136 days.
The past two months have evaporated leaving behind empty bottles of alcohol, countless cigarette butts, and deep personal bonds that have been shattered.
When I look back at my life, shortly after starting my first novel, I had an epiphany disguised as a transcendental moment which in turn was really just a shift in consciousness and a few degrees latitude & longitude.
Eight years ago I moved to New York City, and the shock to my system rippled through sixty-four chapters of insane self-delusional discovery. I submitted to the chaotic moment and soaked in life experience from wherever the stream was strongest.
Now I find myself settled in Brooklyn, nursing a broken heart from a shattered reality. The good wholesome life I sought beside Jazz Jones was gone, erased from existence as I stood shaking on the far side of reality. Jagged edges and empty space were all that remained.
I started over anew atop this tower, Wolfspider, an apartment that I once shared with the Worldserpent. I recognized him as a descendant of Set as the stink of serpent was all over him. He was bold and brash and full of nothing but hot air and endless hollow bravado. He aggravated me from my slumber, from my mourning.
I rousted the snake from its roost using Loki's child's lies and trickery against him, for I knew who he was and yet he knew nothing of my ways. The truly powerful lie is that manipulation is best served with truth, and with the sacrifice of one' pride, well, all things are possible.
So I won the tower and set loose the Worldserpent with his zen mistress upon the land to enjoy it in its final moments. I laid claim to his people, as he had hardly any use for them nor they for him. The shift was coming, the cracks were growing.
The third child of Loki, myself being the emasculated and ensnared wolf beast Fenris, was revealed to me on the first floor. Hel, Queen of the Underworld, ashes in her tears and venom spit from her tongue. I found her rather sweet and delightful, but also heavy with sadness, pain, and child.
The prophecy doesn't mention a child but I believe they come standard whether we expect them or not. The dogs leap and bark at her womb, warnings or threats, only they know. The ambient terror is rotting the foundations of her body, personal bonds, and the building itself.
The witches switch it up on the second floor, cementing their cauldron with creative insanity that ignites the Venus rage within themselves. Supercharged estrogen explosions riddle the inside of the structure. They've finally bound the sisterhood strong, unleashing psychic shrapnel spiraling into my mind.
And there I am. A wolf sitting in a cave within a tower. Too afraid to step out again for the last time time I had weeks had passed with no notice beyond the social insanity that left me a functioning alcoholic with a writing problem.
Who had time to write when consciousness was there to be taken down by total and continuous bombardment of the senses. In that journey through the bottle unto the dancefloor and beyond the sexual I found that the whole of the entire social structure of all was flawed.
It was two-dimensional and juvenile, and coolness is not giving a fuck about taking what you need and somehow always being awesome despite obvious character flaws. Charming and endearing in the face of fearless recognition, commanding all situations.
So I learned more by doing less, but definitely drinking more, indulging in excess at every turn, guiding myself right here. To inaction and paralyzing anxiety. I just hope that somewhere in this text is a code that will free my will. That can save me.
Because I'm almost a real human man. I just want to maintain and entertain. And through it all somehow, some way merely explain, I don't work like you do. But I know how you tick, so, slow and steady, I'll destroy that clock.
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