[Destiny] Chapter 12: Yellow-Eyed Devil

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Grabbed the remote

flicked off Blake’s 7 and said

‘no more space shit’

and when I moved to grab it back

Amir morphed into purple mist, his legs, his arms, held the remote out on one of his tendrils

of bizarro smoke and

taunted me with what I was missing

Servalan dies in this one

Servalan dies in this one

which he couldn’t possibly know cos he’d never watched it properly

but somehow he did know

and each time I thought I’d outflanked him

he swirled to a different part of the bedroom, brushing an inch away from my dick as he swirled, but never close enough to affect anything

cos he’d got what he wanted and now

it was taunting time

without shame

and all I could do was stand there and

~~~

A giant remote in a bathrobe watched as Sila opened his eyes and looked around Veronika’s room.

Then he blinked and it turned into one of the bed posts.

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[Destiny] Chapter 8: Count Kurtain

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As with most other hostels, it was better to avoid the 16-bed dorms, or even the 8-bed dorms, as that’s where the collective drunks would be.

2-bed dorms were ideal, but the smallest the Innsbruck hostel had was a 4-bedder so that’s where Sila ended up, on the top bunk with a Korean man below, who at one point, got up and wandered off to have a shower wearing only his underpants.

Somehow, the Chinese stalker had failed to switch to the same room as him, probably cos she booked online, or he’d booked the last bunk in this one, though he knew she was still in the hostel somewhere; he’d seen her lurking in the reception area.

Unless she’d given up and left?

Either way, she wasn’t in this room, which gave him the chance to stretch out on the bed in peace and plan his next move.

Go back to the castle.

Go back to the castle.

Go back to the castle.

Go back to the castle.

It was incessant, the image of the random, wild-looking man slipping through the locked door of the castle, waiting for him on the other side, whispering, ‘come back tonight, come back tonight.’

Was there another cabinet, one without a tape recorder?

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Russian Book Of Satan

The Enduring Horror of The Devil Rides Out | Den of Geek

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Albania, Peru, Tanzania, Ghana, Papua New Guinea, Scotland, every country had a book of Satan but none as elusive as the Russian one.

For centuries, a wealthy few had attempted to pin it down.

Post-internet, the plebs tried too.                

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Got-Fuck-All-Else types would bus in to Tobolsk loaded with Rasputin lore, sure it was somewhere beneath his old church.

Poles rented flats near the original Moscow subway and tried to dig under.

Arcanists scoured spines in 2nd hand bookshops.

Opportunists tailed the Arcanists.

Cynics re-read Crowley.

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When physical locations didn’t work, people turned to conceit.

The book wasn’t an actual book.

Or it was a book within another book.

But this way was dangerous.

Exemplar: an itinerant group of Russian Satanists read Ivan’s 2nd Dream, aimed for the 17th door of Kidič, and opened the 7th by mistake.

Verhnaia Gubakha was the price paid.

~~~

Chik Chun Ming Aleša eschewed all that and focused on WordPress.

Her theory: the book was sentient, it would evolve, strive to be found, but have no physical way to pay for a website designer.

Plugins? Maybe.

If it could stratify.

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[Destiny] Chapter 2: Green Background Art

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Back on Trnovska ulica, in his dead mother’s house, behind the door and the cage, which was supposed to keep out not only thieves and drunks and drunk neighbours looking for sex, but also Professors of Dark Light [as long as they didn’t have the power to conjure up a key].

But maybe this one did.

Maybe he had an ultimo key, like the one in Krvic Draclo.

Maybe he wasn’t a he.

Maybe he wasn’t a she either.

Maybe it was two thirds she and one tenth he and the rest of it something else, some gender that even gender enthusiasts would run in terror from.

Sila didn’t know, and

as soon as he sat down on his old couch, and stared at the TV he hadn’t watched in seven years, and the collection of Petr Grenzic films his mum had adored [minus the three he’d sold] he realised two things, one, he didn’t care and two, that sitting down was for giver uppers and always had been and there was a whole city out there, a small, parochial one granted, but still a city and who knew what the people were doing out there this late at night.

Painting rats?

Sleeping on water fountains?

Carving doors into trees?

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[Destiny] Chapter 1: Cabinet Standoff

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‘The ship accelerates, no visuals…they only had £50 per series…but we know the ship accelerates cos Su Lin says so, and Dayna says, Dr Plakson, she’s dead, and Avon says, who, and then…then the video cuts off, I don’t know why. Upload limit maybe. But it’s so cold, so un star trek.’

‘See, Dr Plakson dies and Avon doesn’t care. He even makes a joke of it.’

‘Avon, the show’s hero. The sociopath.’

‘No reaction?’

Sila rapped his knuckles on the cabinet door, trying to play the ‘Blake’s 7’ theme but getting stuck after the first three bars.

‘No music, professor?’

‘No sci-fi?’

He switched to the paintings on the wall, portraits of long ago Slovene men, stern faces, either poets or dictators, definitely not builders, definitely not Ugresic or Ivana Kobilca.

Was this it?

The best Slovenia could do?

Turning back to the cabinet, he tried another jibe, calling out the whole room for its blandness, its lack of technicolour and stern female poets.

‘Professor…really…you should be embarrassed to be here.’

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Fritz Lang’s Destiny [Serial]

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The beginning of a potentially never-ending web serial.

Follow the chapters below as they’re posted here on the blog, or go to the menu page to find the complete list.

Updates every Monday [or the next day if I get sick].

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SYNOPSIS

Dared by a Professor of Dark Light to find and kill him in a cabinet [allegedly], Sila sets himself on a path to do exactly that.

His weapon? A green dagger.

Obstacles? A lost Chinese woman luring pervs up to Ljubljana castle at way past midnight, out of phase Krsnik, a Danish child demon that never stops coming, an Italian racist, other racists, a Pakistani siren on an overnight ferry, up and down responses to constant failure, the Sad Count of Innsbruck, stuffed Romulan dummies, vague ennui, and other mythology I haven’t made up yet.

Theme? Family. Sacrifice?

Here’s Chapter 1: Cabinet Standoff to start you off…

Wintered Hotel [Nu Strălucirea]

Stephen King Rejected Doctor Sleep Pitch to Recreate Kubrick Overlook |  IndieWire

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High up in the Carpathians, on the south-western slope of a mountain dominated by snowstorms and sluggish bears, a man who called himself Jaq shoveled the remains of the previous night’s blizzard away from the hotel doors.

It was tedious work, but necessary.

At least that was what he’d been told. To him it was pointless, no vehicles coming up this way until April, no tourists in danger of slipping on the ice, but he was a disciplined man and routine could be a comforting thing.

So he dug, for forty-five minutes each day.

Religiously.

Digger digger digger digger digger the snow

If ya, if ya, if ya don’t want Etta to know

Depositing the last dregs of sleet on the snow at the side, he took the shovel back inside the main lobby, propped it up against one of the mauve pillars, sat down in front of his Adler 39 typewriter and started to write.

After an hour or so, he heard a noise.

It wasn’t the first time.

In fact, it was the hundred and thirty-seventh time…in two months. Which, according to his calculations, rounded out to two point one six occurrences a day. Of course, most of these noises ending up being nothing more than his kid breaking something, or his wife rehearsing her role in The Cherry Orchard…but not all.

The noise came again, from upstairs.

He took one last look at what he’d written on the page, muttered ‘bland, average’ then reclaimed the shovel and went to investigate.

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According to the hotel manager, room 237 was the most auspicious spot in the entire region. VIP guests had been married in it, philosophical theories had been thought up from inside its bathtub, an indigenous Romanian tribe had fitted the pipes [before being beaten to death with other, looser pipes]…the mythology was infinite.

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Moddey Dhoo [poem]

Manannan's Map of Fantastical Folk of the Isle of Man…

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dry out the fibreglass

prepare your nan

can’t have two poets in the attic, it’s weird

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During a period of intense productivity

play darts

read Kant

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Night on the farm, blessed by

neon control

there half the year

avec plastic conscience and

sell-pork

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Those Stalinist future shotguns

travel in pairs

vicious and green

with a blurred understanding of breath control

Avoid

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The Devil Rides Out 1968 [Spoilers]

The Devil Rides Out (1968) • 50 Years Later | by Remy Dean | Frame ...

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Starring: Christopher Lee, Charles Gray, Satan

Director: Terrence Fisher

Setting: 1920’s England, when Crowley was still alive.

Plot: Christopher Lee and a big, dumb lump visit the nephew of a dead friend, who they vowed to protect, and discover he’s hanging out with a surprisingly diverse group of Devil worshippers. The leader of this group, Charles Gray, has hypnotic eyeballs and is planning on inducting the nephew, Simon, and a sexy Italian actress into the group. Can Christopher Lee and the lump save them in time?

Subplot: A rival group of Satanists try to call Christopher Lee and tell him he’s seriously misrepresenting their beliefs, but he’s never home.

Sub-subplot: A lonely goat makes its first human friend and accepts his invitation to a forest party.

Thoughts:

I’ve always got time for horror with satanism in it…The Masque of the Red Death, Blood on Satan’s Claw, Witchfinder General…though it’s rare to see any that doesn’t equate it with evil or malice. Sadly, this one does, even if it is generally very watchable and well-made.

I’m no expert on this topic, but I’m pretty sure Satanists don’t actually sacrifice anyone or wish to hypnotise people into attending goat-killing, outdoor orgies.

Not that it’s really an orgy in this film, more like a bunch of actors dancing with dramatic arm flourishes and fondling each other a bit…or fondling the women. In fact, the whole thing is a bit tame, especially if it’s calling itself horror.

Has there ever been a group of Satanists that have sacrificed someone or done terrible things? Probably. I think a few serial killers claimed to be acting under the command of Satan, or following his ways, but that’s not a reflection on the whole movement. Continue reading

NOT YET TREK [THE STATE OF THINGS]

Black Panthers 50 Years Later: What They Wanted Is What We (Still ...

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I’m not American, but I know what a fucked up institution the police can be so go donate something to Black Socialists of America and read more about them while you’re there. If you’re not sure about the S word then find some local group to help, maybe a  local chapter of Black Lives Matter [not sure about the main website/group, seems a bit vague and neo-liberal, but I could be wrong]

Read about the history of the Black Panthers and AntiFa too

and Anarchism/Anarcho-Communism/Anarcho-Syndicalism

cos it seems like a lot of people don’t understand its political meaning.

Even if you disagree, or agree with some parts and not others, at least you got there yourself, with your own brain.

AK Press is a solid Anarchist press, has a lot of decent history books, you could start there.

Don’t get your info on these groups from the mainstream media.

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NOT YET TREK [THE STATE OF THINGS]

 

FOX NEWS on the corner

handing out grot pics

COP with a 10FT DICK

DOMINATES

 

30% 40% 50% animals, 1% quit

Rest of them

You’re talking to a mannequin

 

Look at those fuckers

Stealing my NIKE, hurting my TARGET

Think of the window

Its kids

 

Other windows go on CNN, talk of repair costs

In the tens of dollars

Hundreds even

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