take for their advantage, measuring the consequences.
So, today's lesson? Keep an open mind, I guess. Try to see things as
they are, not as you want to see them, and by gods, not, I repeat NOT as
others want you to see them. A mind is like a parachute, it only works
if it's open, and when it does it saves you.
And I guess that's all for today.
Κυριακή 14 Σεπτεμβρίου 2008
George Sprangler pt 1
December 29, 2005.
"If you are reading this, then I have failed this planet. I do not have much time. Monsters, ancient, untold horrors are after me. I tried! I tried to send them away! But the charms did me no good. If they find me, I'll go back to Arkham and try to fix all this. But if they
THEY'RE HERE
THE DARKNESS COMES
THEY ARE AMONGST US
THEY________"
November 14, 2005.
It was a common, rainy day in Athens, Greece. Freezing, especially since it was night. Yet, that didn't stop all those citizens from taking their evening strolls down the square, chatting and laughing, browsing through things to buy for their loved ones and getting their early christmas trees and ornaments.
And so the time passed, for every common man and woman.
But not for George Sprangler. He was sitting in front of his desk with a cup of coffee, strong and hot, in which he laid his hopes for staying up for as much as he had to, yet not too much, because he was human after all, and he had limits.
He let a big yawn, covering his mouth even though no one was there, and wondered momentarily when would it all end. He looked at his watch, let a weary sigh, and then turned his attention to his desk once again.
It was covered in notes, photos of deformed dead bodies, circular coffee stains, a large notebook and a pen. All of them, signs of his work that evening.
George Sprangler was a policeman. But lately, for some reason, he had been doing the job of a private investigator. It wasn't something as dull and ordinary as spying on the saucy husband of a suspicious spouse, or anything like that. Quite on the contrary, this was an interesting case indeed, and a little more tiring that it should be, he added.
It was by far the strangest case he had ever been on, in all his years on the force. Some months ago, bizarre scenes of murder made their appearance in town. Slowly, one by one at first, then more and more frequently and with more killings each time. And the most peculiar thing about the killings was the way they were executed. As they say, the devil is in the details.
Bodies, tattered and torn, cuts all over them, and strange symbols carved on them, possibly by knife but even the morts weren't sure, each time in five specific points. One on the forehead, between the eyes, one on the back of each palm, one on each foot. Every time, the same symbols on the same spots.
Must be some kind of cult, George thought. The whole five-point thing reminded him somewhat of Stigmata, the four places where Jesus Christ was said to have the wounds from the nails, plus one on the head by the crown of thorns. But one thing he was sure of. Stigmata could never look so.. So hellish, so ritualistic, arcane and mystique. It seemed that whatever it was these guys were doing -there must be more than one after all, how can one person be so brutal?-, they sure knew how to do it, as well as why and with what goal.
Maxwell Adams, his boss had called him to his office, one cold Friday, and explained to him how things were with the murders. Then he told George that he was one of the best, and that he was sure he could trust him. Trust him about what, he didn't say, but George could easily guess.
'The city is not doing well, George. Not well at all. I can't stand seeing my hometown in this kind of distress. As if it wasn't bad enough with all the everyday muggings and murders. Are you willing to help us, Mr. Sprangler?'
George nodded. When his surname was spoken by ol' Max, it meant that hard times were ahead. Maxwell nodded too.
'We need you to investigate the whole thing. Gather as much information about it as you can, then try to find some kind of pattern they might be using, so that we may use it to predict their moves and try to intercept their movements. We attempted, but to no avail. We are counting on you , George.'
How could he resist? It was a pretty interesting case all by itself, and he thought that maybe something good would come out of it, like a promotion or a raise or something.
But that was then. Now, merely a week later, he wished none of it was real. As he glanced at his watch and saw that three hours had passes since midnight, he simply wanted out.
Bone-chilling murders, done in strange places, in strange ways, and even stranger symbols in them. All those ritualistic, gutual glyphs literary carved on the skin of the dead. They gave him an eerie feeling, like he had seen them before, maybe in a distant dream, or perhaps in another life.. No, that wasn't right. George didn't believe in the whole incarnation thing. It couldn't be right. I mean, you just die. And then nothing.
Right?
He put that thought aside, too tired to think about it longer. He had other things to do now. Thirteen murders so far. A total of twenty-nine dead people. The people notice that kind of thing, especially when little crying old ladies go to talk-shows or even the news, mourning the deaths of their sons, daughters or grandchildren - although the latter was a more uncommon case.
And then, everyone asked the most expected and sensible question:
'Who is to blame? Who is killing our loved ones and why isn't anyone doing anything about it?'
After that, the people started making the same question to each other. They wanted to know what they should watch out for. They needed to know what killed their neighbors, even though they could've cared less for them when they were alive.
And Christmas was close. Very close. You can't have people panicking and worrying about some psychopath who decided to ruin their holidays and lives in general. But frankly, George could really care less about that reason. It wasn't solid enough to be a good reason. People were doing, and whoever killed them was out there. That was the whole point of it.
That, and George wasn't a man for christmas.
When he reached his eighteenth year of age, he moved away from his parents' house. Since then his christmas was even worse than before he left. When he was with his parents, every year at that time, all kinds of weird people would arrive, and Mrs. Sprangler would make a giant buffet for the so-called 'relatives' to feast upon. Everyone would shout, curse, talk about golf or backgammon, ignoring George and his mother- they would've done the same to his father, had he not died in an accident at work when George was five.
Unfortunately, things went exactly as George had wished them to. He moved, after his mother got married again and he was sure she was economically able and healthy, and he managed to make a fresh start. But soon he realized that being alone and single at christmas was even worse than being with insolent and greedy relatives.
Ever since, he decided that if the holidays would stop meaning something special to him, then he would simply stop feeling more alone every such time of the year. And so he did.
But hey, since those people cared, and George cared for the community, it wasn't really a choice to leave the case aside, right?
He rubbed his forehead, and then looked at the right side of his office. There was a pack of cigarettes there. George rolled his eyes.
'No way, I quit.' He said out loud.
Yeah, ten times already, an inner voice told him.
Annoyed at his on self, he looked at the pack again with disgust, knowing that these things where a nasty bunch. They killed you slow, promising you bliss and delight, if you only smoked 'one more.. just one more..'. And with each one, you walked one step closer to Death, who seemed to grin and nudge you with His bony fingers to 'Come Hither, Mortal'.
'Hmph' was George's response, and then he tossed the cigarettes away with a careless slap. After that he noticed, in the chaos that was his desk, that underneath the space previously occupied by the cigs, there was the photograph of a young woman, standing in the rain.
She..
With her cute little face, and her wet black hair, with her delightful smile, as she feels the joy and freedom of dancing in the rain, laughing her heart out, not caring about the cold she had just acquired.
George smiled. Maria was her name. He remembered her. How could he forget? She was his first true love, the only one who actually cared for him and bothered to actually understand him.
They'd met while at high school, and while at first they didn't like each other at all, after some time, when both of them decided to look deeper into the personality of one another, they instantly fell in love.
George took Maria's picture in his hands. He kept staring at her gorgeous eyes (even though half-closed, to avoid getting rain in them), and her petite silouette, dramatically toned by her wet clothes. What a night that was.. He caressed the photo on the part of Maria's head.
And now Maria was dead. It was a car accident, or so they told him. They breaks had broken down, and there was no way for her to slow down when she unexpectedly took a quick turn to avoid some stray cat that had probably decided the road was now its home.
He wiped a tear from his eye, with a bitter smile. How cliche. A car, a slippery road, a little animal in the way, no breaks, haha, you're dead. George wondered how many times this kind of thing had actually happened, and to how many people and families.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he decided to let it all go, and call it a day. Or night, at any rate. A long and cold one too, he added to himself. George sighed and went to sleep, taking off none of his clothes and changing into no kind of PJs.
Well, he thought, I never go outside these days, so my clothes aren't dirty, i also wash them regularly, and after all, it's too damn cold to sleep in pajamas.
He switched off his desk's lamp, glimpsing at the disgusting pictures of the victims' unrecognizable bodies one last time -for this night at least-, tried to clear his head, then lied down on his bed.
The change between awareness and restless sleep was almost instant.
* * * * * * * * * *
George Sprangler was standing in the middle of a cobblestone-road, staring at the little houses, all in a dull brown-greyish color, reminding him of some books about old manors he once read.
Where the hell was he? And how did he get here? But.. He couldn't remember where he should've been, too.
He checked his costume jacket's inner pocket, and his hand came to his mouth, holding a nicely carved wooden pipe. Interesting, he thought. For some reason, I feel like I shouldn't be wearing a costume, or having a pipe and matches in my jacket's pocket - or a jacket, as a matter of fact-, and I shouldn't be smoking the pipe, and I shouldn't be playing with my healthy, well-trimmed mustache.
Galloping. Suddenly all his thoughts were drained away by the sudden noise of horses riding fast towards him. By the time the information entered his head, his instinct had already burst into action. George quickly jumped to the side of the road, falling down and avoiding the fast and almost certain death that would have found him, had he not been lucky.
'Crazy fool!'
George turned to look at his near-death-experience cause: a black carriage, horse-dragged, and on top of it, the one that cursed at him, the driver. He opened his eyes wide, upon closer inspection of the drivers face: it had fins. His face structure clearly human, yet he had fins all over! And these full black eyes... Georges jaw dropped.
'Are you alright, sir?' A young female voice asked behind him.
Still looking at the shrinking figure of the carriage rushing through the street, he got up and tried patting on his shoulders to remove the dust.
'Yes, I think I'm alright. Barely dodged it.' While saying this, he turned to face the one who asked him if he was alright.
And then he lost his voice and his throat went dry. What he stared at was a figure of a woman, with a head like some alien octopus, all green and with flaming-red eyes, tentacles where the mouth should have been, and fins for ears.
George took a sudden step back.
'Are you sure you're alright? Sir?' It asked.
George stepped back again, his feet barely keeping him standing upright. Nearly staggering, he managed to say, in a weak and low voice:
'Wh.. What.. Are.. You?..'
'Sir?' The figure's voice was more deep now, ancient, brutal and visceral.
'Get.. Away from me..'
'AZ'GOTGH?' Its voice bellowed like thunder, so elder, so gutual and otherwordly. It would be the voice with which the deep ocean would claim its victims, if it would talk.
George's feet gave up on him. He fell on his back and just barely felt something burning his hand. He quickly glanced at it, and saw that the tobacco from his pipe had fallen on his hand and was burning it. He tossed it aside and noticed a spot of burned skin. He turned his attention to the creature again. The last thing he saw was its tentacles clasped on his head.
'NO!'
And then he was on his bed again, breathing fast, sweating and touching his face on the places where the tentacles had caught him. It was all a dream... He went to the kitchen to get a glass of water to calm him down. And when he reached out to get a glass, he noticed something on his right hand.
A spot of burned skin.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"If you are reading this, then I have failed this planet. I do not have much time. Monsters, ancient, untold horrors are after me. I tried! I tried to send them away! But the charms did me no good. If they find me, I'll go back to Arkham and try to fix all this. But if they
THEY'RE HERE
THE DARKNESS COMES
THEY ARE AMONGST US
THEY________"
November 14, 2005.
It was a common, rainy day in Athens, Greece. Freezing, especially since it was night. Yet, that didn't stop all those citizens from taking their evening strolls down the square, chatting and laughing, browsing through things to buy for their loved ones and getting their early christmas trees and ornaments.
And so the time passed, for every common man and woman.
But not for George Sprangler. He was sitting in front of his desk with a cup of coffee, strong and hot, in which he laid his hopes for staying up for as much as he had to, yet not too much, because he was human after all, and he had limits.
He let a big yawn, covering his mouth even though no one was there, and wondered momentarily when would it all end. He looked at his watch, let a weary sigh, and then turned his attention to his desk once again.
It was covered in notes, photos of deformed dead bodies, circular coffee stains, a large notebook and a pen. All of them, signs of his work that evening.
George Sprangler was a policeman. But lately, for some reason, he had been doing the job of a private investigator. It wasn't something as dull and ordinary as spying on the saucy husband of a suspicious spouse, or anything like that. Quite on the contrary, this was an interesting case indeed, and a little more tiring that it should be, he added.
It was by far the strangest case he had ever been on, in all his years on the force. Some months ago, bizarre scenes of murder made their appearance in town. Slowly, one by one at first, then more and more frequently and with more killings each time. And the most peculiar thing about the killings was the way they were executed. As they say, the devil is in the details.
Bodies, tattered and torn, cuts all over them, and strange symbols carved on them, possibly by knife but even the morts weren't sure, each time in five specific points. One on the forehead, between the eyes, one on the back of each palm, one on each foot. Every time, the same symbols on the same spots.
Must be some kind of cult, George thought. The whole five-point thing reminded him somewhat of Stigmata, the four places where Jesus Christ was said to have the wounds from the nails, plus one on the head by the crown of thorns. But one thing he was sure of. Stigmata could never look so.. So hellish, so ritualistic, arcane and mystique. It seemed that whatever it was these guys were doing -there must be more than one after all, how can one person be so brutal?-, they sure knew how to do it, as well as why and with what goal.
Maxwell Adams, his boss had called him to his office, one cold Friday, and explained to him how things were with the murders. Then he told George that he was one of the best, and that he was sure he could trust him. Trust him about what, he didn't say, but George could easily guess.
'The city is not doing well, George. Not well at all. I can't stand seeing my hometown in this kind of distress. As if it wasn't bad enough with all the everyday muggings and murders. Are you willing to help us, Mr. Sprangler?'
George nodded. When his surname was spoken by ol' Max, it meant that hard times were ahead. Maxwell nodded too.
'We need you to investigate the whole thing. Gather as much information about it as you can, then try to find some kind of pattern they might be using, so that we may use it to predict their moves and try to intercept their movements. We attempted, but to no avail. We are counting on you , George.'
How could he resist? It was a pretty interesting case all by itself, and he thought that maybe something good would come out of it, like a promotion or a raise or something.
But that was then. Now, merely a week later, he wished none of it was real. As he glanced at his watch and saw that three hours had passes since midnight, he simply wanted out.
Bone-chilling murders, done in strange places, in strange ways, and even stranger symbols in them. All those ritualistic, gutual glyphs literary carved on the skin of the dead. They gave him an eerie feeling, like he had seen them before, maybe in a distant dream, or perhaps in another life.. No, that wasn't right. George didn't believe in the whole incarnation thing. It couldn't be right. I mean, you just die. And then nothing.
Right?
He put that thought aside, too tired to think about it longer. He had other things to do now. Thirteen murders so far. A total of twenty-nine dead people. The people notice that kind of thing, especially when little crying old ladies go to talk-shows or even the news, mourning the deaths of their sons, daughters or grandchildren - although the latter was a more uncommon case.
And then, everyone asked the most expected and sensible question:
'Who is to blame? Who is killing our loved ones and why isn't anyone doing anything about it?'
After that, the people started making the same question to each other. They wanted to know what they should watch out for. They needed to know what killed their neighbors, even though they could've cared less for them when they were alive.
And Christmas was close. Very close. You can't have people panicking and worrying about some psychopath who decided to ruin their holidays and lives in general. But frankly, George could really care less about that reason. It wasn't solid enough to be a good reason. People were doing, and whoever killed them was out there. That was the whole point of it.
That, and George wasn't a man for christmas.
When he reached his eighteenth year of age, he moved away from his parents' house. Since then his christmas was even worse than before he left. When he was with his parents, every year at that time, all kinds of weird people would arrive, and Mrs. Sprangler would make a giant buffet for the so-called 'relatives' to feast upon. Everyone would shout, curse, talk about golf or backgammon, ignoring George and his mother- they would've done the same to his father, had he not died in an accident at work when George was five.
Unfortunately, things went exactly as George had wished them to. He moved, after his mother got married again and he was sure she was economically able and healthy, and he managed to make a fresh start. But soon he realized that being alone and single at christmas was even worse than being with insolent and greedy relatives.
Ever since, he decided that if the holidays would stop meaning something special to him, then he would simply stop feeling more alone every such time of the year. And so he did.
But hey, since those people cared, and George cared for the community, it wasn't really a choice to leave the case aside, right?
He rubbed his forehead, and then looked at the right side of his office. There was a pack of cigarettes there. George rolled his eyes.
'No way, I quit.' He said out loud.
Yeah, ten times already, an inner voice told him.
Annoyed at his on self, he looked at the pack again with disgust, knowing that these things where a nasty bunch. They killed you slow, promising you bliss and delight, if you only smoked 'one more.. just one more..'. And with each one, you walked one step closer to Death, who seemed to grin and nudge you with His bony fingers to 'Come Hither, Mortal'.
'Hmph' was George's response, and then he tossed the cigarettes away with a careless slap. After that he noticed, in the chaos that was his desk, that underneath the space previously occupied by the cigs, there was the photograph of a young woman, standing in the rain.
She..
With her cute little face, and her wet black hair, with her delightful smile, as she feels the joy and freedom of dancing in the rain, laughing her heart out, not caring about the cold she had just acquired.
George smiled. Maria was her name. He remembered her. How could he forget? She was his first true love, the only one who actually cared for him and bothered to actually understand him.
They'd met while at high school, and while at first they didn't like each other at all, after some time, when both of them decided to look deeper into the personality of one another, they instantly fell in love.
George took Maria's picture in his hands. He kept staring at her gorgeous eyes (even though half-closed, to avoid getting rain in them), and her petite silouette, dramatically toned by her wet clothes. What a night that was.. He caressed the photo on the part of Maria's head.
And now Maria was dead. It was a car accident, or so they told him. They breaks had broken down, and there was no way for her to slow down when she unexpectedly took a quick turn to avoid some stray cat that had probably decided the road was now its home.
He wiped a tear from his eye, with a bitter smile. How cliche. A car, a slippery road, a little animal in the way, no breaks, haha, you're dead. George wondered how many times this kind of thing had actually happened, and to how many people and families.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he decided to let it all go, and call it a day. Or night, at any rate. A long and cold one too, he added to himself. George sighed and went to sleep, taking off none of his clothes and changing into no kind of PJs.
Well, he thought, I never go outside these days, so my clothes aren't dirty, i also wash them regularly, and after all, it's too damn cold to sleep in pajamas.
He switched off his desk's lamp, glimpsing at the disgusting pictures of the victims' unrecognizable bodies one last time -for this night at least-, tried to clear his head, then lied down on his bed.
The change between awareness and restless sleep was almost instant.
* * * * * * * * * *
George Sprangler was standing in the middle of a cobblestone-road, staring at the little houses, all in a dull brown-greyish color, reminding him of some books about old manors he once read.
Where the hell was he? And how did he get here? But.. He couldn't remember where he should've been, too.
He checked his costume jacket's inner pocket, and his hand came to his mouth, holding a nicely carved wooden pipe. Interesting, he thought. For some reason, I feel like I shouldn't be wearing a costume, or having a pipe and matches in my jacket's pocket - or a jacket, as a matter of fact-, and I shouldn't be smoking the pipe, and I shouldn't be playing with my healthy, well-trimmed mustache.
Galloping. Suddenly all his thoughts were drained away by the sudden noise of horses riding fast towards him. By the time the information entered his head, his instinct had already burst into action. George quickly jumped to the side of the road, falling down and avoiding the fast and almost certain death that would have found him, had he not been lucky.
'Crazy fool!'
George turned to look at his near-death-experience cause: a black carriage, horse-dragged, and on top of it, the one that cursed at him, the driver. He opened his eyes wide, upon closer inspection of the drivers face: it had fins. His face structure clearly human, yet he had fins all over! And these full black eyes... Georges jaw dropped.
'Are you alright, sir?' A young female voice asked behind him.
Still looking at the shrinking figure of the carriage rushing through the street, he got up and tried patting on his shoulders to remove the dust.
'Yes, I think I'm alright. Barely dodged it.' While saying this, he turned to face the one who asked him if he was alright.
And then he lost his voice and his throat went dry. What he stared at was a figure of a woman, with a head like some alien octopus, all green and with flaming-red eyes, tentacles where the mouth should have been, and fins for ears.
George took a sudden step back.
'Are you sure you're alright? Sir?' It asked.
George stepped back again, his feet barely keeping him standing upright. Nearly staggering, he managed to say, in a weak and low voice:
'Wh.. What.. Are.. You?..'
'Sir?' The figure's voice was more deep now, ancient, brutal and visceral.
'Get.. Away from me..'
'AZ'GOTGH?' Its voice bellowed like thunder, so elder, so gutual and otherwordly. It would be the voice with which the deep ocean would claim its victims, if it would talk.
George's feet gave up on him. He fell on his back and just barely felt something burning his hand. He quickly glanced at it, and saw that the tobacco from his pipe had fallen on his hand and was burning it. He tossed it aside and noticed a spot of burned skin. He turned his attention to the creature again. The last thing he saw was its tentacles clasped on his head.
'NO!'
And then he was on his bed again, breathing fast, sweating and touching his face on the places where the tentacles had caught him. It was all a dream... He went to the kitchen to get a glass of water to calm him down. And when he reached out to get a glass, he noticed something on his right hand.
A spot of burned skin.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Under The Stars
The man in the black formal costume took a step forward. The lady in the elegant blue dress went on looking directly into his eyes.
'What nature, what arcane chemistry binds us together, my lady? What is it that so strongly unites us under the sun and the moon and all the stars that watch? Be it passion, the flames that burn in our chests, or be it the fondness that kids feel when their eyes meet a person that they fancy?' The man asked.
'Nay, my kind lord, 'tis love, that which you feel in your veins surging, the earth from below your feet sweeping, the little beat your heart seems to skip whenever our eyes lock sight. 'Tis that which holds us close, and 'tis that which makes us sigh in the deep of the night, when we aren't lying side by side. 'Tis that which turns withered flowers into beautiful fields of roses, red as blood when we are together, but when we're apart makes the whole sky look pale and worn out in our eyes. For I do know, my sweet, that we both suffer when our bodies are apart, and our minds, hearts and souls have become one, intertwined like two snakes in a mystifying dance, like two waves of sea that crashed together and continue as one.' The lady answered.
'My lady, you speak true. My heart is yours, and my thoughts are only occupied by you. My spirit longs for your soft touch when you are not around, And one gentle kiss from your lips can ease all my sorrows and unburden my chest. I no longer want you. I need you in the same manner that a man in hunger needs food and a man in thirst needs precious water. For you, I can do anything, and shall do so as well, should you only ask of me. I am yours.'
'And I am yours.'
'Then come, my heart's passion, keep me no longer waiting for the promised kiss. For the night is young and so are we, and the stars are pious judges. None shall see and none shall hear the lover's sounds of delight, yet yell I will to all the world that love I've found in the night.'
The man placed his hands on her waist and the woman hers on his cheeks. Their eyes met once more, and then each looked at the others lips, half open, yearning for the minutes that follow.
A kiss, and the whole world explodes.
'What nature, what arcane chemistry binds us together, my lady? What is it that so strongly unites us under the sun and the moon and all the stars that watch? Be it passion, the flames that burn in our chests, or be it the fondness that kids feel when their eyes meet a person that they fancy?' The man asked.
'Nay, my kind lord, 'tis love, that which you feel in your veins surging, the earth from below your feet sweeping, the little beat your heart seems to skip whenever our eyes lock sight. 'Tis that which holds us close, and 'tis that which makes us sigh in the deep of the night, when we aren't lying side by side. 'Tis that which turns withered flowers into beautiful fields of roses, red as blood when we are together, but when we're apart makes the whole sky look pale and worn out in our eyes. For I do know, my sweet, that we both suffer when our bodies are apart, and our minds, hearts and souls have become one, intertwined like two snakes in a mystifying dance, like two waves of sea that crashed together and continue as one.' The lady answered.
'My lady, you speak true. My heart is yours, and my thoughts are only occupied by you. My spirit longs for your soft touch when you are not around, And one gentle kiss from your lips can ease all my sorrows and unburden my chest. I no longer want you. I need you in the same manner that a man in hunger needs food and a man in thirst needs precious water. For you, I can do anything, and shall do so as well, should you only ask of me. I am yours.'
'And I am yours.'
'Then come, my heart's passion, keep me no longer waiting for the promised kiss. For the night is young and so are we, and the stars are pious judges. None shall see and none shall hear the lover's sounds of delight, yet yell I will to all the world that love I've found in the night.'
The man placed his hands on her waist and the woman hers on his cheeks. Their eyes met once more, and then each looked at the others lips, half open, yearning for the minutes that follow.
A kiss, and the whole world explodes.
Τετάρτη 20 Αυγούστου 2008
Vysarion, 1
'So, is it recording now?' The figure sitting at one end of the table asked, pointing towards a tape recorder that was placed on it.
'Yes, i just inserted the new tape. Tell me about yourself.. Who you are, what you do, that kind of thing.' The other one replied, making a gesture towards the first figure.
'My name is Vysarion. I was born in Greece. I died in England, and now I'm back here.' He replied, a little smile forming on his lips. He was awaiting the next question with impatience. Some asked him how he was there if he was dead. Some asked him if he was a vampire, doing so with a grin of foolish disbelief. Some didn't ask at all, merely stated that he was crazy. They were, one way or another, persuaded in the end. That didn't mean that they had liked it in the end.
'You.. uh... Died? You said?'
At this, Vysarion's smile widened and he placed his palms together on the table, seemingly giving the other man more of his precious attention.
'Does it strike you so queer, that a person may return from the dead?'
'Well.. Yes, since no one has really done it before, except maybe this one man who's part myth, really.. But, you didn't answer me, how can you have.. Uh.. Passed on? I mean you are-
'Right here standing before you, yes. Your powers of observation are truly remarkable.' At this he nearly laughed.
The other man waited. Vysarion's smile faded somewhat, as he felt that he should continue.
'There are curses, my boy, that don't end when someone dies. In fact, they merely start just then: In the precious few seconds between life, death, and what is beyond. Such as the dark gift that was passed on to me from my sire, and to him from his own.'
The man seemed thoughtful of this.
'Are you maybe implying that you are a...'
Vysarion straightened up.
'I make no implications. I will state to you that I am beyond death. I am a creature of the night, a kindred, or a vampire, as you have come to call us. I have lived many nights on this world and I am no longer going to imply anything to anyone. I do not fear stating such things as my existence to anyone. I simply chose to reveal my nature -in lack of a better word- to you.'
The man laughed in disbelief.
'A vampire.'
Vysarion smiled. It was a smile of some cold calm, something that made you fear if you looked at it for long. The man's smile faded somewhat.
'There are no such things are vampires. Everyone knows this. They have been an urban legend since time imemoriam.'
Vysarion's smile seemed to sweeten a bit, becoming kinder, warmer.
'I have many ways to prove my nature to you. Good ways, bad ways and even worse ways. All of which would waste precious time that I could be using to tell you my story. I only ask you for you faith and belief. In my words. I wouldn't lie to you, would I?' At this he smirked.
The man's jaw dropped, and he seemed to speak without saying anything, moving his lips about, shaping unsaid words, because there were so many things he wanted to say at the same time, all about how the man in front of him could not be what he claimed.
Vysarion sighed.
'Let's start with the basics. I thought you were a brighter man than the ones before you but it seems as if I have to prove myself to you as well.'
'..Others, before me?'
Vysarion smirked again.
'There have been others. I was willing to share my secrets. My story. My experience. They had their chances, and they wasted them in the worst fashion. I trust that you do not do the same. For both our sakes. Now pay attention. First to my neck and chest, then your watch. I want you to feel for a pulse. Go ahead.'
The man hesitantly raised his index and middle fingers and touched the Vysarion's neck. He waited. He looked at his watch. Twenty seconds have passed and the he hadn't had a single heart beat. As if he was truly dead!
His eyes widened in shock and mild terror.
'And now I want you to be silent and pay close attention to how my chest does not move, as breathing is no longer a required act for me. For the sake of not being called a cheater, I will also hold my nostrils closed.'
The man nodded in awe.
Vysarion brought his fingers to his mouth, and now the man noticed for the fist time how unusually long they were, and how sharp they seemed. Not the nails but the whole fingers. They seemed as if they could cut through glass. They were also very thin and delicate though, and he could only guess how dexterous Vysarion was.
With a smooth, liquid-like movement, Vysarion slid his index finger over his lips, and then over his nostrils.
What the man saw next was definitely the most paranoid, frightening and strange thing he had ever seen in his life:
Vysarions lips started merging as if the skin surrounding them had been turned into soft clay, until his mouth was closed and seemingly nonexistent, making even the memory of there being lips and a mouth there obscene. And then the same thing happened to his nostrils. They simply closed, flesh had covered what was once two holes that were there on every human being for the essential function of breathing.
His reaction was to stand up in terror, letting his chair fall, plainly looking at the man in front of him, jaw dropped, unable to utter even the simplest of words. And somehow it seemed that Vysarion had actually smiled with his shock. Somehow, the lips that weren't there were smiling. And then he heard his voice in his head, clear as crystal. He thought he was going mad, there was no way he talked, not with a mouth like that, not without having a mouth. And yet he did speak, if only in his mind.
'I was going to come to the part about my.. abilities, but I thought that there is no time like the present. You may look at your watch if you want, and count how long I can stay like that. I promise you will either find me of great skill in holding my breath, or you will come to leave your disbelief aside and listen to my story.'
The man nodded, eyes still staring at the other one's mouth, and he finally found the strength of saying a simple, weak 'ok. I believe you'.
Vysarion passed his finger over his nose and mouth again, and this time his flesh started melting again, reversing the effects of his previous act. The man watched as slowly Vysarion's mouth and lips were formed again, how his nostrils changed in shape and size until they were both equal, and how his lips seemed to have a little extra skin in them, which was later absorbed by the area around the lips, forming his mouth perfectly as it was before he did anything.
And now he smiled again.
'Please' he said 'be seated.'
The man did so.
'Now do you believe me? Or do I have to show you more of my power, which I can assure you, can be using in a much more cruel and ill-mannered way?'
The man nodded.
'I believe you. I believe you. I do.'
'Good.'
There was a short pause.
'How long is one of those things?' he then said, pointing again towards the tape-recorder.
The man was a bit confused at that, still looking at Vysarion's mouth and bringing back the queer scene in his memory, but very soon he checked the machine, and saw that most of the tape was done.
'I think this one has another ten minutes or so in it.'
'And have you brought many tapes?'
'I usually bring around twenty, in case I get a long story out of someone.'
'And that is good. Now change the tape.'
The man cocked an eyebrow, and opened his mouth to ask why but Vysarion stopped him with a wave of his thin hand.
'If I am to finally start my story, I want it to be on a new tape. Just so it can be.. Easier accessible.'
The man considered this. He nodded, fetched another tape from his bag, pushed the Stop button on the tape-recorder, and changed the tapes.
Vysarion laid back to his chair and merged his hands again and placing them on the table in a relaxed manner.
'Good. Very Good. Now let us begin with my early years, when I still drew breath.'
----------------------
'Yes, i just inserted the new tape. Tell me about yourself.. Who you are, what you do, that kind of thing.' The other one replied, making a gesture towards the first figure.
'My name is Vysarion. I was born in Greece. I died in England, and now I'm back here.' He replied, a little smile forming on his lips. He was awaiting the next question with impatience. Some asked him how he was there if he was dead. Some asked him if he was a vampire, doing so with a grin of foolish disbelief. Some didn't ask at all, merely stated that he was crazy. They were, one way or another, persuaded in the end. That didn't mean that they had liked it in the end.
'You.. uh... Died? You said?'
At this, Vysarion's smile widened and he placed his palms together on the table, seemingly giving the other man more of his precious attention.
'Does it strike you so queer, that a person may return from the dead?'
'Well.. Yes, since no one has really done it before, except maybe this one man who's part myth, really.. But, you didn't answer me, how can you have.. Uh.. Passed on? I mean you are-
'Right here standing before you, yes. Your powers of observation are truly remarkable.' At this he nearly laughed.
The other man waited. Vysarion's smile faded somewhat, as he felt that he should continue.
'There are curses, my boy, that don't end when someone dies. In fact, they merely start just then: In the precious few seconds between life, death, and what is beyond. Such as the dark gift that was passed on to me from my sire, and to him from his own.'
The man seemed thoughtful of this.
'Are you maybe implying that you are a...'
Vysarion straightened up.
'I make no implications. I will state to you that I am beyond death. I am a creature of the night, a kindred, or a vampire, as you have come to call us. I have lived many nights on this world and I am no longer going to imply anything to anyone. I do not fear stating such things as my existence to anyone. I simply chose to reveal my nature -in lack of a better word- to you.'
The man laughed in disbelief.
'A vampire.'
Vysarion smiled. It was a smile of some cold calm, something that made you fear if you looked at it for long. The man's smile faded somewhat.
'There are no such things are vampires. Everyone knows this. They have been an urban legend since time imemoriam.'
Vysarion's smile seemed to sweeten a bit, becoming kinder, warmer.
'I have many ways to prove my nature to you. Good ways, bad ways and even worse ways. All of which would waste precious time that I could be using to tell you my story. I only ask you for you faith and belief. In my words. I wouldn't lie to you, would I?' At this he smirked.
The man's jaw dropped, and he seemed to speak without saying anything, moving his lips about, shaping unsaid words, because there were so many things he wanted to say at the same time, all about how the man in front of him could not be what he claimed.
Vysarion sighed.
'Let's start with the basics. I thought you were a brighter man than the ones before you but it seems as if I have to prove myself to you as well.'
'..Others, before me?'
Vysarion smirked again.
'There have been others. I was willing to share my secrets. My story. My experience. They had their chances, and they wasted them in the worst fashion. I trust that you do not do the same. For both our sakes. Now pay attention. First to my neck and chest, then your watch. I want you to feel for a pulse. Go ahead.'
The man hesitantly raised his index and middle fingers and touched the Vysarion's neck. He waited. He looked at his watch. Twenty seconds have passed and the he hadn't had a single heart beat. As if he was truly dead!
His eyes widened in shock and mild terror.
'And now I want you to be silent and pay close attention to how my chest does not move, as breathing is no longer a required act for me. For the sake of not being called a cheater, I will also hold my nostrils closed.'
The man nodded in awe.
Vysarion brought his fingers to his mouth, and now the man noticed for the fist time how unusually long they were, and how sharp they seemed. Not the nails but the whole fingers. They seemed as if they could cut through glass. They were also very thin and delicate though, and he could only guess how dexterous Vysarion was.
With a smooth, liquid-like movement, Vysarion slid his index finger over his lips, and then over his nostrils.
What the man saw next was definitely the most paranoid, frightening and strange thing he had ever seen in his life:
Vysarions lips started merging as if the skin surrounding them had been turned into soft clay, until his mouth was closed and seemingly nonexistent, making even the memory of there being lips and a mouth there obscene. And then the same thing happened to his nostrils. They simply closed, flesh had covered what was once two holes that were there on every human being for the essential function of breathing.
His reaction was to stand up in terror, letting his chair fall, plainly looking at the man in front of him, jaw dropped, unable to utter even the simplest of words. And somehow it seemed that Vysarion had actually smiled with his shock. Somehow, the lips that weren't there were smiling. And then he heard his voice in his head, clear as crystal. He thought he was going mad, there was no way he talked, not with a mouth like that, not without having a mouth. And yet he did speak, if only in his mind.
'I was going to come to the part about my.. abilities, but I thought that there is no time like the present. You may look at your watch if you want, and count how long I can stay like that. I promise you will either find me of great skill in holding my breath, or you will come to leave your disbelief aside and listen to my story.'
The man nodded, eyes still staring at the other one's mouth, and he finally found the strength of saying a simple, weak 'ok. I believe you'.
Vysarion passed his finger over his nose and mouth again, and this time his flesh started melting again, reversing the effects of his previous act. The man watched as slowly Vysarion's mouth and lips were formed again, how his nostrils changed in shape and size until they were both equal, and how his lips seemed to have a little extra skin in them, which was later absorbed by the area around the lips, forming his mouth perfectly as it was before he did anything.
And now he smiled again.
'Please' he said 'be seated.'
The man did so.
'Now do you believe me? Or do I have to show you more of my power, which I can assure you, can be using in a much more cruel and ill-mannered way?'
The man nodded.
'I believe you. I believe you. I do.'
'Good.'
There was a short pause.
'How long is one of those things?' he then said, pointing again towards the tape-recorder.
The man was a bit confused at that, still looking at Vysarion's mouth and bringing back the queer scene in his memory, but very soon he checked the machine, and saw that most of the tape was done.
'I think this one has another ten minutes or so in it.'
'And have you brought many tapes?'
'I usually bring around twenty, in case I get a long story out of someone.'
'And that is good. Now change the tape.'
The man cocked an eyebrow, and opened his mouth to ask why but Vysarion stopped him with a wave of his thin hand.
'If I am to finally start my story, I want it to be on a new tape. Just so it can be.. Easier accessible.'
The man considered this. He nodded, fetched another tape from his bag, pushed the Stop button on the tape-recorder, and changed the tapes.
Vysarion laid back to his chair and merged his hands again and placing them on the table in a relaxed manner.
'Good. Very Good. Now let us begin with my early years, when I still drew breath.'
----------------------
Τρίτη 19 Αυγούστου 2008
The Fall
A kiss of fire blessed my lips
And all the world is gone amiss
The swaying slow of our sweet dance
Body embracing body enthralled in a trance
And you open your eyes and you look into mine
And I feel a snaking cold in the low of my spine
You laugh and you whisper gently in my ear
You must kill me to hold me forever by you dear
Blood flows free from the wound of your blade
As I fall to the floor like the fool I was played
You wipe the knife clean with your once loving tongue
As I say the last words with the breath in my lung
I love you.
I loved you.
Goodbye.
And all the world is gone amiss
The swaying slow of our sweet dance
Body embracing body enthralled in a trance
And you open your eyes and you look into mine
And I feel a snaking cold in the low of my spine
You laugh and you whisper gently in my ear
You must kill me to hold me forever by you dear
Blood flows free from the wound of your blade
As I fall to the floor like the fool I was played
You wipe the knife clean with your once loving tongue
As I say the last words with the breath in my lung
I love you.
I loved you.
Goodbye.
Τρίτη 22 Ιουλίου 2008
Armagedon?
Andrew searched the corpse's former possesions (at least the ones that were clean enough and not covered in vile blood or flesh leftovers), to find some ammunition for his trusty gun, a piece of bulletproof armor which he could use, and a very old and seemingly-broken tape recorder, like the one reporters use to interview someone.
He presses the rewind button to check if it works, and when, to his pleasure, he found it was alright, he let it like that for a bit, then pressed play.
*sounds, probably bad quality of the tape or data that has been corroded*
"Day 6. i have no idea what these things are. I've seen quite a lot of them. Everyone is locked inside their homes, the television says that it might be a virus that leads to loss of conciense and vast amounts of rage, that is also very contaminating. Being part of the army, i was enlisted to do some patroling with one of my friends from the squad, Nigel. We didn't find any of those "infected people", but i couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched...."
*end of recording*
"Day 8. Those things.. Whatever they are, they are not human.. not anymore.. we were chased, and we ran to some abandoned house. Their numbers are overwhelming! My AK ammo is nearly over, and there's no way i'm using that pistol unless there's a grand emergency. Even now, i can hear those things moaning.. it appears that they are hungry, and as paranoid as it sounds, i believe that they crave for human flesh.. God help us should we fall to the hands of one of them.."
*slight clicking noises, sound of gunfire, running, and a distand moan, composed of what sounds like several people. silence.*
"Oh my god they got Nigel.. They planted a bite on his arm, I barely saved him, I used the clip's last bullet to shoot that thing in the head to let Nigel go... It seems that those monsters can only be killed by a headshot, I've filled several of them with holes, and they didn't even slow down... Oh my god, what are we going to do.. the food supplies are looking pretty grim, and so is our ammunition, and Nigel is sitting in a corner of this ruined room and babbling something incoherent.."
*silence, next recording*
"Day 13. They moan. They eat, they moan, and they search for more prey.. They never stop. Never. The tv's off, it doesn't transmit anything. They must have eaten everyone in the channel's stations.. Those.. Soulless monsters... "
*concieled wimpering, then in the distance:*
"Hey man, got any more smokes? Nigel? Nigel are you listening to me? Oh.. no no. No! Nigel! No! Not you too, man! Oh my god no!"
*distant moaning*
" Stay back Nigel.. Stay back man, I don't wanna do this.. Nigel!"
*gunfire, some shouting, moaning stops, sound of something heavy falling down*
" Oh my god.. Nigel.. No... Those bastards..."
*sound corroded, tape approaches its end, and the most recent recording*
"*......*Never catch me alive! *..........*"
*gunfire, screaming.*
"*....* Go back to the hell that spawned you!"
*more gunfire*
*screaming, less gunfire, moan getting louder and closer until sounds of ripping and tearing of what sounds like skin is heard. More screaming, without big duration. More liquid-like sounds, more ripping sounds of some material.*
*end of recording*
With a shiver, and a tear running down Andrew's cheek, he placed the tape recorder in his backpack, making a mental note to keep a vocal diary himself. These will indeed be mankind's last days.
He presses the rewind button to check if it works, and when, to his pleasure, he found it was alright, he let it like that for a bit, then pressed play.
*sounds, probably bad quality of the tape or data that has been corroded*
"Day 6. i have no idea what these things are. I've seen quite a lot of them. Everyone is locked inside their homes, the television says that it might be a virus that leads to loss of conciense and vast amounts of rage, that is also very contaminating. Being part of the army, i was enlisted to do some patroling with one of my friends from the squad, Nigel. We didn't find any of those "infected people", but i couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched...."
*end of recording*
"Day 8. Those things.. Whatever they are, they are not human.. not anymore.. we were chased, and we ran to some abandoned house. Their numbers are overwhelming! My AK ammo is nearly over, and there's no way i'm using that pistol unless there's a grand emergency. Even now, i can hear those things moaning.. it appears that they are hungry, and as paranoid as it sounds, i believe that they crave for human flesh.. God help us should we fall to the hands of one of them.."
*slight clicking noises, sound of gunfire, running, and a distand moan, composed of what sounds like several people. silence.*
"Oh my god they got Nigel.. They planted a bite on his arm, I barely saved him, I used the clip's last bullet to shoot that thing in the head to let Nigel go... It seems that those monsters can only be killed by a headshot, I've filled several of them with holes, and they didn't even slow down... Oh my god, what are we going to do.. the food supplies are looking pretty grim, and so is our ammunition, and Nigel is sitting in a corner of this ruined room and babbling something incoherent.."
*silence, next recording*
"Day 13. They moan. They eat, they moan, and they search for more prey.. They never stop. Never. The tv's off, it doesn't transmit anything. They must have eaten everyone in the channel's stations.. Those.. Soulless monsters... "
*concieled wimpering, then in the distance:*
"Hey man, got any more smokes? Nigel? Nigel are you listening to me? Oh.. no no. No! Nigel! No! Not you too, man! Oh my god no!"
*distant moaning*
" Stay back Nigel.. Stay back man, I don't wanna do this.. Nigel!"
*gunfire, some shouting, moaning stops, sound of something heavy falling down*
" Oh my god.. Nigel.. No... Those bastards..."
*sound corroded, tape approaches its end, and the most recent recording*
"*......*Never catch me alive! *..........*"
*gunfire, screaming.*
"*....* Go back to the hell that spawned you!"
*more gunfire*
*screaming, less gunfire, moan getting louder and closer until sounds of ripping and tearing of what sounds like skin is heard. More screaming, without big duration. More liquid-like sounds, more ripping sounds of some material.*
*end of recording*
With a shiver, and a tear running down Andrew's cheek, he placed the tape recorder in his backpack, making a mental note to keep a vocal diary himself. These will indeed be mankind's last days.
Blood And Thunder
"Johnathan, get me a vial of No. 53. Quick now, my boy."
The lab was well lit, all the little tubes and vials with liquids of different colors like a sick and twisted rainbow occupying most of the space above the many desks this lab contained.
A little man, quick by nature and precise by years of experience under the commands of his master, Dr. Bradshaw, remembered where the vial that was requested was -the process took no more than a second-, and went to fetch.
"Soon, my dear Johnathan.. Soon all of this will pay off.. We will be eternal, my boy. Eternal!"
Johnathan considered this. No master, we both know you want it for yourself because you are the impersonation of greed. We both know that you will keep this to your dear self, or sell it for billions and billions of dollars, so that you can actually live rich and famous.
"Do you understand? I will beat man's first and worst fear, death! Imagine a world with no death!"
And no insurances, Johnathan thought. Less money for the rest of the world, more for you. Also, the earth would really be over-populated. As if we don't have enough people rotting underground..
Johnathan didn't actually hate his master that much. He had come to help Dr. Raymond D. Bradshaw because he really wanted to put his knowledge to the test with this.. The man claimed he could achieve eternal life -he had done so for more than the 6 years that Johnathan helped him-, and that was no small thing to do. At first, John did what he did out of interest.. Curiosity.. Out of fear that the man could possibly do what he dreamed of.. And now..
"Our names will become legend among the people!"
John could already imagine a big, leatherbound book with the title 'Johnathan Shilling & Raymond D. Bradshaw: The ones that damned us by saving us'. He wasn't sure he liked it.. Still, he had to wait and see..
"4 vials of No. 13, 2 of No. 65, and one No.27. Quick."
Dr. Bradshaw was a simple man. He knew what he wanted, and soon, he learned how to get it. Nothing could get in his way. He would not allow such a thing. His plans were above the judgment of any other human. Only he and his faithful errand-boy were to be trusted with his projects. His obsession with life eternal was born when his parents died in a car accident, while he was at the young age of 14. He then decided that he could help science get omnipotent, beating death and the sorrow it brought to everyone. He became a famous doctor, until he confessed his ultimate project to the scientific community. He was instantly pushed over, shunned by everyone and called a "highly promising individual, yet severely mistaken".
But now he had done it. He had actually found the way to triumph over the Grim Reaper, Death, Uriel, the Otherside, and any other names the people have given to death over the ages..
It wasn't easy to pick up the ingredients. Not at all. when he tried to buy some of (Vial No. 56) at first, the pharmacist looked at him and asked him in a serious tone "Sir, what are you planning to do with this?". Of course he had replied he would use it in some experiments. Which was mostly true, after all. The pharmacist persisted "You do know that such a thing can cause..."
"Yes, yes, I've heard all about it, now if you would please give me what I kindly asked you." He had grinned while he said it.
And that was one of the better cases, some of the vials he had to fill in the houses of charlatans, mediums, spirit talkers, tomb-freaks, and other peculiar individuals he wouldn't want to associate with again, if he had the choice.
And the colors.. There was something of the colors in the little vials. They seemed to suck the light in them and a bit around them. Other substances just reflected the kind of light that signified their color and you could clearly see a hue of red, green, blue, etc etc.. These things.. they seemed to do the exact opposite of 'glow' or give off a color hue.. The particular one he was holding was a red so deep it reminded him of a painting he once saw at another scientists house. It's theme was Death, and it showed the end of a battle, and what remained of every body out there on that huge field.. That made the hair on the back of his head raise a bit, but he decided to ignore it.
"Are you listening to me, boy? Get me what I asked."
Johnathan was of course on the move, although the Dr. could not see that because he was too absorbed into his work and paraphernalia. He handed the vials to him.
Again, Dr. Bradshaw had that eerie feeling, and he mixed a little of this with that, then infused it with something else, while something was also burning above a bunsen burner, and a machine beside him was stirring a couple of other test tubes letting out a faint whizzing sound.
Sweat was forming on his wrinkled brow. Only a couple of minutes left before his dreams came true. He just had to do this and that, and all these years would finally pay off... And, really, what are a few years, compared to a whole infinity?
"Observe, my boy.. This is indeed a great, big leap for mankind, no matter what that little moon-man said back then. What you see, may well be..."
He raised the vial on his right hand.
"Evolution."
He let a single red drop fall in the larger test tube in his other hand.
The lab was well lit, all the little tubes and vials with liquids of different colors like a sick and twisted rainbow occupying most of the space above the many desks this lab contained.
A little man, quick by nature and precise by years of experience under the commands of his master, Dr. Bradshaw, remembered where the vial that was requested was -the process took no more than a second-, and went to fetch.
"Soon, my dear Johnathan.. Soon all of this will pay off.. We will be eternal, my boy. Eternal!"
Johnathan considered this. No master, we both know you want it for yourself because you are the impersonation of greed. We both know that you will keep this to your dear self, or sell it for billions and billions of dollars, so that you can actually live rich and famous.
"Do you understand? I will beat man's first and worst fear, death! Imagine a world with no death!"
And no insurances, Johnathan thought. Less money for the rest of the world, more for you. Also, the earth would really be over-populated. As if we don't have enough people rotting underground..
Johnathan didn't actually hate his master that much. He had come to help Dr. Raymond D. Bradshaw because he really wanted to put his knowledge to the test with this.. The man claimed he could achieve eternal life -he had done so for more than the 6 years that Johnathan helped him-, and that was no small thing to do. At first, John did what he did out of interest.. Curiosity.. Out of fear that the man could possibly do what he dreamed of.. And now..
"Our names will become legend among the people!"
John could already imagine a big, leatherbound book with the title 'Johnathan Shilling & Raymond D. Bradshaw: The ones that damned us by saving us'. He wasn't sure he liked it.. Still, he had to wait and see..
"4 vials of No. 13, 2 of No. 65, and one No.27. Quick."
Dr. Bradshaw was a simple man. He knew what he wanted, and soon, he learned how to get it. Nothing could get in his way. He would not allow such a thing. His plans were above the judgment of any other human. Only he and his faithful errand-boy were to be trusted with his projects. His obsession with life eternal was born when his parents died in a car accident, while he was at the young age of 14. He then decided that he could help science get omnipotent, beating death and the sorrow it brought to everyone. He became a famous doctor, until he confessed his ultimate project to the scientific community. He was instantly pushed over, shunned by everyone and called a "highly promising individual, yet severely mistaken".
But now he had done it. He had actually found the way to triumph over the Grim Reaper, Death, Uriel, the Otherside, and any other names the people have given to death over the ages..
It wasn't easy to pick up the ingredients. Not at all. when he tried to buy some of (Vial No. 56) at first, the pharmacist looked at him and asked him in a serious tone "Sir, what are you planning to do with this?". Of course he had replied he would use it in some experiments. Which was mostly true, after all. The pharmacist persisted "You do know that such a thing can cause..."
"Yes, yes, I've heard all about it, now if you would please give me what I kindly asked you." He had grinned while he said it.
And that was one of the better cases, some of the vials he had to fill in the houses of charlatans, mediums, spirit talkers, tomb-freaks, and other peculiar individuals he wouldn't want to associate with again, if he had the choice.
And the colors.. There was something of the colors in the little vials. They seemed to suck the light in them and a bit around them. Other substances just reflected the kind of light that signified their color and you could clearly see a hue of red, green, blue, etc etc.. These things.. they seemed to do the exact opposite of 'glow' or give off a color hue.. The particular one he was holding was a red so deep it reminded him of a painting he once saw at another scientists house. It's theme was Death, and it showed the end of a battle, and what remained of every body out there on that huge field.. That made the hair on the back of his head raise a bit, but he decided to ignore it.
"Are you listening to me, boy? Get me what I asked."
Johnathan was of course on the move, although the Dr. could not see that because he was too absorbed into his work and paraphernalia. He handed the vials to him.
Again, Dr. Bradshaw had that eerie feeling, and he mixed a little of this with that, then infused it with something else, while something was also burning above a bunsen burner, and a machine beside him was stirring a couple of other test tubes letting out a faint whizzing sound.
Sweat was forming on his wrinkled brow. Only a couple of minutes left before his dreams came true. He just had to do this and that, and all these years would finally pay off... And, really, what are a few years, compared to a whole infinity?
"Observe, my boy.. This is indeed a great, big leap for mankind, no matter what that little moon-man said back then. What you see, may well be..."
He raised the vial on his right hand.
"Evolution."
He let a single red drop fall in the larger test tube in his other hand.
Παρασκευή 11 Ιουλίου 2008
November Night
"I have... But one... Heart..This heart i bring you..
I have but one heart.. To share with you..."
I blow a puff of smoke from my pipe. That's one of my favorite records playing. A special record. But this is a special night..
My name is Adamantios, and though fate has been too kind to let it show, I'm in my mid thirties... I am... Not your ordinary man in his middle thirties. Indeed, I am not an untamed beast, and I'm not a brainless klutz that goes about in flashy cars, or with stylish models..
Old fashioned, some people call me. Some just call me weird, or demented, or whatever they like. I just smile and blow another puff of smoke..
"You are.. My one.. Love.. My life I live for you..."
I'm sitting in front of the fireplace, in this cold winter night, and my only friends are this pipe, my Cabernet Sauvignon from my own cellar and ol' Frankie's voice. Oh, here comes the napolitano bit, I always liked that part.
I once dedicated this song to her. I wonder if she even remembers it..
"Ca u mare parla e na' carezza, Ma a tia la brezza, fina murir..."
I smile a bitter smile. I know she doesn't. She never understood, how much she meant to me. Can't really blame her, I guess, it's in the nature of human to forget, or so someone said. Might as well blame someone for having two eyes, right?
I drink some more wine, savoring its taste little by little, like my life hangs from it. Then I turn my attention to the space above the mantelpiece, where her portrait is. I painted that one, long ago. I was never good at painting, or copying faces on the canvas and that sort of thing. But after I lost her, her image was stuck so deep in my heart and my mind, that I eventually learned to paint, only to do her own portrait, from memory. And this was it. The only thing I ever did that I was a little proud of.
Another smile forms on my cold lips. And I did you good, didn't I? Dearest? A toast. I raise my glass. To your beauty. And my love for you.
I drink all the wine that's left in the glass all at once. It's snowing outside. Why does it happen so that it always snows on this day? Maybe up there, you still remember, and cry with me.. My tears are measured with drops of wine, and yours with snowfall.. Each gust of wind that takes the snowflakes with it is another one of your dances, so mystifying and dreamlike, like the gliding of an angel in the sky.
I remember you.
Always.
But this day is special, like I said. This is the day you left me. Alas, I know you didn't want to. I guess it was the mysterious touch of fate that took you from me, that dark November night, when you were hit by that train. And to think you were coming to visit me, after such a long time of working abroad. It was our one chance, to see each other again, like we promised.
My smile remains bitter.
What has fate wrought..
Tonight is your night. Our night. Tonight, you dance for me and I drink to bear the pain of watching you but being unable to embrace you once again.
"More wine sir?" A soft, known voice asks behind me.
Samantha, my maid. You would have liked her. She too plays the piano and loves to listen to songs we like. She also keeps your flowers from dying. She' a good woman, but quite stubborn at times. It's alright though, it's all in the set, as my father used to say.
Yes, please, Samantha. She has the bottle and asks me to fill my glass. I guess she thinks she's taking care of me that way. As if i couldn't order her to just give me the bottle whenever i wanted. But it's alright too, it's better that way.
She fills my glass and then patiently takes two steps backwards, standing there, waiting for my next order.
How many times do I have to tell you, Sam, you can always sit somewhere, we have many sofas, lots of couches, and even more chairs. All those years and still you feel as if standing there and tiring yourself is your duty?
"Well, it is, sir."
That again. My name is not sir, never was, and will never be. Adamantios, or Adam, if you prefer. I think 6 years are enough for you to be able to call me by my first name..
"But, sir!-"
I raise an index finger. Ah, ah! What did I just tell you about that?..
"Yes si- Adam.."
I smile again. Stubborn Samantha. Always the same. Your heart is kind and you restrain it.
"Do you want me to change the record or play it again, sir?"
I let a little sore laugh. Sir. Again. No, I tell Sam. I didn't even realise it'd ended. It's alright, I will be returning to my reading soon, anyway. You know I can't read while listening to music.. I don't know which one demands more attention from me.
She smiles.
"Yes, sir. Do you need anything else?"
No, I believe this night is already at its end. I'm getting weary.. You are not free to take the rest of the night of, but also encouraged to. Another smile.
"Goodnight, Adam."
Goodnight, Samanta. And sweet dreams. May fate smile upon you.
"You know I don't believe in fate, Adam."
Neither do I, Sam. Neither do I. Now off you go.
She nods, and leaves.
Goodnight, Samantha. And good night to you, my dear.
I have but one heart.. To share with you..."
I blow a puff of smoke from my pipe. That's one of my favorite records playing. A special record. But this is a special night..
My name is Adamantios, and though fate has been too kind to let it show, I'm in my mid thirties... I am... Not your ordinary man in his middle thirties. Indeed, I am not an untamed beast, and I'm not a brainless klutz that goes about in flashy cars, or with stylish models..
Old fashioned, some people call me. Some just call me weird, or demented, or whatever they like. I just smile and blow another puff of smoke..
"You are.. My one.. Love.. My life I live for you..."
I'm sitting in front of the fireplace, in this cold winter night, and my only friends are this pipe, my Cabernet Sauvignon from my own cellar and ol' Frankie's voice. Oh, here comes the napolitano bit, I always liked that part.
I once dedicated this song to her. I wonder if she even remembers it..
"Ca u mare parla e na' carezza, Ma a tia la brezza, fina murir..."
I smile a bitter smile. I know she doesn't. She never understood, how much she meant to me. Can't really blame her, I guess, it's in the nature of human to forget, or so someone said. Might as well blame someone for having two eyes, right?
I drink some more wine, savoring its taste little by little, like my life hangs from it. Then I turn my attention to the space above the mantelpiece, where her portrait is. I painted that one, long ago. I was never good at painting, or copying faces on the canvas and that sort of thing. But after I lost her, her image was stuck so deep in my heart and my mind, that I eventually learned to paint, only to do her own portrait, from memory. And this was it. The only thing I ever did that I was a little proud of.
Another smile forms on my cold lips. And I did you good, didn't I? Dearest? A toast. I raise my glass. To your beauty. And my love for you.
I drink all the wine that's left in the glass all at once. It's snowing outside. Why does it happen so that it always snows on this day? Maybe up there, you still remember, and cry with me.. My tears are measured with drops of wine, and yours with snowfall.. Each gust of wind that takes the snowflakes with it is another one of your dances, so mystifying and dreamlike, like the gliding of an angel in the sky.
I remember you.
Always.
But this day is special, like I said. This is the day you left me. Alas, I know you didn't want to. I guess it was the mysterious touch of fate that took you from me, that dark November night, when you were hit by that train. And to think you were coming to visit me, after such a long time of working abroad. It was our one chance, to see each other again, like we promised.
My smile remains bitter.
What has fate wrought..
Tonight is your night. Our night. Tonight, you dance for me and I drink to bear the pain of watching you but being unable to embrace you once again.
"More wine sir?" A soft, known voice asks behind me.
Samantha, my maid. You would have liked her. She too plays the piano and loves to listen to songs we like. She also keeps your flowers from dying. She' a good woman, but quite stubborn at times. It's alright though, it's all in the set, as my father used to say.
Yes, please, Samantha. She has the bottle and asks me to fill my glass. I guess she thinks she's taking care of me that way. As if i couldn't order her to just give me the bottle whenever i wanted. But it's alright too, it's better that way.
She fills my glass and then patiently takes two steps backwards, standing there, waiting for my next order.
How many times do I have to tell you, Sam, you can always sit somewhere, we have many sofas, lots of couches, and even more chairs. All those years and still you feel as if standing there and tiring yourself is your duty?
"Well, it is, sir."
That again. My name is not sir, never was, and will never be. Adamantios, or Adam, if you prefer. I think 6 years are enough for you to be able to call me by my first name..
"But, sir!-"
I raise an index finger. Ah, ah! What did I just tell you about that?..
"Yes si- Adam.."
I smile again. Stubborn Samantha. Always the same. Your heart is kind and you restrain it.
"Do you want me to change the record or play it again, sir?"
I let a little sore laugh. Sir. Again. No, I tell Sam. I didn't even realise it'd ended. It's alright, I will be returning to my reading soon, anyway. You know I can't read while listening to music.. I don't know which one demands more attention from me.
She smiles.
"Yes, sir. Do you need anything else?"
No, I believe this night is already at its end. I'm getting weary.. You are not free to take the rest of the night of, but also encouraged to. Another smile.
"Goodnight, Adam."
Goodnight, Samanta. And sweet dreams. May fate smile upon you.
"You know I don't believe in fate, Adam."
Neither do I, Sam. Neither do I. Now off you go.
She nods, and leaves.
Goodnight, Samantha. And good night to you, my dear.
Τρίτη 1 Ιουλίου 2008
ABC...
Another fine day, if i may say so.
Bees, trees, birds and all that.
Commonly, that's what you get anyway.
Death is all that lives here though.
Extremely peculiar, that.
For death to live somewhere, that is.
Gods know how one land can be ruled by death.
Hundreds of years, it's been like this.
I've only lived here for 30 years or so.
Just enough to know nothing about the place.
Keeps its secrets to itself, the land does.
Like it has a mind of its own, bugger it.
More than that, there's that tower up there,
No one knows who built it or when,
Presumably, it has always been there..
Quite so, I'm afraid, it seems like it watches us all the time..
Reality seems twisted around it.
Stare at it, and it stares back.
Turn your gaze, and feel it behind you, ready to stab you..
Undeniably there, Undeniably ominous.
Vast, burned land, and the king that watches over it.
Why? no one knows. There is no door to it.
Xenophobia keeps people from teaming up and entering it somehow.
Yonder, yonder... The ubiquitous watcher.
Zombies we are, and we work for it unknowing.
Bees, trees, birds and all that.
Commonly, that's what you get anyway.
Death is all that lives here though.
Extremely peculiar, that.
For death to live somewhere, that is.
Gods know how one land can be ruled by death.
Hundreds of years, it's been like this.
I've only lived here for 30 years or so.
Just enough to know nothing about the place.
Keeps its secrets to itself, the land does.
Like it has a mind of its own, bugger it.
More than that, there's that tower up there,
No one knows who built it or when,
Presumably, it has always been there..
Quite so, I'm afraid, it seems like it watches us all the time..
Reality seems twisted around it.
Stare at it, and it stares back.
Turn your gaze, and feel it behind you, ready to stab you..
Undeniably there, Undeniably ominous.
Vast, burned land, and the king that watches over it.
Why? no one knows. There is no door to it.
Xenophobia keeps people from teaming up and entering it somehow.
Yonder, yonder... The ubiquitous watcher.
Zombies we are, and we work for it unknowing.
One.
I want to be....
The hand that will catch you when you fall,
The arm that you will grip should you fall again,
The shoulder you can cry on and let it all go,
The ear you can talk to and unburden your chest,
The mouth that you will hear the most precious words of,
The lips you will kiss whenever you need it,
The chest you can rest your head on when you're tired,
The eyes that you can look into when you need to feel secure,
The heart that you will hear skipping a beat whenever you touch it,
The embrace you will have when you need a sanctuary from everything.
I want to be..
Everything for you..
For if you are content, then I am fulfilled.
If you are happy, then I am ecstatic.
If you need me, then I can't do anything without you.
If you love me, then I adore you the most.
And I want us to be one..
The hand that will catch you when you fall,
The arm that you will grip should you fall again,
The shoulder you can cry on and let it all go,
The ear you can talk to and unburden your chest,
The mouth that you will hear the most precious words of,
The lips you will kiss whenever you need it,
The chest you can rest your head on when you're tired,
The eyes that you can look into when you need to feel secure,
The heart that you will hear skipping a beat whenever you touch it,
The embrace you will have when you need a sanctuary from everything.
I want to be..
Everything for you..
For if you are content, then I am fulfilled.
If you are happy, then I am ecstatic.
If you need me, then I can't do anything without you.
If you love me, then I adore you the most.
And I want us to be one..
A Child Of Malkav Speaks
A frenzy of care and hate,
a passionate breath on the neck of one dead November,
a ship lost in the clouds of thought,
a mad wizard who has ran out of spells,
the frog that never became a prince,
the lost kiss of a tree in the desert that once prospered,
a beggar that laughs at the rude,
a man who died in love,
a step towards the fall,
the milk of the mother sea,
the carefree fauns in the bushes,
the dream of a blind traveler,
a swim in the fantasy of an adolescent rush,
the dream of a limp climber.
O, summer night, so full of magic, lust, love and conjurations,
wherefore are the adoration, the starts, the dreams, they have all turned to ashes..
a passionate breath on the neck of one dead November,
a ship lost in the clouds of thought,
a mad wizard who has ran out of spells,
the frog that never became a prince,
the lost kiss of a tree in the desert that once prospered,
a beggar that laughs at the rude,
a man who died in love,
a step towards the fall,
the milk of the mother sea,
the carefree fauns in the bushes,
the dream of a blind traveler,
a swim in the fantasy of an adolescent rush,
the dream of a limp climber.
O, summer night, so full of magic, lust, love and conjurations,
wherefore are the adoration, the starts, the dreams, they have all turned to ashes..
Κυριακή 4 Μαΐου 2008
The Sounldess Scream
The rain falls down caressing my skin
Alone I stand before my fallen kin,
To the West there is but death to see
To the East a mirror, and inside me.
North and South, My soul is crying
And in the end I must be dying.
For this loss, the one that I feel
Is of the few lacks that do surely kill.
On my knees I do fall, my hands on my neck
That salvation of choking which I pray to beget
For the spirits of two when combined to one
When united they stay and beloved they stand
'Tis surely a wonder one's heart must embrace
Through tears in the eyes or a smiling face
Alas, in darkness my death grip is gone
My weary mind from the weeping undone
For I lost my Muse and the fault is all mine
And the brightest of stars has again lost its shine
Pray, do tell me, why am I alive?
I know in my flesh, to the hells I should dive
For a soul without love is all but fulfilled,
Face it or not, you are still being killed...
Alone I stand before my fallen kin,
To the West there is but death to see
To the East a mirror, and inside me.
North and South, My soul is crying
And in the end I must be dying.
For this loss, the one that I feel
Is of the few lacks that do surely kill.
On my knees I do fall, my hands on my neck
That salvation of choking which I pray to beget
For the spirits of two when combined to one
When united they stay and beloved they stand
'Tis surely a wonder one's heart must embrace
Through tears in the eyes or a smiling face
Alas, in darkness my death grip is gone
My weary mind from the weeping undone
For I lost my Muse and the fault is all mine
And the brightest of stars has again lost its shine
Pray, do tell me, why am I alive?
I know in my flesh, to the hells I should dive
For a soul without love is all but fulfilled,
Face it or not, you are still being killed...
Your Eyes
Your eyes,
a restless sea in which I drown,
the bliss of life that is your gown,
the cloudless sky that brings the light,
and in those eyes I find delight.
A mighty hurricane of colors,
we may never feel as ours,
and even lest we lose our valors,
we will gaze in them for hours.
a restless sea in which I drown,
the bliss of life that is your gown,
the cloudless sky that brings the light,
and in those eyes I find delight.
A mighty hurricane of colors,
we may never feel as ours,
and even lest we lose our valors,
we will gaze in them for hours.
Translation
Τί γίνεται άραγε όταν αναστενάζουν τα βουνά;
Όταν ο ουρανός δακρύζει για τη μοναξιά του;
Όταν η έρημος περιμένει με αγωνία για τον επόμενο καμηλίερη;
Όταν η θάλασσα και τα πλάσματά της δεν ωλέπουν καράβια;
Όταν ένα απέραντο λιβάδι, απάτητο απο ανθρώπινο πόδι, θρυνεί;
Άραγε ανεβαίνει πλέον κανείς;
Άραγε όλα τα χελιδόνια κοιμούνται;
Ή ίσως τα αρπακτικά κάνουν υπομονή;
Άραγε ανασαίνουν όλοι καλύτερα στη γαλήνη της μοναξιάς τους;
Άραγε θα γνωρίσει ποτέ την παρουσία κάποιου;
Τόσο κοντά, μα τόσο μακρυά...
Τόσο μεγάλος, κι όμως τόσο μικρός...
Τόσο ανοιχτή, αλλά τόσο απόκρυμνη...
Τόσο γαλήνια, κι όμως τόσο ανυπόμονη...
Τόσο άδειο, κι όμως τόσο γεματο...
Μα στο τέλος, είναι δίπλα-δίπλα, χωρίς ανάγκη κανενός.
Στο τέλος, τα σύννεφα είναι πάντα εκεί, με αστραπές και βροντές.
Και όταν έρχεται το βράδυ, η άμμος γεμίζει μικρές ψυχές.
Γιατί τελικά, πάντα είχαν ο ένας τον άλλον.
Και το λιβάδι μάτωσε, αλλά γέμησε κατακόκκινες παπαρούνες.
Η μοναξιά, η ομορφιά και η χαρά, είναι πράγματα υποκειμενικά.
Όταν ο ουρανός δακρύζει για τη μοναξιά του;
Όταν η έρημος περιμένει με αγωνία για τον επόμενο καμηλίερη;
Όταν η θάλασσα και τα πλάσματά της δεν ωλέπουν καράβια;
Όταν ένα απέραντο λιβάδι, απάτητο απο ανθρώπινο πόδι, θρυνεί;
Άραγε ανεβαίνει πλέον κανείς;
Άραγε όλα τα χελιδόνια κοιμούνται;
Ή ίσως τα αρπακτικά κάνουν υπομονή;
Άραγε ανασαίνουν όλοι καλύτερα στη γαλήνη της μοναξιάς τους;
Άραγε θα γνωρίσει ποτέ την παρουσία κάποιου;
Τόσο κοντά, μα τόσο μακρυά...
Τόσο μεγάλος, κι όμως τόσο μικρός...
Τόσο ανοιχτή, αλλά τόσο απόκρυμνη...
Τόσο γαλήνια, κι όμως τόσο ανυπόμονη...
Τόσο άδειο, κι όμως τόσο γεματο...
Μα στο τέλος, είναι δίπλα-δίπλα, χωρίς ανάγκη κανενός.
Στο τέλος, τα σύννεφα είναι πάντα εκεί, με αστραπές και βροντές.
Και όταν έρχεται το βράδυ, η άμμος γεμίζει μικρές ψυχές.
Γιατί τελικά, πάντα είχαν ο ένας τον άλλον.
Και το λιβάδι μάτωσε, αλλά γέμησε κατακόκκινες παπαρούνες.
Η μοναξιά, η ομορφιά και η χαρά, είναι πράγματα υποκειμενικά.
I wonder...
Whatever happens, when mountains do sigh?
When the sky sheds a tear for his own loneliness?
When the desert waits for the next caravan?
When the sea and Her creatures see no ships?
When an endless meadow, pure from man, mourns?
Wonder if anyone climbs up them anymore?
Wonder if all the swallows are sleeping?
Or maybe the cadavers are patiently waiting?
Wonder if they all breathe more at ease in the calm of their solitude?
Wonder if it shall ever meet the presence of someone?
So close, yet so far...
So big, yet so small...
So vast, yet so steep...
So calm, yet so inpatient...
So empty, yet so full...
But in the end, they are side by side, always, never in need of anyone.
In the end, the clouds are always there, with thunder and lightning.
And when night arrives, the sands fill with small souls.
Because in the end they always had one another.
And the meadow bled, but filled with scarlet red poppies.
Loneliness, beauty and joy are in the eyes and mind of the beholder.
When the sky sheds a tear for his own loneliness?
When the desert waits for the next caravan?
When the sea and Her creatures see no ships?
When an endless meadow, pure from man, mourns?
Wonder if anyone climbs up them anymore?
Wonder if all the swallows are sleeping?
Or maybe the cadavers are patiently waiting?
Wonder if they all breathe more at ease in the calm of their solitude?
Wonder if it shall ever meet the presence of someone?
So close, yet so far...
So big, yet so small...
So vast, yet so steep...
So calm, yet so inpatient...
So empty, yet so full...
But in the end, they are side by side, always, never in need of anyone.
In the end, the clouds are always there, with thunder and lightning.
And when night arrives, the sands fill with small souls.
Because in the end they always had one another.
And the meadow bled, but filled with scarlet red poppies.
Loneliness, beauty and joy are in the eyes and mind of the beholder.
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