D.P.Trottier
09-24-2009, 01:06 AM
Concerning the Soulless
“Blessed is he who reads and those who hear
The words of this prophecy,
And keep those things which are written in it;
For the time is near.”
- (revelation 1:3)
I was woken up this morning around 4:00 a.m. by horrible nightmares. I get them occasionally, the nightmares that is… Not that any of that matters now, the entire world has become a ****ing cursed dream, just like mother always told me it would be. Every day I would come down for breakfast and there she’d be with a plate of eggs for me and, that perfect woman, my mother would be there sitting in her worn pink robe; Parliament cigarette in-between her smeared, week-old lipstick, a bloody mary in her left hand and a copy of the New York Times in her right. If I close my eyes I can still smell her Charlie perfume. She’d look up from her news and through puffs of smoke say “Dougie, the world is a flaming Hell. Eat your damn food and be ****ing grateful for it…”
She was such an adorable old woman, I was always grateful for her and those eggs, after all, she did raise me for 24 years, of course I’m grateful… But I’m also alone now… I’ve never really been alone before, Poor mother…
If I close my eyes I can just imagine her feeble legs clad in seamed stockings, trying to run as those creatures moved in on their prey, i.e. my mother. I can imagine the way that they would have surrounded her. She would have turned around to see all of those impending monster through the glasses that seemed to always stay in place on the tip of her slightly upturned nose. It’s curious, really, for such a strong-willed woman, she probably felt weak for the first time in her life… A raspy yell probably could have been heard as they got closer, grabbing at her clothes, tearing at her skin. Her cigarette would have fallen to the ground during the struggle along with the rare droplets of blood that those ravenous fiends let escape their gnawing, mashing mouths. Yes, my mother’s blood was drained and consumed… Very curious…
“Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain,
That are ready to die,
For I have not found your works perfect before God.”
-(revelation 3:2)
I cannot tell you what those mindless cannibals are. I can tell you that they were once human; they were people I knew, sadly. Like the teenaged whore temptresses from across the street; probably eating each other’s blood soaked push-up bras. And the man who walked his dog around the sidewalks in order to flirt with woman; yes, he’s probably coughing up the dog’s fur by now… All of those pricks and chicks looking for tricks are now just seeking for food through empty eyes. It seems that mother has raised me well because I am the only person left in the neighborhood who hasn’t succumbed to those murderous habits, and I never fell in to those sexually deviant pressures either. Though, considering mother’s end, I think I preferred the outward sluttiness to the blood-addiction that was birthed out of… what? A primitive comeback? Maybe our society’s decadence was a sign of some form of de-evolution and it has finally hit its peak. I cannot tell you what those creatures are, but I can speculate:
The blood-thirsty and the flesh-hungry. Conceptually, entities such as zombies and vampires are prime territory for fictional tales; on the other hand, something along those lines has shredded mother’s body and ate her. After I had found her missing, I walked out to the front porch of our house, past that, my memory gets a tad fuzzy. I remember being horrified by the society’s current trend of onslaught. I don’t remember running but I do remember blindly shouting “MOTHER!” up into the sunlit sky and down to the gore-drenched street. I eventually sensed being noticed by the community of demons that were raiding the neighborhood (and not just the money-sucking demons that mother had always pointed out in the outlets when she’d take me clothes shopping, but blood-sucking demons). So I ran into the nearest house, a house almost architecturally identical to my own. Immediately I went up the stairs and into a randomly chosen bedroom, which held a such a familiar scent- probably just the scent of a life that had been lived in that room, stupendous contrast to the lifeless smell of death that was by now drifting around outside.
I’m so lonely; mother would slap me if she saw how lazy I am being: locked into this strange, white-laced bedroom, daydreaming about what could have happened to create this dead world that I currently find myself in. Mother would love the curtains here, though, almost as if she had picked them out herself, completely her taste.
“And they cried with a loud voice,
Saying, ‘How long, O Lord, holy and true,
Until you judge and avenge our blood
On those who dwell on earth?”
-(revelation 6:10)
But truly, the philosophical aspects of the “living dead” are exponentially mind-blowing. On the surface of that inhuman field of beasts, there is the “zombie”. The zombie is easily distinguishable, from what I’ve come to understand through movies I’ve watched when mother wasn’t looking, by its need to feed on human flesh. Driven purely on primal and animalistic instincts. It wanders alone, all the while uselessly engorging itself on the skin and organs of the living.
Sadly I have just realized that a zombie’s burden of lonely hunger is similar to what I myself am beginning to feel… Trapped in my mind to avoid acknowledging this effeminately decorated cell which in turn is also trapped on a planet much too large for the sake of one man’s life; especially mine. I just have no idea what to do, I feel myself losing my grip on things. Mother never did let me handle stressful situations…
Anyway, the true zombie curiosity is its lack of mind. It just cannot be human because without thought, it can’t formulate opinions or share in the opinions of others. Zombies, to my understanding, do not possess the ability to contribute to a society. Not that it matters, this neighborhood has always been a sin-ridden **** society either way. In any case, I think I am correct in saying man is a social being. Though, without mother, I have no one to be social with, I am beginning to feel so inhuman myself…
“The devil, who deceived them,
Was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone
Where the beast and the false prophet are.
And they will be tormented day and night
Forever and ever.”
-(revelation 20:10)
Although the zombie diagnosis does seem to fit the hell-reformed hedonist outside, I am becoming quite addicted to this topic, and the zombie is merely a taste of the inhuman capability, the zombie is low on an unspecified scale; it theoretically holds less humane personality traits than the average household pet. There is, however, a being far more in-depth and tortured, and since I have already begun this controversial thought indulgement, I would like to consider the traits of the “vampire”:
Emphatically the poetic anti human, the vampire seems like it should hold the title of Living Dead Poster Child. Unlike its zombie brethren, the vampire does, I believe, have a mind; momentarily making it appears human, but therein lays its own curse… But I am almost positive that what a vampire lacks is a soul… But what is a soul?
“Behold, I am coming quickly!
Hold fast what you have,
That no one may take your crown.”
-(revelation 3:11)
I suppose a soul is what controls a person’s mind, which in turn I know control’s the body. The soul, in that light, would be like a long term individual persona, so the mind would be like a short-term, ever-changing personality that interacts with your immediate environment to import and export information. The body is just a soft and luscious capsule, a shell filled with warm life…
I also suppose, that without a soul, a vampire’s individual persona is indeterminate (and for some reason I believe that information specifically is key to note…). To contrast it with a subject such as a zombie, which also has no soul, take into consideration that a vampire would, hypothetically of course, have a mind and eternal life. It would be forced to live on forever all the while contemplating his own lack of self, dear God, the insanity that would grow from that is unbearable to even imagine, though I could if I tried…
Self is the building block for social relationships- without it, there is just zero connection. The vampire is cursed with the never-ceasing human ability of thought without the warm and comforting emotions of a fellow human! On a primal level, this must be why the living dead need to feed… Yes, I’m sure of it! The consumption of flesh and blood must be such an intimate experience it seems akin to holiness. It is their attempts for something better… A metaphor for my own current nothingness. I am just like them. Sitting in this god damned room. Chronicling the trailing and spiraling patterns of my own slow loss of sanity here in the margins of a Gideon’s Bible. There are piles of these bibles all over this room, which is surely a fate-related occurrence considering my dear old mother had a collection just like it!
Ah, my mother! Those beasts feeding on her… Her blood must have had a perfect blend of muskiness to it from all of the booze she drank… Her breath stopping as her cigarette burns its last gasp of smoke from its place on the pavement. Mother would be undeniably disappointed in me. I am sure she is one of Them now. And I feel as though I should be too… I feel my own soul leaving my body, now that I know what one is. My thoughts are beginning to grow so violent with all of this writing of flesh… I feel so hungry. But mother has always been right about me when she would call me a coward from her place behind her drink. I am a coward; I can’t allow myself to go outside, to sacrifice my body to those monsters. But I am so damned famished… I suppose I could transform myself… I could devolve to the point of them by receiving a bite AND tasting blood all at once, I could become a demon just like my mother. It isn’t as if God has faith in me:
“For I testify to everyone
Who hears the prophecy of this book:
If anyone adds to these things,
God will add to him the plagues that are written in this book…”
Approximately an hour after this work was completed, an elderly woman opened the door to the bedroom and saw through her glasses a 24 year old man with his own bloody stump of an arm coagulated to the inside of his cold, still mouth; teeth, bone-deep. The woman blinked and exclaimed “Dougie! I leave you alone for 3 hour and you stain my carpet?!”
The Living Dead’s instincts to feed are quite ironic because, while it is their most humanlike quality, it is still quite useless considering that they do not require sustenance. The feeding could be interpreted as a simple expression of instant gratification- the idea being to fill an emptiness. An inbred urge to compensate for an absent soul. But it will be to no avail, especially for the cognitively active vampire, who, after exposures to solitude, will sit in with the underlying fear of a vast and expanding universe. A universe constantly oblivious to the irrelevant life forms that are left behind in the infinity.
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.
“Blessed is he who reads and those who hear
The words of this prophecy,
And keep those things which are written in it;
For the time is near.”
- (revelation 1:3)
I was woken up this morning around 4:00 a.m. by horrible nightmares. I get them occasionally, the nightmares that is… Not that any of that matters now, the entire world has become a ****ing cursed dream, just like mother always told me it would be. Every day I would come down for breakfast and there she’d be with a plate of eggs for me and, that perfect woman, my mother would be there sitting in her worn pink robe; Parliament cigarette in-between her smeared, week-old lipstick, a bloody mary in her left hand and a copy of the New York Times in her right. If I close my eyes I can still smell her Charlie perfume. She’d look up from her news and through puffs of smoke say “Dougie, the world is a flaming Hell. Eat your damn food and be ****ing grateful for it…”
She was such an adorable old woman, I was always grateful for her and those eggs, after all, she did raise me for 24 years, of course I’m grateful… But I’m also alone now… I’ve never really been alone before, Poor mother…
If I close my eyes I can just imagine her feeble legs clad in seamed stockings, trying to run as those creatures moved in on their prey, i.e. my mother. I can imagine the way that they would have surrounded her. She would have turned around to see all of those impending monster through the glasses that seemed to always stay in place on the tip of her slightly upturned nose. It’s curious, really, for such a strong-willed woman, she probably felt weak for the first time in her life… A raspy yell probably could have been heard as they got closer, grabbing at her clothes, tearing at her skin. Her cigarette would have fallen to the ground during the struggle along with the rare droplets of blood that those ravenous fiends let escape their gnawing, mashing mouths. Yes, my mother’s blood was drained and consumed… Very curious…
“Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain,
That are ready to die,
For I have not found your works perfect before God.”
-(revelation 3:2)
I cannot tell you what those mindless cannibals are. I can tell you that they were once human; they were people I knew, sadly. Like the teenaged whore temptresses from across the street; probably eating each other’s blood soaked push-up bras. And the man who walked his dog around the sidewalks in order to flirt with woman; yes, he’s probably coughing up the dog’s fur by now… All of those pricks and chicks looking for tricks are now just seeking for food through empty eyes. It seems that mother has raised me well because I am the only person left in the neighborhood who hasn’t succumbed to those murderous habits, and I never fell in to those sexually deviant pressures either. Though, considering mother’s end, I think I preferred the outward sluttiness to the blood-addiction that was birthed out of… what? A primitive comeback? Maybe our society’s decadence was a sign of some form of de-evolution and it has finally hit its peak. I cannot tell you what those creatures are, but I can speculate:
The blood-thirsty and the flesh-hungry. Conceptually, entities such as zombies and vampires are prime territory for fictional tales; on the other hand, something along those lines has shredded mother’s body and ate her. After I had found her missing, I walked out to the front porch of our house, past that, my memory gets a tad fuzzy. I remember being horrified by the society’s current trend of onslaught. I don’t remember running but I do remember blindly shouting “MOTHER!” up into the sunlit sky and down to the gore-drenched street. I eventually sensed being noticed by the community of demons that were raiding the neighborhood (and not just the money-sucking demons that mother had always pointed out in the outlets when she’d take me clothes shopping, but blood-sucking demons). So I ran into the nearest house, a house almost architecturally identical to my own. Immediately I went up the stairs and into a randomly chosen bedroom, which held a such a familiar scent- probably just the scent of a life that had been lived in that room, stupendous contrast to the lifeless smell of death that was by now drifting around outside.
I’m so lonely; mother would slap me if she saw how lazy I am being: locked into this strange, white-laced bedroom, daydreaming about what could have happened to create this dead world that I currently find myself in. Mother would love the curtains here, though, almost as if she had picked them out herself, completely her taste.
“And they cried with a loud voice,
Saying, ‘How long, O Lord, holy and true,
Until you judge and avenge our blood
On those who dwell on earth?”
-(revelation 6:10)
But truly, the philosophical aspects of the “living dead” are exponentially mind-blowing. On the surface of that inhuman field of beasts, there is the “zombie”. The zombie is easily distinguishable, from what I’ve come to understand through movies I’ve watched when mother wasn’t looking, by its need to feed on human flesh. Driven purely on primal and animalistic instincts. It wanders alone, all the while uselessly engorging itself on the skin and organs of the living.
Sadly I have just realized that a zombie’s burden of lonely hunger is similar to what I myself am beginning to feel… Trapped in my mind to avoid acknowledging this effeminately decorated cell which in turn is also trapped on a planet much too large for the sake of one man’s life; especially mine. I just have no idea what to do, I feel myself losing my grip on things. Mother never did let me handle stressful situations…
Anyway, the true zombie curiosity is its lack of mind. It just cannot be human because without thought, it can’t formulate opinions or share in the opinions of others. Zombies, to my understanding, do not possess the ability to contribute to a society. Not that it matters, this neighborhood has always been a sin-ridden **** society either way. In any case, I think I am correct in saying man is a social being. Though, without mother, I have no one to be social with, I am beginning to feel so inhuman myself…
“The devil, who deceived them,
Was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone
Where the beast and the false prophet are.
And they will be tormented day and night
Forever and ever.”
-(revelation 20:10)
Although the zombie diagnosis does seem to fit the hell-reformed hedonist outside, I am becoming quite addicted to this topic, and the zombie is merely a taste of the inhuman capability, the zombie is low on an unspecified scale; it theoretically holds less humane personality traits than the average household pet. There is, however, a being far more in-depth and tortured, and since I have already begun this controversial thought indulgement, I would like to consider the traits of the “vampire”:
Emphatically the poetic anti human, the vampire seems like it should hold the title of Living Dead Poster Child. Unlike its zombie brethren, the vampire does, I believe, have a mind; momentarily making it appears human, but therein lays its own curse… But I am almost positive that what a vampire lacks is a soul… But what is a soul?
“Behold, I am coming quickly!
Hold fast what you have,
That no one may take your crown.”
-(revelation 3:11)
I suppose a soul is what controls a person’s mind, which in turn I know control’s the body. The soul, in that light, would be like a long term individual persona, so the mind would be like a short-term, ever-changing personality that interacts with your immediate environment to import and export information. The body is just a soft and luscious capsule, a shell filled with warm life…
I also suppose, that without a soul, a vampire’s individual persona is indeterminate (and for some reason I believe that information specifically is key to note…). To contrast it with a subject such as a zombie, which also has no soul, take into consideration that a vampire would, hypothetically of course, have a mind and eternal life. It would be forced to live on forever all the while contemplating his own lack of self, dear God, the insanity that would grow from that is unbearable to even imagine, though I could if I tried…
Self is the building block for social relationships- without it, there is just zero connection. The vampire is cursed with the never-ceasing human ability of thought without the warm and comforting emotions of a fellow human! On a primal level, this must be why the living dead need to feed… Yes, I’m sure of it! The consumption of flesh and blood must be such an intimate experience it seems akin to holiness. It is their attempts for something better… A metaphor for my own current nothingness. I am just like them. Sitting in this god damned room. Chronicling the trailing and spiraling patterns of my own slow loss of sanity here in the margins of a Gideon’s Bible. There are piles of these bibles all over this room, which is surely a fate-related occurrence considering my dear old mother had a collection just like it!
Ah, my mother! Those beasts feeding on her… Her blood must have had a perfect blend of muskiness to it from all of the booze she drank… Her breath stopping as her cigarette burns its last gasp of smoke from its place on the pavement. Mother would be undeniably disappointed in me. I am sure she is one of Them now. And I feel as though I should be too… I feel my own soul leaving my body, now that I know what one is. My thoughts are beginning to grow so violent with all of this writing of flesh… I feel so hungry. But mother has always been right about me when she would call me a coward from her place behind her drink. I am a coward; I can’t allow myself to go outside, to sacrifice my body to those monsters. But I am so damned famished… I suppose I could transform myself… I could devolve to the point of them by receiving a bite AND tasting blood all at once, I could become a demon just like my mother. It isn’t as if God has faith in me:
“For I testify to everyone
Who hears the prophecy of this book:
If anyone adds to these things,
God will add to him the plagues that are written in this book…”
Approximately an hour after this work was completed, an elderly woman opened the door to the bedroom and saw through her glasses a 24 year old man with his own bloody stump of an arm coagulated to the inside of his cold, still mouth; teeth, bone-deep. The woman blinked and exclaimed “Dougie! I leave you alone for 3 hour and you stain my carpet?!”
The Living Dead’s instincts to feed are quite ironic because, while it is their most humanlike quality, it is still quite useless considering that they do not require sustenance. The feeding could be interpreted as a simple expression of instant gratification- the idea being to fill an emptiness. An inbred urge to compensate for an absent soul. But it will be to no avail, especially for the cognitively active vampire, who, after exposures to solitude, will sit in with the underlying fear of a vast and expanding universe. A universe constantly oblivious to the irrelevant life forms that are left behind in the infinity.
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.