Everything. Again.

So. The past few days have been. Odd. That's an understatement. I think crazy would be the best way to describe them. Too much to process all at once.
Where to start? Sure. Lockup.
Don't get me wrong. It's nice enough, but a well decorated cell is still a cell.
I don't do well with confinement. Let that be said now.
By the time I got out, I think I could have punched someone. And my legs were tired from the pacing.

And then Shaun shows up with a goddamn guitar, (not that it was in tune) and we had a sing-along.
That was weird. That whole... fucking normal thing sneaking up again. It's disturbing.

The day after? Spent apologizing, making people sandwiches and "fixing" things. That went really well.

In that at one point I told Lucas to shoot me with an unloaded gun. Which I'd handed him. While he wasn't in a particularly stable state of mind. No one can accuse me of being stable. But it seems to have worked out okay.

I think I've sorted that much out?

Opal, and another girl showed up the other night. Had to convince Elaine to take the right precautions.
We drove out to a meet-up point that Elaine gave them. Brought them back in the van so they couldn't see how we went. Probably take them out the same way. They're locked up on the second floor.

Dropped off some food, saw to Opal's arm and head. Arm probably won't work properly.

And now we get to the good part. Blackout. Again. I slipped. And apparently no one noticed.

Apparently I tormented Opal to the point that she tried, and succeeded I might add, to club me with a lamp. It hurt.
Also drugged Lis and then made off in the middle of the night and wound up waking up on the side of the interstate in Kansas. Now, everything gets a little fuzzy from this point on, so forgive me if I'm unclear.
The frightening part in what comes next is that all the actions that followed made a *great* deal of sense at the time. They obviously don't any more.
I came to in my van, on the side of the interstate, absolutely starving. Ate something, go to check things to see just what the hell happened?
No sympathy and apparently I'm the devil.
It is very difficult to explain exactly how this feels. So, what I'd like you to do, is get a pencil, and place it against the webbing between your middle and ring fingers, and hold it there. Now, squeeze those two fingers together.
Suffice it to say, the inability of anyone to believe me coupled with the fact that I was and am still FUCKING TERRIFIED of myself is not a good cocktail, especially on the tail end of a blackout.

Actually, there's a bit of a lie there. Spencer believed me.
It is a sad fucking day when the only other person who you can turn to is Spencer Fitzgerald, dear readers. I sort of... lost it. With the world.

So now we get to the fun part. That's the part where I apparently managed to break into a Loop. See, Richard (Variously Raven, Corwin, R.C.S) is a miserable bastard. I would like nothing better than to wring his feathery neck. THIS WHOLE MESS that I'm in right now, I'm putting on his head. So yeah, it made sense that I was going to hunt his ass down and put a bullet in him. But not really. I don't think I'm that violent.

Spencer, I have no idea what the hell you were doing there. Who invited you? And why the hell did we wind up in New Mexico?

I'm getting ahead of myself though. Spencer also happened to be there, for reasons only known to him, Slender and God I would imagine. I shot him. (For those of you keeping score at home, the number of people I have shot is now: 1). I honestly didn't mean to. He was sort of standing in the way of the gun and I asked him to move but he wouldn't and...

Okay so not getting into the gritty details of that, I lose track of just what happens next, only Spencer's been shot and we're in outside of Albuquerque (yes, New Mexico) ON THE WRONG SIDE OF A SHOOTING RANGE. In case anyone was wondering, tar and mustard gas is a fair approximation of a smell I'd much rather refer to as "death".

So the situation as it stands at this point? Not good. My van is in Kansas, two states away. With most of my things. A little fuzzy on how I wound up at a library, but managed to get in touch with Elaine. Now, if anyone would like to doubt Ms. Logan's character I would like to correct them at this point.

Because you see, in the span of three days or so, I could have very well killed someone in her house. Twice. It's very likely that I could have lit the place on fire. And she bought me a plane ticket and picked me up from the airport. And she hasn't locked me up again.

If anyone would like to question Ms. Logan's sanity, feel free to take it up with her, I won't bother to argue with either of you.

TL;DR? Stuff happened. All at once, and when it was over I'd managed to lose my hat. I don't lose my hat.

Enough.

That's it. Roll credits.
Last one out don't forget
to turn off the lights please
Seems I'm a dangerous person
And the ticking just doesn't stop.
It doesn't go away. It never stops.
Obviously, the right thing to do is to heap
your resentment on me. All of the anger
and hatred. Well you know what? You
let it happen.All of you did. Didn't you~
No answers from you?I suppose that
means that I'm right then doesn't it?

IF YOU'RE ALL
SO DAMNED WISE
THEN HOW THE HELL
DID YOU LET HIM GET
AWAY WITH IT HMM?
ANSWER ME THAT!
WHAT'S THIS NOW
YOU CAN'T?
GOOD.

Oh.
Hey.
Anger.
Forgot you.
Hello again.
Glad that
you're
back

Really
I've had enough of this
I want nothing more right now
than to see every last one of you
HATEFUL BASTARDS
BURN

But first?
I've got to figure out
how to kill an invisible man
and time's a-wasting.
See you~

Treachery 1/4

If I had rhymes but rough and stridulous,
As were appropriate to the dismal hole
Down upon which thrust all the other rocks,


I would press out the juice of my conception
More fully; but because I have them not,
Not without fear I bring myself to speak;


Whereat I turned me round, and saw before me
And underfoot a lake, that from frost
The semblance had of glass, and not of water.


Livid, as far down as where shame appears,
Were the disconsolate sades within the ice,
Setting their teeth unto the note of storks.


Each one his countenance held downward bent:
From mouth the cold, from eyes the doeful heart
Among them witness of itself procures.


When round about me somewhat I had looked,
I downward turned me, and saw two so close,
The hair upon their heads together mingled.


Ye who so strain your breasts together, tell me,
I said, who are you; and they bent their necks,
And when to me their faces they had lifted,


Their eyes, whih first were only moist within
Gushed o'er the eyelids, and the frost congealed
The tears between, and locked them up again.


They from one body came, and all Cania
Thou shalt search through, and shalt not find a shade
More worthy to be fixed in gelatine;


Not he in whom were broken breast and shadow
At one and the same blow by Arthur's hand;

The first round of the Ninth Circle of Hell, is named Cania, and like the rest of this round, in it are placed the treacherous. The crime of the first round, for which it takes its name, is treachery against family. Don't say you don't deserve it

What you leave behind

Hope is a wonderful thing. It's warm, bright and safe. And it's a shame to have to leave it behind.
I'm going north again. And I'm sorry for slipping out in the middle of the night. But it was easier that way.
Safer. Couldn't have Elaine locking me in again. And I can't trust any of you. I'm sorry to say it. I can't.
You have no idea how long it took to get everything to the van. Of course, the flaw in any security system, no matter how advanced, is always a human one. We're flawed, fragile things.
if last night is any indication events have caught up with me
But I've gotten off topic.

So yeah. That's me gone. I suppose I owe some goodbyes at this point. I've already made my apologies, as far as it's worth. I'm fine. For a given value of fine. Don't worry about me.

Elaine: Thanks for giving me a place to stay for a while. I know you might have had some misgivings. It's been... good to be Michael again. Hope your shoulder gets better. I don't need to tell you take care of Hope. But I'm telling you anyways. It's a precious thing and for better or worse, you're its caretaker. I'm so. sorry. Have fun~

Lis: Thank you. I don't think I can say more than that. You're wonderful. Sorry for leaving so abruptly. You did ask us to say goodbye. And it was easier to knock you out.

Joel: Take care. Sorry about the ribs again. And sorry about Lucas. You're both very fun to push, I must admit, take care Wolfie

Lucas: Apologies for the other night. I was out of line. You've still got Joel though. Make the best of it.

Tia: Sorry about stealing Lis, she's all yours now. Take care of her. Don't worry. Lis is fine. She'll be awake in a few hours.

Blake: Sorry, I won't get to do that rematch. See if Venny will take up my sword?

Shaun: Nice to see someone more awkward than me. Take care of Elaine. Keep the guitar in tune. And, sorry about... well you know. That punch to the stomach hurt. I'll need to get you for that.

Opal: Sorry we couldn't talk longer. Don't go crazy again. Or I'll be back. Those windows? I think you could put a bullet through one.

I don't think I've forgotten anyone... of course I have thats what happens

Ten of Ten

When we were now right over the last cloister
Of Malebolge, so that its lay-brothers
Could manifest themselves unto our sight,

Diverse lamentings pierced me through and through,
Which with compassion had their arrows barbed,
Whereat mine ears I covered with my hands.

What pain would be, if from the hospitals
Of Valdichiana, 'twixt July and September,
And of Maremma and Sardinia,

All the diseases in one moat were gathered,
Such was it here, and such a stench came from it
As from putrescent limbs is wont to issue.

We had descended on the furthest bank
From the long crag, upon the left hand still,
And then more vivid was my power of sight

One the false woman is who accused Josheph
The other the false Sinon, Greek of Troy;
From acute fever they send forth such reek.

The tenth, and final, Bolgia is for the falsifiers. As in life a disease on society they were, their punishment, here at the bottom of this pit, is to be steeped in illness and disease themselves.

Nine of Ten

A cask by loosing centre-piece or cant
Was ever shattered so, as I saw one
Rent from the chin to where one breaketh wind

Between his legs were hanging down his entrails
His heart was visible, and the dismal sack
That maketh excrement of what is eaten.

While I was all absorbed in seeing him,
He looked at me, and opened with his hands
His bosom, saying: See now how I rend me;

How mutilated, see, is Mahomet;
In front of me doth Ali weeping go,
Cleft in the face from forelock unto chin;

And all the others whom thou here beholdest,
Disseminators of scandal and schism
While living were, and therefore are cleft thus.

A devil is behind here, who doth cleave us
Thus cruelly, unto the falchion's edge
Putting again each one of all this ream,

When we have gone around the doleful road;
By reason that our wounds are closed again
Ere any one in front of him repass.

But who art thou, that musest on the crag,
Perchance to postpone going to the pain
That is adjudged upon thine accusations.

Something witty

Okay. I'll admit it. I'm going crazy
Dante makes me sick. And the rest of this
The Divine Comedy? Is just a cover
So much garbage. So I can keep denying the truth
Aren't I clever?

Eight of Ten

With flames as manifold resplendent all
Was the eighth Bolgia, as I grew aware
As soon as I was where the depth appeared

And such as he who with the bears avenged him
Beheld Elijah's chariot at departing
What time the steeds to heaven erect uprose

For with his eye he could not follow it
So as to see aught else than flame alone,
Even as a little cloud ascending upward,

Thus each along the gorge of the intrenchment
Was moving; for not one reveals the theft,
And every flame a sinner steals away.

I stood upon the bridge uprisen to see,
So that, if I had seized not on a rock,
Down had I fallen without being pushed.

And the Leader, who beheld me so attent
Exclaimed: With the fires the spirits are;
Each swathes himself with that wherewith he burns.

'My Master, I replied, by hearing thee
I am more sure; but I surmised already
It might be so, and already wished to ask thee

Who is within that fire, which comes so cleft
At the top, it seems uprising from the pyre
Where was Eteocles with his brother placed.

He answered me: Within there are tormented
Ulysses and Diomed, and thus together
They unto vengeance run as unto wrath

And there within their flame do they lament
The ambush of the horse, which made the door
When issued forth the Romans' gentle seed;

Therein is wept the craft, for which being dead
Deidamia still deplores Achilles,
And pain for the Palladium there is borne.

There in the Eighth Bolgia are condemned to fire, those who gave fraudulent and evil counsel. They are not liars, merely those who used positions of respect to counsel others to ill deeds.

Seven of Ten

We from the bridge descended at its head,
Where it connects itself with the eighth bank,
And then was manifest to me the Bolgia;

And I beheld therein a terrible throng
Of serpents, and of such a monstrous kind,
That the remembrance still congeals my blood

Let Libya boast no longer with her sand;
For if Chelydri, Jaculi and Pharae
She breeds, with Cenchri and with Ammhisbaena.

Neither so many plagues nor so malignant
E'er showed she with all Ethiopia
Nor with whatever on the Red Sea is!

Among this cruel and most dismal throng
People were running naked and affrighted
Without the hope of hole or heliotrope

They had their hands with serpents bound behind them;
These riveted upon their reins the the tail
And hear, and were in front of them entwined.

And lo! at one who was upon our side
There darted forth a serpent, which transfixed him
There where the neck is knotted to the shoulders.

Nor O so quickly e'er, nor I was written,
As he took fire, and burned; and ashes wholly
Behoved it that in falling he became.

And when he on the ground was thus destroyed,
The ashes drew together, and of themselves
Into himself they instantly returned.

The Guide thereafter asked him who he was;
When he replied: I rained from Tuscany
A short time since into this cruel gorge.

A bestial life, and not a human, pleased me,
Even as the mule I was; I'm Vanni Fuci
Beast, and Pistoia was my worthy den.

An I unto the Guide: Tell him to stir not,
And ask what crime has thrust him here below,
For once a man of blood and wrath I saw him.

And the sinner, who had heard, dissembled not,
But unto me directed mind and face,
And with a melancholy shame was painted.

Then said: It pains more that thou hast caught me
Amid this misery where thou seest me,
Than when I from the other life was taken.

Who thou demandest I cannot deny;
So low am I put down because I robbed
The sacristy of the fair ornaments,

And falsely once 'twas laid upon another;
But that thou mayst not such a sight enjoy,
If thou shalt e'er be out of the dark places,

Out of the box

So. Elaine didn't lie to me about letting me out.
I think I'm grateful. Being in a room like that. It is not pleasant. No matter what anyone tells you.

The first thing I did, I burned some things. The notebook. And a few other papers with slenderscribble on them. How didn't I notice that?

Anyways. I'm out of quarantine for now.

Retrospective

I've always thought the trope in story telling of recounting a narrative through retrospective was an interesting one. It could be done well, or horribly poorly.

There's a feeling in the back of my head. When it starts to push back. Music helps. No. Wait. I'm getting ahead of myself.
There's a shooting range here. I'd have burned my bow with the house... but it had meaning. I'm no marksman, but I can still hit a target. And the action of shooting, nock the arrow, take aim, pull back. Release. It's calming. It focuses the mind. I think I surprised Elaine a little. It's been hard to get to sleep. Keep waking up.

I dabbled in hobbies as a kid, a few things stuck here and there. Archery, from back in school, and if you'll believe it, I learned to fight with a staff. They thought it would teach me discipline. Well, I suppose it did. But mostly, I liked the idea that you could break someones ribs with it.

Elaine carries far too many knives. We sparred a little (she's better than me) until I got her shoulder which apparently hurt quite a bit. And that's when I noticed. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It was back. The fucking ticking alwaysthe fucking ticking. Tick tock. NO. None of that.

I could feel it starting to push in the back of my head. Elaine pointed it out. I tap out the beat when I can hear it. Old habit, keeping time. The music usually helps. But it didn't. There was something wrong and. I needed to leave. I remember going to get my rope back from Joel. And it was really starting to show at that point. So I ran. Always the running. If I've still got legs I'm running. I figured I could lose Joel on the third floor, duck in next to the door, let him go through and slip out behind him.

Nope. Elaine and Shaun were there. Turn the hell around and actually start running. And then Elaine locked down the house. I'd had the van loaded but the gate wouldn't open and... the ticking. God damn it. The ticking. I lose track of what happened there.

Next thing I know, I'm tied up, getting lugged around by Tia, Shaun's limping, my stomach feels like it's been bashed in by something with roughly the size, shape, speed and mass of a cannon ball, something's up with Joel and... I lost it. And now they've locked me up. I'm quarantined. Like I'm carrying a contagion.

Why'd you have to leave the damn notebook with me Elaine? Why that and not even a match? I want to burn this thing. Set the pages on fire and watch them burn.

sorry. I slipped.

Six of Ten

Whence I unto my Leader: See thou find
Some one who may by deed or name be known
And thus in going move thine eye about.

And one, who understood the Tuscan speech
Cried to us from behind: Stay ye your feet
Ye, who run athwart the dusky air

Perhaps thou'lt have from me what thou demandest.
Whereat the Leader turned him and said: Wait,
And then according to his pace proceed.

I stopped, and two beheld I show great haste
Of spirit, in their faces, to be with me;
But the burden and the narrow way delayed them.

When they came up, long with an eye askance
They scanned me without uttering a word.
Then to each other turned and said together:

He by the action of his throat seems living;
And if they dead are, by what privilege
Go they uncovered by the heavy stole?

Then said to me: Tuscan, who to the college
of miserable hypocrites art come,
Do not disdain to tell us who thou art.

And I to them: Born was I, and grew up
In the great town on the fair river of Arno,
And with the body am I've always had.

But who are ye, in whom there trickles down
Along your cheeks such grief as I behold?
And what pain is upon you, that so sparkles?

And one replied to me: These orange cloaks
Are made of lead so heavy, that the weights
Cause in this way their balances to creak.

In the sixth, the hypocrites walk under the burden of gilded lead cloaks, the nature of their burden disguised as their fraud was in life, the weight prevents their progression further.

Five of Ten

And I: My Master, see to it, if thou canst,
That thou mayst know who is the luckless wight
Thus come into his adversaries' hands.

Near to the side of him my Leader drew,
Asked of him whence he was; and he replied:
I in the kingdom of Navarre was born;

My mother placed me servant to a lord,
For she had borne me to a ribald knave,
Destroyer of himself and of his things.

Then I domestic was of good King Thibault;
I set me there to practise barratry
For which I pay the reckoning in this heat.

In the fifth, the corrupt politicians are steeped in boiling pitch for their foul and sticky dealings, and are clawed at and whipped by the vicious guardians of that place.

Four of Ten

Of a new pain behoves me to make verses
And give material to the twentieth canto
Of the first song, which is of the submerged.

I was already thoroughly disposed
To peer down into the uncovered depth,
Which bathed itself with the tears of agony;

And people saw I through the circular valley,
Silent and weeping, coming at the pace
Which in this world the Litanies assume.

As lower down my sight descended on them,
Wondrously each one seem to be distorted
From chin to the beginning of the chest

For tow'rds the reins the countenance was turned,
And backward it beehoved them to advance,
As to look forward had been taken from them.

Perchance indeed by violence of palsy
Some one has been thus wholly turned awry;
But I ne'er saw it, nor believe it can be.

In the fourth Bolge, the fortune tellers, diviners and false prophets are punished, forced to walk their heads turned backwards unable to see what lies before them in death, as they strove to see the future in life.

Three of Ten

O Simon Magus, O forlorn disciples,
Ye who the things of God, which ought to be
The brides of holiness, rapaciously

For silver and for gold do protitute,
Now it behoves you for the trumpet sound,
Because in this third Bolgia ye abide.

Two of Ten

Thence we heard people, who are making moan
In the next Bolgia, snorting with their muzzles,
And with their palms beating upon themselves,

The margins were incrusted with a mould
By exhalation from below, that sticks there,
And with the eyes and nostrils wages war.

The bottom is so deep, no place suffices
To give us sight of it without ascending
The arch's back, where most the crag impends.

Thither we came, and thence down in the moat
I saw a people smothered in a filth
That out of human privies seemed to flow

And whilst below there with mine eye I search,
I saw one with his head so foul with ordure,
It was not clear if he were clerk or layman.

He screamed to me: Wherefore art thou so eager
To look at me more than the other foul ones?
And I to him: Because, if I remember,

I have already seen thee with dry hair,
And thou'rt Alessio Interminei of Lucca;
Therefore I eye thee more than all the others.

The second pocket of Malbolge is for the flatterers. Here they are steeped in waste, in recognition of the value of their words.

History

So, yeah.
I'll admit writing an obituary for yourself isn't the sanest thing to do. See? There I've said it. Yes, I'm looking at you Ben you miserable, cynical bastard. It'll get explained.
I've had this floating around for a while, in one shape or another. I suppose you're absolved of the contents of that flash drive Spence. Throw it in a river for all I care.

As with any good story, we begin from the beginning.

It'll be seen eventually. Michael Johannes (pronounced Jones for some unfathomable reason), born Monday, 15th December, 1991. It was snowing that day. Afflicted as of July 12th, 2011, Stalked as of August 7th, 2011. Also known as Nemo.

We'll skip the early years. There's nothing terribly important there.

Amateur actor and cameraman, journalism student, habitual liar. And yes, I know some of you will seize on that last point. I'm getting better about it.

In the beginning, there were a dozen of us. There were only two others can I can really remember, as far as the story is concerned, the others aren't important. Richard, Rick, he was in screenwriting, and Jessica, who was in theatre. Most of them were theatre students actually, but it was Rick that got everyone into it. We were going to make a short film, and Rick was the director. Screenwriting was on the same floor as journalism, theatre was in the same building on the floor below. I just sort of fell into it, see, no one was that good with a camera. A dozen people and none of them could run a camera properly. You know, journalism tends to work with still cameras and I still knew more than them? But I'm rambling.

'If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as improbable fiction.'

(That's Twelfth Night by the way) We set out to make a film about the Slender bastard. Most of the theatre bunch were just doing it for practice, but Rick was really into it. Wanted to be the next John Carpenter or something. We would talk over bits of the script, compare it to what was already out. Most people get hooked with Marble Hornets, but it was the Hybrids that did it for me, first series I saw. Terrified me by the time he showed up on screen the first time. Had to sleep with a light on the night after that. Been a few nights like that since. More than a few.

I don't smoke, don't really drink (I make exceptions for sweet things and Bailey's). No drugs. My vices were more, cerebral you might say. I enjoyed being scared; well not exactly. I enjoyed the feeling afterwards. The cocktail of chemicals that your body produces when you're afraid and the inevitable rush of calmness or happiness when you realize you're safe was... is quite intoxicating. This did it for me better than anything up until that point. Before that I'd been more into zombies, but the depth of the terror here made it even better. And then Rick called the whole thing off.

Like I said, an improbable fiction; we didn't hear from him after that. Someone said something about him moving, but things started to break down and go dark after that. Like a bunch of little lightbulbs slowly going out. People just didn't talk any more.

Jessica, she was our make up and props person. She'd been working on the costume for 'it' when Rick called things off. Picked up a few tricks off of her. I'd helped her do up some of the cryptic stuff, notebooks and all that. We worked together to make sure things looked alright when they were on camera.

I think I have to derail the narrative for a second and talk about Jessica now. I don't know how much of it shows through, but it's safe to say that Jessica was important. In retrospect, this will all sound a little creepy. Socially well-adjusted doesn't seem to be a trait that stalked seem to be known for.

Love isn't the right word. Fond, perhaps. Inordinately fond is probably the best description. It probably wouldn't have taken much for that to turn into obsession. Which probably brings my stability into question again. I'm really probably not the best character witness for myself.

She was really serious about it, a lot like Rick. Looked at Marble Hornets a lot. She took the costume back with her, and some of the props. Jessica stopped talking last. She was... out of it. I thought she was joking to be honest. And then I got into the blogs. I can't remember how I got into that business with Claire and Royce and Lyric and the rest.. I haven't tried to find out what happened to anyone. Well, except I know what happened to Jessica. Jessica's dead.

I think you know the rest of the story

Jessica was special to me. And I killed her. She was a proxy. She came into my home and tried to kill me. So I killed her. And I don't think the bit that came after this was helping the case for my stability. Suffice it say, it wasn't pleasant.

Since everyone I've asked doesn't seem to know? Nemo means "nobody" in latin. I thought it was a clever way of saying "nothing to see here". I don't think it's accurate any more. And I'm trying to avoid out and out lies.

So that's the story.

Ben

Have I done something to offend you?
Or are you really just not a happy camper?
How is it that metaphor continues to escape you?
I don't care who or what you think I am.
But keep the paranoia to yourself
you miserable, cynical bastard.
Maybe you'll live longer.
Any questions?

Improvement

So, it only took me... an hour or so to go back on that.

But this was too good to leave alone.

So don't worry. I haven't flipped out, or been replaced. Just... a change in states.

~Michael.

Well this is disturbing.

How normal everything is.

Just... absolutely disturbingly... normal.

And you know what?

If I have anything to stay to about, that's exactly how the fuck it's going to stay for a while.

So you won't be hearing from me unless there's something wrong.

And there won't be. Count on it.

One of Ten

Upon my right hand I beheld new anguish,
New torments, and new wielders of the lash,
Wherewith the foremost Bolgia was replete.

Down at the bottom were the sinners naked;
This side the middle came they facing us,
Beyond it, with us, but with greater steps;

Even as the Romans, for the might host,
The year of Jubilee, upon the bridge,
Have chosen a mode to pass the people over.

And the good Master, without my inquiring,
Said to me: See that tall one who is coming,
and for his pain seems not to shed a tear;

Still what a royal aspect he retains!
That Jason is, who by his heart and cunning
The Colchians of the Ram made destitute

He by the isle of Lemnos passed along
After the daring women pitiless
Had unto death devoted all their males.

There with his tokens and with ornate words
Did he deceive Hypsipyle, the maiden
Who first, herself, had all the rest deceived.

Malbolge

There is a place in Hell called Malebolge,
Wholly of stone and of and iron colour,
As is the circle that around it turns.

Right in the middle of the field malign
There yawns a well exceeding wide and deep,
Of which its place the structure will recount.

Round, then, is that enclosure which remains
Between the well and foot of the high, hard bank,
And has distinct valleys ten in its bottom.

Someone's been busy

Or, what I've been doing for the past three days. (EN: ^Not really. Schedules are great)

Put this in before I get to sleep. (EN: We really do need some.)

Yes, I see the posts. No, I don't remember making them. Or the comment for that matter.
We'll see how sleeping goes. (EN: I'll be fine, don't worry)
The important bit, is I'm hanging out in Texas. I don't think I'm a fan, sorry.

The story starts with me driving to a little cabin in the middle of nowhere, in the woods in Montana. Now, here's the best part. Of course I'm already in the woods. The sun is starting to go down and I happen upon this little cabin that could have walked right out of Evil Dead, windows borded over, operator symbols all over the damn place.

I really hate those things.

But this is where the people I'm fetching are supposed to be. You hear about siblings, or couples running, but this? A family of runners? I don't believe it. There's a broke down looking minivan in the drive. That explains why they need the help.

"Hello the house! Anyone inside?"

"Who is this?"

"Your chauffeur Mr. Johnson. I'm an acquaintance of Elaine's." (EN:Not that I've actually met the woman. We just happen to have friends in common.)
"What's your name." (EN: Paranoia! This is honestly quite uplifting.)

"I call me Nemo, I suppose you could too?"

"Nemo. Alright." The door opens, there's a guy on the other side with a shotgun. Yep. I'm in America. (EN: Says the hypocrite with the revolver in his pocket at this point)

"Only two kinds of paranoia," quoth me as I step through the door. "Where do you need a hand?"
The woods are already making me edgy and I don't like all those operator symbols. They're worrying me. He locks the door behind us and says "Over this way." There's a blonde woman and a little girl who, if you'll believe it walks over and hugs me.

"Are you Nemo? You're going to take us someplace safe, right?"

There's a brief discussion and now really isn't the time for hugs. Don't get me wrong. Kids are great. (EN: I love children. But I could never eat a whole one)
We start grabbing bags and moving them out to the van. I step out the front door. And BANG. Guess who's standing on the other side of the road. Fucking operator symbols. (EN: They're really not a good idea)

"Everyone, in the van now."

Needless to say we got the hell out of there pretty fast. Though I'll admit, having Ride of the Valkyries queued up beforehand made it a little comical.

So that's the Johnsons, Jen, Levi and little Emily, and me at Elaine's now. Apparently there's been quite an influx. We didn't really stop driving at all. And I haven't slept.

The Third Round: Violence against Nature

Then came we to the confine where disparted
The second round from the third, and where
A horrible form of Justice is beheld.

Clearly to manifest these novel things,
I say that we arrived upon a plain,
Which from its bed rejecteth every plant;

The dolorous forest is a garland to it
All round about, as the sad moat to that;
There close upon the edge we stayed our feet.

The soil was of an arid and thick sand,
Not of another fashion made than that
Which by the feet of Cato once was pressed.

The we a company of souls encountered,
Who came beside the dike, and every one
Gazed at us, as at evening we are wont

To eye each other under a new moon,
And so towards us they sharpened their brows
As an old tailor at the needle's eye.

Thus scrutinized by such a family,
By some one I was recognized who seized
My garment's hem and cried out, What a marvel

And I, when he stretched for this arm-to me,
On his baked aspect fastened so mine eyes,
That the scorched countenance prevented not

His recognition by my intellect;

The Second Round: Suicide

Not yet had Nessus reached the other side,
When we had put ourselves within a wood,
That was not marked by any path whatever.

Not foliage green, but of a dusky colour,
Not branches smooth, but gnarled and intertangled,
Not apple-trees were there, but thorns with poison.

And the good Master: Ere thou enter farther,
Know that thou art within the second round,
Thus he began to say, and shalt be, till

Thou comest out upon the horrible sand;
Therefore look well around, and thou shalt see
Things that will credence give unto my speech.

I heard on all sides lamentations uttered,
And person none beheld I who might make them,
Whence, utterly bewildered, I stood still.

I think he thought that I perhaps might think
So many voices issues through those trunks
From people who concealed themselves from us;

Therefore the Master said: If thou break off
Some little spray from any of these trees,
The thoughts thou hast will wholly be made vain.

Then blew the trunk amain and afterward
The wind was into such a voice converted:
With brevity shall be explained to you.

When the exasperated soul abandons
The body whence it rent itself away
Minos consigns it to the seventh abyss

The First Round: Murder

Upon all sides the deep and loaathsome valley
Trembled so, that I thought the Universe
Was thrilled with love, by which there are who think

The world oftimes converted into chaos;
And at that moment this primeval crag
Both here and elsewhere made such overthrow

But fix thine eyes below; for draweth near
The river of blood, within which boiling is
Whoe'er by violence doth injure others

We with our faithful escort onward moved
Along the brink of the vermilion boiling
Wherein the boiled were uttering loud laments.

People I saw within up to the eyebrows
And the great Centaur said: Tyrants are these
Who dealt in bloodshed and in pillaging

Within we entered without any contest;
And I, who inclination had to see
What the condition such a fortress holds,

Soon as I was within, cast round mine eye,
And see on every hand an ample plain,
Full of distress and torment terrible,

Even as at Arles, where stagnant grows the Rhone,
Even as at Pola near to the Quarnaro,
That shuts in Italy and bathes its borders,

The sepulchres make all the place uneven;
So likewise did they there on every side,
Saving that there the manner was more bitter;

For flames between the sepulchres were scattered,
By which they so intensely heated were,
That iron more so asks not any art.

All their coverings uplifted were,
And from them issued forth such dire laments,
Sooth seemed they of the wretched and tormented.

And I: My Master, what are all those people
Who, having sepulture within these tombs
Make themselves audible by doleful sights?

And he to me: Here are the Heresiarchs,
With their disciples of all sects, and much
More than thou thinkest laden are the tombs.

Dis

And the good Master said: Even now, my Son,
The city draweth near whose name is Dis,
With the grave citizens, with the great throng

And I: Its mosques already, Master, clearly
Within there in the valley I discern
Vermilion as if issuing from the fire

They were. And he to me: the fire eternal
That kindles them within makes them look red
As thou beholdest in this nether Hell.

Then we arrived within the moats profound,
That circumvallate that disconsolate city;
The walls appeared to me to be of iron.

Not without making first a circuit wide,
We came unto a place where loud the pilot
Cried out to us, Debark, here is the entrance.

More than a thousand at the gates I saw
Out of the Heavens rained down, who angrily
Were saying, Who is this that without death

Goes through the kingdom of the people of the dead?
And my sagacious Master made a sign
Of wishing secretly to speak with them.

A little then they quelled their great disdain,
And said: Come thou alone, and he begone
Who has so boldly entered these dominions.

Let him return alone by his mad road;
Try, if he can; for thou shalt here remain,
Who hast escorted him through such dark regions.

5

Let us descend now unto greater woe;
Already sinks each star that was ascending
When I set out, and loitering is forbidden

We crossed the circle to the other bank,
Near to a found that boils and pours intself
Along a gully that runs out of it

A marsh it makes, which has the name of Styx
This tristful brooklet, when it has descended
Down to the foot of the malign grey shores.

And I, who stood intent upon beholding,
Saw people mudbesprent in that lagoon,
All of them naked and with angry look

They smote each other not alone with hands,
But with the head and with the breast and feet,
Tearing each other piecemeal with their teeth.

Said the good Master: Son, thou now beholdest
The souls of those whom anger overcame;
And likewise I would nave thee know for certain

Beneath the water people are who sigh
And make this water bubble at the surface
As the eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turns.

Fixed in the mire they say, 'We sullen were
In the sweet air, which by the sun is gladdened,
Bearing within ourselves the sluggish reek;

Now we are sullen in this sable mire.'
This hymn do they keep gurgling in their throats
For with unbroken words they cannot say it.

Travelling

So, travelling is a little hard when your map has managed to go missing.
It's a little harder when you're in the middle of nowhere and three-quarters of your map is ashes.

I've been going northwest, for no special reason other than that it is a direction which is not east.
It's a little hard to find an unsecured wireless signal and when you have no map and you're worried about something slender happening, navigation is markedly harder than if you're simply lost.

Suffice it to say my travels have been delayed, and I am not best pleased by this. While we're on the subject of slender. Ticking. There is a persistent noise of ticking. I've been doing my best to drown it out with music but I've run into a single problem. Nothing rhythmic works. Which means most music with a beat is out. So classical music it is. I spent yesterday driving to most of the Peer Gynt Suite.

4

Pape. Satan, Pape Satan Aleppe!
Thus Plutus with his clucking voice began;
And that benignant Sage, who all things knew

Said to encourage me: Let not thy fear
Harm thee; for any power that he may have
Shall not prevent thy going down this crag

Thus we descended into the fourth chasm;
Gaining stil farther on the dolesome shore
Which all the woe of the universe insacks

Here I saw many people, more than elsewhere, many,
On one side and the other, with great howls,
Rolling weights forward by main force of chest.

They clashed together, and then at that point
Each one turned backward, rolling retrograde,
Crying, Why keepest? and, Why squanderest thou?

Thus they returned along the lurid circle
On either hand unto the opposite point,
Shouting their shameful metre evermore.

In the fourth circle, the prodigals and the avaricious contend forever, rolling great weights up the hill, only to encounter each other and fall down and begin again. All the wealth under the sky could not same them from the wiles of Fortune.

Okay. So. Where am I today?
APPARENTLY THE EAST COAST OF NORTH AMERICA!

WHY HELLO THERE ATLANTIC OCEAN I DIDN'T SEE YOU SNEAKING UP ON ME.

I don't think I'm ready to drive into that particular body of water yet.

Done north, done east. Sure, let's drive south.

It's a terrible thing that I've done

More awake now. Surprising how much a bit of music will help that.

It was before midnight when I found the house . The world was sleeping. It would have been a beautiful old house. Grand, is the word I think that belongs to it. The work that must have gone into the care and upkeep of this house would be tremendous. It had fallen into disrepair now.
It reminded me of home.
There weren't many streetlights, and for all the vaunted paranoia people are supposed to have here, no one saw me. No one raised an alarm.
There was no one to stop me as I lifted the window-pane with the prybar. The house was abandoned, or something like it. Furniture covered with sheets.
There were no alarms when I scattered gasoline and scraps of newspapers through the basement, and up the stairs. No one stopped me from breaking the furniture and filling the fireplace.
There was no cry when I lit the matches and tossed them inside.
I drove away.
I know exactly why I did it. "I wanted to destroy something beautiful I'd never have."
I don't regret burning it.

We passed across the shadows, which subdues

The heavy rain-storm, and we placed our feet
Upon their vanity that person seems.

They all were lying prone upon the earth,
Excepting one, who sat upright as soon
As he beheld us passing on before him.

O thou that art conducted through this Hell,
He said to me. recall me, if thou canst;
Thyself wast made before I was unmade.

And I to him: The anguish which thou hast
Perhaps doth draw thee out of my remembrance,
So that it seems not I have ever seen thee.

But tell me who thou art, that in so doleful
A place art put, and in such punishment,
If some are greater, none is so displeasing

And he to me: Thy city, which is full
Of envy so that now the sack runs over,
Held me within it in the life serene.

You citizens were wont to call me Ciacco;
For the pernicious sin of gluttony
I as thou seest, am hattered by this rain

New torments I behold, and new tormented
Around me, whichsoever way I move,
And whichsoever way I turn and gaze.

In the third circle am I of the rain
Eternal, maledict, and cold, and heavy
Its law and quality are never new

Huge hail, and water sombre-hued, and snow,
Athwart the tenebrous air pour down amain;
Noisome the earth is, that receiveth this.

Cerberus, monster cruel and uncouth,
With his three gullets like a dog is barking
Over the people that are there submerged.

Time

Time is a horrible, horrible joke. You know that? We have a set of senses that's poorly equipped to measure time, it's completely morphic as far as how much time we might think has passed, with regards to how much. It's a little like trying to measure a distance with a length of string that may or may not be a given length. And of course there's the problem of sleep. Entire hours of the day in which you can't measure time.

God I hate sleep.

I understood that unto such a torment
The carnal malefactors were condemned,
Who reason subjugate to appetite.
And as the wings of starlings bear them on
In the cold season in large band and full,
So doth that blast the spirits maledict;

It hither, thither, downward, updward, drives them;
No hope doth comfort them for ever more,
Not of repose, but even of lesser pain.

To the second circle of Hell are condemned those guilty of allowing lust to overthrow reason. There is no rest for these, beaten on endlessly by the winds of a terrible, violent storm.

Thus I descended out of the first circle
Down to the second, that less space begirds,
And so much greater dole, that goads to wailing.

There standeth Min⊗s horribly, and snarls;
Examines the trangressions at the entrance;
Judges, and sends according as he girds him.

I say, that when the spirit evil-born
Cometh before him, wholly it confesses;
And this discriminator of transgressions

Seeth what place in Hell is meet for it;
Girds himself with his tail as many times
As grades he wishes it should be thrust down.

For such defects, and not for other guilt,
Lost are we and are only so far punished,
That without hope we live on in desire

Limbo, it is called. The first circle of hell. No sin are they guilty of, other than that of being in the wrong place, or of the wrong time. Deficient of sin, deficient of virtue, their paradise is deficient as well.

Updating

With apologies to Spencer and his crazy.

I wake up.
You wake up at Seatac, SFO, LAX.
I woke up on the side of the road at the border with New York. Opal was tied up in the back of the van. We talked a little, and parted ways.
You wake up at O'Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI.
The blackouts have been getting much worse. I'm slipping. I don't know if it's that easy to tell from the outside. It's harder to keep track of where the blackouts end.
Pacific, mountain, central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.
My logs are really only vague suggestions and guesswork of where I stop and It starts.
You wake up at Air Harbor International.
The music helps. It keeps me focused. Keeps me awake. Changing my face helps as well. I'm wondering how I'd look in ginger.
If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?
There's a murderous drum-beat in my head. I know where it's from. And that scares me. So I'm driving east, clean out of Vermont towards the ocean.
Any objections? (EN: Nope)

So driving for two days and not sleeping at all is not a good idea.
I'll have more to say after I get some sleep. And maybe some food.

If I'm not back again this time tomorrow

Carry on, carry on as if nothing really mattered

Figured it was appropriate.

The world seems to have decided it was a good week for everything to go all to hell.
Let's review.

Opal left the House (EN: Thank god)
Opal came back to the house. I had to knock her out with a shovel. (EN: She hit me first)
She came to and tried to strangle August. Some things happened. (EN: It actually hurt a lot)
And now she's not at the House any more. (EN: It's probably for the best.)

I feel like I should fill in the gaps. (EN: After all, you went a little crazy Fitz)
I don't know what I was doing up at one in the morning. Probably reading. Someone was sneaking around outside. I had a book. Turns out it was Opal, come back for a shovel of all things. I hit her in the face with a book. She tried to get me with a shovel. There was no reasoning with her. She got me pretty good in the shin. Doc said I'll be alright.
She ran outside to bury a body, she was absolutely covered in blood.
The body belonged to her friend Aggy. Took me a bit to get outside. She flipped out when I tried talking her down. Had to hit her in the head with the shovel handle. I dragged her back to the house.
Then things happened. (EN: All kinds of things. None of them good.)
Opal tried to kill August.
I had the knife. I could have stabbed her. (EN: There would have been blood) just like last time
Spencer dragged her off to the East Wing. (EN: It's a little fuzzy)
August left to see Elaine, Doc wanted to check my leg I think.
Asked her for some drugs. Not doing that again. (EN: Seriously.
Waking up in the infirmary wasn't the most pleasant experience in the world.
(EN:Don't do drugs.)
Doc? I don't know what it was that you gave me. The resultant romp through my head was probably wonderful. Waking up with an aching shin and the sensation that this paled in comparison to what I'd just been experiencing was remarkably unpleasant. And it didn't help what I remember at all. Thanks for trying though. (EN: At least there weren't trees in my sleep)

Opal was knocked out on a bed next to me. Can't say I was terribly surprised. Sorry for grabbing her like that. (EN: Someone probably would have knifed her. Couldn't let that happen)

I tied her up and put her in the back of the van. Hopefully whatever Doc had dosed her with would last a while longer. She was a little heavy, so more dragging. Having the rope helped a little with that. (EN: It's true, they always need the fucking rope)

And then I drove away. (EN: Could have dropped her in a river we went by.)
I untied Opal at some point, dropped her off. (EN: Would have saved someone the trouble)
And then kept on driving.

Nothing really matters
Anyone can see
Nothing really matters
To me

Broke the deep lethargy within my head
A heavy thunder, so that I upstarted,
Like to a person who by force is wakened;

And round about I moved my rested eyes,
Uprisen erect and steadfastly I gazed,
To recognize the place wherein I was.

True is it, that upon the verge I found me
of the abysmal valley dolorous,
That gathers the thunder of infinite ululations.

Obscured, profound it was, and nebulous,
So that by fixing on its my sight
Nothing whatever I discerned therein.

Let us descend now into the blind world,
Began the Poet, pallid utterly
I will be first, and thou shalt second be.

Obituary 3

Because it is necessary.

Richard Corwin Smith,
Born July 8, 1991
Died June 6, 2011

Consider for a minute, the human eye. The human eye is a camera made out of little more than jelly, which can interpret with fidelity all manner of colours and transmit them to the brain.

Richard was a screenwriting student. He wanted to make the camera see things. And so it went.
Richard began a small project of his own, with a few friends, and their classmates. Mostly theatre students, cast and crew numbered an even dozen, if that. Their camera man was a student of another program altogether. The theatre students had little experience with a camera, Richard himself had none. The journalist did. Michael joined the production, a rousing little drama in which a group of young adults are pursued by a man tall, dark and slender, with all the trappings of that particular drama.

What happened next should be well known to those versed in this particular manner of story. Richard began to see the Slender Man, appearing out of the corner of his eye. He found himself harrowed by the persistent agents of this Slender Man, and so the production came to a halt.

What happened next was unexpected. Richard ran, and he ran until the scene put him at the edge of a cliff, faced with slender agents to one side, and a precipice to the other. He jumped.

Richard Corwin Smith died at the bottom of the cliff, his legs mangled by the landing, he died as he lived. A coward.


~R.C.S.

We to the place have come, where I have told thee
Thou shalt behold the people dolorous
Who have forgone the good of intellect.

The Vestibule of Hell, such a place is reserved not for those who have sinned, neither is it reserved for those who were virtuous. Those here cannot enter further for they are neither good nor evil. They did not sin. They did not do good works. They did nothing. They are nothing.

"Now, we must all fear evil men. But there is another kind of evil which we must fear most, and that is the indifference of good men"

Prologue

Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say
What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,
Which in the very thought renews the fear.