this is my diary screaming out loud --

[pasogal2]

I'm tapped out. Dried up. There's nothing left.

Mercedes is finished. She looks beautiful -- of course.

Fighting for control is exhausting, almost to the point of being unbearable. I almost asked Persephone to let me try some of Aden's medicine today. I couldn't make my mouth form the "L" though. Thankfully.

How can I save them when I am becoming just as tainted? Oh how the mighty have fallen.

I miss you.

It's safe to write that here -- isn't it?

[pasogal2]

<center>

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.


-- Robert Frost</center>

[pasogal2]

The smell of dried sweat and desperation lingered in the air heavily, coating the delicate drapery of her bed like a mosquito net. The thin rays of moonlight were diffused by the thick woven fabric that had been hastily tacked up in front of the window with a collection of multicolored thumbtacks and barely provided enough light to cast shadows along the bare walls of the bedroom, only subtly illuminated the form tangled in the nest of expensive linens.

As if she were an animal dreaming of a wild chase, muffled whimpers slipped through the cracks in her tightly closed mouth and her body was a live wire, tense and coiled. Reflexive motion would cause a muscle to twitch, her hand to shift, and her body to toss and turn. Her sweat-dampened hair clung to the skin of her neck and cheek as if glued and her brow was furrowed, rumpling the soft skin of her forehead with deep lines and ridges.

Her feet sank into the damp earth while she ran, chasing the fluttering skirts of another woman as they raced up the side of a steep hill.

"Wait!" She called, stumbling forward when a few rocks and clumps of grass broke free beneath her feet and caused her to slide downwards a few inches. "Where are we going?"

The girl in the angelic white dress did not speak, or turn her head to glance in Shannon's direction. She merely ran, agile as a gazelle, up the hill with such perfect grace that Shannon could merely stare after her in wonder for a few seconds before pushing to her feet and stumbling after her with a heavy stride. Gasping for breath, she pressed a hand to her side to ease the ache that filled the space around her ribs and continued onwards. Up, up -- Faster, faster.

Reaching the top, she nearly cried out in relief when she saw that the woman had finally halted -- but the sound was transformed into a sharp gasp when the dark head turned and she met those familiar (and yet so foreign) fey citrine eyes.

"Mercedes," she whispered, eyes widening as she stumbled forward. "Wha--"

"I warned you," Aden's sister reminded her with a voice lined in dulcet tones.

"What do you mean?" Shannon's chest ached from the effort it took to fill her lungs with oxygen at this altitude.

"You made your choice, did you not?" Mercedes waved a hand towards the valley below them. "Now it is time to understand the consequences."

Stumbling forward, Shannon drew up alongside the other woman in order to peer down at the valley below. Her throat closed instinctively, making it impossible for her to do anything more than whimper softly in response to the sight.


A vibrantly fierce, golden lion, far larger than any lion she had ever seen, was prowling in a slow circle about another beast, its tail flicking impatiently as it sized up its prey. The lion was a glowing, achingly beautiful image of majestic violence when it finally sprang forward to attack. Its opponent was a jackal, black as night, and thin enough to show the ribs; diseased. The jackal struggled against the stronger lion with desperation and manic energy, as if it had conserved all of its strength for this final battle.

"No!" Shannon cried when she heard the angry growls and snapping teeth, lurching forward -- only to be blocked by Mercedes' arm when it shot up in front of her, cold as ice and as strong as steel.

"You must watch," she reminded her.

Bjorn (for who else could be such a majestic lion?) broke loose from the tangle of teeth and claws, his golden coat matted with fresh blood and his eyes wary. Sutton, however, appeared to avoided injury and watched his opponent intently before he sprang forward once more.

The fight did not last much longer.

"No, no, no," Shannon whispered while she watched the lion fall, stared in horror as it melted back into a more familiar shape. "Let me go!" She screamed at Mercedes while struggling against the arm that held her back, unable to look away as Bjorn's body seemed to dissolve before her eyes into dust.

"Every path has a consequence." Mercedes voice was cold, but her expression was almost sympathetic when she turned her head to meet Shannon's watery gaze once more. "We cannot go forward without understanding what has been left behind."

"I don't -- I don't understand."

"Look," Mercedes instructed, turning her head to study the field.

Following her gaze, Shannon started at the sight of a dark, rutting tower that pushed free from the earth in order to rise upwards, coating the landscape with its enormous shadow like a sudden eclipse. When it reached its full height, it shuddered loudly before becoming still. As she watched, the jackal transformed into Sutton and he turned to begin walking towards the tower's open door.

"Sutton," whispered while she felt Mercedes' arm lower, making it possible for her to stumble forward a few steps. "But -- I don't understand," she said while looking back to the fey creature.

"You must follow the path," she said simply, her golden eyes growing distant as she stared through the large tower into the future beyond.

cobblestones formed beneath Shannon's feet as she followed Sutton towards the tower, creating a path that led her through the open doors in his wake. She was able to catch a glimpse of Mercedes withering away into dust on the hillside before the stone doors slammed shut, imprisoning her in darkness.

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 25, 2008 11:41 PM: Message edited by: urban addictions ]</font>

[pasogal2]

<center>

And one day, quite unexpectedly, we all find a way to truly wake up. </center>

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 26, 2008 06:41 PM: Message edited by: urban addictions ]</font>

[pasogal2]

<center>"Rosy-fingered Eos, when she appeared might have found them still in melting mood, but Athene of the gleaming-eyes turned her thought to another stratagem. She held back the night to linger long at the horizon, checking Eos of the broidered robe at the edge of Okeanos and bidding her not to yoke as yet the rapid horses that bring men light, Lampos and Phaithon, the young steeds of Eos . . . When it seemed to her that Odysseus had has heart?s content of both love and sleep, forthwith she roused up Eos of the broidered robe from Okeanos to bring light to mankind again."

-- Homer

</center>

[pasogal2]

Boxes in various stages of construction, some with tape securing the bottoms and others folded neatly, were clustered the studio and the precise arrangement of paint supplies that were being packed away seemed to be at odds with the utterly random, chaotic smears of paint that stained the concrete floor beneath them. The moment bordered on existential for Shannon, given how easy it was for ten years of her life to be packed away into this small collection of cardboard boxes that she had picked up from a local moving supply company on a whim.

"I suppose we'll have to paint the floor," Shannon remarked while tracing the path of a dark blue paint splatter with the toe of her sandal before flicking a glance over towards Samantha.

Seated on the floor with her legs tucked underneath her body in a demure pose, Samantha was carefully wrapping up all of Shannon's brushes before tucking them away into the closest box. "Why? Isn't it just going to get paint on it again?"

"Everyone deserves to start with a clean canvas, Samantha."

Samantha merely nodded, having decided that it would be best to avoid an argument with the artist -- though could she really be viewed as an artist anymore?

A faint tremor forced Shannon to clench her fingers together tightly while she paced away from the boxes towards the empty shelves that lined the far wall. Soon, it will all be over soon.

"Samantha?"

"Hm?"

"I need you to gather a list of portrait artists -- good portrait artists."

Samantha's brows arched towards her hairline and she twisted at the waist in order to peer at Shannon curiously. "Oh?"

"Mhm." Serene in the face of her assistant's scrutiny, Shannon shook out her wrist a few times before sentencing her hand to spend time in her front pocket. "And Samantha?"

"Yes?"

"No female artists -- unless they're lesbians."

[pasogal2]

<center>I am intrinsically no good;
I have a heart that's made of wood.
I am only biding time,
Only reciting memorized lines.
And I'm not fit to touch
The hem of your garment.

No, no I'm not fit to touch the hem of your garment.

I have no love but only goals;
How very empty is my soul.
It is a soul that feels no thrill,
A soul that could easily kill,
And I'm not fit to touch
The hem of your garment.

No, no I'm not fit to touch the hem of your garment. </center>

(lyrics are cake.)

[pasogal2]

Angling out of the jeep, Shannon leaned her weight on the open door's frame while staring at the collection of black, charred earth. Her mind tried to reconcile the image of Jing Wei that existed in her mind with this desolete wasteland that had appeared overnight to take its place.

"Holy shit," she gasped before turning her head to stare at Jacob in the backseat, as if he would be able to explain this.

Jacob merely blinked at her. "Where's Daddy?"

Shannon turned back to the destruction zone while raking fingers through the mass of dark curls.

"Holy shit."

[pasogal2]

What if the soul sometimes has to visit the underworld and then come back to the world to get warm?
<center>
-- Helena Anhava, October 24, 1925

</center>


The Lemurian symbol for Scorpio was a winged creature, part bird and part serpent, lifting Phoenix-like from a nest of flames. This was the Gheza, the mythic being involved both in the illusion of form and in the process of transformation simultaneously. This creature was to represent the intrinsic role of matter when thrust into the realm of form... It was a sign representing the insatiable hunger of the soul to absolve the bonds of form and embrace the eternal formless self; to merge with the universe in the bliss of divine reunion. It is through the gateway of Scorpio, aided by the Lords of Form, that humanity will come to its final conclusion in the Old Earth and move through the door of the temple into the Grand Way of the New Earth Star.

[pasogal2]

Mercedes --

Is it weird that I'm writing to you? Aside from the fact that you can't actually answer, of course. But I feel like I need to explain something to you, and given that I do not know where you are buried (and would never dream of asking Aden), this is my only option. For you see, Mercedes, I want to hate you. I want to think of you as some horrible, wicked creature who tempted an innocent boy to sin, who forced him away from another path. A better path. I wonder what he would have been like -- what <u>we</u> would have been like if you had never allowed him to cross that line, and yes, I know that he was surely the one who instigated it. I'm not as blind as I pretend to be, as I'm sure you know.

I wonder what he was like in those days. Was he more lighthearted or just as serious? Did you two have other secrets aside from that giant one -- or was that even a secret? Did your family know? How did it start? The questions are driving me mad, Mercedes. But as I look at your portrait once more, I cannot help but wonder if that pleases you. If you <u>want</u> me to be confused. If you enjoy haunting my dreams with thoughts and images that are cruel and tasteless. I do not want to think about you, Mercedes.

And yet, I can't help myself.

Are you really waiting for him, Mercedes? Will he find what he seeks? Should I let him disappear as he wishes to?

And the child. Please, tell me that you are bothered by this development too. Please tell me that he was lying.


....Why am I even writing to you again?