Avatarofkaine

...And in the death As the last few corpses lay rotting on the slimy thoroughfare The shutters lifted in inches in Temperance Building High on Poacher's Hill And red, mutant eyes gaze down on Hunger City No more big wheels Fleas the size of rats sucked on rats the size of cats And ten thousand peoploids split into small tribes Coveting the highest of the sterile skyscrapers Like packs of dogs assaulting the glass fronts of Love-Me Avenue Ripping and rewrapping mink and shiny silver fox, now legwarmers Family badge of sapphire and cracked emerald Any day now The Year of the Diamond daemons... So the angels were awakening the second essence of man, truly it was as Baal had told, the plague of horror washing across the scorched land could not go on forever and the beings of light were reacting as they had the last time, and every other time the waves of death had swept clean the earth. In itself the awakening of mans second spirit held little that should concern one of the mighty Prime Evils, but the fact that God had spawned himself a vessel of holy retribution upon the seemingly godforsaken earth-plane was far more troubling indeed. Too many times had the dark armies of terror been swept back into the unending boredom of the darker planes of existence to battle amongst themselves. Claws designed to rend the flesh of the living finding only daemon flesh into which to tear. Now once more they had spilled forth like the ravenous plague they were, but this time they would not be pushed back. No not this time, trouble brewed for the heavens, this time it would all go as planned, and the Primes would sit on the throne clouds to reign supreme. The delivery of a "savior" to the man things posed merely a delay, the three brothers would find him, if not with their own eyes then through the eyes of others, and when they found him, the battle plan would be coveted with his blood. So he would now to search out those who could find this lamb of god, bring him to the slaughter like all the other cattle, that thought gave him something of an idea, it was pointless and the chances of anything worthy arising from it were almost unworthy of consideration. The enjoyment it could yield though was definitely worth putting some effort towards. And so he sent out the call, the dark beacon of projected thoughts ringing in the heads of so many lesser daemons, they were to gather up these human, cattle, and bring them to the abattoir. When he called them cattle he was speaking somewhat metaphorically, but the abattoir was totally literal, he would slaughter them and hang their carcasses as they had done to so many bovine beasts.

The screams seemed to drift lazily through the night, hanging to the air much longer than they should? A wicked leer formed upon leathery lips as Diablo soaked up the sweet scent of fear that thickened the air like so much perspiration, truly this little game had pleased him well enough to continue it as long as he had, but time was so slow to a creature of such immense power, and boredom came so often. Indeed it was time to pack the play things away, to place their bodies into the ground, and their souls into his mouth. He had followed the party for 3 days, perhaps it would have been easier to place the arm among them, but it had no material needs, no urge to rest or eat, and so he knew that despite its lack of speed it would soon enough catch them. As inevitable as the moon, though perhaps soon the moon too would quail in fear at the mention of his name, to obey his commands lest his anger be turned towards it. The questing party were awake, the screams of one member niggling deep into the subconscious? of those sleeping, waking them in a sheet of cold sweat, sweet stinging sweat, the sweat of fear. They were up and ready, weapons drawn and formed into a rough defensive formation. They were a motley bunch, an assortment of crude prize hunters, men who thought themselves strong enough to make benefit of the maelstrom brewing across the continents, there was even a woman among them, she would surely prove a tasty tid bit perhaps? Diablo raised his claws up to his face, clicking them greedily in anticipation, a sound like porcelain on steel flitted through the trees, whipping the man things into chaos, the musk of fear grew intoxicatingly thick. This was the peak of their terror and it turned Diablo?s mind to a single track, to revel in their blood, rich with their terror. He could move speedily enough when he wanted, instantaneously when he needed, but he walked forward slowly, the shadows releasing his form into the relative light of the parties camp unwillingly, clinging to him longer than it seemed they should have been able to as though he dragged them with him like strips of a torn shroud. A heavy set man stood forward almost without willing it to happen, he was big by most standards, but the lord of terror stood imposingly over him, made seemingly even bigger by the lack of definition in the dim light. The man seemed to be holding a cudgel or something primitive of that nature all sharp angles and steel but it looked like nothing more than a club, though tiny I comparison to his own , but Diablo new the man things had much magic bound to them now, the cudgel crackled with a blue sheet of lightning and Diablo?s assumptions were proved correct. The man pushed forward, his arm swinging out wide in an attack, and the rest of the band screamed support, ?????. ?shock the bastard??? ?stick that taser right down his ******* throat, shock his damned brains out???.. but before the lightning stick came close a claw was whipping down and through his bicep, shearing his arm away, and passing down to remove the bottom half of his leg. The mans eyes rolled back into his head as he fouled himself and broke into convulsions, a heady stink of fear drove Diablo on. Firesticks bloomed in the darkness, their buzzing projectiles ripping through his hide, Balefires lunging out through the punctures, blazing across his body and turning to him into a walking torch, but the flames could not harm Diablo, they were born inside him, a much apart of him as his thoughts. The bullets hurt, but to little consequence, he pounded on to his next target, tearing free his entrails in a sweeping handful as he whipped another into a tree with a backhand from his black-stained club. It was all frenzy after that flesh fell in lumps to the ground, and steam rose across Diablo?s field of vision as bodies sprayed their warm lifeblood onto the dry soil. Then all was still, not quite all, blood was oozing from torn limbs and muscles twitched periodically, but the man things were all dead, yes all of them. But the woman thing she was still standing, breathing slowly, her eyes glazed, but infuriatingly not full of fear. She refused to let him taste her terror, the terror of her soul, the rich ecstasy of a souls fear at knowing it is about to be destroyed, not released but destroyed. The concept that this soul did not fear him, did not quake in panic was intriguing, what did this one have, or lack, that made it brave when the thousands of others had all been blind with terror? To destroy it now would have been meaningless to him, just another skull to crush between his hands if she would not know true terror for him, and so he thought that he would leave her, find her again when he knew how to milk from her the sweet, sweet intoxication of her fear. And with that he departed, the clatter of smashing pottery as he descended into the rich, blood-soaked earth. Gone to seek new entertainment, and perhaps some answers to his concerns.

The flesh parted so easily before his will, tendons stretched and slipped as his claw dipped deeper into the body. Where would he leave this piece he wondered to himself, somewhere they would find it, or there was no point, but perhaps this time less obvious, perhaps this time the piece should find the rest of its? former party. Tiring quickly with this slowly cooling corpse, Diablo wrenched the barely attached arm from the flayed body. Slowly with an almost reverent care his fingers carved at the soft flesh in the palm of the hand, with the prescribed symbols etched into the flesh Diablo turned his claw to himself. He opened a small rift in the leathery hide that contained him, sickeningly tinted balefire immediately spilling out and lapping greedily at the air it had been exposed to. The smell of ozone permeating the area. Clasping a wisp of balefire in his ghoulish hand Diablo brought the flame close to the dismembered arm, the flame flickering more and more hungrily by the moment, the flitting into the arm via the gateway carved in it?s palm. The fingers twitched spasmodically, grasping again, leaving gouges in the dirt. With a quick explanation from the Lord of Terror the arm took action and slithered off into the night, searching for the party to which it?s owner belonged. ?This should indeed make for a enticing show of fear?? He thought to himself, rising up again with the clattering sound of falling masonry, ?but I tire of these man things, perhaps once this ploy has seen its course out I shall claim the rest of them.? With that the beast shambled off into the darkness, to again stalk his chosen toys.

Classic stuff for the time, and I have to agree wholeheartedly with harlequin about the quality degrading as the years progressed, a pretty safe bet is to do what I did and don?t own any of his music that isn?t on vinyl. Upon riffling through my collection I have so far found that I am in possession of 4 LP's (Lace and Whiskey, Schools out, Goes to hell, Welcome to my nightmare) I do however have a sneaking suspicion that there are more floating around somewhere and I have a 2 LP compilation of the earlier recordings. For Harlequins benefit, "Give the Kid a Break" is the first track on side two of Goes to Hell. I couldn?t be bothered to disappoint myself buy buying the newer work, and intend to stick with the opinion that he only made good music. Never seen the man play live, though I would have to imagine he still puts on a good show, on one occasion he managed to put a cutlass I believe it was through his foot, and after deciding that it didn?t hurt too much and with how much the crowd enjoyed it (thinking it was part of the show), he continued on to finish the set and the once backstage made with the blood transfusion. My favorite song would probably have to be "Billion Dollar Babies" "Cold Ethyl" or "Department of Youth". You just have to love the last line or so about Donny Osmond in the fade out of "Department of Youth". I'd love to hear how he's performing nowadays.

What you have to do see, is take a pie, AKA mouse coffin, remove the top bit and add every kind of sauce or sauce like condiment in your house, preferably without taking notice of what they are, mix it through and replace the top bit. Procede to eat and try to determine exactly what it was that you added, could be that I am an exceptionally easily amused kind of guy, but it is somewhat fun trying to work out all the flavours. For even more fun, get a friend to join in and flavourise each others so that you really have no idea whats in there. All in all it can get somewhat risky, but its worth the occasional jelly crystal laced pie for the amusement you get out of it.

Race: Prime Evil Name: Diablo Appearance: Corpse like and hollow, near enough to seven feet tall. Covered in a tight, almost shrunken skin, thin and translucent. Wicked balefires glint and dance within the withered frame, dancing lights playing out across the skin. Within the empty eyesockets of the skull shines an entrancing red luminence. Hands ending in wickedly curved claws. Location: Happy enough to wander, the petty manthings always run, thus one needs give chase. Weapons: Well we've got our sickle fingers, and a mighty club for the smiting, lets leave the rest for the unholy powers of dark magic. Skills\Powers\Spells: Fire is fun, fire is terror, and terrors what I want, so some control over the flames should about cover it.

Who cares what steriotype people think you fit into. It's never a correct assumption, people are way to complex organisms. About all I've ever found steriotypes good for is some good old fashioned exploiting. I hate people who walk slowly or get in my way at a shopping center or whatever when I'm trying to get somewhere, so if I can tell I am not going to have the energy to put up with that, ill break out the black, head to toe, not exactly outragous, but it's amazingly good fun to watch people take great pains to get out of your way just because your dressed in black and look like you have a purpose. Another good one for getting places quick is the total hobo, or generally odd, a greatcoat will get you alot of odd stares, but you'll get where you want to go real fast and a field jacket combined with some scruffy hair will deter all but the most persistant of sample vendors. Be who you want to be, and use peoples opinions to your advantage, in my experience, thats all you can do. For some reason, those who know me well will wonder about this as much as I do, people who dont know me yet, apparently see me as a somewhat imposing figure, and im not by any means the kind of guy who looks like he could snap you in half like a twig. I've been told by one girl who "summoned up the courage"- yea, I cant see it being nesicary- to get to know me, that her first impressions of me were that I was, quote, "hardcore and a bit intimidating", since getting to know me better shes now come to the conclusion that I am totally whacked-out, very kind and considerate (sometimes) and has the notion that I'm totally harmless - which I am not sure is a compliment, or at all correct. So as you can see first impressions are almost never correct, and unless you make a total tool of yourself with your real personality, they dont last all that long. My advice, have fun with steriotypes, it makes life alot more interesting to play around with peoples opinions. I know I sure enjoy it. If they're going to make them, let them make the ones you want them to.

Jeff Buckley is dead. So as a sign that you like good music dont set your status to busy for all those people who say that just cause some tool rapper is dead or it is their birthday. In fact tell them to @^#& off ---- My good buddy Dave, dont know if it's his or he got it somewhere though. Reading when you're drunk is horrible. Everyone who grew up in the 80's has entered the digits 55378008 into a calculator. ------- And now I wager most of you have too. The most embarrassing thing you can do as a schoolchild is to call your teacher mum or dad. There's no panic like the panic you momentarily feel when you've got your hand or head stuck in something That will do for now, cause I have far too many to be healthy and even if I was only to list my favs this would be a much space taking up post

I found myself a book while wandering through the library the other day (yea in the library, I mean what are the odds, a book, in a library, downright amazing),usually I get a book because someone has told me it is good, I very rarely actually come across something that I think I will like and borrow it, although having read the praise on the back cover and the first page, I had to borrow it. It's written by Michael Ventura and is titled "Night Time Losing Time" I was wondering if anyone has read it, I'd explain a bit about it and what it is about, but I'm unhappy to say that only being about 190 pages into it after a week and a bit, I dont think I could explain it in anything even remotely logical. If anyone has read it I would love to hear what you thought of it, as so far it has been a very unusual and enticing book, I only wish I had of read a bit more of it by now.

I found that the last 5 lines were probaly the ones that hit hardest, they seem to stand up much higher than the rest of the poem, which is prolly/definately a good thing, always good to finish with a bang. All in all i found that it was a very good poem, you seem to be quite talented keep it up.

I prolly wouldnt say so much that I thought that the happenings occured on a temporal plane, so much as it was something like what could have happened had he woken and left his bedroom early. Personally I think Frank represented something akin to a consience of sorts, only with some majorly off kilter ideas on right and wrong. If the character was to do one thing ever so slightly different, the consequences could be innumerable and incredulous, I found that to me that the movie came across with so many sub messages but possibly one of the most prominant was the consequences of every choice and action, we cant predict them, but if we could see even a few seconds into the future, we would change our choices and live with all the consequences. Constant risks and gambles without us even knowing that these things are potentially going to take place, we only discover the consequences as they occur, and so our lives are in basis nothing but chances and possibilities and lost oppertunities. Hope that makes sense, but thats one of the things that I left with having seen the movie.

Mission accumplished, We see what we need to see, what we want to see, thats as far as i believe. We see messed up stuff because we our selves are messed up, we see hope and embodiments off goodness because we wish that it could be so, that such a thing could be real. Give me statistics and whatever but "you can prove just about anything with statistics) when someone digs up some indesputable evidence then my opinios will be able to become concrete, untill then believe what you want to, believe what you will.

Ok I almost found it hard to follow, could be I need sleep though. I'm getting a bit of an unrequited love sort of mindset when I read that poem. The second part I found quite thought and feeling provoking although I did think that the top half was a little "jumpy" if thats the right word. Could be you were trying to get the exaltation of the moment. A rambling from the mind of Steve, take it with as many grains of salt as you wish.

And so it would seem that both extremes have relented and left us to rot in mediocrity. I found that little snippet of creativity to be most poignant. Though I would have to wonder if beings of such extremes could ever exhist humbly. That is of course working under the assumption they exhist in the first place... which is not really a topic of discussion I think this poem was to create. But then what do I know. The way I switch viewpoints I should really start wondering if I have multiple personalities, least I won't get lonely.

I agree with my good poultry friend there, almost assuradly music will change, just look back on what went before. I think one of the most obvious developments is the "fullness" of the sound, with older music where there was far les redubbing and mixing you could hear the empty frequencies where as nowadays it is a much broader and fuller sound range. What I'm worried about, in addition to the lean towards rap, pop and other mass produced stylings,is that albums and music will become so reworked that it will lose all of it's soul, imagine if rock was to develop into something with tonings that sound like techno - Zwan even released an appology for how compressed the music on their CD was, to the point where a flimsy sterio system could "blow up" when playing the cds. I assumed most of you know what compression is, I can explain it poorly for those of you who dont. Ever noticed TV adds are louder than the programs, thats because the sound is compressed, by tweaking the frequencies it is possible to make the sound vibrate your inner ear more forcefully without very much increase in sound levels at all, thus making it seem louder even though decible levels will be the same if only marginally louder. Sorry bout any spelling mistakes, I've been terribly out of it all day.