5407 (5407) wrote,

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"To open door:
Pull door shut..."

Tomorrow I begin a week of visits to one of the Temples of the Phallus. Twice daily I shall devote 4 hours in honor to some deity, surely masculine, and somewhat against my choice. While at the phallus temple I shall attempt to intimidate and protect, destroying if necessary. During this time I shall further seek out Ares, although I prefer Her, in all Her forms, by all Her names, but Ares seems to rule here. If I am unable to do as I wish I shall develop myself and my world.

data lost in transmission...interference...empty...hollow influx of persistent signals...beep-beep-beep, nothing...static...encrypted...grab, store...
End of Transmission

reduced to the barest bit of what it is...the creature is praised and loved...nothing felt if not providing a means to preserve the self...weak, and mighty...toss aside the survival-state, the instinct dropped to fit with the "civil folk"...false and vicious kindness in response to the disturbances by those who notice...the need still there but hidden away and covering the already hidden emotion...trying to bring forth the emotion, the love, the forgotten...forget survival...wrap the beast in the clothing of men, make it look like them...make it let it all out as the need is tossed aside...confused, it drags this behind the back...ignore it...treat it like a decoration as it dies off...hate it when it strangles you with the rag you have torn to pieces...chip away at what was left of it, overlooking the gnawing off of the fur, to suit your own needs...ignore it...it begs, IGNORE...shatter, shred all that is left...scream at it as it releases what you ignored, what you had it hide...kick it in the face as it growls, then fear it when it pounces...ignore the needs of all but yourself, you wish it to remain but refuse to help it survive in your world...send it off, back to where it came from, weakened with little to defend the existence it has managed to hold onto...left to starve as it has forgotten how to hunt...a scrap of preserved flesh you tore off it long ago, refusing anything more than a tiny taste...it seeks death, unsure if of who is to kill and die, where or when...hunger leads it to seek out other sources of food where it is again kicked in the face...ignored except as a pest, attacks when they turn there backs, consuming all that they are, but never becoming like them...out into the burning desert light to see the rain fall and plants grow...death-life and change emerge as the skills learned are lost and the joy is learned, but pain brings forth the doubt and wish...nurtured but still empty...it returns to you, as it always seems to, and looks at you with love and pain...fear...needs anything...

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