The Madness Of Searching

Dear Diary

I have to get it out of me

What's in my head

The madness of searching

I've studied everything from Deuteronomy to Demonology

Friend to the eternal divine and the dead

I want to free my self from the land of constant human interests stories

I've taken spiritual inventory

I have to get it out of me

All theses things in my head

They wake me first thing in the morning

Hello world my thoughts are climbing out of bed

I'm starting to look more and more like a distant dream I had

I can hear it coming 

My spiritual life fulfillment

It's very funny and all too serious to dismiss

I've been tapped by him and his secret army

In remembrance of promises made before our arrival 

They call me back to the ship

In my dream I am here to just touch his lips

In my heart I am here to listen and learn

Follow the leader until it's my turn to scream 

I am experiencing temporary insanity

Separating myself from the liars 

Exercing my power over my own dreams or will

Words heal in poems and songs

All is a word

Bringing life into being

This is a magic spell

Written long ago with a very old quill 

If only I can remember it

I've been called this night or early morning 

Afraid to open my eyes and say it all

Looking back and discovering I told it all anyway

Some secrets are meant to be kept

For my own sanity I guess

Can't let them see your whole hand

That's how the cannibalism begins 

I'm in love with a beautiful phantom in the form of a man 

And this is a song disguised as a poem disguised as a mad woman's rant 

I want to give the power back but I can't

So I just sit silently creating violently

For the sake of my mortal soul

This is just another line in another tale 

These are the sounds which wake me 

I guess for now

Josalisa In a RIOt.  I wish I understood more but this is it. 

We Were Free (this was a dream)

In my dream it had all come true and it was beautiful. It wouldn't go away even though I tired my sabotage because it was love. It was bold and brave and confusing. It was like a long over due midnight confession. I lost it but it was only right next door. When I thought I had lost it all I found an old church lady and she let me borrow her God and we prayed. For it all not to be too late. And it wasn't. It was disturbed by others but you only thought of them as passing companions.  You searched for me in the sun and the ashes. Always looking for your A alike. We made music and art together. You were brave and tall and skinny. I had a big mouth and was curious and lacking trust.  He was adventures and too trusting. It was love and we had finally figured it all out. In a small town in my imagination. Where I knew everyone but had forgotten them all. Where my ancestors and old neighbors came to lend a helping hand to the divine plan. We were free and brave and talented. We trusted one another.  We gave it all to the thought. Together through it all and it was never too much to overcome. My hair was short and colorful. He was tall and he wore Fred Perry and suspenders. He was bald and was always on the go. Trusting us to believe in it all and we did. I had my doubts but you were always there and I never had to look too far. We had it all. And me I tried to run and you all would have never found me. But I recognized the grey and the lack of touch. So I turned around and waited outside the door for you. Waiting patiently using the power of group prayer. You liked old churches and he like airplanes. I liked to run away and leave it all in a note or some oil paining. I believed in them both so much and they knew who I was. We were meant to be and we knew it. We knew all that was meant to be and all that their ever was. We used art as a projection and made crystal balls out of poems we wrote all night. Our hearts were so bright and we were so loved by them all. Strangers in a strange land prepared for the fall. But not before we'd have it all. All that they say will never exists. Love of the not so jealous kind. Joy of the not so normal kind. We were circus freaks in our isolation we showed them everything. And not one soul ever turned away. We made them smile and embrace the unknown. We made the mysteries clear. We battled it all and won. They were so brave but I had much fear. So we made songs and art and love to pass the day. Never reaching the things that were outside of us. Because we knew that the separation was a lie. And all that was real was all that was here right now. So we became a traveling circus and in it I was the sad beautiful clown. And together we took our bravery from town to town. 

This was a dream and I am Josalisa...Live from Planet RiOt. 

I Remember What You Have Forgotten

Why do I take any of it? The poison I mean. I'm surrounded by wicked, fiends with sunken sockets. I hate it here, yet I won't blow it all to pieces. What is the point? Knowing I could close the door behind me and all of this would go away. Like a strange dream that would end if only I could remember I was dreaming. Just open your eyes dear girl. All that I've learned about the world is true. Magick works in theory and practice. So why do I remain, anywhere reachable? What is goodness if evil does not exists? Knowing who you are is the key to fighting this whole society rap. Staying that way is beating the real disease. As they go at you day after day. Last of the dying self righteous punk rockers shunned by the liars and thieves. Waiting alone in Diagon Alley for all the flat-scans to find a personality. So many people are on this finding themselves rap. How long does it take a person to accept who they are? A fucking lifetime I guess. While I wait on my island. Made of poems and songs. 

I have such joy caged inside my sadness. Such anger for the bitter masses. Dropping like flys behind brick walls made of plastic. I can see what people hide it's gets easier every year. My memory of this place is oh so clear. While most think like a tape, erased day after day. The real tragedy is that I am still here. I have not got on a plane to a place where I can not find a familiar face. I'm starting to feel eaten alive again. The watchers have turned into Parana again. What are we  really up to anyway? I could just disappear. Become a forgotten memory. A distant thought not quite close enough to gleam. That is my real dream. The tragedy is that I am still here. I don't have the false joy. Work is bullshit, giving ourselves to another for profit. Every place I've ever worked I've attempted to burn down. I won't smile at you for a fee. Might as well drown in creativity. New friends can not fill an old mind. I remember my entire life. How can I preform as the sad clown? Old friends lie in order to align themselves with the new. Still teetered to the past by the ones who remember like me. My psychic mind is a personal Shakespearean Tragedy. My love is as beautiful as a dying man. We live next to the wall they think we are dying in. We see the gates stormed daily by love ones and close friends. A phantom home despised by phantom personalities. We smile and dream and create. Risking it all in front of another. Losing it all to survive as lovers. The real tragedy is nothing is ever lost just discovered. Another memory to last forever, or so they say. But what if forever were today? 

I'd have to show them that I remember it all. Not only that, I have more than half of it written down. Is this a poem or a confession? I've forgotten the difference somehow. One day I will reveal it all. But no one will understand. It will bring a tear to the eyes of the deaf and mad. The pain that I survive is real. Eternity is here to remind me. The darkness is an option. Death is always sitting right here beside me. One day it will take my hand and lead me to the land of the lonely. Where the hopeful believe this world will all start again. Where I will close my eyes and not remember any of this. For the first time in years. 

Goodbye sorrow

Goodbye memory

Goodbye tears

Goodbye hope

Goodbye fears

Goodbye all the nothing I ever was.

Goodbye every dream I believed was real.

Nothing left to see here but the evidence. That I did exist. With my eyes opened. Give me any quiz. I remember it all. Like the last witness to all the pain there ever was. Sober except for all for all the drugs. 

This is Josalisa, Live from Planet RiOT.  

Blood and Cruelty. Part 7

"Do you know what to do with it?" yes I answer. "How many times have you come down here before?" I try to sounds as innocent as possible when I give my answer. "This is my first time. I just wanted to see her." He looks at me with a gaze implying he knows me better than I know myself. He adds, "and fuck her." In a matter of fact way. I say nothing. How he just states the natures of my sick and filthy desire, causes me to lower my eyes. What does he think of me? Are we both crazy? Has he completely possessed me with his darkness? The answer to the final question is yes. He has possessed me, I am his. I want to be more him, more mad, more free inside of my own mind. I walk over and lay down in the bed with him. He has carried the body over to the bed. The way he lays it down on the blankets, it's head on the pillow. It looks like it is sleeping. He even closes it's eyes. It's so lovely, I cuddle up close to it. I want to smell it's hair and taste it's skin again. Master walks into the bathroom. He is there for what seems like three minutes. I take the opportunity to kiss her lips again. It is so cold and beautiful. Truly an exquisite corpse. Mater created her, it's hard to imagine he didn't do it just for me. When Mater finally emerges out of the bathroom he has something I can not see in his hand. I don't really care what it is. He and it are coming over to get on the bed with us. I know this is going to be a really good time. 

Mater sits down on the edge of the bed. I stay laying down with my arms wrapped around it. She is so cold, but I still want to share her with Master. The way we should have shared her last night. But we couldn't because I was being punished, maybe I still am. He caresses the breast of his corpse, then strokes my hair. He then touches it down there. In her womb, cut too large by his knife, but bloodless because I licked it all off. "She is too cold inside." he tells me as he rubs his cold fingers over the corpse's vagina. Finally his hidden instrument is revealed. It is a metal curling iron. It is very hot. I know because he burns me on my leg with it. The burn almost immediately blisters. I try to move my legs but his strength overpowers my own as he holds my legs still with his free hand. I cry as my skin burns. Once he feels I have suffered enough, and understand the nature his instrument. He tells me it is good for me to have a new scar. My scars are what makes me beautiful, he reminds me. "I don't want to hear you crying, shut the fuck up!" I try to control my tears and whimpers. Master returns his attention to the corpse. "Do you want me to show you what to do? How to keep her warm inside?" I do, but I do not want to speak, he will hear my whimper. That will lead to a harsher punishment tonight. I take a deep breath, get my shit together and answer, "yes, Sir." That makes him smile. Then he shows me what he does with the dead girls and guys he keeps in here. 

He takes his instrument, still hot enough to severely burn skin. He runs it down the inner thigh of the corpse, takes his free hand and and opens up what remains of her labia majora. The hot instrument is inserted deep inside of it's womb. He sees the look of wonder in my eyes. "This helps them to stay warm inside." Master removes his clothes and gives me a wink. I think he is happy to be sharing this other part of himself with me. With his ample member in his hand, he removes the hot curling iron and replaces it with himself. For twenty minutes he takes the dead girl in this manner. While I watch and learn what pleasures Master. When he is done with it, he kisses me and says, "Do you get it? Now it's your turn. She is still warm, sweetheart." I wonder how many times he has done this with the dead girls he keeps? How many dead guys has he kept? It would be impossible for me to imagine this is his first time. Master has been fucking the dead for a very long while. Storing them in the basement after starving them or chocking them to death, or like this one, after stabbing them to death. He keeps the bodies, makes sure the most important parts are warm, then gives them the pleasure only a lucky few ever have. Master is perfect. beautiful, and wicked. He lays next to the corpse, as I take my turn with her still warm body. 

When awake after hours he is gone. I am still laying, cuddled with the corpse. I get out of bed to makes sure it is all under the covers and the blanket.  I place it's head in the most comfortable position on the pillow. I put my clothes back on, including pig snot and head back into the main house to take a bath. Master will return soon and I need to have all of the housework done, including making dinner before he gets home. After I get out of the bath I find a note on the dresser from Master. It reads as follows:

 Necro-Slut,

You are to be clean, have all of the laundry done, and your filthy caged must be cleaned out. If I smell you in my closet, you are going to regret it. More than you ever can imagine. The chef will make my dinner. You will have three crackers, one apple, and one cup of water. Do not go into the guest house again today.

                                                                                                                                  -J


...to be continued. 

This I know (another dream)

Last night in a dream I learned a new truth. People love their misery, I think it makes them feel brave. Like, look at me I have survived something. But have you survived really waddling in that filthy dream? We all know sadness and heartbreak. We all carry the burden of the lonely. Yet some of us wave it like a freedom flag. For what? They love the misery and the sympathy it calls for. I survive the sadness daily and I don't really give a fuck. I'm not a pull yourself up by your bootstraps blue collar American or anything. But what the fuck is our deal anyway? Ever showed loved to the guilty and wicked and watched them turn against you? Ever pointed out beauty to these people and have them turn it into shit? Yes you have. That is because many love it in the darkness. No, they are not there to shine the light, they are there to waddle in it. This is what I saw in a dream. We are all vibrating into this Holographic existence  Projecting and attracting. Have you ever noticed what some people attract? A load of nothing too special is what it is. Their is a reason for that. I am not here to save this world. It feels good to think that. I am here to save you all from the darkness in which you dwell. But that is not why I have arrived. I am just an observer  I have my opinion. I have written it down. But really so what? I am here as a creator. Not a fucking beggar or a whiner  I see you fuckers down on your knees to anyone. A person you lust for, your sick twisted family, strangers with candy. Get the fuck up suckas and breath. This is a wicked world we live and it it's cruel. But it still belongs to us. The ones who have survived. Yesterday we lost a lot of humans and animals. They all died of natural causes. Not us though. We are the ones who made it. For whom the fucking bell tolls. 

I see the pigs waddling in the misery and yes you fuckers look like pigs or scared children. I fucking hate it, but I still love all of you. We are all a fucking dream. Creating this world one thought or action at a time. Can you fuckers not see that? Look around you. Does your life suck? Really? Are you absolutely sure it is really bad? Good. You made it that way. Your life is a fucking painting and you have the brush in your hand still. I look to the darkness I have created in my own life and I laugh. Because if I look back or do the math I can see how I wanted this life. I asked for it, dreamed of it and made it come true. I want other things now and the thought of not having them drives me to sorrow. But that is the work we do. Look around you. This is YOUR life. You are not a dead leaf blowing in the wind. You are Homosapien. You have the power to be what you dream. So stop dreaming up all of this weak bullshit and  do some real work. Dream fucking big then risk everything to get it. If you do not do this now you will be a little baby forever. A little sad baby until you leave this plane. There are Human Beings right now flying all over this world. And I am not flying. I am singing  and writing and creating sounds with my mind and hands. This is the source of my own sorrow. I want to leave, but instead I stay here and create. This is really the thing that causes my heart to hurt. The fact that I create instead of fly. What the fuck. That is not at all that bad. Especially when I look around me and see so many people just taking from the world. Never adding shit. Never offering anything of substance to anyone. Not even the ones they really love. Their are people alive today who will not make anything in this cycle. They will cry, they will attempt to assassinate others, they will attempt to kill themselves. But on this day. Nothing new will come from their cold dead hands  THAT is the source of misery. Blow a fucking horn or hug something innocent. Then you will see. You life is in your hands, dude. My life is in my hands. It makes me cry, but it mostly makes me smile. The shit is all right. I have space to breath. To shout, to make love. Yes I could kill the ones who do not think like me. But who are they? Just another part of me, right? So why really worry. All that is mine, I have today. All that I desire is on it's way. 

I have danced, I have sang, I have shouted, and been put down. Yet fuck, man. I am truly happy. I feel the joy wash over me. I love the existence I have come to create. The shit is all right. If I really look around. I can smile at all of my silly drawings. Because I have created them. I think so much of the misery I see American people in is because the fucks lack the sense to risk it all to create. I have been through some crazy shit this year. Some real proper crazy shit. And through it all I made sounds and art. So fuck the dumb shit. All is fucking well. As it has been, and shall remain. I've done fuck all to deserve the pain. And maybe you have. Maybe you deserve the misery in which you live. You horrible fucked up ones. I see you. You motherfuckers do some real wicked shit. If wicked shit were real. Which it is not. All of this is prospective. I embarrass myself often putting my shit our here for the digital masses. My friends ignore me, and strangers embrace me. It is the way of the world for me. I believe in my Guru and I believe in myself. Not despite it all, but because of it all. Because I see you dying, I see you getting what you deserve in this world. Then you cry and say you did not deserve it. Yes you fucking do. You did it to yourself. I did this to myself. I locked myself away from most people and became a fucking hermit. So I can write and read and create in peace. I made this reality. I want more now, but I have to really face what I have already created. And so do you, dear reader. Face your little bullshit, then kill it. Or not. I don't fucking know. All I really know comes from math, and dreams. I am my own dream come true. What have you done to yourselves, dear friends? Because in all honestly I do not recognize most of you anymore. 

This is Josalisa...Live From Planet RiOt.

I don't understand much, but this I know.

Blood And Cruelty...Part 6 of this Fan Fiction Situation.

He is cold at night and the bed is dry next to him. I'm sure it is all of the blood, but what of his coldness? This is the first night in months he has actually allowed me to sleep next to him. I know it is in order to purify me in this dead Woman's blood, but it is all so satisfying. Like we have become one. I have become united with his deed. Embracing his need to torture to no end, he has a desire to change the color and shape of flesh, to warp the human experience. Is he bored, is he mad, is he doing all of this to teach me a lesson, as a warning to me? I can not help but wonder if he kills them every time, even when he is not home with me. Or does he kill them just for me. I forgot to clean the kitchen, well here is a new body. I didn't get to the store in time, that's fine we will torture the next one together. I've never really seen him put a person to sleep. He stabbed the last one to death. He needed the blood, we both did I guess. I was really starting to miss sleeping next to him. He can not sleep next to me unless he has a lesson to teach. Sleeping in the blood teaches patience and silence. It offers stillness of heart and a oneness with the memory. I now she had to have enjoyed his knife somewhere near the end of her life. As she was spilling out she had to be somewhat thankful for it. It's not like he offers his gift to everyone. Most people don't even know he does this. His hair smells like shampoo and blood. I gently reach out to touch it. I can't see his face in the darkness, but I look at him anyway. His jawline can be made out in the shadows. He is gorgeous  Not just because he is psychically perfect. He is that but he is also capable of executing his well on any living being. He really is a true Master. A genius in the mind and the flesh. Men like him don't suffer the way I suffer. All the remorse and guilt, Regretting every step, wondering if I could be wrong. He knows he is not wrong, and if he is so what. No one is ever going to stop him. 

We can not be saved from Master's will. His mind is stronger than most other human's we meet. He brings most of them to their knees with their lust for his beauty  He awes them with his mind. 158 IQ and can you imagine how boring most people are to him? That is why he kills them. It is why I have decided to dedicate my life to him and assist him in his task. He does not need me. I need him, to be useful to him is my only desire in this world now. But why would he really need me? I guess I am his true companion. We are equally matched in beauty and intelligence. We both understand how to mold minds and control the weaker masses. But he is my Master and I am here to serve him, not to be his real companion  We are separate but equal. Not tonight. Tonight we are one with the flesh  Our own and this dead girl's he has freed. Bound by the blood and the love. As he turns over in the blood soaked bed, I do so as well. He reaching over to hold me and say, "I love you, Pet. I know I get carried away, but I just want to show you how much I love you." He kisses the back of my neck, I close my eyes and we our both are asleep again in moments. We sleep the peaceful sleep of people who have true freedom. 

His phones buzzes at 7am. He looks at it and messages someone back. He sees I am awake next to him. "I have another meeting this morning" he says to me. "I need you to get the room together while I get dressed". He strokes my blood socked hair and smiles at me. For the first time I can see his face is soaked in blood and he looks beautiful. Almost like flesh that walks and talks, not just flesh, muscle tissue. Maybe I look the same because he laughs at me and says "seeing you like this makes me want to skin the next one". I laugh and tell him I will follow my instruction immediately. He gets up to walk over to the bathroom, he is completely covered in blood. Like a demon reborn into human flesh he walks across the floor leaving no trail though it looks like he should. I lay here for a moment and wish I had his strength. Then I realize my strength is my surrender to him. So I get up and start to take the sheets off of the bed. I am hysterical with laughter so I walk over to the stereo and put on some Led Zeppelin to help me enjoy the task a bit more. What the fuck did he do with the body? I want to ask him, but I know it is best for me to just get the linen downstairs and out to the bungalow for washing. When I open the back door and the sun hits my naked, blood socked body I want to dance. I really feel that free. The grass is cold and fresh on my feet. I am cover in blood and freedom and I just want to run around like this all day. Once I get everything into the laundry and return back to the main house and his bedroom he has showered and is looking through his closet. He chooses clothes for both of us. "You look like some kind of tiny warrior, you dumb fuck. Why are you so happy this morning?" He says to me. I just smile and answer. "I liked doing that". He gives me this knowing look then turns around and walks into the closet. I hear him say. "pig, you have five minutes to get clean, so fucking hurry up. Meet me downstairs after. Before you get dressed, I want to make sure you are perfectly clean." Five minutes to get all of the blood out of my hair. I kind of panic but I know he is perfect with time and the five minutes does not include getting downstairs and it starts now so I don't even dream of complaining. I just run to the shower. 

It takes me four minutes to clean myself and get dry. On the bed Master has my clothes laid out for the day. I glace over to see they are mostly black but I have only one minute to get downstairs for inspection so I don't even walk over to them. When I get down to the kitchen Master is already eating his breakfast. His chef looks at the state I am in and leaves the kitchen. I walk over to Master and he looks up from his meal. He is eating oatmeal with fresh apples, and melon on the side. As he looks me over he checks his watch. He says, "Turn around." I do as I am told and let him inspect me from the back. "let me see your hair." I shake my air out, it is wet but their is no blood. I hope he can tell. "Go back upstairs and clean the bathroom and make sure you clean out your cage. You can have one piece of toast and and one slice of melon for breakfast." That is all he says and he goes back to eating. I take his lowing his head to read his paper as a sign for me to start getting dressed. I say "Thank you, Sir." and turn around to run back upstairs. 

The only thing that comes to mind is I hope he will still be home after I finish all of this. I want him to see me in my clothes and tell me I look wonderful. I head into the bathroom and start cleaning out the shower and making sure I have all the bloody towels ready to be tossed. I'm not sure why he does not burn all of the bloody things. I wonder if he ever worries about being caught? What would people say about us, if they knew what he was doing to me and what we are doing to other people? I know our neighbors think we are a weird rock n roll couple and it is clear where all of his money comes from. One scandal and his career could be over. Yet he does not seem to even care that he has all of these dead women in the basement of the guesthouse or that I will be just tossing theses bloody towels out into the garbage cans. I'm not sure what he did with her body. I'm not even sure the others are in their. I just feel like she may be. They all may be. Some of them were in the past. Hidden away in the guesthouse  His discarded pets. Or the guys he tortures so bad they can not be seen by anyone but the two of us. I know he keeps reminding me that our lifestyle is not wrong and he is only exorcising true freedom. But just for the time it take to gather the towels I worry for us. After I get rid of everything and get dressed in what he finds appropriate for a women in my station. Black fishnets, black and grey leopard print mini skirt and a black Nirvana baby doll tee shirt. And of course my little pig snot which I guess he thinks I deserve for all of my pissing in the cage. No underwear but he did lay out a little black spiked choker, which really fucking chocks I might add. So public humiliation and no breathing is the order of the day. I notice he did not include shoes. Meaning no shoes for today. Fuck I hate walking around with no shoes. He knows this and plus it is very cold outside. Once I am fully dressed I hear his car pull out of the driveway. He did not even care to check on me one last time. I know he will be gone for the remainder of the day and I don't really have anything to do outside other than to go shopping. I don't want to waste any time today. I am going to the basement of the guesthouse because I want to see the girl from last night. I want to see her face. I want to know if she is pretty or ugly, old or young. I want to know what her remains look like. 

I run out to the guesthouse, as I open the door I wonder why he never locks it. I mean does he not think the Gardner or anyone will ever just peek in here. What if someone did and they found everything? I mean I know he told the maid to never go into his basement and the way he looks at her when he gives orders I know she knows better than to ever go in there. But what if she did? She would see what I see. As I open the door I can feel the cold of the place. It stays dark in here, even with the lights on it is dark. He has a bed in one corner next to two empty cages. The guy he has in the bed. Some blonde mohawked punk boy he keeps for whatever reason. He says it is to starve him to death, and by the looks of him. The guy should be dead already. As I walk passed him tied to the bed post by rope warped around all four limbs. I wonder how long it will take him to die. Master has the timing all calculated. I hear the guy say something to me as I walk by. Maybe he asked for water. But I know better than to feed the toys Master keeps down here, so I just ignore his cries. I walk over to the corner of the room where there is a second little door. The girls are in there. The guys are on the other side, But I am looking for the girl  The one from last night. The one who recognized him immediately  As I open the door I see her. She is laying on top of the other two from last week. The perky blond and the bald black girl with the face tattoos. Funny he decided to kill her, I thought he would keep her much longer. I pull the girl's body out and she is very heavy  Her skin is pail as fuck and her eyes are still open. They are really beautiful, just like the rest of her. Too bad she could not stop screaming. Not that he was going to keep her, she was my punishment for wetting myself. I pull her out to the middle of the floor. She is tall. 5'9 I guess. Her boobs were not real and her hair still smells good. She has a great mouth. Very small with nice thick lips. I want to touch her fake boobs so I do. They feel like water balloons  Her body is so smooth. I get on my knees next to the corpse and imagine I was a beautiful as she is. In death beauty is trapped forever. I can still smell her breath. I touch her legs and she is extremely cold and lovely looking. Like a vampire. I kiss her lips. They feel like she kisses me back.  I go further down to look to see what he did to her womb. It is swollen, bloody and the flesh is all ripped out. Her outer labia, or labia majora is still in tact. So I begin to make love to her. The way he never would. He used a knife on her. I would never treat something so beautiful that way. I use my lips and we, me and this beautiful dead girl make the love she was dreaming of when she looked into his blue eyes last night. She taste like blood and him. I hear the guy in the corner start to cry. I stay with this dead woman for the next two hours. 

I must have fallen asleep because I never heard Master open the basement door. I never heard him come in. All I remember is when I wake up,laying on the floor next to the girl I see Master talking to the guy tied to  the bed. His name is Douglas and Master is asking him if he is ready to die. He is so gentle with him, starving him to death because he just wants to share himself this way with Douglas. When I see Master, finally I understand I have made a big mistake and I will have to explain myself to him. I get up, and try to explain. But he just keeps talking to Douglas. "You look so amazing Douglas, you know you where a fucking fat pig before I meet you." Douglas just cries and I am a bit jealous of him. Why is Master so nice to him anyway? "You have lost so much weight, I am proud of you." He kissed him. "You are hanging in there quite nice, sweetheart." He finally looks over at me. "So this is what you do when I am not home?" he asks. I explain I don't do this all of the time and I just wanted to know what she looked like. He looks at me and the dead girl on the floor. He ask me. "So what does she look like?" I look up at him. I get off of the floor and sit next to him on the bed where Douglas is bound. "Like heaven" I and answer. "How does she taste?" I look deep into his eyes and answer. "Like maggots,Sir."He laughs and we spit on Douglas. I do this because my mouth taste weird, Master does it because it is just what he does. He ask me finally,  "Do you want to keep it?" I am a bit shocked by the question, but even more shocked by the answer  "Yes." He looks at me and says  Yes, what?." I smile because I believe I am going to get what I want. "Yes, Sir,"

We leave Douglas where he belongs and Master carries it out of the basement to the guesthouse proper for me. He explain that we can not keep her long, but since I have been doing my best to behave like a good pet, I could have one of my own. I can not believe this. I have never had my own pet and she is so lovely. I just imagine myself  cleaning it up and combing it's hair. This is going to be a dream come true. My Master is so kind when I do the right thing. I think he is proud of me for not being weak and secretly feeding Douglas. He lets me know that we will have to keep her warm inside to have the most fun with the flesh. I can tell he has done this before but it is new to me so I pay close attention. He even tells me he feels a bit sorry for ripping her up so bad. Now that he sees she can be useful to us still. 

The Difference Between Dying and Knowing Everything

What the difference between dying and knowing everything

To gain any real knowledge you have to confer with the dead

That's a fact through entities or books

Shadows most be consulted

As if dying before a Great King

What's the difference between dying and knowing everything

Mathematics is the key to our existence

Yet to master it takes years of silence and contemplation

Nailing yourself into the proverbial intellectual coffin

I speak to the living quite often

You all are very smart 

Shame the dumb seems to go so hard

What's the difference between knowing everything and dying

Has an disembodied Energy every tried to paint

Could Necromancy work in giving a hand to a perfect rock band

What if Death was really your co-pilot

Has an Entity every reveled to you your life long enemies

Or is that just me I mean

What's the difference between being dead and knowing everything

I want to take a look back at 10500BC

I want to see the Orion Correlation 

I want to peep into the future

I use a foggy little ball or a bowl of water

Balance this out with metal from a Quarter

2023 I want to see The True Singularity 

I turn a card for fate or understanding

Magik, Science, Mathematics, and Archaeology

I study the dead so you don't have to

Maybe just sit back and watch a movie

Because truly

What's the diffrecne between dying and knowing everything 

1 8 3 5 14 16

That's the number of our unity

 This is Joasalisa in a RiOt as The Entity