Post by PASTIE on Oct 23, 2006 22:24:44 GMT -1
Once I walked alone.
Back when time first began, when the late nights echoed only with the dull thud of my own dragged footfall, I walked here alone. I swept the detritus of the day time, poked sticks through the embers of the laughter and anger and tears of other fellows, and left subliminal messages to those appropriately inclined to the hanits of nocturnalism.
"Come join me" quickly became "Come join us, come join us, come join us over here".
And with this Siren like call to the night, PASTIE lured them in, PASTIE drew them closer.
"PASTIE hath murdered sleep" they whispered, "But PASTIE shall sleep no more"
A place emerged. Where once I prowled through the fading fog of other people's daytime, walls sprang forth. They gained an identity of their own as people stepped in. Strange, hunched creatures they were. They blink in the lights of the dead of night, bags under their eyes, their livers bloated. Quietly, frequently, they giggle to themselves.
They brought with them their own wreckage. A sofa. A wine rack. A shattered clock. A mirror stolen from a house long since abandoned by ghosts. Novelty camping chairs. Small fridge freezers. The occasional poster. On the floor, amid the stains, there rested coins, perfectly balanced upon their edge.
The corridor twists and turns, but occasionally the creatures of the day suspect that it is here, and they try to tear down its walls.
They may displace the funiture, but you cannot displace the already displaced.
I have resurrected these dark walls. I have brought with me the sofa, the interesting novelty accessories. I have collected the 10 pence pieces ready for Sterland to do the floor.
Welcome to the new home of the Prowlers! Long walk the Prowlers!
Come join me, come join me, come join me over here!
Back when time first began, when the late nights echoed only with the dull thud of my own dragged footfall, I walked here alone. I swept the detritus of the day time, poked sticks through the embers of the laughter and anger and tears of other fellows, and left subliminal messages to those appropriately inclined to the hanits of nocturnalism.
"Come join me" quickly became "Come join us, come join us, come join us over here".
And with this Siren like call to the night, PASTIE lured them in, PASTIE drew them closer.
"PASTIE hath murdered sleep" they whispered, "But PASTIE shall sleep no more"
A place emerged. Where once I prowled through the fading fog of other people's daytime, walls sprang forth. They gained an identity of their own as people stepped in. Strange, hunched creatures they were. They blink in the lights of the dead of night, bags under their eyes, their livers bloated. Quietly, frequently, they giggle to themselves.
They brought with them their own wreckage. A sofa. A wine rack. A shattered clock. A mirror stolen from a house long since abandoned by ghosts. Novelty camping chairs. Small fridge freezers. The occasional poster. On the floor, amid the stains, there rested coins, perfectly balanced upon their edge.
The corridor twists and turns, but occasionally the creatures of the day suspect that it is here, and they try to tear down its walls.
They may displace the funiture, but you cannot displace the already displaced.
I have resurrected these dark walls. I have brought with me the sofa, the interesting novelty accessories. I have collected the 10 pence pieces ready for Sterland to do the floor.
Welcome to the new home of the Prowlers! Long walk the Prowlers!
Come join me, come join me, come join me over here!
5 more mins but its bloody uncomfortable here on the floor.
...
