Tuesday, October 1, 2013

"...Now I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds."

       Well, fine.

       The time has come once again and, though my bones and soul ache, I am here to carry on with what has, for me, become a sacred tradition. As for how it bodes with the other two, I'm not of the knowledge to say.

       I don't want to be ceremonious about this... well, ceremonious in the wrong way, I mean. Let me just say words. Don't consider these paragraphs to be written in any particular order, alright?

       Fine. The number, three, has some significance I think, for it's been three years since Terror Keyboard came into being. It was a gathering of three haunted souls. Three of the damned and disillusioned. Three close friends. I think we had better senses of humor back then. Some hope for our respective futures had remained intact after high school, but it's safe to say that the real world has proved more terrifying than any of the stories you'll find here. It's okay. It's fine.

       Three is about continuity. It's a number from a place outside of time. Instead of one long reel of film, think of time as a three-dimensional organization of temporal locations. It should be assumed that there is some sort of enclosure that keeps these places in time organized and static. Well, outside of that, there's three. Three is more than a number. Three is company. Three is the key to magic.

       Some updates: Peetoes is having a little boy named Sweep this month. Boulshed is trying to get sloppy with some ladies. He's been working out and working on an education. I have, too, up here in Pennsylvania, but I'm actually trying to do the opposite of what he's doing. I've been getting sloppy for too long as it is. I've forgotten the old way.

       I bear this most hallowed of ghoulish tasks because of the number, three. When you count to three, you find yourself at the beginning. 2013. 2010. I look at my current situation in life, and I find that I am right where I started: I'm alone, far away from home, and I'm provided for in this faceless and inhuman way that makes my comforts torturous (though I'll be the last to complain). This is a condition, an environment, that comes into alignment like nefarious stars and allows me to channel a gift or power from out of time. To splatter the minds of the generous who come to fill their October cups with the gruesome, the absurd, the ancient.

       Let me see... Look back into the past. Follow the pattern. It was exactly like this. Think of our stories. There is a feeling to be had from them and it is not horror. It comes from the time of druids and magick; smoky clouds of silt mixed with ash, smeared across the bark of frostbitten trees. People had clear enough heads to intuit the secrets back then, before the churches invaded.

       So I will take up this lone charge--let it be a call to the damaged ears that choose to hear. Experience the terror story. The three have not disbanded. The old ways are being remembered.


October 1st, 2013

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