May 1st, 2014
Jazz was dead and gone, and all of reality crumbled in her passing. Shards of her spun on in the darkness, just mere fractured reflections of the happy ending I forged for us from an altered timeline. As nature abhors a vacuum, so too does the human soul seek its own utter destruction.
No longer Jesus in Hell, nor the Anti-Christ in Heaven, all my beliefs dissolved upon waking. A deal with the Devil set this all in motion, distorting my past even as it damns my future. A present for tomorrow looms on the horizon, if only I could manage to make a King of myself in the meantime.
My agents swell about me, generals and warriors that shall rise in my wake. I need to organize them in rows, set them forth onto their holy mission, crusaders crafting my empire. The secret is to build it upon their dreams, harness their hopes, deliver unto them their desires. To do so I must be clear of my own.
A room in time and space sits vacant tonight as I gather my worldly possessions and prepare once again to begin anew. It sits alongside the Broadway Triangle in South Williamsburg, outside the J/M train at Lorimer. It is private and it is mine to do with as I wish, I merely need to wish it into existence as the hub for all that comes next.
I ponder often lately why those around me have such a difficult time wanting, of dreaming for more than they can imagine. It forces me to evaluate just what I want and how I approach the task of achieving such improbable fantasies as my mind can concoct. I remove my subconscious and flip it over seeking the imperfections in my tactics.
Heavy handed it slips from my fingers, waiting for me to get it right. Somehow my consciousness must connect with my merged ego/ID/superego meta-persona, now that it has been returned to me. That trinity was welded together across 64 chapters over seven years. The Tower of Brahma tore me down, and rebuilt whatever it is that I have become.
No longer Charles Crown, not the fiction Agent Fenris, and with Agent Spider suppressed back into the nightmares from which he rose, I am left looking in the mirror of self-righteousness, an epic journey, a personal apocalypse, and a final test carved onto my heart. Who is this wolf in sheep's demeanor now that the rage has slipped its leash?
I will attempt to string words together once more to make sense of the snake that swallows its own tail for a second stab at salvation.
