And you're honestly going to tell me you didn't think to guess that!? What the fuck did you do to my Andy, Benjamin? Is he tied up? Did he try to kill you? Did you just abandon him and steal his phone? Fucking tell me! If you hurt him, I swear to He Himself I'll send The Faceless God after you for the rest of your life. He likes me, did you know? Every time He visits He tells me that, that He likes me. So don't think I won't. And why the fuck won't you take my calls, huh!? You go and tell everybody you want to talk to me and then you just never pick up. You fucking coward. Talk to me! I know you're on here. I waited until I saw you post, so don't you fucking try and pretend you haven't seen this the moment it pops up.
All we wanted was Andy back. I needed his help looking after all the people. I can't do his job without him. The Minister gets so mad sometimes, when I forget things. I just need some help Ben. Why'd you have to hurt Andy?
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
One Month Delay
If I haven't logged in to delay this update, it should be posted one month after I last logged in, at 12:00PM midday whatever the hell the blogger time is. I'm at least effectively dead, since even Taken I should retain the mental facilities and imprinted patterns necessary to continue performing habitual actions. Please note that this should not be considered proof in any way, shape or form that I am either alive or dead. All this means is I can't get to the computer, which might just mean that's impossible.
And I think I can guess why.
There's only so much room in the story, you see, and we're running out. I had my chance so long ago around the solstice - there's a clear spike when compared to my current views - but I've sadly regulated our story to the smallest of niches through my own failings. But that's okay, because there's more room here, where everything I do is of little consequence. I can work with niches, maybe even spin this into some sort of illustrative warning for the Hero That Shall Come. I mean, there's not exactly a lot of people involved, so I think I can spin the factlessness into something useful, you know? Provided our friends don't interfere. She has such beautiful hair. Ben was right. It's always the hair.
Not that the Hero will come. Robert fucked whatever chance we had with the titles long ago. Actually, that's not particularly fair. All the twelve year old special snowflake gamers fucked whatever chance we had in the titles. For what they did, I hope they've fallen from that special breed of half-Blindness where you know Him but He does not deign to know you, right into Heresy alongside us all. I hope He has them on the Tree, waiting for me with all their dreams coming true.
I should've known. Really, I should've. I've seen the light enough times in their eyes that it should have been obvious. And all I thought He was capable of was raw terror and hate and confusion and pain. I had no idea.
I trusted your plans too much. Tried to make myself part of everything else, or at least let everything else make me a part of it. I never realized I hated the core theory, though. It made Hoso into the Minstrel, turned Zero into a homicidal maniac. It tore apart space and time so she could kill herself in a sick mockery of the death each Touched dies every day. I loved that music, and perhaps if she'd been less popular she might've faded into obscurity, been overlooked by Him. All she was would've remained untainted. Built him up and tore him down, rendered all his work into nothing and drove him to the edge of madness. But not only that - the core theory's poison is everywhere. What grew from what Robert made destroyed even him, and he was perhaps the best chance we had, the architect of it all. The idea was there, but here's the catch - the idea was too appealing, too deeply true for only the greatest of us to pick up. And once the idiots had it too, it all turned to shit. It destroyed so many lives what all of you did, and I'll see each one of you pay in time.
That's not me talking. Ignore that. That's a lie. That's someone else bleeding through from somewhere else, turning left while I turn right. There's only enough room in this story for one protagonist, and it's obvious forcing Ben to share is going to get us both killed. I should've expanded the cast. Told you about James and his vestments, about Sidekick's favorite foods, about Cain and Abel (they're nicknames, not what they actually call themselves.) I could've made enough room to stay if I'd brought in some more villains, fleshed them out and made it ambiguous. Hell, I might've even been able to spin myself a position as the older, wiser brother who teaches the hero what he needs to know.
But there isn't room, and I'm the younger twin regardless.
You can see where He has me. All this hate was never good to carry. But I've had it for so long, watching so many fail, watching so many come to my care and die alone, marooned on an island of insanity in a sea of the insane. We were all worth so much more, and perhaps if you'd all been better characters then you wouldn't have needed to be (Conduits) and (Cartographers) and (Oracles) and (Demons) and fucking (Heralds). I mean, what the hell is a Herald supposed to do? Announce the fucking (Sages) as they arrive wherever they're going? Bully for fucking Nessa. She was a good kid and she didn't deserve what the core theory did to her, not one bit. None of us did.
I feel sorry for Zero, and all the people he's killed, all the people he's going to kill. Mostly because the same thing's happening to me but also because he just got a really shit deal, even if it is better than, say, Jekyll. You try to take a hold of something good, some small chance, and you get lost in it. The story is all He needs, but the story needs a Dragon, just like every other one. Though that's not the worst part. The worst part is he almost made it back out but for that little detail about building a weapon out of the bones of the Touched. Then there's Amelia. Poor girl. If Zero hadn't been so far gone to have killed her, then perhaps the entire story might've changed. There's nothing like a love interest to keep the guy with a sword alive until the end. Speaking of love interests, The New Girl gave me an idea with all that writhing on the floor screaming God's name in pleasure. Because there are Gods, half forgotten and rotting, and some of them sit upon thrones not unlike His, and deal in stories told that cross paths with ours. At present, it's my only chance.
I never noticed it wasn't pain that was making her scream like that, the sick bitch. God is Ben going to have a field day if he ever sees this. There's so much more I'd like to say but it's all coming out on top of each other and I can hear the music now, so I don't have much time. I never knew He could be so beautiful, not in a million years.
It's Ben's only chance.
The core theory, Redlight, The revenants, everything that's passed and everything that's yet to pass will forever taint the work we do, or the work you try so desperately to do and the work I so foolishly did. It's something we'll have to live with - the stain of this failed attempt, that cunning deception. Hell, the core theory took so much there's barely any room left, and fading into obscurity for all of us is absolutely no soluti nt to sleep before and He will be content to sleep again if all this fades. Sleep and wait until the time comes to strike anew on a world that has forgotten Him for the most part yet again.
on. He was conte
Look, I did what I had to do, and I can't explain it because that would invalidate what I did. n be won. I've done the math, okay? I know what I'm doing.You know I'm smart enough to get myself killed and end up winning all of this, in as much as all of this ca
Just, just don't fret, Benji. It's okayl. I'm perfectly fine, though I will concede to the fact of a little time pressure and a whole lot of dnager. so that you may live. There's only one cha I might be able to ke nce, only one other Tree to hang from, and if the parts of me He can't get to survive the nine days then ep enough of myself to get you out of this forever once I've hung from His and He's taken what he can.
Don't do anything r you, and I will not see stupid. I'm doing this fo you waste it.
I love you, man.
And I think I can guess why.
There's only so much room in the story, you see, and we're running out. I had my chance so long ago around the solstice - there's a clear spike when compared to my current views - but I've sadly regulated our story to the smallest of niches through my own failings. But that's okay, because there's more room here, where everything I do is of little consequence. I can work with niches, maybe even spin this into some sort of illustrative warning for the Hero That Shall Come. I mean, there's not exactly a lot of people involved, so I think I can spin the factlessness into something useful, you know? Provided our friends don't interfere. She has such beautiful hair. Ben was right. It's always the hair.
Not that the Hero will come. Robert fucked whatever chance we had with the titles long ago. Actually, that's not particularly fair. All the twelve year old special snowflake gamers fucked whatever chance we had in the titles. For what they did, I hope they've fallen from that special breed of half-Blindness where you know Him but He does not deign to know you, right into Heresy alongside us all. I hope He has them on the Tree, waiting for me with all their dreams coming true.
I should've known. Really, I should've. I've seen the light enough times in their eyes that it should have been obvious. And all I thought He was capable of was raw terror and hate and confusion and pain. I had no idea.
I trusted your plans too much. Tried to make myself part of everything else, or at least let everything else make me a part of it. I never realized I hated the core theory, though. It made Hoso into the Minstrel, turned Zero into a homicidal maniac. It tore apart space and time so she could kill herself in a sick mockery of the death each Touched dies every day. I loved that music, and perhaps if she'd been less popular she might've faded into obscurity, been overlooked by Him. All she was would've remained untainted. Built him up and tore him down, rendered all his work into nothing and drove him to the edge of madness. But not only that - the core theory's poison is everywhere. What grew from what Robert made destroyed even him, and he was perhaps the best chance we had, the architect of it all. The idea was there, but here's the catch - the idea was too appealing, too deeply true for only the greatest of us to pick up. And once the idiots had it too, it all turned to shit. It destroyed so many lives what all of you did, and I'll see each one of you pay in time.
That's not me talking. Ignore that. That's a lie. That's someone else bleeding through from somewhere else, turning left while I turn right. There's only enough room in this story for one protagonist, and it's obvious forcing Ben to share is going to get us both killed. I should've expanded the cast. Told you about James and his vestments, about Sidekick's favorite foods, about Cain and Abel (they're nicknames, not what they actually call themselves.) I could've made enough room to stay if I'd brought in some more villains, fleshed them out and made it ambiguous. Hell, I might've even been able to spin myself a position as the older, wiser brother who teaches the hero what he needs to know.
But there isn't room, and I'm the younger twin regardless.
You can see where He has me. All this hate was never good to carry. But I've had it for so long, watching so many fail, watching so many come to my care and die alone, marooned on an island of insanity in a sea of the insane. We were all worth so much more, and perhaps if you'd all been better characters then you wouldn't have needed to be (Conduits) and (Cartographers) and (Oracles) and (Demons) and fucking (Heralds). I mean, what the hell is a Herald supposed to do? Announce the fucking (Sages) as they arrive wherever they're going? Bully for fucking Nessa. She was a good kid and she didn't deserve what the core theory did to her, not one bit. None of us did.
I feel sorry for Zero, and all the people he's killed, all the people he's going to kill. Mostly because the same thing's happening to me but also because he just got a really shit deal, even if it is better than, say, Jekyll. You try to take a hold of something good, some small chance, and you get lost in it. The story is all He needs, but the story needs a Dragon, just like every other one. Though that's not the worst part. The worst part is he almost made it back out but for that little detail about building a weapon out of the bones of the Touched. Then there's Amelia. Poor girl. If Zero hadn't been so far gone to have killed her, then perhaps the entire story might've changed. There's nothing like a love interest to keep the guy with a sword alive until the end. Speaking of love interests, The New Girl gave me an idea with all that writhing on the floor screaming God's name in pleasure. Because there are Gods, half forgotten and rotting, and some of them sit upon thrones not unlike His, and deal in stories told that cross paths with ours. At present, it's my only chance.
I never noticed it wasn't pain that was making her scream like that, the sick bitch. God is Ben going to have a field day if he ever sees this. There's so much more I'd like to say but it's all coming out on top of each other and I can hear the music now, so I don't have much time. I never knew He could be so beautiful, not in a million years.
It's Ben's only chance.
The core theory, Redlight, The revenants, everything that's passed and everything that's yet to pass will forever taint the work we do, or the work you try so desperately to do and the work I so foolishly did. It's something we'll have to live with - the stain of this failed attempt, that cunning deception. Hell, the core theory took so much there's barely any room left, and fading into obscurity for all of us is absolutely no soluti nt to sleep before and He will be content to sleep again if all this fades. Sleep and wait until the time comes to strike anew on a world that has forgotten Him for the most part yet again.
on. He was conte
Look, I did what I had to do, and I can't explain it because that would invalidate what I did. n be won. I've done the math, okay? I know what I'm doing.You know I'm smart enough to get myself killed and end up winning all of this, in as much as all of this ca
Just, just don't fret, Benji. It's okayl. I'm perfectly fine, though I will concede to the fact of a little time pressure and a whole lot of dnager. so that you may live. There's only one cha I might be able to ke nce, only one other Tree to hang from, and if the parts of me He can't get to survive the nine days then ep enough of myself to get you out of this forever once I've hung from His and He's taken what he can.
Don't do anything r you, and I will not see stupid. I'm doing this fo you waste it.
I love you, man.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
I Found Drew's Phone
I was out of toothpaste, so I went digging around in his bag for wherever he keeps his toiletries. Actually how I found it isn't really important. When I charged it and turned it on, though, it had 34 missed calls and 42 messages. Most of the messages (34, in fact) were just Telstra being a moron and insisting on sending a message about the missed calls, but some were from people.
Neither number had real a name, though. One had the name "IGNORE", and the other was just "My Old Number". It's obvious enough that the old number thing is a lie, because, well, here are the texts.
From "My Old Number":
There's three missed calls from this one, all right after each other and maybe a week after he disappeared at about 4 AM. That's when I'm asleep, more often than not.
"You missed the call. Is something wrong Drew? Did He get Ben? Are you alright?"
Then another about three days later.
"I know I'm not supposed to be texting you the updates, because you can't check which one of us it is, but something is going down. Call me."
Then there's eight more calls, one a day at Four AM.
"Look, call me to confirm it or whatever, but you need to know. He visited, and Cain and Abel are really excited now. Something's up."
That's it, apart from one more call about a week later.
Now the ones from "Ignore":
There's three missed calls from whoever this is right about when I think he disappeared, and then:
"Andy?"
Then another five missed calls, all within about an hour of each other at the most.
"Don't do this to me, Andy. I'm scared. I need someone to talk to, please. I'm sorry about what I did, okay? I've already said I'm sorry."
Then another two.
"Baby please pick up. I want out, okay. He's not in my head, alright, if that's what you're worried about. I just want out."
Then another seven missed calls, over the course of the next day.
"Don't do this to me Drew. I'm not going to take shit like this much longer."
Then another one.
"Fine, I'm on my way and I'm coming to talk to you. I don't know when I'm going to wake up on my way to you, but I'm not stopping until I do."
Then there's an absolute tonne of missed calls, all over the place time and date-wise, leading up until today. There's generally at least one call per day, and there was one this morning, about an hour or so ago. Which means whoever Ignore is still wants to talk to Drew.
So I guess I get to tell them Andrew's gone and probably dead, whoever they are.
Neither number had real a name, though. One had the name "IGNORE", and the other was just "My Old Number". It's obvious enough that the old number thing is a lie, because, well, here are the texts.
From "My Old Number":
There's three missed calls from this one, all right after each other and maybe a week after he disappeared at about 4 AM. That's when I'm asleep, more often than not.
"You missed the call. Is something wrong Drew? Did He get Ben? Are you alright?"
Then another about three days later.
"I know I'm not supposed to be texting you the updates, because you can't check which one of us it is, but something is going down. Call me."
Then there's eight more calls, one a day at Four AM.
"Look, call me to confirm it or whatever, but you need to know. He visited, and Cain and Abel are really excited now. Something's up."
That's it, apart from one more call about a week later.
Now the ones from "Ignore":
There's three missed calls from whoever this is right about when I think he disappeared, and then:
"Andy?"
Then another five missed calls, all within about an hour of each other at the most.
"Don't do this to me, Andy. I'm scared. I need someone to talk to, please. I'm sorry about what I did, okay? I've already said I'm sorry."
Then another two.
"Baby please pick up. I want out, okay. He's not in my head, alright, if that's what you're worried about. I just want out."
Then another seven missed calls, over the course of the next day.
"Don't do this to me Drew. I'm not going to take shit like this much longer."
Then another one.
"Fine, I'm on my way and I'm coming to talk to you. I don't know when I'm going to wake up on my way to you, but I'm not stopping until I do."
Then there's an absolute tonne of missed calls, all over the place time and date-wise, leading up until today. There's generally at least one call per day, and there was one this morning, about an hour or so ago. Which means whoever Ignore is still wants to talk to Drew.
So I guess I get to tell them Andrew's gone and probably dead, whoever they are.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Mirrors and Madness
I saw myself move in the mirror today. He turned left when I turned right, or at least he turned to my left while I turned to my right, seeing as it gets ambiguous when the other person moving is also me. It was for only the briefest of seconds that I didn't really noticed until I'd looked away, and by then it was back to normal when I glanced back. But I moved.
He was there, or the mess He's making was there, seeing as I didn't see Him. If I'm starting to witness myself making two separate decisions simultaneously like that, then I think we're in trouble - even if it was such a small one. We've moved on again, and this time I have no idea where we're going. Away from home, and that forsaken, blood-stained hotel that we ran to, that's for sure.
I don't think it can be stopped. I've been looking at everything He's doing, all this "dimensional bleeding" insanity, all the frenzy He's inspiring in His Touched, all the people crumbling under the pressure, all the death and destruction and anger. And I'm scared. I'll be honest about that. I'm scared, because I know we can't beat Him, Ben and I. I'm in too deep to be standing and fighting without losing it all, and all that leaves is running. But I have a new plan, one that doesn't involve feats I cannot accomplish. One with layer after layer of redundancy and contingency as standard. One that I can't share. They're watching the blog - He's watching the blog, in a roundabout enough way.
But when we're safe, when I've worked my magic, when everything has failed, time and time again - and I find myself still alive, having planned for it all - then you'll know. When Ben and I are safe, I'll tell you all how I did it, because by then it won't even matter.
He was there, or the mess He's making was there, seeing as I didn't see Him. If I'm starting to witness myself making two separate decisions simultaneously like that, then I think we're in trouble - even if it was such a small one. We've moved on again, and this time I have no idea where we're going. Away from home, and that forsaken, blood-stained hotel that we ran to, that's for sure.
I don't think it can be stopped. I've been looking at everything He's doing, all this "dimensional bleeding" insanity, all the frenzy He's inspiring in His Touched, all the people crumbling under the pressure, all the death and destruction and anger. And I'm scared. I'll be honest about that. I'm scared, because I know we can't beat Him, Ben and I. I'm in too deep to be standing and fighting without losing it all, and all that leaves is running. But I have a new plan, one that doesn't involve feats I cannot accomplish. One with layer after layer of redundancy and contingency as standard. One that I can't share. They're watching the blog - He's watching the blog, in a roundabout enough way.
But when we're safe, when I've worked my magic, when everything has failed, time and time again - and I find myself still alive, having planned for it all - then you'll know. When Ben and I are safe, I'll tell you all how I did it, because by then it won't even matter.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sorry, But I Got Bored
This is fun, watching everybody play with this new computer. I just wish I could see the hardware, review whatever databases it's using to operate and have a poke around in the programming for whatever it's running to do all this. It seems fascinatingly complex, for a text-based operating system. It looks like it can even interpret poorly spelled and ambiguously phrased input, which is remarkable to say the least. It's at very least a marvel of software engineering, just on account of the kind of things you could do with a computer and some software like that. I might consider stepping over a body or two if it got my hands on this thing and see what the actual interface is like, I'll be honest.
But that's not important. It did give me an idea, though. I thought maybe I could run a couple of scenarios by it to determine our next course of action. It would just help if I knew how the decision making processes worked and if they were trustworthy. To be honest, I don't have a lot of faith in it, seeing as it looks a little like it confused Ben and I while analyzing us, thinking I'm more stable than Ben. It's not like that damn music might sway my vote for stability past his more intelligent horror in His presence.
I'm not really supposed to be blogging, but the scars are definitely sufficiently scabbed and healing that as long as I keep from typing too fast or hard nothing will be any worse off than when I started. They're definitely not going to tear open if I'm gentle, so Ben will just have to deal. Plus, it's just too much fun trying to decide what I should ask the thing next, or if maybe talking to it might not be a good idea. Now that I think about it, it definitely not one where everybody can see you asking it about your plans while a small subset of everybody really wouldn't mind spoiling them. I can hardly ask the thing where Ben and I should go hide right out in public, now can I? Then again, I wonder if perhaps I can send in requests for calculations or analysis by email. If only I knew how it worked.
But that's not important. It did give me an idea, though. I thought maybe I could run a couple of scenarios by it to determine our next course of action. It would just help if I knew how the decision making processes worked and if they were trustworthy. To be honest, I don't have a lot of faith in it, seeing as it looks a little like it confused Ben and I while analyzing us, thinking I'm more stable than Ben. It's not like that damn music might sway my vote for stability past his more intelligent horror in His presence.
I'm not really supposed to be blogging, but the scars are definitely sufficiently scabbed and healing that as long as I keep from typing too fast or hard nothing will be any worse off than when I started. They're definitely not going to tear open if I'm gentle, so Ben will just have to deal. Plus, it's just too much fun trying to decide what I should ask the thing next, or if maybe talking to it might not be a good idea. Now that I think about it, it definitely not one where everybody can see you asking it about your plans while a small subset of everybody really wouldn't mind spoiling them. I can hardly ask the thing where Ben and I should go hide right out in public, now can I? Then again, I wonder if perhaps I can send in requests for calculations or analysis by email. If only I knew how it worked.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Ben's an insy whinsy bit of a fool, and he's apparently incapable of listenning either. And I know I'm not supposed to be typing because it's bad for my stitches and healing in general, but I'm too drunk for it to hurt so it's aokay.
And so, without further adeu, I bring you the unmolested rendition of the last three halves of my newest piece of work, inspired by this increasingly shit situatiuon we find ourselves in:
Minstrel's cut her own face off
The Jester's noose draws tight
Old Zerosage returns from death
To stalk us in the night
And who the fuck is nocturne, eh?
And what the fuck's his game?
Through Reach the Boss has trolled us all
Consequences never be the same
Robert might'bve been the chance
But we all know how that ends
So let's just watch him find His name
So we can all get fucked again!
Oh poetry, oh noetry
Shout bingo, wont you dear!?
For while we drink and while I sign
Old He "that is" draws near
Oh yes, He comes to screw my plans
My theories effing A
And if it keeps right at this rate
I give myself a day!
And I can't give yo uthe rest of it because it doesn't count as forshadowing if you don't get the proportions right or just plain spell it out either, and my plan's not going to work unless i can get the story perfect and perfect stories don't spell shit out first they foreshadow. It has to fit, and that is too damned hard to do, I'll have you know. Too damned hard. I've had to cut back sooooooooooooooo much and now it's like the contingency to the contingency to the contingency to the backup plan's backup plan.
And yoiu know why? It's not your fault or anything, but there's not enough room with everybody else crowding about, and all the heroics get watered down and instead of Zeke Stramn getting enough sapce to save us all he end up getting relegated Mystic instead and instead of the dearest Sage fo Nothing sacrificing himself to end it all, we all work enough magic with our heads to make the whole thing piontless because you won't give him enough room to work with. Hell, if they can't do it, fricken pillars of awesomethat they are then I sure as hell won't be able to beat Him, will I? So contingency F-7 and a half or something. That one might work. There's room enough for half a plan.
And I just have to say sorry to past me for skipping out on your promise and posting up something that could possible be misconstrued as poetry if you squint and ignore the fact it's a drinking song. It's how drunk me rolls, and anyway I have a better plan than you so stuff it we're running with it!
And so, without further adeu, I bring you the unmolested rendition of the last three halves of my newest piece of work, inspired by this increasingly shit situatiuon we find ourselves in:
Minstrel's cut her own face off
The Jester's noose draws tight
Old Zerosage returns from death
To stalk us in the night
And who the fuck is nocturne, eh?
And what the fuck's his game?
Through Reach the Boss has trolled us all
Consequences never be the same
Robert might'bve been the chance
But we all know how that ends
So let's just watch him find His name
So we can all get fucked again!
Oh poetry, oh noetry
Shout bingo, wont you dear!?
For while we drink and while I sign
Old He "that is" draws near
Oh yes, He comes to screw my plans
My theories effing A
And if it keeps right at this rate
I give myself a day!
And I can't give yo uthe rest of it because it doesn't count as forshadowing if you don't get the proportions right or just plain spell it out either, and my plan's not going to work unless i can get the story perfect and perfect stories don't spell shit out first they foreshadow. It has to fit, and that is too damned hard to do, I'll have you know. Too damned hard. I've had to cut back sooooooooooooooo much and now it's like the contingency to the contingency to the contingency to the backup plan's backup plan.
And yoiu know why? It's not your fault or anything, but there's not enough room with everybody else crowding about, and all the heroics get watered down and instead of Zeke Stramn getting enough sapce to save us all he end up getting relegated Mystic instead and instead of the dearest Sage fo Nothing sacrificing himself to end it all, we all work enough magic with our heads to make the whole thing piontless because you won't give him enough room to work with. Hell, if they can't do it, fricken pillars of awesomethat they are then I sure as hell won't be able to beat Him, will I? So contingency F-7 and a half or something. That one might work. There's room enough for half a plan.
And I just have to say sorry to past me for skipping out on your promise and posting up something that could possible be misconstrued as poetry if you squint and ignore the fact it's a drinking song. It's how drunk me rolls, and anyway I have a better plan than you so stuff it we're running with it!
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