Post by williemeikle on Jul 1, 2009 16:56:47 GMT
You don’t notice me. Do you?
Sitting there with your newspaper open, taking up more than you need. Smugly secure in your job, your marriage, your 2.4 kids. You with your smart suit and your loudly patterned tie, your shiny shoes and your manicured finger nails.
It’s all right, I won’t disrupt your routine. Not too much anyway. I’ve just got a simple question for you.
What do you know about how you work deep inside?
Do you know about your brain, how the synapses connect, how the chemicals carry the messages?
Do you know about your lymph glands, sending out the little warrior cleaners to repel invaders?
Do you know about your kidneys - filtering out the goodness and passing on the piss?
Do you know about your blood?
Just as I thought. You are like all the rest. You know nothing.
Well, I’ve got something which would do you good.
Do you want it?
You’ll just have to wait. It isn’t quite ready yet. I prepared it this morning but it hasn’t had time to thicken yet.
It seems to get stronger in the mornings. During the day time I can’t feel it. I don’t think it moves. But at night - that is a different story.
If I lie still I can sense it as it courses through me, rushing through the spaces, filling me up with its red, hot, gushing glory. It succours me. Can you see that?
Without it I would be a weak wan thing, a nobody, just like you. But with it, I am capable of miracles, capable of passing on a piece of myself, capable of attaining immortality. I will never really die. Can you see that?
It’s usually early in the morning when I have to let some out, after it has grown a bit. It desperately needs to get out you see, otherwise it would slowly fill me and devour me with its heat and there would be no one left to spread the message. And the message is the vital thing. You understand that, don’t you?
They told me it was probably terminal. Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about. The faceless men in the white suits are part of what you are, part of what drives you every day. I spent months with them in their clean white rooms under their clean white lights. They prodded me, stuck needles in me, asked me where I got it.
But how do I know? It could have been anybody - my mother, my wife, my daughter.
They spread it on slides, spun it around in centrifuges, took it out of me in vast hot heavy amounts and thinned it down.
They took pictures of it flowing around, tracking its passage, but they never understood it. They couldn’t categorise it, couldn’t fit it into one of their neat little boxes. Eventually they gave up on me, releasing me to its mercy.
They made a big mistake you see. I could see immediately where they had gone wrong, but they were scientists while I was merely a thing brought in from the streets and thus not worthy of notice.
It was obvious. They took a lot out, but they never put it back anywhere. That was the problem. Once it gets out it needs a new home, a warm home, otherwise it just withers and dies, shrivels up and dries out like a puddle in the sun. It needs constant attention. You must care for it, nurture it, succour it in its time of need.
Then it will serve you well.
You think I’m completely mad, don’t you? All you can see is the wide eyed stare and the unshaven chin. You probably think I smell bad, although I don’t you know. It’s just your conditioning.
Do you think I’m a drunk? The same as the rest? You can smell my breath if you like.
See, all clear.
It doesn’t like alcohol, it gets thinned out and loses potency very quickly. It nearly killed me when I last drank. Two little glasses of whisky and, six seconds later it all came back, in spades. Sixteen hours of vomiting and heaving and cursing and blackouts. Oh, I’m sorry. Am I offending your sensibilities? But shit happens - didn’t anyone ever tell you that?
I don’t miss the booze, not a bit. I have my love to keep me warm.
The first time I passed it on was in a crowded train - a bit like this one.
I’d prepared it in the morning.
Have you seen it flowing into a syringe? When it’s strong, it gushes, purple and hot and heavy, pressing itself into the confines of the small tube. It didn’t want to stop that first time and wasted a lot of itself in spillage on my bathroom floor, but it got itself under control eventually. It was very strong that day,
You will be the twenty-first. But not the last. The blood is strong and there are so many needy.
It is ready for you now.
Here it comes.
Sitting there with your newspaper open, taking up more than you need. Smugly secure in your job, your marriage, your 2.4 kids. You with your smart suit and your loudly patterned tie, your shiny shoes and your manicured finger nails.
It’s all right, I won’t disrupt your routine. Not too much anyway. I’ve just got a simple question for you.
What do you know about how you work deep inside?
Do you know about your brain, how the synapses connect, how the chemicals carry the messages?
Do you know about your lymph glands, sending out the little warrior cleaners to repel invaders?
Do you know about your kidneys - filtering out the goodness and passing on the piss?
Do you know about your blood?
Just as I thought. You are like all the rest. You know nothing.
Well, I’ve got something which would do you good.
Do you want it?
You’ll just have to wait. It isn’t quite ready yet. I prepared it this morning but it hasn’t had time to thicken yet.
It seems to get stronger in the mornings. During the day time I can’t feel it. I don’t think it moves. But at night - that is a different story.
If I lie still I can sense it as it courses through me, rushing through the spaces, filling me up with its red, hot, gushing glory. It succours me. Can you see that?
Without it I would be a weak wan thing, a nobody, just like you. But with it, I am capable of miracles, capable of passing on a piece of myself, capable of attaining immortality. I will never really die. Can you see that?
It’s usually early in the morning when I have to let some out, after it has grown a bit. It desperately needs to get out you see, otherwise it would slowly fill me and devour me with its heat and there would be no one left to spread the message. And the message is the vital thing. You understand that, don’t you?
They told me it was probably terminal. Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about. The faceless men in the white suits are part of what you are, part of what drives you every day. I spent months with them in their clean white rooms under their clean white lights. They prodded me, stuck needles in me, asked me where I got it.
But how do I know? It could have been anybody - my mother, my wife, my daughter.
They spread it on slides, spun it around in centrifuges, took it out of me in vast hot heavy amounts and thinned it down.
They took pictures of it flowing around, tracking its passage, but they never understood it. They couldn’t categorise it, couldn’t fit it into one of their neat little boxes. Eventually they gave up on me, releasing me to its mercy.
They made a big mistake you see. I could see immediately where they had gone wrong, but they were scientists while I was merely a thing brought in from the streets and thus not worthy of notice.
It was obvious. They took a lot out, but they never put it back anywhere. That was the problem. Once it gets out it needs a new home, a warm home, otherwise it just withers and dies, shrivels up and dries out like a puddle in the sun. It needs constant attention. You must care for it, nurture it, succour it in its time of need.
Then it will serve you well.
You think I’m completely mad, don’t you? All you can see is the wide eyed stare and the unshaven chin. You probably think I smell bad, although I don’t you know. It’s just your conditioning.
Do you think I’m a drunk? The same as the rest? You can smell my breath if you like.
See, all clear.
It doesn’t like alcohol, it gets thinned out and loses potency very quickly. It nearly killed me when I last drank. Two little glasses of whisky and, six seconds later it all came back, in spades. Sixteen hours of vomiting and heaving and cursing and blackouts. Oh, I’m sorry. Am I offending your sensibilities? But shit happens - didn’t anyone ever tell you that?
I don’t miss the booze, not a bit. I have my love to keep me warm.
The first time I passed it on was in a crowded train - a bit like this one.
I’d prepared it in the morning.
Have you seen it flowing into a syringe? When it’s strong, it gushes, purple and hot and heavy, pressing itself into the confines of the small tube. It didn’t want to stop that first time and wasted a lot of itself in spillage on my bathroom floor, but it got itself under control eventually. It was very strong that day,
You will be the twenty-first. But not the last. The blood is strong and there are so many needy.
It is ready for you now.
Here it comes.