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.
Showing posts with label The Plan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Plan. Show all posts
Friday, April 29, 2011
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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)