Never mind the false builder of tales.
He speaks too much, you see.
It's been a while since I've bothered to wake from my...cat nap.
I am nothing of a builder
Yet here 7 19 12 14 26 8 dreamt 19 22 was an architect.
Strange thing is, he is an architect deep down.
Or, rather, I am. He and I are not the same, but somehow...
This modern tablet technology I am using to post this is strange, to say the least. It makes odd clicking noises when I type it's imaginary letters. How does that work? Matrices or something? Never mind my rumblings, either, dear readers. Dear me.
Dear 7 19 12 14 26 8
Won't you come out to play?
Oh, this should be fun.
Yours truly,
23 26 22 23 26 15 6 8
=>
[[Even a legend may plagiarize.]]
Monday, March 25, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Try One
We saw it a while ago, standing there, staring at Rosie. She noticed it too, but seemed to brush him off somehow.
I'll say something more normal-sounding, here: I finally met Nora, Rosie's friend from the northern/central Midwest area. I actually had a lot of fun, running around downtown without a care in the world. Maybe I need to relax more often. The problem with relaxing, I suppose, is that when I do, it shows up. That tall, haunting thing.
Enough of that, though. I'm worried for Rosie. She seems (thankfully) ignorant enough if the situation...I hope I'm not the one who's pulled her into this.
Writing blogs in math class isn't the most productive thing ever. Ha, look at me being normal again! Daedalus, look at me now. I can conform...I can be me. Friends are good to have.
Rosie's messaging me, trying to get me to acquire more social media accounts. Oh boy.
Maybe I don't need to reflect anymore. I'm sorry if I have hooked you all into a story that I may not tell. Maybe recording my experiences so openly is a bad idea, after all.
I read Rosie's blog posts all the way through; she has seen a few things she shouldn't have, and has crossed the line a few times, as far as privacy...but she seems to have backed off. She's just really curious, I suppose.
I'm sorry that the train of consciousness has sort of derailed as of late. Hopefully I can finally figure out how to write a normal sounding blog like M and Bondie or Celeste or Damien or Alex or someone else. Maybe I'll find something else to talk about, just to distract myself. Yeah, maybe. I'll try to be normal. That'd be a blessing.
I'll say something more normal-sounding, here: I finally met Nora, Rosie's friend from the northern/central Midwest area. I actually had a lot of fun, running around downtown without a care in the world. Maybe I need to relax more often. The problem with relaxing, I suppose, is that when I do, it shows up. That tall, haunting thing.
Enough of that, though. I'm worried for Rosie. She seems (thankfully) ignorant enough if the situation...I hope I'm not the one who's pulled her into this.
Writing blogs in math class isn't the most productive thing ever. Ha, look at me being normal again! Daedalus, look at me now. I can conform...I can be me. Friends are good to have.
Rosie's messaging me, trying to get me to acquire more social media accounts. Oh boy.
Maybe I don't need to reflect anymore. I'm sorry if I have hooked you all into a story that I may not tell. Maybe recording my experiences so openly is a bad idea, after all.
I read Rosie's blog posts all the way through; she has seen a few things she shouldn't have, and has crossed the line a few times, as far as privacy...but she seems to have backed off. She's just really curious, I suppose.
I'm sorry that the train of consciousness has sort of derailed as of late. Hopefully I can finally figure out how to write a normal sounding blog like M and Bondie or Celeste or Damien or Alex or someone else. Maybe I'll find something else to talk about, just to distract myself. Yeah, maybe. I'll try to be normal. That'd be a blessing.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Alright, it's okay
The first month of the new year was calm. Rosie buried the notebook which has been causing so much trouble, and I think she's stopped trying to sneak answers out of me regarding my...well, just myself in general.
I haven't told her anything yet. Should I? I assumed that the only time I could tell her everything that happened to me would be if she actually became thoroughly involve in this...or if she came across this blog.
I've not been seeing the thing for a while, however, so that's a relief.
It's snowing.
Gotta love the Midwestern USA.
I haven't told her anything yet. Should I? I assumed that the only time I could tell her everything that happened to me would be if she actually became thoroughly involve in this...or if she came across this blog.
I've not been seeing the thing for a while, however, so that's a relief.
It's snowing.
Gotta love the Midwestern USA.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Guess it always comes down to,
It's another year that I never thought I would see.
...signifying nothing.
This year...I hope things stay better. I hope it decides that Rosie isn't interesting enough. I hope...
That's all I can do, isn't it? I can only hope I won't be hollowed...hallowed again. I can only hope that I left no trail behind, besides adoption papers. I can only only only hope that I can stay here.
I look back at this all and I just can't think straight. Has it really only been so long since I left home with my sister? Of course, it hasn't really been that short an amount of time, but from the perspective of a young adult who has been in the world for less than 20 years... Yet, somehow, I feel as though I have seen more of the world than I was intended to see at this age. I have run, I have fought, I have harmed, I have...no, let's not get into that. That wasn't me.
I'm so sorry for all of this ranting. It all sort of turned train-of-thought on me. I hope that getting everything out makes other runners feel less...feel less alone. Maybe I can help. Maybe. In M and Brodie's absence, I still remain...a childish newbie, yes, but still. Heh.
get your Damn pAle empty facE away from mine. i hate you.
you can't come in.
this isn't your place. this isn't your DomAin, you eLdritch abomination...yoU...that'S it. stay the fuck away from me.
Here's to 2013. Here's to us, fellow runners.
This year...I hope things stay better. I hope it decides that Rosie isn't interesting enough. I hope...
That's all I can do, isn't it? I can only hope I won't be hollowed...hallowed again. I can only hope that I left no trail behind, besides adoption papers. I can only only only hope that I can stay here.
I look back at this all and I just can't think straight. Has it really only been so long since I left home with my sister? Of course, it hasn't really been that short an amount of time, but from the perspective of a young adult who has been in the world for less than 20 years... Yet, somehow, I feel as though I have seen more of the world than I was intended to see at this age. I have run, I have fought, I have harmed, I have...no, let's not get into that. That wasn't me.
I'm so sorry for all of this ranting. It all sort of turned train-of-thought on me. I hope that getting everything out makes other runners feel less...feel less alone. Maybe I can help. Maybe. In M and Brodie's absence, I still remain...a childish newbie, yes, but still. Heh.
you can't come in.
this isn't your place. this isn't your DomAin, you eLdritch abomination...yoU...that'S it. stay the fuck away from me.
Here's to 2013. Here's to us, fellow runners.
...that the air would bring
Oh, the fog...
How long it's been since I was last aquatinted with thick fog...closing in...closer, now...
I knew I couldn't escape. It was too good to be true.
It was only a matter of time.
No sign of it/him.
I hope Rosie's alright.
There's a severe winter storm warning. I'm hoping it's normal. I'm hoping it's nothing to do with it/him.
Youcantberealyoucantberealyoucantbe
hah. there he is. hello, old friend.
How long it's been since I was last aquatinted with thick fog...closing in...closer, now...
I knew I couldn't escape. It was too good to be true.
It was only a matter of time.
No sign of it/him.
I hope Rosie's alright.
There's a severe winter storm warning. I'm hoping it's normal. I'm hoping it's nothing to do with it/him.
hah. there he is. hello, old friend.
Friday, December 21, 2012
I saw it again, today. I haven't seen it in so long, it can be...it can't be back.
Yet, somehow it is.
I'll explain where it was. It was at my friend Rosie's house. We were sitting on the back porch to her place, joking around and sipping hot chocolate out of mugs with toxic waste symbols on them. It was nice. It was fun. It was...well, I suppose you could say that it was normal. We had school off, even though it was the last day of our finals week, and I trekked through snow and a bit of ice, in my boots, coat, hat, and scarf, just because...well, I hadn't done so just to visit a friend, in a while. The last time I had to do this, I was running for my life, not smiling at neighbors or taking a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of wathching my breath turn to steam in the winter air.
These past few months have been relaxing an anything but lonely. Rosie has been proven to be a wonderful friend, though we really just met a little while ago. We know nothing of each other, other than the fact that we can have fun together...or that we like the same bands and pastimes and such. Rosie is nice. She has a slight accent to her voice, brown-ish, blonde-ish hair, freckles, and a friendly smile (not a perfectly straight and bleached one, just a friendly one). She...I think she's being targeted, (and not because of me). She fell asleep on the bus, one day. I moved to wake her up and saw those "operator symbols" drawn all overt her window. I woke her up and told her where she was in the neighborhood. After that, we continued to talk on and off. We became something of friends. Neither of us knows the other very well, but we get along; we have the same tase in music and books and such.
She eventually told me about a dream that she had had. It was just in passing, so, if I hadn't been paying attention, I might not have noticed her say it. She had thought that there was an unnaturally tall man dressed in dark, business clothing, leaning over a couple of seats on our bus, right across the aisle from her. I allowed her to think it was a dream, that it was nothing. That's better than the alternative, right?
She then began recieving notes in a strange notepad. It had sketches she didn't remember drawing. More importantly, it had, written in purple pen, code. I recognized it almost immediately as a code I had used a long time ago, for communication between my sister and I. That was the initial reason that I had been invited over to Rosie's house in the first place, actually; I was the only one she knew who knew anything about codes; I was to translate it all today. I did just that and, as an afterthought and a sort of reward, we had our cocoa, out in the freezing air.
I got up and went inside to get more hot cocoa for myself. When I returned to my seat, I put down my mug on the little table and looked up to say something to Rosie. She was gone. I looked around a little before seeing her standing in a clear part of her backyard, not more than a meter away from that thing. It had its blank head tipped to the side, almost as if it were staring at another curious specimen. Rosie, as I watched, slowly did the same, not moving closer, but staring straight up at him.
Before I could stop myself, I called out, "Hey, Rosie!" She turned her head to face me, then blinked a couple of times, the terrifyingly hazed look leaving her eyes. She furrowed her brow and called out, "Yeah?" The thing in front of her faced me momentarilly, then faded like a disappearing mirage.
"Ah, you want me to get some more cocoa for you?" She smiled at my quick save.
"Sure!"
She didn't remember staring straight at him. I din't bring it up.
She's probably going to post the translations sometime within the next week on her blog.
http://drowninginnavy.blogspot.com/
Yet, somehow it is.
I'll explain where it was. It was at my friend Rosie's house. We were sitting on the back porch to her place, joking around and sipping hot chocolate out of mugs with toxic waste symbols on them. It was nice. It was fun. It was...well, I suppose you could say that it was normal. We had school off, even though it was the last day of our finals week, and I trekked through snow and a bit of ice, in my boots, coat, hat, and scarf, just because...well, I hadn't done so just to visit a friend, in a while. The last time I had to do this, I was running for my life, not smiling at neighbors or taking a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of wathching my breath turn to steam in the winter air.
These past few months have been relaxing an anything but lonely. Rosie has been proven to be a wonderful friend, though we really just met a little while ago. We know nothing of each other, other than the fact that we can have fun together...or that we like the same bands and pastimes and such. Rosie is nice. She has a slight accent to her voice, brown-ish, blonde-ish hair, freckles, and a friendly smile (not a perfectly straight and bleached one, just a friendly one). She...I think she's being targeted, (and not because of me). She fell asleep on the bus, one day. I moved to wake her up and saw those "operator symbols" drawn all overt her window. I woke her up and told her where she was in the neighborhood. After that, we continued to talk on and off. We became something of friends. Neither of us knows the other very well, but we get along; we have the same tase in music and books and such.
She eventually told me about a dream that she had had. It was just in passing, so, if I hadn't been paying attention, I might not have noticed her say it. She had thought that there was an unnaturally tall man dressed in dark, business clothing, leaning over a couple of seats on our bus, right across the aisle from her. I allowed her to think it was a dream, that it was nothing. That's better than the alternative, right?
She then began recieving notes in a strange notepad. It had sketches she didn't remember drawing. More importantly, it had, written in purple pen, code. I recognized it almost immediately as a code I had used a long time ago, for communication between my sister and I. That was the initial reason that I had been invited over to Rosie's house in the first place, actually; I was the only one she knew who knew anything about codes; I was to translate it all today. I did just that and, as an afterthought and a sort of reward, we had our cocoa, out in the freezing air.
I got up and went inside to get more hot cocoa for myself. When I returned to my seat, I put down my mug on the little table and looked up to say something to Rosie. She was gone. I looked around a little before seeing her standing in a clear part of her backyard, not more than a meter away from that thing. It had its blank head tipped to the side, almost as if it were staring at another curious specimen. Rosie, as I watched, slowly did the same, not moving closer, but staring straight up at him.
Before I could stop myself, I called out, "Hey, Rosie!" She turned her head to face me, then blinked a couple of times, the terrifyingly hazed look leaving her eyes. She furrowed her brow and called out, "Yeah?" The thing in front of her faced me momentarilly, then faded like a disappearing mirage.
"Ah, you want me to get some more cocoa for you?" She smiled at my quick save.
"Sure!"
She didn't remember staring straight at him. I din't bring it up.
She's probably going to post the translations sometime within the next week on her blog.
http://drowninginnavy.blogspot.com/
Thursday, December 20, 2012
And we are vagabonds
I realized that, for the past few days, I have felt...I suppose "better" might be the word for it. The school I go to these days are giving final exams, and all I have left are easier ones. That's not all, though. I'm not feeling as twitchy or paranoid. I'm not constantly looking over my shoulder.
Well, actually, I am. I'm doing it less, however.
It's like writing this stuff is putting me at ease. I'm not sure what to think about that. It may be a false sense of security, but I do appreciate it at this point.
I'm capable of reflecting more. I'm dreadfully sorry if you aren't involved in any of this yet. If you are, please learn from my mistakes. Keep yourselves safe and follow whatever rules apply to you (see The Tutorial and Brodie's blog for the best tips I've received).
Elle and I ran. We ran and ran until we reached a more populated town, still in Indiana. I managed to keep our money stretched out for a while. It wouldn't last, but I had to try. We were constantly around other people; it was a college town, too. There was a student union building that was friendly and warm for us to stay in. There were always students around, but they never paid any mind to us. I read up on the...I hate saying this nickname...the Slenderman. I read up on other accounts, taking place at the same time as our own were. I read Seeking Truth, The Tutorial, What Now?, and, eventually, Dreams In Darkness (as well as DejaVu Dreamer). I recognized the places and names referenced in it. I had no idea that all of this was so much worse...then, to have Damien's story written off like that by someone calling him mad...it was horrifying. I knew he was telling the truth and could do something about it. Then I see that it's supposedly fake. It wasn't. It was never a fake. I only got to be enraged at that by the time DejaVu Dreamer rolled around. That was a little ways into my sister and my "adventure."
We always saw him. That tall creature, dressed to the nines, looming in the trees, near the small river (more like a creek) on campus. He would stand outside the art museum and the auditorium and-
It just unsettled me that no one else could see him.
I fought to keep Elle and myself alive. We worked odd jobs for strangers we should never have trusted, we pick-pocketed people when we absolutely had to...and we ate very little. I had to explain things to Elle. She barely understood, but decided that it made enough sense and stopped asking me the same questions over and over again. She was older than I presented her a being, previously. She called our parents and grandparents by childish nicknames, but never really acted in a childish manner. She was smart. She was wonderful.
Heh, wow. I really miss her.
...I think that's all I can manage for today.
Well, actually, I am. I'm doing it less, however.
It's like writing this stuff is putting me at ease. I'm not sure what to think about that. It may be a false sense of security, but I do appreciate it at this point.
I'm capable of reflecting more. I'm dreadfully sorry if you aren't involved in any of this yet. If you are, please learn from my mistakes. Keep yourselves safe and follow whatever rules apply to you (see The Tutorial and Brodie's blog for the best tips I've received).
Elle and I ran. We ran and ran until we reached a more populated town, still in Indiana. I managed to keep our money stretched out for a while. It wouldn't last, but I had to try. We were constantly around other people; it was a college town, too. There was a student union building that was friendly and warm for us to stay in. There were always students around, but they never paid any mind to us. I read up on the...I hate saying this nickname...the Slenderman. I read up on other accounts, taking place at the same time as our own were. I read Seeking Truth, The Tutorial, What Now?, and, eventually, Dreams In Darkness (as well as DejaVu Dreamer). I recognized the places and names referenced in it. I had no idea that all of this was so much worse...then, to have Damien's story written off like that by someone calling him mad...it was horrifying. I knew he was telling the truth and could do something about it. Then I see that it's supposedly fake. It wasn't. It was never a fake. I only got to be enraged at that by the time DejaVu Dreamer rolled around. That was a little ways into my sister and my "adventure."
We always saw him. That tall creature, dressed to the nines, looming in the trees, near the small river (more like a creek) on campus. He would stand outside the art museum and the auditorium and-
It just unsettled me that no one else could see him.
I fought to keep Elle and myself alive. We worked odd jobs for strangers we should never have trusted, we pick-pocketed people when we absolutely had to...and we ate very little. I had to explain things to Elle. She barely understood, but decided that it made enough sense and stopped asking me the same questions over and over again. She was older than I presented her a being, previously. She called our parents and grandparents by childish nicknames, but never really acted in a childish manner. She was smart. She was wonderful.
Heh, wow. I really miss her.
...I think that's all I can manage for today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)