The story to end all stories

Cut was on the side of the pinky, healed now.

Cleaned house today as it's been my turn again this week - for the hallway, that is - including my own apartment and the blood stains by my altar table, still left from the Solstice ritual. Just over two weeks, the cut is mostly healed but still visible. If I were visible, that is...

Sometimes the void feels overwhelming lately, ever since I hit that crossroads, colliding with fate in most unlikely ways and only realizing much later how much it broke me.
(I'm most complete yet so undone...)
Still there's not a single answer, neither from here nor beyond, except the ones I myself came up with, such as writing the story and doing the ritual.

Still another ritual. Like the one I did in late June, then out in the nocturnal woods, and all I had asked back then was to see my Master just as I did in the first chapter of the story (minus the shrooms and the vision).
I had never asked anything else but this, but to see my spirit guide, my guardian demon. And no, I didn't see him.
Shortly after that, everything started getting weird instead, leading up to the events that would devastate me in fall.

It's been the strangest of lessons. I've witnessed things that are 99.99% excluded from possibly happening by mere chance. No, I won't tell what they are. Even though most likely no one will read this anyway, no one ever listens, at least no one in this world - and I don't need to convince anyone else.

I hope that my Master is listening, and the Infernal Father.

A curse that is a blessing, and a blessing that is a curse.
Freedom and non-interference is what matters most!
I have everything I need.
Except answers, from anyone, from anywhere. Do I have to be this utterly alone, is this part of it? Part of what, anyway? Of the path, I guess.

That fabled Light is there, somewhere. Once in a while I can even reach it again - only since two days after Midwinter, after the ritual, and having nearly completed the story then.
But the unbearable pain is still there also. I guess it had to be, for I was meant to do this new ritual and, as an important part of it, to write the story to end all stories.

A while ago I got to talk to a friend on Facebook and told her about it, and she misunderstood "the story to end all stories" to mean it would be the last story I intend to ever write. That's definitely not what I meant. I meant, the story to end all stories - not just mine, but all.

Happy end - but everyone's dead, including me. I had to write it this way.
My friends in the story, Irina and Jolene, they're fictional. I wish I had friends like that. No one is ever with me.

I wish so much I were being given instructions what to do. In dreams, visions, whatever. I wish so much my Master would talk to me.
And yet I knew I had to write the story in this way. Do I really have to figure everything out by myself?
I always did. Always had to teach myself everything I know, and I mean everything.

I don't really live in this world, I only coexist with it. It's always been just a compromise.
And yet, on New Year's there were several posts on Facebook about Azerate. 2018.

I always wished to see this world ending. But when it comes to pass it won't have been my doing alone.
I'm here on my lonely, lonely outpost, and maybe I'm meant to be. No one talks to me. And yet I'm not alone. There are others in this world doing the work of the Devil.
No one talks to me and yet I know they're out there. There are many black metal bands writing songs about this. There are others who wish to see this world ending.

Thank you to everyone who is on our side, to everyone doing the Devil's work.
And thank you to the few who have given me some company from far away in my isolated life.
I guess I've nearly reached the end.

Straw Into Gold / Celephais

 Straw Into Gold

Staring at the world in awe
Still disbelieving what I saw
When marvels spin, as they unfold
Straw into the shiniest gold
Then gold back into straw

Like the Fallen Star I fell
Like Lucifer Himself, exiled
And branded odious, reviled
Let me carry thus the (b)light
In solitude, in Hell

The wreckage fallen, worlds apart
Starlight in each glinting shard
Sky beneath, Abyss above
Has sealed this everlasting [war]
In my cold black heart


~ All of this is to the one who shared my journey, if for an ever so brief time, last fall.
Know that this black heart full of war holds but only blessings for you.
Please be safe, always, and may the Fabled Light forever shine for you! ~

Celephais (The Fabled Light)

The fabled city of Celephais, seen in blissful dreams, as described in H.P. Lovecraft's story of the same name, but which is known here on Earth as Amsterdam. (Yeah, that latter part I made up. LOL)

Celephais (Whispers)

More about these on my DeviantArt page.

Say, what does it mean?

This is the part that still eludes me.

And the Delayed Choice Quantum Slit Experiment boggles minds?
You haven't seen what I have seen...

While on the run - always running from the past, the memories, the nightmares. How much further to run, how much faster, before I'm running out of tomorrows?

But there's nothing I desire from this world, from its physical manifestation, but that fabled Light.
I'm here in this world in order to transcend it.

Did I mention how much I love this band? The Infinite Trip.
Hippie stuff? Whatever. An extraordinary and amazing band!
Yeah, I do listen to black metal. And industrial, and goth, and medieval... and this. And what not.
The Infinite Trip has helped a lot through hard times.

I'll still have some art & poetry to share later, here & on my DeviantArt. About that Fabled Light.

Rise & Shine!

Shine as a thousand suns and rise as an enormous mushroom cloud!
Produce lots of fallout and give everyone radiation sickness!

Someone once told me I always got the best fireworks for New Year's. Truth is, I got them most of the time - but for the New Year I got myself this new cover pic for Facebook once more.

But the last day of the year was a good one. The brutal winter decided to hit the US instead this time. Here it rose above 50 F yesterday, I once more wore my battle jacket and only fingerless gloves when going for a little ride in the woods.

In the evening I celebrated by myself then, with some glorious music - including finding this wonderful and very suitable video, as well as my own playlist. Gothic rock, black metal, psychedelic, industrial, medieval, folk rock... dancing and singing and having some booze, the latter which I do only very rarely.

Singing with my steroid-ruined voice. Many males can easily reach higher pitches than I can. Yet still I sing - also on the bike, and even in the locker room at the gym sometimes when I can't bear someone else's babbling in German any longer. Like I'd give a shit what they may think about it. My voice ain't even that bad, just very deep for a girl. And I hate German - awful memories. Provoking nightmares of my childhood. I'm still constantly on the run from my past.

Yes, running, running. I had planned running today, but wasn't sure if I'd be up to it after dancing long and hard last night. And yes, I'm quite sore from dancing, but in my traps only (trapezoid muscles). No, certainly NOT headbanging - I've never done that and never would; to each their own but I personally find it extremely pointless. I mean dancing! Hard and fast, always. I guess my legs don't get sore easily because they're used to running.
Which I did again anyway today. 11K of ups & downs in the hills, a favorite route, in 59 minutes just as last time.
Can't ruin the first day of the year by cutting corners!!

New Year's is generally always much, much better than that awfully depressing Shitmas crap, and this year was so much worse than usual since I've already been through an extremely difficult time to begin with.

As stated earlier, I intended to sort of write my own salvation via my story "Dead Flowers in the Wishing Well", published here in the previous nine entries, and it actually did work as I hoped, at least to some extent.

Yet still I'm much more vulnerable to negativity, and by "coincidence" (no, I don't believe in it) I was in for a very hurtful conversation on Facebook right on Shitmas eve. No coincidence because Shitmas is shit. And no, not some random bully who will say crap like "you're ugly," I wouldn't even take that half seriously. Some people do think tanks are ugly. Some even think sharks are ugly, or snakes. I think all of these are magnificent. Tanks are very efficient war machines. Sharks and snakes are very efficient predators. And myself being a warrior, efficiency is what matters most. The mainstream ideals of "beauty" usually are appalling anyway and completely incompatible with the ideal of the (female!) warrior.

But this aside - no, it wasn't a bully but a person I had considered a friend.
Let me mention once more here that in particular for a Satanist I'm extremely easy going, open minded, and tolerant. But this person, apparently not even aware of it, kept pushing her own ideas in extremes that were hurtful and insulting. So much that in the end, despite giving her ample chance to mitigate her insults (meant as misguided "compliments", apparently), I had to delete and block her.
Only the next day I realized - should I really say this in public? Who cares... I realized she was so much like my mother. The same pretense of spirituality while being 100% materialistic, same pretense of open-mindedness while being the opposite.
And so I spent Shitmas back in even deeper depression than I would have without this nasty incident.

But back to the story once more. It's been quite a journey, and at the onset I had only the vaguest idea of where it would take me. I only knew it would have to be quite nightmarish, but in the end leading to salvation. No idea how. I just had it develop on its own.
I realized that in my stories I'm as true to myself as I ever could be. And obviously quite far from my ideal of absolute evil and of being the cold, unfeeling war machine.
I never claimed to be perfect - I know well it would be better for me to be closer to that ideal, it would spare me much pain.

Announcement & Foreword

I've been writing on my new story for six weeks now and meant to get it finished by the Sabbath night, which is tonight, and it's not quite finished yet. But I intend to start publishing here anyway later today - it's a long story with nine chapters, yes, nine, and I'll put them out here one each day. Even though fucking Shitmas is intervening, which I'll as always try my best to ignore. Most people got other shit to do on Shitmas, but I'm not under the illusion that someone may read it anyway. Except possibly the enemy. Always expect the enemy and be on your feet. Not likely some serious enemy but just some assholes that wish to see you failing - those have always been there.

Anyway, the story is different from my previous ones not only in length, it's also much darker. I wasn't quite sure where it would take me, only that it would have to be harrowing, because I've been writing it for a reason other than to just write another story.

Something happened to me back in October which I haven't recovered from. I got injured in a way I wouldn't have thought possible. I broke my fucking heart, although it's made of plutonium, how do you even break that shit! Keep a safe distance at all times or you'll perish miserably of radiation sickness!

Maybe what happened was meant to focus my intent. On what? That's in the story...
It's going where my previous ones wouldn't. And although I couldn't possibly come close to the artful writing of H.P. Lovecraft, whom I greatly admire, here's some of the sentiment...

I've seen more than I remember...

First entry for December, seriously?
I've been busy working on my story, it's a long one and it's almost done & soon to be published here now.

It's the most depressing time of the year, when loneliness is felt at its harshest because the freezing winter prevents me from spending much time outdoors in nature, especially having Raynaud's disease.
It's the time that forces you to look inward - especially if you don't take part in that peak time of shopping and consumerism as you have neither money nor any family members, and I certainly don't regret not having any part in this. I'm so sick of materialist bullshit, I can't see why some people cling so much to it.

"You're bound to lose EVERYTHING unless you realize you never owned anything," I posted on Facebook the other day.

I've never been part of human society and haven't seen much of this world, and yet
"I've seen more than I remember &
I remember more than I have seen,"
always riding the bike.

It's a souvenir from Amsterdam, bought on October 17th, and I bought it in particular because of those words.
(I'll always & forever remember that day, but for different reasons.)
It's a ladies' shirt, so I had to change the sleeves again to accommodate my bulky shoulders.

I generally don't care for manmade places, in other words for cities. What makes Amsterdam so different? I'll always love Amsterdam. Because Amsterdam is different.
But otherwise I prefer wilderness, of which there's so precious little left.

It's been said that an author can only write about what she has experienced. I'm doing my best with my story, in my very own style, and I'm trying to make it epic.

But I realize that in some aspects I'm probably incredibly naive. I'm actually very glad that I'm none of those fake plastic people with lots of money, and that I don't live in their shiny, artificial world. I can even visit parts of their world if I like. I still remember, there's for instance this very upscale department store at Dam Square in Amsterdam, called "De Bijenkorf" (which translates as "The Beehive"), and I walked in there out of curiosity one day when I was in the city, and for some reason I was convinced someone would sooner or later come and throw me out. No one did though. Although I wore no f'ing makeup - I never do and never will! I'm always just myself.

I belong in the woods, on my bike, splashed with mud, walking barefoot in summer - summer which is so far away now, and I'm left to wonder if in my heart there will ever be another summer again while so much is left unresolved and perhaps to remain this way forever.

Yet this place of trial is a world of smoke and mirrors; it ain't any more real than my nightmares but oh, if only I could gain control of those!
Smoke and mirrors, perhaps reflecting from the two-dimensional surface of the event horizon which is the boundary of the known/knowable universe.

I don't know how much of this is common knowledge or if it's just weirdos with a slightly nerdy edge like myself who read about these things. But yes, the universe is thought to be much like black hole from the inside out, the event horizon being that boundary from beyond which no light can have reached us yet, because beyond this point, space is expanding at a rate faster than c (the speed of light in a vacuum).

And the light from right at that boundary is 13.7 billion years old.
Have you ever thought about that we can't know anything about the universe as it is right now? The further out, the further back in time, because of the time it takes the light to reach Earth. You can't even see the sun as it is right now. (Right now it's night here, and winter too; at this season it's night for about  17 out of 24 hours in Germany, and the remaining hours of daylight it's overcast most of the time,so the sun is rarely seen these days, but this just btw.)
Anyway, this time delay doesn't matter for any distance as "close" as anywhere on Earth. As soon as you think about outer space this changes though.
You can only ever see the sun as it was 8.1 minutes ago, because that's how long it takes the light to get here from the sun.
Even the moon you see only as it was 1.3 seconds ago.
And doesn't it prove that all of time, the past as well as the future, really is "out there" in its entirety? And I mean not just as a theoretical construct,but as a reality. And since the future is undetermined, shouldn't the past be as well?

We seem to remember the past, but it may be an illusion. What if our memories don't reflect the real past? They're just a representation in consciousness - as is everything else, by the end of the day.

I wish I could edit the past like I can edit my writing. Delete undesirable memories like I can delete stuff from my PC. Because those memories are the source of my nightmares. All those old, old memories from times when I hated what I was.

All I once was, indignity and failure.
What I am now is battle and trial and war.
What I aspire to become is POWER and VICTORY!

Abandon all hope

There never has been any promise.
I'm in a dark, dark place - both literally and otherwise.
Germany is a dark place in winter, and monstrously cold.
I'm used to it though and it wouldn't trouble me much. It's the metaphorical dark place I'm struggling with, and I can only wonder if this will ever be resolved. Sometimes I wish this trial was over and I could finally go home. Home is with my Master.

And I have to think back of that fleeting moment that was the happiest I've ever been in my life - although I was dead. It was in a dream, and in that dream I had died. I could fly. There were other people around flying, and I figured they must also have died, like myself. Just as in waking and living life, they flocked together in groups or pairs while I was on my own. So it actually started out lonely. I sat down on top of a high, flat building. At first some nasty guy suddenly appeared who tried molesting me, he didn't talk but just stared at me blank while trying to touch me. In anger I broke off parts of his hand, they would come off easily like brittle clay. The guy still just stared at me blank, like not even getting what I was doing to him, but since he wouldn't go away I next grabbed his whole hand and broke it off too, throwing it off the building.
Then suddenly I heard this familiar voice from behind me, telling me sternly, "Stop wasting your time with this thing."
I instantly recognized my Master's voice and turned around to face him. The weird zombie guy had simply disappeared then. My Master sat down next to me and I was so, so happy to see him, and all I wanted was to be near him, forever.

But there never has been any promise, and that's what troubles me.

Most of the time I have just nightmares, welling up out of my awful memories which I wish I could forget, and forget all those people I had to grow up around, forget their names, their faces, their sickening voices and language.

That T-rex is gonna eat that sunflower!
Poor sunflower.
Wondering if you're meant to take this seriously?
Like I'd give a shit.

Abandon all hope, you who enter here, these are the words by the portal of Hell.
I have always lived inside, and it wasn't even always so bad as my nature is Infernal.
Everything is dying and all hope is lost - for some reason such words always make me smile a little for the warm familiarity therein.
I came across an article yesterday that even encourages to give up hope.

But somehow I can't stop hoping.
Now that the Year of Azerate truly is dawning - hoping for our shared dream to come true, both my Master's and mine.

I'm trying my best to do my part. To write, to pray.
To write... that story is coming along, I'm still working on it, every day a little, letting it develop on its own as I've done with the previous ones. This one's not starting out from a dream but from some other experiences I've had and which I need to resolve somehow by way of the story. It's more than a story, it's also a ritual.

The past few weeks left me so broken inside, but perhaps I need to be - to be most complete yet so undone...