332 lines
19 KiB
Plaintext
332 lines
19 KiB
Plaintext
|
|
_
|
|
| \
|
|
| \
|
|
| | \
|
|
__ | |\ \ __
|
|
_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
|
|
| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
|
|
| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
|
|
| | /________/ | | / / /________/ | |
|
|
| | | | / / | |
|
|
| | | |/ / | |
|
|
| | | | / | |
|
|
| | | / | |
|
|
| | |_/ | |
|
|
| | | |
|
|
| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
|
|
| |________________________________________________________________| |
|
|
|____________________________________________________________________|
|
|
|
|
...presents... The Burn Turns Two Into One
|
|
Part 1 by Obscure Images
|
|
|
|
>>> a cDc publication.......1990 <<<
|
|
-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
|
|
______________________________________________________________________________
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chapter 0: A Halo Of Flaming Lead
|
|
|
|
I can't think - you can't feel it happening to me. There are no
|
|
symptoms. Not a single extraneous mark on my body. The inner workings are
|
|
acting as if there was nothing wrong. I don't care about what the doctors,
|
|
hell, anyone, say, they're eating me alive.
|
|
|
|
The room is spinning, the mist weaves its fingers around my neck like
|
|
a vengeful spirit. Shit, it is hotter than a Turkish bath in this room. I
|
|
need to get outside. A clicking sound comes from the door, I rushed over to
|
|
see what the clicking was and when I tried the knob it wouldn't move - it was
|
|
locked.
|
|
|
|
If a man can't go where he wants to he is nothing more than a slave.
|
|
A prisoner locked in a gilded cage. Each lock is another bar, each key is
|
|
another brick. The fortress is slowly built around everyone. Some people
|
|
never notice that they are caged in. The fools believe that they are free
|
|
because they have the money and the control. The fuckers just don't know what
|
|
they're dealing with.
|
|
|
|
A howl came spurting from my raging mouth, a scream of despair that
|
|
could be heard for miles. No escape is what they said. Fuck 'em. You can't
|
|
keep a knowing man in a prison. Locks and doors, locks and doors, keys and
|
|
cells, keys and cells, genes and cells, genes and cells. The locks slam shut
|
|
through my system. The drug they give me takes effect. The drug is hatred,
|
|
the drug keeps me in prison.
|
|
|
|
No sounds. Not the hum of the air-conditioning, not the persistent
|
|
tick-tocking of the clock by the bed, nothing. My heart was not beating, my
|
|
lungs were not expanding and contracting. There were no sounds, there was no
|
|
life. It was another trick. Everyone knows you breathe only because you are
|
|
programmed to. Oxygen is the poison, the void is the cure.
|
|
|
|
I leave the corpse, no need for me there. A bath in the void would be
|
|
most enjoyable. At the edge of nothingness there are cliffs, cliffs of many
|
|
different sorts, a different ledge for different people. Cliffs for drug
|
|
users, cliffs for suicidal people, cliffs for the mentally insane, and even a
|
|
cliff all of my own. It is, after all, the least she could do. I am the son
|
|
of the abyss, born of despair and chaos. It is always good to come home.
|
|
|
|
I dove into the darkness. It flowed around what I perceived as my body
|
|
like oil, coating me like a warm blanket. It was the only peace that can ever
|
|
exist, at least for me. It is a refuge for a man who is alone. A lonely place
|
|
for those who need to get away from others. In other words, the void is the
|
|
closest thing to heaven.
|
|
|
|
Mother consumes, mother protects. There is nothing of pain in here, as
|
|
there nothing of pleasure. All is nothingness, all is love. People are always
|
|
searching for a refuge, a place to get away from their life. Religion is
|
|
always looking the wrong way. There is no heaven, there is only hell. Life on
|
|
Earth is hell, walking through a blooming garden is hell, and love is most
|
|
certainly hell. People turn to the bottle or the pill in search of an escape
|
|
only to find that there really is none. People meditate and pray that there is
|
|
something better in store. They lie to themselves every day, the pills and
|
|
chants are just masks for the pain.
|
|
|
|
They say that I am insane, they're all wrong. I am un-sane. There
|
|
will no longer be any connection between my world and theirs. I refuse to take
|
|
part in the masochistic meandering that everyone else takes part in. You see,
|
|
if one participates, even the slightest bit, in the game, they are hooked.
|
|
I broke the chains that bound me, chaos suits me well.
|
|
|
|
-----
|
|
|
|
"click. beep. click. beep. click. beep. click. click. click."
|
|
|
|
The slow clicking sounds of the clock stopped. The man laying on the
|
|
couch wouldn't notice until it was too late. Fortunately, the clock stopping
|
|
saved his life. Dr. Armand would survive to treat another psycho.
|
|
|
|
----
|
|
|
|
Energized by the chaos around me, I regained some of my long forgotten
|
|
powers. Looking at the hole in reality my passage into chaos created, I had to
|
|
chuckle. Chaos was leaking out of the hole into the hospital room where I was
|
|
previously. The entire hospital was demolished by the small flow of chaotic
|
|
fluid, a concentrated fluid that fuels the slow march of entropy. The funny
|
|
part was that the explosion was attributed to a stoned old man in charge of
|
|
watching the boiler in the basement.
|
|
|
|
At one time or another the idea of destroying the world was appealing
|
|
to me. However, now that I look back at it, that prospect was quite naive, it
|
|
would be far too easy to be fun. The real fun would be on a much smaller
|
|
scale, to initiate a new disciple to the workings of chaos. It'd be fun to see
|
|
if anyone could live through it.
|
|
|
|
Chapter 1: The Game Is Afoot
|
|
|
|
To find a worthy initiate is harder to do then I thought. From the
|
|
start I knew that none of the more extreme people would do. Fundamentalist
|
|
Christians were out, their obsessive lust with the nonexistent deity of order
|
|
would cause them to crack at their first encounter with me. Communists, hell,
|
|
any political order freaks, are out as well. Politically minded people are
|
|
better to use then religious people, but are still too obsessed with order to
|
|
be useful. However, as I watched them go about their business I was enter-
|
|
tained by their unwitting flirtation with chaos. They just didn't know that
|
|
order is really a hallucination of sorts, when there is too much order in one
|
|
place the mask begins to crack. Look at any government institution with its
|
|
endless supply of end tape from two different views. Look at it from within,
|
|
with all of its forms and rules keeping everything in order. Then look at it
|
|
from afar and you will notice that rather then keep order, the paperwork and
|
|
hierarchies only form a chaotic pattern. That however was just of slight
|
|
amusement, only a moment was wasted until I returned to my search. My
|
|
conclusion was that the best sort of person would be someone young enough to
|
|
adapt, yet not overly idealistic or moral. I turned to the schools and found
|
|
any number of worthy candidates, the time has come to start.
|
|
|
|
----
|
|
|
|
A howling roar shattered the glass of Paul Selby's dreams. A hammer-
|
|
like hand instantly flies out from under an old quilt and onto the source of
|
|
the roar. There is a large crash as the howling is stopped and replaced by a
|
|
sound of breaking plastic. Paul slid down the greased wall of dreams,
|
|
desperately trying to claw for a handhold that would let him remain. Luck was
|
|
not on his side this morning, and Paul made a bone crunching thud as he hit the
|
|
rocky ground of consciousness.
|
|
|
|
"Fuck," Paul groaned as he realized that returning to sleep was a
|
|
futile gesture. He groaned again, much louder as if he was trying to convince
|
|
himself that he was alive, and rolled out the bed onto the floor. Sunlight
|
|
streamed brightly into the small room where some asshole forgot to close the
|
|
curtains the night before. Swearing profusely he got to his feet and shut the
|
|
curtains, choking off most of the unbearable light. As he went to his closet
|
|
to get his bathrobe, his roommate let out a loud snore. As beautiful as she
|
|
was, she could still snore like a water buffalo.
|
|
|
|
Throwing on the bathrobe as he walked down the hallway to the bathroom,
|
|
Paul was still seething at his being conscious. Passing a few other early
|
|
risers in the hallway, who always seemed cheerful at this time of morning, all
|
|
he could do was snarl a hasty "good morning" as he trudged to the shower. The
|
|
others on the floor were not offended by his surly greetings. After living
|
|
with him for 3 years now they came to expect his response to their early
|
|
morning greetings. The only surprise would be if he didn't reply curtly, last
|
|
time he was cheerful in the morning he contracted pneumonia and was hospital-
|
|
ized.
|
|
|
|
As he showered the collected filth of a day of life off of his body,
|
|
Paul still seethed about his being awake, and as he brushed his teeth he
|
|
snarled at his image in the mirror several times before he finished. Paul
|
|
Selby was not a man built for daytime existence. He hated to be awake until at
|
|
least 2 hours after he woke up. Most people learned early on to avoid him
|
|
until that period of time was over.
|
|
|
|
Upon entrance to his room, he found that Lisa, his roommate, had risen
|
|
from her bed and was now crumpled over a chair searching for something on the
|
|
floor. Lisa and Paul had lived with each other for several years now, having
|
|
started out as lovers. Over time the relationship had changed into a good
|
|
friendship. They saw others now, but they were closer then they had ever been.
|
|
Paul momentarily stopped fuming as he admired the bent over Lisa. In the eyes
|
|
of Paul, the only eyes he felt were worth noting, Lisa was a vision of beauty.
|
|
Her skin was beyond pale, it was an ivory white that no amount of tanning would
|
|
get rid of, or at least it wouldn't if she tanned. Her medium length naturally
|
|
black hair was cut into a bob that framed her delicate features. Her body was
|
|
shaped in a form of classical beauty. Lisa wasn't part of the new fad that
|
|
made women look skinny and androgynous, her curves were well defined and well
|
|
shaped. She weighed more then most of her friends, but she was sexier then all
|
|
of them combined.
|
|
|
|
She broke Paul's momentary contemplation with a shout. Still bent over
|
|
the chair, running her hands along the floor under the desk she yelled, "Son of
|
|
a fucking bitch! Where in the fuck is my earring?" According to morning
|
|
ritual, Paul avoided comment quietly getting dressed in the usual black outfit.
|
|
It was, of course, his only outfit. Finding the earring, Lisa stopped cursing
|
|
and stood, looking at Paul. Again, according to ritual, Paul walked over to
|
|
Lisa and gave her the usual embrace, casually feeling her nude body. He was
|
|
running late, again as usual, so they kissed and he hurried toward the door.
|
|
He paused before going all the way through and said, "Get some clothes
|
|
on, you Whore of Babylon." Then he ducked as the shoe flew at his head,
|
|
leaving both of them laughing.
|
|
|
|
"See you later," she said as the door shut.
|
|
|
|
Chapter 2: A Split Second Face. The Form Is Cast.
|
|
|
|
The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky. Of all the places for
|
|
there to be no smog, it had to be this place. A casual glance at the slowly
|
|
moving form of Paul Selby walking down the street to a class, one would hardly
|
|
expect him to be in a hurry. A theory of his stated that if you have to run to
|
|
get somewhere it isn't worth getting there at all. Paul always appeared at the
|
|
class, yet he had never been there on time ever. A lesser man would feel guilt
|
|
or pressure from not placing a great emphasis on time, but that man was not
|
|
Paul.
|
|
|
|
The portfolio and carrying bag dug into the flesh on his shoulder.
|
|
This painfully annoying action caused Paul to set loose a stream of profanity.
|
|
Several easily offended girls walking in the other direction past Paul looked
|
|
upon the large form with disgust. "Yeah, fuck off," muttered Paul in response
|
|
to their disapproving glances. Only a little further, only a little further,
|
|
shit I gotta put wheels on this fucking thing. Thoughts cycled through his
|
|
head as he trudged along, each step seeming harder all of the time. These
|
|
walks were time for him to think, at least in between curses. Why does she
|
|
still like me? I wonder what she sees in me, I'm not a great artist, I can
|
|
hardly write, and god knows that I'm not physically attractive. He looked at
|
|
himself in the reflection on a window with disgust. He snarled at the pudgy
|
|
man in the window.
|
|
|
|
Paul was a fairly tall man, over six feet tall. The problem was that
|
|
he was always mistaken to be shorter then he was because of his large stature.
|
|
His excess weight made him look like a pudgy little boy, hardly the bad ass
|
|
motherfucker he always wanted to be. His long uncombed hair was black at the
|
|
ends from where he had dyed his hair a year before. On top of all his other
|
|
physical faults, he had horrible vision, his small circular glasses had thick
|
|
lenses that jutted beyond the small wires that comprised the frames. As it
|
|
was, he hated the way he looked, he hated the lack of talents that were
|
|
futilely strewn out in an attempt to be artistic. A scrawling hand wrote
|
|
cryptic messages in a small black book that was to be a journal of his
|
|
failures. At least he had Lisa, she was the bright point in the black world of
|
|
Paul Selby.
|
|
|
|
Snapped back into the present by tripping on a raised crack in the
|
|
sidewalk, Paul neared his location. The building in front of him was a
|
|
monstrosity of mid-sixties modern architecture. The cement slabs that made up
|
|
the buildings exterior were interrupted by large expanses of black steel with
|
|
windows inset. It was a 4 story vision of hell. Ironically the building was
|
|
the housing for the art department, and the building was named, assuredly as a
|
|
practical joke by the sod who designed it, The Visual Art Building. It was a
|
|
horrible sight in Paul's book. It was the building that he spent most of his
|
|
time in. They had given him a studio on the fourth floor to work in, he shared
|
|
it with four other art students. Unfortunately he had to go to a class in the
|
|
building rather then just go to the fourth floor and paint. He climbed the
|
|
stairs to the 3rd floor. There was an elevator, but Paul was 21 years old, he
|
|
had no desire to spend a significant portion of his life standing in a box.
|
|
The hallway was quiet except for some muffled instructions and Paul's clomping
|
|
footsteps. With a look into the window of his room, he saw that class was
|
|
already started. Never a person to turn down a chance to be theatrical, he
|
|
kicked the door open with a shout and ran into the room to his place in the
|
|
back.
|
|
|
|
"If Mr. Selby is quite finished with his little show, we can continue
|
|
with our discussion of the ..." said the vaguely effeminate looking man who was
|
|
the teacher for the class.
|
|
|
|
"...piledriver as sexual aid," Paul whispered to no one in particular,
|
|
yet caused a few laughs in the back of the classroom. The teacher, thinking
|
|
the laughter was for his remark, continued on and allowed Paul to catch up with
|
|
some needed sleep.
|
|
|
|
He woke up about an hour later when a friend on the other side of the
|
|
class nudged him as the class ended. In a considerably better mood, he got his
|
|
stuff together and walked up to the studio with his friend. Paul and Jim were
|
|
two of the people that shared the studio upstairs, when they were there
|
|
together they dominated the room. There was a small stereo in the studio that
|
|
any of the people in there could use. One of the girls listened to the Cure
|
|
until they had to leave for a while, the other guy in the studio was fucking
|
|
the Cure girl so he didn't mind, and the other girl was hardly ever there. She
|
|
tended to avoid the studio until after midnight, when she would come in and
|
|
work on her exquisite paintings. Since they were the first ones in the studio,
|
|
the first thing that they did was to put some good music on the stereo. The
|
|
play button was pressed, and hard edged music shot out of the speakers. Jim
|
|
had a show coming up in a couple of weeks, so he didn't goof around as much as
|
|
usual.
|
|
|
|
Bored of sitting around, Paul stretched out a canvas and prepared it to
|
|
be painted on. While he was waiting for the primer to dry, he laid on the
|
|
floor and fell half-asleep. There were grey clouds in his vision through
|
|
nearly closed eyes. As he fell into a deeper slumber he noticed a black form
|
|
beginning to build itself. The pieces of shiny black thought flew toward the
|
|
form which was starting to look human. After a moment a distorted voice came
|
|
from the form, "The Burn Is." After the sound of the final word drifted into
|
|
silence, the figure blew apart, sending Paul reeling towards consciousness.
|
|
|
|
The paint flowed easily, unlike sometimes before. The brush moved
|
|
smoothly, knowing where it was going all along. It was sheer ecstasy for Paul.
|
|
He had been waiting for years for the flow to start again. He had always had a
|
|
head full of ideas, but he had never been very successful at expressing them.
|
|
Other people seemed to like his work, otherwise he wouldn't still be in art
|
|
school, but he was never satisfied with it. Things began to take rough shape,
|
|
a layout was roughed in, and then the rush left. No matter, thought Paul, I've
|
|
got what I need. He worked like a man possessed, he didn't even stop to get
|
|
lunch with Jim, he had the flow again. Dinnertime rolled around, and Paul had
|
|
a date with Lisa, so he forced himself to stop and head back home before he was
|
|
late.
|
|
|
|
______________________________________________________________________________
|
|
|
|
|
|
Author's Note:
|
|
|
|
This file is the beginning chapters of a large scale story that I've
|
|
decided to write. I will be releasing more and more of the story as cDc files
|
|
as the work continues.
|
|
|
|
"In the distance there is truth which ends like a knife
|
|
The bridge we have laid will always give us life
|
|
And we who cross on a goat we ride
|
|
Or fall like a fruit in a red sea tide
|
|
Just dust to live with dust and dreams
|
|
Anoint the stone with blood and screams
|
|
From all our eyes the future leaks
|
|
The path is maid, its shell is weak.
|
|
If you could understand, you would take my hand
|
|
Then I would spread so far, just like arcadia"
|
|
-Genesis P-Orridge
|
|
|
|
_ _ ____________________________________________________________________
|
|
/((___))\|The Dead Zone........214/522-5321|Demon Roach Undrgrnd..806/794-4362|
|
|
[ x x ] |NIHILISM.............415/285-9453|The People Farm.......916/673-8412|
|
|
\ / |Tequila Willy's GSC..209/526-3194|The Bombay............714/897-0412|
|
|
(' ') |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691|The Works.............617/861-8976|
|
|
(U) |====================================================================|
|
|
.ooM |(c)1990 cDc communications by Obscure Images. 06/21/90-#140|
|
|
\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away. |
|
|
|