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<div style="text-align: center;">IF YOU READ THIS, YOU WILL JUDGE.
-- so fuck you;
best wishes,
DAMIEN.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v1...brities/11.jpg</div>
N<u>ame</u>; Damien
A<u>ge</u>; Twenty six
H<u>eight</u>; Five foot eleven
S<u>exual orientation</u>: Heterosexual
O<u>ccupation</u>: "Psychic/Parapsychologist" by day, bastard by night.
Damien was always skimming the newspaper, the obituaries, looking for that one perfect story about a young husband dying mysteriously, details obscure -- he could force those details into place, make something up and charge a grand for his analysis. People ate it up. Damien thought it was funny, others thought it was tragic. Why exploit the grieving? The skeptics all cried fraud. How could it be possible? Obviously it was a hoax. He only showed up at opportune times, dishing out messages and handing over secrets to people distraught enough to fill out a check with the alotted amount of zeros behind his number and in his name. It was such a low trade, one that garnered him very little respect --
Ah, respect.
Once upon a time he'd had it, before the unfortunate circumstances had arisen and brought him down to his knees. The entire world crashed with him, he knew. The gypsy king had fallen, slain by a beautiful face -- but the phoenix rose from the ashes of a deadend past and here he was, in a brand new country, shelling out the wisdom of ages for sums of money unheard of in the world of the paranormal. He didn't like to believe that he was unique; merely that he was the only bastard willing to use his "gift" for profit, the only one low enough to look for dollars and cents in the misfortune of others.
When it came right down to it, after the sun had set and the people were standing outside his door, Damien could tell each of them what their birthdays were, what their dispositions had been for most of their lives; he could tell them what their father's name was and how he'd died and he'd laugh at some memory they'd forgotten about or locked away -- right in their faces, he'd do it all. In the line at the grocery story, at the gym, in your own home. It didn't matter where he was, there were no special devices he needed to have -- Damien was blessed with the Vision, the ability to see beyond the existential lines of our universe into the Great Beyond and all who lingered there. And everyone lingered there after their days were up. Some just didn't want to be found.
"Trust me, Elvis is fuckin' dead man."
<div style="text-align: center;">
You will rue the day you met me, the day you crossed my path -- and I will not let you forget, not after you have seen all that I can do for you.
[b]You will never know what hit you.</div>
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``The Gypsy King -- it sounds so absurd these days, like something Hollywood made up. But I assure you, Hollywood had absolutely nothing to do with the culture this sprang from, nothing to do with the nomad Romanians who coined the term and nothing to do, especially, with me. Though I was by no means the first, I was the only one who gave our people the nod of respect that we deserved. Thievery was an artform back then, not like these petty scams now-a-days, or the bank robbers of the Old West. There was fine artistry to it, something that needed to be carefully planned -- the chase relied on instincts and the catch was solely based upon properly executing the meticulously made plan.
I think what makes it so funny now is that people see the gypsies as a loving crew, with hearts made of gold and a streak of courage wider than the Rio Grande when that isn't the case at all. Thieves care only about themselves, not other theives -- that's called competition -- and certainly not the people they're robbing. If they did, there wouldn't be any money made. My mantra became clear. If people were stupid enough to be parted from their money then they deserved to lose every penny that fell into my pocket. They deserved to be taught the lesson, so that later in life it would not catch them as blindly -- stupidity was too rampant across the world, I wanted to erradicate it.
But who am I kidding? My efforts were nowhere near that noble. I simply lusted after the money that I didn't have... money that I could have with only a few minutes work and sly fingers...
I suppose, though, that I should start somewhere near the beginning. But that was so long ago now, I wouldn't want to bore you with the fine details of that. I don't like to reflect upon the past either, my friend, there's nothing that I or you can do about it, so there's very little need to wonder about what might have been. Naturally, I can't help it. From time to time, that's all, nothing serious.
I'm sorry, Mitica, I'm sorry -- please. What were you asking? Oh, yes. Right. Sorry, you see, my mind... sometimes it fails me.
No, of course, you're right. I don't mind you asking -- I'm two hundred and sixty four now. I keep careful track, I like to know how much I age, unlike most of my kind. As you well know, Mitica, we do not age. We are simply timeless -- oh we can die, yes. But from the time the eldest woman of our tribe weaves her spell, we age not past a day than was cast.
I chose to leave our land because I wanted to see what else there was to offer. I wanted to see what the rest of the world would give me, what treasures it would surrender. In my time here, on this planet, it has surrendered more than I thought possible, more than I thought was necessary.
Loved and lost? Yes, I have. Many a time but none so fervently as Ionela. I'm afraid she has ruined me for decades to come, for any lover beyond her. When she died...
We needn't go there, Mitica. Not today, not now.
I'm an old man, young one, whether I act and look it or not. I need my rest and I apologize, but all this talk of my past has my head weary. I should be better off tomorrow. We'll continue this then, thank you.``
<div style="text-align: center;">http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v1...ies/damien.bmp</div>
(( Did I forget to mention that YES! HE NEEDS A SL BADLY? Oh, okay, because he definitely does. SN is Grave Business. ))
<font color="#FF9933 " size="1">[ October 22, 2004 12:00 AM: Message edited by: worthless ]</font>
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``Ionela.
Everyone wants to talk about Ionela -- I don't know what the fixation is. It isn't like she left me in the middle of some desolate land that I could never escape from. It isn't as though she fooled me, pulled the wool over my eyes and ran off with my belongings. No, Ionela simply loved me. I never loved her enough.
It's true, yes. She broke my heart -- but only in death. I wish I had the ability to do more to protect her, but I do not. I never did. She was a free spirit -- too free, I suppose, as it got her into so much trouble. What I thought I saw and what I did see were two completely different things. Had I thought she might find herself in that spot of trouble, I might have been able to prevent it, but since I didn't...
Well, we all know the outcome, Mitica. I don't see how you'll benefit in my reiterating it. She's been gone for many years. True, yes. Her body... we haven't found her body and I wish whoever took her could have given me the benefit of burying such a splendid creature, let me have somewhere to mourn when I can't stand this anymore...I would love for her to have a grave, one that wasn't shallow or mismarked, not in some place that it could be desecrated. I wanted - still want - so badly, to put a stone above where she lays, so people will know for eternity.
I never wish that upon anyone, a loss like that. A complete and total loss, that's what it is.
My fall came at the hands of a woman, yes, but I was never at her mercy. The only reason I went to my knees was because someone took her from me. I hesitate to think where I would be now, if our life had played differently. I do wonder, from time to time, what kind of power I would have -- but then it all seems so irrelevant. Why wonder about something that was never meant to be? I think that fate had it arranged and we could not carry out the task. There's no other explanation for such perfection to slip through the cracks. I should have been more attentive, even though I had no other choice, I should have done more to save her, even though I did everything in my power.
Guilt, my friend, guilt is a disgusting thing and I hope you never have to live with it. Even if I don't deserve it, even if I couldn't do anything to change what happened, even if I'm only just a man -- I feel guilty, everyday, like it's my fault.
I understand that it isn't my fault, Mitica. I do understand that, but I was her husband -- I should have done more, I should have been more in tune. I thought we had a bond to overcome anything and her being taken... I'm never going to overcome that. I'm never going to be able to see her again... I don't have the luxury to believe in heaven, to believe that someday it'll all be okay because I'll reach the Promise Land.
I have no Promise Land. This is all there is for me and I hate this.``
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"I don't know, m'am. Get away from me, get out of my house -- I don't care about your son! I really don't, I don't know what makes you think I will."
Damien was talking to thin air again. It wasn't so thin to him.
"He's a lost cause, you know! I'm never going to be able to do anything for him, I don't know why you think I can -- or why you think I even want to. I don't know him, I didn't know you, I don't owe you anything. What do you mean kindred? That's ridiculous. I don't care about my experiences, I don't care what's good for him. I care about what's good for me and befriending a junkie musician is not. It'll ruin my reputation." He knew it was stupid as soon as he said and even the living snorted into their drinks.
"No, I'm not going over there. I told you I don't care, I told you that he means nothing to me. Why you think he will mean more... I don't know. Wolf might be a good kid, m'am, but I don't believe in fate anymore. Especially not this kind. He's bound to die alone somewhere, not alone in my house or with me or anything to do with me in any way, shape or form. So leave me the fuck out of this, leave me alone. I quit. I resign from the position of savior.
How can you expect me to save him? I can't even save myself."
I know your life is empty
And you hate to face this world alone
So you're searching for an angel
Someone who can make you whole
I can not save you
I can't even save myself
So just save yourself
I know that you've been damaged
Your soul has suffered such abuse
But I am not your savior
I am just as fucked as you
I am just as fucked as you
I can not save you
I can't even save myself
So just save yourself
Please don't take pity on me
Please don't take pity on me
Please don't take pity on me
Please don't take pity on me
My life has been a nightmare
My soul is fractured to the bone
And if I must be lonely, I think I'd rather be alone
I think I'd rather be alone
You can not save me
You can't even save yourself
I can not save you
I can't even save myself
Save yourself
So just save yourself
-- Stabbing Westward "Save Yourself"
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v1...brities/13.jpg
<font color="#996600" size="1">[ November 08, 2004 10:11 PM: Message edited by: pull the trigger ]</font>
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"I'm not asking for any help, I think that's what irritates me most. I just don't understand -- who says I need healed? Who says I'm asking for it? Who says I want it? I'm perfectly fine the way I am, I'm fine. Just fine." Damien's forehead rested against the palms of his hands and he pitched foreward, elbows on his knees, leaning over the bed. "I've been fantastic for the last century, I don't need anything. I'm Damien." Was this some kind of warped pep talk? Was he trying to convince himself that Wolf's offer (or was it a threat?) hadn't enticed him at all? He didn't know anymore.
"No one's asking you whether you need the help Damien and I don't even think it's a question that needs to be posed anymore. You do need it, you need someone to help you heal. You aren't doing it on your own -- it isn't that you can't, you aren't weak, you just aren't."
"Listen, I didn't ask you for your opinion, all right? I didn't ask for any of this, for any of you people to keep yapping at me all day and all night! So don't butt in now, when I'm trying to figure things out. If you knew what was best, you wouldn't be fucking dead." Irritation and disgust gnarled his handsome features.
"Now, now. Let's not get snippy about this, Damien. I'm merely stating facts. Maybe you didn't ask for help in so many words, but it's so obvious that you need it. You're wasting away -- you're a broken man, you used to be on top of your game and now you hardly have the tenacity left to play at all."
"A man? I cannot be a broken one if I'm not even a man at all. I haven't been man in a very long time now, I don't think Wolf understands that either." Was this defeat? Likely so.
"He can understand if you explain it to him, Damien. He can understand if you'll let him try. You aren't his keeper -- his savior, perhaps -- but not his keeper. Give the boy a chance. For your own sake."
"Of course you'll say that, you're his mother. He doesn't owe me a thing, I'm no savior. I just want you out of my head, out of my life. The only reason I did any of this was to try and get away for two fucking minutes, but here you are. Your son is clean, leave me be." Yes, it was defeat.
"I'm goin' to leave you, dear one... but not for the reasons you think."
And suddenly all was quiet in Damien's world. What was a gypsy to do?
http://pictures.greatestjournal.com/...2513154/408269
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The gypsy was on a streetcorner, staring off into space, muttering something about zombies. He always muttered about zombies when there was nothing else to mutter about. They fascinated him. Why? Because the notion was so completely random, he didn't understand how people had thought it up in the first place. When you come back from the dead, who says you have to come back in the body you were trapped in while you were alive? It doesn't seem fair to be that limited. At least, that was what he muttered about.
"You're Damien, aren't you?" The young man couldn't have been more than twenty; but Damien knew that appearances could be deceiving these days.
"I am. And who are you?" The gypsy inclined his head ever-so-slightly in the polite-nod style.
"Shouldn't you already know? I heard you were the one who knew most things." The youth looked at him with that same accusing eye he got from most people -- but somehow, this seemed different.
"I should know, shouldn't I Santino?"
"So it's true then."
"Sometimes."
"I can hear them too." The youth finally confessed and Damien suddenly realized just who he was looking at.
"Ah. So you're the one everybody whispers about. A pleasure to finally meet you." The gypsy hinted a smile.
"No, they don't whisper about me. Everyone knows me. You're the mystery man these days, Damien." Santino slid closer, eyes on this specimen of intrigue. People always talked about Damien, but nobody knew much. "Will you come tonight, downtown? Everyone will be there... and I suggest you come. You might learn something."
Damien smirked. "You mean you want me to teach you something."
http://pictures.greatestjournal.com/...3413489/408269
<font color="#FFFFFF" size="1">[ March 01, 2005 11:41 AM: Message edited by: pull the trigger ]</font>
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Damien was smirking when the answering machine started playing the messages he had ignored over the course of a week, or so. What a little spitfire -- he almost didn't know if it would be beneficial for his health to call her back or not! But it did make him laugh and there hadn't been reason for that in a while... even if she was trying to be tough and serious.
"Ahh, little angry Exstasia -- you amuse me, little girl. Don't go wasting your cursing gift on me, I will meet with you some time... if you're lucky, though I have a suspicion that you're not."
He wasn't making much sense, he knew, but that was the point. That was always the point in Damien's world and anyone who knew him was aware of that. Did Exstasia have any idea what she was getting in to? He didn't think she did. At all. And that would make this all the more entertaining.
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<center>http://pictures.greatestjournal.com/...5000964/408269
I walk the streets of Japan till I get lost
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
With a graveyard tan carrying a cross
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like studying faces in a parking lot
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like driving backwards in the fog
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
The things that I've loved the things that I've lost
The things I've held sacred that I've dropped
I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need to forget
I like gypsy moths and radio talk
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like gospel music and canned applause
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like colorful clothing in the sun
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I ilke hammering nails and speaking in tongues
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
The things that I've loved the things that I've lost
The things I've held sacred that I've dropped
I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need to forget
Bend and shape me
I love the way you are
Slow and sweetly
Like never before
Calm and sleeping
We won't stir up the past
So descretely
We won't look back
The things that I've loved the things that I've lost
The things I've held sacred that I've dropped
I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need to forget
I like throwing my voice and breaking guitars
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like playing in the sand what's mine is ours
If it doesn't remind me of anything...
</center>
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http://img228.imageshack.us/img228/9198/829hy.jpg
I think I forgot what it was like to smile once in a while and I think I forgot what having a sense of humor was like. I missed it -- I think I missed it anyway, I can't remember if I liked it or not before.
Despite all the artisan has done for me there are still gaps in my memory, giant gaping voids that are not filled with anything but black space. I recall more than I have though, which is fantastic. I still do not know where Ionela is, I can't locate her no matter how hard I try.
On the bright side, I do not hear so many voices of the dead anymore, I am more at peace -- well. Peace enough. However, I have become more in touch with my roots. I remember spells and incantations, I remember remedies and why everyone called me the King in the first place. I don't have my connection to the fates as I used to, I can feel that in my bones everyday, the spirits block me... but some little flicker has been established again, I can do things...
Enough of this. Memory lane isn't exciting enough and no matter what I can do now, I don't want anyone to know. I don't need to be irritated for favors anymore, I don't wany anyone to come looking for me. The Gypsy King -- how did I even get that title?
I do remember that. Now I wish I could forget.
