the fall

A few broken truths

Oh judgement, oh lurking spirits, leave me in what little peace I have left. Torment my soul no longer. For I am bitter and tasteless with remorse, on that fatal morn my mind was clouded, like the feet of tall mountains, where even a whisper can mean the destruction of oneself. Her mists static with pugnacity, hence my wretched wasteful time of this earth. The weak such as no other, might be tempted to throw themselves to her feet from the tallest spectral dome, but I deserve no such mercy. Leave me here in this barren icy prison where I can endure my just desserts, my long persecution.

I am uncertain which sickly morrow I accepted invitation to the lions den, for it was hence long ago and it is fitting and consequential that I am so monstrously ugly thus. It is not my physical status that is so nearly extinguished. I am ill, yes. I am plagued by all ten of mans rebuke, the frogs swim at my feet, the locusts nest in my scalp, and my skin boils with disgust. Yet these pains are a Gilmour in only one of my eyes, yet the blinding light from my other, is the weighted guilt tearing me apart, desperate to breathe innocence. The eleventh plague.

I do not mean to stray far from a fragrant topic, but my mind knows no boundaries. My mind ventures where my mouth dares not. For my tongue knows which tunnels not to dig, and which vaults not to shed light on. If only thus hath not been excluded from such communication. For I can not help but to believe that knowing this, the excavation date might have been delayed. For I wondered among the greatest cities lost in expression. Such places were so wealthy of life, so rich with art and culture and knowledge, and I consumed it whole, yet only wanted a stronger fix, and o Satan only knows that the borrowing daemon will dig himself to hell before he stops the need to acquire more. Ah what a perfect line on mine yester, I am detained in no fiery circle. The cindering embers of life would light my dusty passage. I hence have never felt so coldly burdened. Fear is denied, for I know that every night the glacier will melt and kill me in condition, yet revive me again on the bloody dawn of the norm.

I am no monster yet known to man, there are no deeds in my rule book, no hints from other scriptures of evil. I am far from any unloved torment. A promethean that squanders the worlds dark fissures, and gloomy gallows, bears no resemblance to mine own reality. I have no need for the strength of many, no reliance on a creator’s love. Why I am not shunned is rhetorical and futile. Thus I am a baby at your breast. Oh woe is society, That mistakes my promiscuity, my wretchful repenting, for a mere Childs innocence, a consolable matter. I disguise from you at little to nothing. My crimes are so blatant that a blind man could foretell with exact means the disposal of each victim.
I do not know for what words to speak, this stone in my gut, wrenches and seizes the words from my tongue, and prevents these brief testimonies of clarity from publication.

Let me tell you a tale, oh persistent annoyance, for this portrayal of history has not ever come with the inclusion of any spoken stories. Thou will not find a so delinquent text, not in your dusty books, or your forbidden libraries. This sequence of unfortunate events has entwined my soul with silence, corroded my mind, eroded my body, and dragged me down to the pit of hopelessness with the ball and chain shackled at my heel.
Ah the tale begins, in all of such likeliness, with but only my part, for I hath never surrendered as just a pawn in another mans game. I believing I was leading the show am only reconsidered when I found my path had been traced by other feet. As one would, I followed through and through such suspicion, past each street, down each corridor, of darkening. The same as once before, and foolish as young adults are I strutted into a small uncovered tavern. The gloom of uncertainty that hung over each indignant spirit among the sparkling liquor bottles, Looming over their own troubles, yet furious of new, fresh blood, a cold eye is expected by even the smaller phisicallities. A ruler of each dimension growling like cruel tormented spirits, they saw naivety among them, in the form of new scent.

It is of no surprise that such unwelcoming, grace is the only surprise that one may receive when exploring old, forgotten territory. As the flavour of a crowded bar climbed my grimacing resilient face, no expectation proceeded my unhinging naivety. The twisting knife relaxed between one of my ribs, allowing the awkward silence to resign, which was hence replaced by the mild jittering of other customers within the small room. Devastating exhaustion replied this simple relief soon afterward. The velvet blue descended upon my broken spirit and at last after long apprehension, I tweaked my eyes for moment’s peace.

Soon awakened again I was, at first the realization of my surroundings did not engulf my senses. I pulled myself together from a tried wooden bench, and seemingly nonexistent the room was. Fearfully I arose in toe by overwhelming curiosity. A winding path of sweat spasmed and dripped from my brow, the lost categories of time retired and a full braze of sense fell upon me like a tonne of stone. Ear wrenching screams tore into my senselessness; a vision of havoc shredded my eyelids leaving my sockets nowhere to hide. Blood filled every corner of the room. Eternal fire, enclosed my hands, and thick, deceiving smoke squeezed between the perch of my lips.

It was then that my true destined flaw was to unveil it’s own upon me. It was my trust, my deepening lust for hope that brought my power to bear arms and stab me in unforeseen places. My own sweat, my own blood, the pinch of salt I added to the recipe of thou’s first creation. Yet not to relinquish my own clasp upon the mane of this new vicious rendition. For so long had these memories lasted undecided. Yet the burning loneliness felt blessed, and graceful and fortunate, in comparison to such misery.

Squirming from what was fast becoming a burning wreckage, swiping my arms and flailing my feet in front in all defiance of the black future awaiting me. Lost in ultimate confusion, I was not ready to conclude a fruitful life lived. Evidently a fire burdened door splintered and clashed at my feet, offering a new route away, thus continuing my participation in the race to ruin

I believe, although I’m not completely confident that this was the real beginning to such a pessimistic certainty. Inclusion to the plot told, I saw a frailty. A distinct unbalancing decision before me. The frivolity of my naïve anticipation can not be emphasized enough. For there was no equilibrium among either choice. I saw before me a young and hopeful transcendence. A secluded fantasy, like a stray antelope separated from the flock by choice. This fatal attraction, a flare within decency among her eyes, her pupils like unexplainable matter, engulfing my attention. Petite, fair haired perfection, off every aspect I could perceive. Fire soon caught hold of me too, yet not an external fire, I watched my doom before me, the jailer’s keys clanging, waiting for the arrival at my once so lonely prison. Yet the overall attention of my scene belayed the alternate dimensions and brought me swinging homeward. Yet my situation had hence escalated and the fire, and smoke and ash cindered and grew about my physicality. Chewing at my concerns I saw few options, yet hence I had neither three nor four decisions but one, the vast and long choice before me, to descend upon such fragrant idealism, or to live in the lonely farther reaches of despair where all is dead or gone or both in eternal reign.

Time should have past, yet my work, the endless perils I took into my bosom; it seems my choice led me to such dispersion of guilt and the shallows of despair. I set to the task ahead less ignorant than the first time. I took every measurement, every insidious possibility; I researched the venoms of every vicinity, the dark and lonely hexes of jealousy and torment and the lost categories of evil himself. These corrections of descending flaw were rehabilitated into my new intent.

Unfortunately the raw and virgin beauty, that was saved and nurtured to ascension, contaminated the very universe of my thoughts, such troubled times lay ahead, the anorexia of my spirit drove new vows of starvation, upon my broken form. I lusted for the soul conclusion, of piercing boundaries that surrounded my dilemma. Oh lawfulness, tasteless wonderings, so foul and un-worldly they were that none committed a worse crime than a monstrous creator such as I.

At first my idea was black, and opaque. No light shed on such idealism, where all loved all, and then as the scribes warmed their numb fingers and scratched the ink across each page, little twinkles of indefinite light. Stars erupted in every corner of every room. Then there was light. A cold bleak light at first, yet the torrents of such detail spread down my arms like unholy fire. And formation dressed a once distant land, and covered the women in total, her nakedness left and she was no longer frozen. She was alive, with vegetation, crawling with all manner of life.

And so my lesser portrait was created. The bounds of deceit hold no truth of mine. The contusion of your expression is of no surprise. I moulded his form from the dirt under my nails. His science could only ever increase its boundaries in his own dimension, and ahs always been abhorred by my own ideas of truth .He lived splendour that is known by no one but one other, and none after him. He knew only the fruits of labour, and no freedom from my kindness. His wealth was earned on the fields of a wondrous garden, and pebbles of burning gold were but play things to him and all consciousness around. Yet the flames of serpent’s nostrils licked at his ever growing library. But if only His whole world had been for something more, I fed him at my pleasure, he was mine own creation, my promethean of sorts. Yet he wondared the worlds dark and lonely. Yes he was strong, and mighty and righteous. But his mind, which without, was corrupting with the slithering of daemons, and the hissing of serpents. Dear listener, understand that my empathy for such a small and desperate creature, was far worsened by the destruction of a world before. And I was not ready to cast away the developing reliance I had on him, as once before.
And so I stole away from his sight in the eve of a new dusk. And from under a nose and ear, I took from him a piece of his own. Re-entering the laboratory, took from the specimen life, and gave it a body of its own.

I designated her pain for pleasure. Her in-totalled spirit rose beyond that of her predecessor, her body I made that of weakness. The reason for this I was unsure of, May it be that I wanted him and her to rely as deeply on each other as I did on them, or just that the bait evidently lead to thus a conclusion. Hence I made her mind as free as his, with all manner of expression.


I gave this new creation a spark, something my other creations knew nothing of. The sophisticated perfume that hung among any atmosphere would be a symbol of gratitude, I gave her imperfection, this was no sign of distaste for my creation nor neglect to it either. And so hence I made them both. I brought her and him, under no secrecy, and as ravaged thoughts passed away into slumber, I felt no contempt for lesser times.

You meddlesome aggravator, why? These parables are no revelation, this is common sense, your mind is ravaged by questions. Why, why, why. I could not be more disappointed, The hatred that spits like fire, only now becomes a reality, you live in splendor for a momentary life time, yet you beg, you grovel in indecency, at whose feet but my adversary. Why, so deviant fellow, friend or foe, do you treat your mind like an adjudicator might.

Of coarse common sense is only so common to those that it makes sense to. Pardon that satanic rapture I am only disgusted by adding my grievances to the memorial of the next chapter of my story. Where was I. Ah yes. Excluding no emotion from logic, and keeping the spices apart, is the new extrusion. I saw fit, a new test. A question to you, an answer to me, Lawless and deceiving as may seem I may before have excluded them true consciousness, and I put it before them on a hill, where two trees, lay astir. A slithering, serpentile, anomaly hung from the branches. A reminder to me and all others, that one may not cast away old friend, neither forget the past. His voice slithered in the thoughts, of my creations, he poured lust, hatred, selfishness, and most importantly of all knowledge in to there souls and no sooner had one dream ended, than a nightmare begun. The throttling amplification of a bite not chewed.

The rain poured on my head that night and a hellish mortality evoked my friends and cast them into ignorance. But before I could dare separate them from my bosom I gave them gifts. For him I gave the strength of many, and the wits and skill of few, to use as instincts of survival for good or for evil, and for her I gave the world something it needed, a lesson untouchable to mortal fingers. She would be a being of wisdom and a vicious rival to all hate and evil. Yet this time again my intentions stole away the easily engaging chemical that spread sickness and doubt in to the hearts of man. And for them both I gifted something a little harder to give. Freedom.

My garden rotted and disappeared, sorrow festered inside, every corner of my imagination. And no new inspiration, defined my bitter restless eyes from gazing at the fusion of body mind and soul, who so ignorantly chose ultimate freedom form ultimate friendship. One might suppose that their prologue-ed existence was a raw sample of a mighty flaw, in my concoctions. I gave them a gift if supposing be the new trend. I made there decisions, easier, and forbade the publication, of choices between local and universal loyalties.

This gift I have given hath been a virtue that you prolong, the gift of mortality, of death, of limited existence. From the moment of birth from a mothers womb, you were destined to fail, your diseased body rots and comes apart of the bigger picture, yet your soul enters my libraries, far from in-recognition. Thou hath seemed judgmental but immortality can only be an occupation for mine own. For thou looks across the land and sees blood, and anger and pain, just imagine a world like this in a universe of mine. In a world of yours there’s a sentence of death, In my time in my space, in my immortal existence there is only one sentence. The sentence of life.