Monthly Archives: June 2012


So, dude, if you’re reading this it means I didn’t make it home, and I probably won’t ever again. Don’t let that bum you out, because I’m totally ready for it. But whoa, don’t relax just yet, because there’s still a lot to do.

First thing: get out of the house. Don’t take your Xbox, you should only carry the things you really need and I will pimp-slap you from beyond if you try to haul that hunk of shit with you. Take my car. If someone asks for you to give them a ride—don’t. I don’t care what excuses you use, even if you don’t say anything and just peel out of there, let nobody but you inside that car.

Go to J street. Pick up my dry cleaning. That’s not part of it but it’s still important.

Now go to that bodega we got really good weed at that one time (not the Gentleman Astronaut, the White Widow.) Remember the dude with the milky eye? He’s got something in his freezer for you. Don’t let him try to pawn the orange-blackberry sherbet off on you, that’s been in there since last December. Take the bottle and put it in the glove compartment

Now drive up to 4371 Harstadt ave. and ring apartment #6. They’ll buzz you in. DON’T GO UP. Take the oldest newspaper off the pile in the front room—I think it’s March—and go back to the car. If there’s a homeless dude waiting by it, give it to him. If not then drive down to the park fountain and give him the paper, that picture of your sister, & exactly 95 cents in change. No pennies. He’ll give you a box. That won’t be the It, but you shouldn’t open it anyway.

Now drive down to E-dog’s and park out by the shed. Throw the box out as far as you can. Wait ten seconds. Someone will throw a rock at your head. Pick it up and look at it. If it’s a plain rock-looking rock you’re screwed, put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. But if it’s all pretty and got those bluey-purply veins running through it, you’re gold.

Get back in the car, drive home, and park on top of Epcott’s begonias. That’s not specifically part of it, I just don’t like that guy. Walk out as far as you can. You should hit a church before too long. That rock in your pocket?  Kill a pigeon with it. It might take a couple of tries, but you’ll get it. Take that bird and pull its guts out. They should form a pattern like some guy’s face. He has It.

Okay, these next few steps are crucial. Find that guy. He should be at Briona’s party tonight. If you did everything right, you should get there just before he does. Hide somewhere and wait. And dude, I’m really sorry, but you have to kill him. He’ll beg for his life—believe me he will—but don’t worry, as loud as he gets no one can hear you. Do it quick and don’t worry about the mess, you’re past all that now. Take everything he has, keys, wallets, toothpick, EVERYTHING. Search his shoes just to be on the safe side.

Now look to your right. There should be a door where there wasn’t one before. Go through it. You should be in a vacant lot. If not, I’m sorry dude but you’re about to die a painful death and I did sleep with Mandy. If you are in the lot, there should be something indescribably horrible in front of you. Pay it no mind, you don’t bother him, he won’t bother you.

Go over to the little nest made out of old car parts and shit. There It is. Don’t look at it. Pick it up. Don’t look at it. Is it still breathing? If it is you need to scoop up one of the car batteries lying around and bash its brains in. Don’t worry, it’s easier the second time.

If you’re done, turn left and start walking. You should reach the top of a little hill before too long. Once your brain stops screaming you’ll see a bigger version of that thing, miles and miles high, leaking black ichor and making a sound like a thousand teeth in a glass jar. Don’t worry about those things coming towards you, if you act quickly they won’t get you. Uncap the bottle. Drink. I know what it smells like, but you have to do it.

After you finish you should feel a bolt of cold running through you, and it’ll start feeling like your guts are trying to jump out your asshole. Don’ panic, don’t worry, stay still, your skin will turn black but don’t pitch a bitch fit, stay in place.

Now comes the hard part… (highlight to read)

I’m sorry dude, I tried not to lie, but I guess I made you feel like you’d come out of this unscathed. You won’t. On the underbelly of that horror are a thousands pits, embedded in each of those pits up to their necks are people. I’ll be in one. You’ll be in another. And I’m sorry, so sorry you can’t even imagine, but you’ve trusted me this far and I want you to trust me for a little longer when I say this: the alternative was worse.


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Spider man

They called him the spider man. This was back before everything else, and not for the reason you might think. Kids are cruel, especially on this apartment block. He was a little guy but his limbs belonged on a basketball player. Might’ve had a disorder. Polite guy, all things considered.

I don’t know what got him started, but before long we saw it everywhere. It wasn’t weaving, more like a mixture of crochet, knotting, and netting. We found them in plain cotton, jute, even plastic clothesline at first. He branched out. Some people woke up to cars completely wrapped. The path out looked like a suspension bridge. We were uneasy, but thought it was a public art thing. Lord knows he could blow off steam, the kids were getting worse. Spider man had his groceries delivered, and that’s where they struck. Hard.

Even if he was a bad kid, I don’t think Leon deserved it. He might’ve instigated things, but like most teenagers he was more talk than anything. When people with commutes walked out that morning, they smacked right into Leon’s corpse, dangling in the pre-dawn light. Sewing thread. Whoever got him up there did a meticulous job.

The cops knocked on his door, but he wasn’t living like a man anymore. We’d find traces of him in the vents, must’ve lost a lot of weight to get in there. Nights we’d hear him thumping around, propelling himself along with his limbs. The air stank like a hamster cage. We found the super stitched to his recliner.

Folks panicked, packed U-hauls. The night before the mass exodus we kept our curtains closed as we listened him scuffling around the outside of the building. The next day never came. We woke to dark and pulled the curtains back to find his masterpiece.

People tried everything, even the roof access, but whatever he worked with held pretty damn tight. Folks in 31-C tried smashing a window, but that only let him in. We kept their door barricaded after that.

Every day gets a little darker, bringing more threads and the sight of him crawling on the sides of the building, finally at home.

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Closing Fragments from the Book of All Days


[fragment lost]wind has eaten the city. The sun cries its red horror unto us. We will go with the long tall shadow for he carries with him the mercy of oblivion…

[fragment lost]



This is a Truly Fortunate Find!!! We are Here in The Bleak Lands for Only Five Days and We’ve Found This Documentation of The People!. this Will Make CLEANSING Of this Place so Much Easier, For We have A Guidbook to Their Sins!! Glory!


What A Strange Year-marker This Is. If only I knew What it Meant, I could Measure How backwards these Poor People Are. Heehee. Well, to Set the Record True, It is The Year of Our Lord 5, seven Glorious Years since We Took back The Capitol, and Five Blissful Years since Our Father Reset the Calendar. We are Here at this Holy Dig that We might ERADICATE False History by its Fruits. I am Wayman Brand, and I have Finished my Primary Schooling and for My hard Work I have been Apprenticed to this Dig!!!!


WE Have made Great Progress on These Digs and Found and Destoryed Many false objects! I have Been reading This Book to see what kind of Tales the poor, Misguided people Here told themselves. It Is Funny, It Is like Our HIStory, only Not. They recall The Battle of Wayhill, But Their Records have the Phryniites loosing!!! How Pecular? All the Little Things line up, but the big Things donot! They Recall Electric lights And Cola, But They speak of a God Baking bread!!! Evryone Knows the High-Father is a Noble man, he Has many Servants To sully Their Hands in work FOR him. I will Keep Reading, even Thou the words Tax my brain..


Forefather Errin has been Such a BLESSING!! to our Dig. I would Not of picked a Librarian To Lead a Dig, but his knowledge of The Higher Letters Has been integral To Unlocking these poor Sad people! To live Without Knowledge of the Highfather!! They Skulked off when We arrived, Perhaps They hide from us In Fear. Why Should they fear God, it Is a MYSTERY?

MMDCCLIII 5! 5! 5!



I have Calmed the Camp from their Malady.. A Plague of False Images hit Us In Our Sleep, but I will Make it right again. Forefather Errin has been Relieved of His Position as Camp Head, I have Sentenced him  to Torsion For scarcity of Faith, And placed Myself steadfastley as New Head. As one of the HUMBLE PEOPLE, I will lead a Holy Expedition. I Was almost Undone By Errin’s wrathful Sprog, But I bear a Scar of Glory and She Will Not desire To Deviate Again, ahahaha.


Please, forgive the child. He is a product of the “schools” they erected after the church’s victory over sanity, he has no grasp of the depth of his actions. I am Homil Errin, fifth son of a noble father, proud father to one myself. Hari, my jewel, let the people know that your father loved you, your REAL father. We were sent here to erase history, so that the state would not be threatened by even minuscule dissent. What we’ve found is much worse. I have no idea how this place exists, but the records tell the same story in endless litany. A people, gone to seed, arrive here to meet their own private apocalypse. This is the last place on Earth.



That Sad Old man has been Dragged Away. Hari the Sprog is now in her Iron Bridle, So She Cannot mete out justice With her Teeth. Hahaha. That old Fool was Wrong, He Has been Clowded by his Higher Education, he places Himself Above the People? Well, No more. I will bring Justice to these Lands, Without Words to get In the way.. We Are Destroying the Tools of False idols, we will Make this place CLEAN for the High Father and All will Be blessed…!


We have Found their tools but It just keeps going Deeper. some Poor souls have lost their Own voices to the Echoes.  I CanNot stop the Dreams.


it’s so bright why is it so bright where is everyone why won’t the sun go down


i dreamed and i wet my self LIKE a little child forgive me father your CALLS are leaking from my head i thought the highfather would go on for ever and ever but this place is ending i thought we would have eternal glory but time is unraveling i can see the cities as they crumble TO dust and we are swallowed up by the shadow i don’t understand i don’t understand why is it LIKE this???




We arrived here after many day’s journey. The jeep is completely out of gas now. Just as well, this seems as good a place as any to stop. Such peace, such a still place. No bombs. No soldiers. We are not sure if we are the only survivors, but we are done running. We will rest here and go no further.  There is a second star in the day, a bright pinprick next to the sun. The light it sheds, feels…different. Perhaps God smiles on us, finally.

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Further Fragments from the Book of All Days


|                                  [fragment lost] several days traversing the desert between here and the capitol. Several of the men have caught dysentery. I doubt the peasants boil the well-water, by the look of them they hardly stoop to cook their meat. Small wonder, then, that this record book should fall so easily into my hands.


Progress is slow. I must gain insight into the terrible breeding practices around here. Never in one place have I seen such asymmetrical people. Perhaps their chronic apathy stems from this, rather than the red dust plains that stretch out interminably in every direction. One might wish on God’s left hand for a cliff to hurl oneself off of.


The men have been playing with the cache of livestock skulls found when dredging a well. I let them carry on , as water continues to elude us this is the first fruit our efforts have borne. The land laughs at maps drawn in the capitol library, suppose the water-table is nonexistent? I shall have to draw up canal plans. Perhaps some of the sad-headed natives can be pressed into service.


Red. All water is red. Every drop is strained through several cloths and still comes out the color of dust. I have drunk ale with less body. Progress on the canals is slow, the peasants refuse to approach the dig site. A few educational beheadings do nothing, nor even the lure of money. I have yet to see a people so poor in both thought and culture. Their continued survival is a puzzle.


Superstition has taken half the men. Intimate pox the other. I can’t say which is more infuriating. The camp is like a symphonized lowing of cattle, no progress on the canals for more than a week. The soldiers cannot be ransomed from their fits, and if matters continue I may have to take drastic action.


The men have made another discovery in the soil. Today we met the previous owners of this valley. Men, women, all, skin leathered black, clad only in crude loincloths. It might be the site of a massacre but for their posture, the relaxation of their features. As if they gave into the valley sickness and lay down, pining to death. Men are threatening desertion. The Anterior Sergeant has requested transferral to another province. He has also refused to share my bed any longer.


My grief continues. The men on the aft side of the canal unearthed a great round stone and saw…something. The chaplain has taken immediate steps, lest someone develop a theological constitution. I must think alternatively. Rumors spread like the pox and don’t dissipate with sulfur tonic.


Progress, finally. The peasants have at last found use, one black limb wrapped in sack-cloth makes an adequate torch. The night-digs fare worse than the daylight crew, puerile fear gnawing on men’s minds like a worm. The Anterior Sergeant lamented that the night shift takes too far a toll on the men’s constitutions. I informed the Anterior Sergeant that his feminine concerns held no more merit for me than the grievances of dead peasants.


The plague of loose tongues flares ever-outward. Steps must be taken to quell idle minds. The villagers left sometime during the night, yet we could not track their silhouettes in the dawn.  I will put a halt to frivolous talk. We are destroying the stone.


We found the dig idle, equipment abandoned. There was a sickness to the air, the men sat as if looking death in the face. I bid the artillerists to remove the blight on the land. The first charges would not set off, the power fizzed as if damp. Then [fragment lost]                   as if [fragment lost]         had reared up and                              [fragment lost]                               men scattered, running in panic to the vi[fragment lost]                                  sun did not set [fragment lost]                               mass                                [fragment lost]ith their arms held                [fragment lost]                                                still it continued[fragment lost]                                                and only they were sp[fragment lost]





Another discovery. This time an astrolabe made out of solid brass that chimes in the wind. I ordered it melted down for casting. God knows what happened to the supply trains en-route from the capitol. The canals are not a total failure, red soup remains in their depths to slake the men’s thirst. The Anterior Sergeant hung himself today.


Finally—the convoy from the capitol arrives through the mountains. As I am now without the use of my legs, a substitute was sent in my place. I am to be swapped out, plucked from my roost in order that they might send a real hero to transfigure this place. I hold no bitterness. May he have more success than I did.


The wind weeps outside our tents. We must leave, as soon as possible.

[fragment lost]

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Fragments from the Book of All Days


The miller’s draymen saw the ghost of something inhuman by the remains of the grist wheel. They did not get a good look at it, but they say it was far too tall.

We must leave, as soon as possible.


I had a dream that the light of a comet plagued the earth.  Wherever its light fell things grew unnaturally, twisted, yet strong in their deformity. I fled with my family to the south to escape its diseased light, and there I met a man made of darkness. Just before he ate up my life he told me:

like calls to like


Our fields have long lain fallow, now they take to the air and blind us in their fury. We all eat dust, breath dust, and cry dust. The children cannot walk upright under the weight of the dust in their bodies. Were my wife capable of rising from her bed, she would lament the state of her small garden. We are a dead country. Even the crows mourn us, they refuse to pick us as carrion meat.


There is a sickness among those left in the valley, a kind of malignant echolalia. They repeat first the words of others, then the words of themselves, then the words no one has said yet. They all die screaming.


My father was a soldier in the war. He often spoke of “trying times,” of surviving that which defeated the spirit and laid siege to the body. If he had not died a poor man I would ask him here, today, whether life after such times would be worth living. Every day is simply another notch on the calendar-stick, nothing more. We move as ghosts, white shadows in the unblinking day. There are no people left.


The sun burns red at all times. Occasionally a shadow will cross its eye, but it is never a cloud as we eternally hope. Those that gaze up as it passes end up trying to scratch the image from their eyes.


A group of enemy soldiers passed through. We were guarded, following every precaution mandated by the fathers even though they were long fallen. Those who still had them donned their iron shell shirts. They beheld us almost with pity. There is nothing for them to take here. I wanted to cry, beg them to drag me with them, but I remained silent. In the night the innkeeper’s imbecile son disemboweled one of them with his teeth and nails. We erected his cruciform body to watch them leave the valley.


Some men take small comfort in knowing that this is the end of all days. I cannot. We are too small for this to be the absolute end, this is merely the closing of a chapter of a single book in the vast library of history. That anything could live on through this is both heartening and despairing, for I know it will not be us. We are the first bread, baked too little on the coals and crumbling in the mouth of god. The men that rise from our bones will be hard-lived, they will not know beauty as we have. Still, I find solace in oblivion, and the fact that my weaknesses die with me.


In extant—[the rest of the fragment has disintegrated with age.]

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