The Days That Used To Be

I was longing for the good old happy days, the days are used to be. The days that used to be before I ended up in the unhappy situation that I’m in now. There’s no torment worse than the torment of longing for the good old happy days, the days that used to be. The phrase scalds me as I say – ‘the days that used to be’. Sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we make very bad mistakes – sometimes we make terrible, terrible mistakes. We don’t know about it at the time of course. Oh no –we don’t know about it at the time. We only discover that later on…

 

I was repeating my magical work. I was saying it over and over, savouring the feel of it, savouring the sound of it, savouring the powerful resonance of it. The magical word had the power to protect me against all the dark forces that exist in the world and that’s why I was repeating it. I was keeping my voice low so that know one would overhear me. I was keeping my voice very low. If anyone overheard me then they could use the word against me. All around me were listening ears, listening in on me, probing my secrets, trying their best to overhear me as I spoke my magical words. I wasn’t going to let that happen though.

 

Things weren’t always like this though – there was a time when I was free from the need to keep on defending myself, free from the need to be using the magical word. I didn’t know what the magical word was back then. I didn’t know anything about magical words. I was just a kid and I didn’t know anything about anything. I didn’t even know that there was anything to know anything about. Life was so simple back then, so very simple. I was just a kid hanging around the park with my mates. I didn’t know anything meant but I never stopped to worry about that. Like I said, life was simple back then. Now I am an embittered demon, brooding incessantly upon the darkness that I myself have created. The stench of evil clings to my clothes.

 

Can you blame me for brooding as much as I do? I had succeeded in creating a self. It was no great accomplishments, to be honest – it just kind of happens by itself, just like when you inadvertently let a bad fart slip out in public. I laid claim to it anyway. I made sure that I took the credit for it whatever that might be worth and I am afraid it’s not worth a lot. ‘When the evil nightmare comes true that’s a bad thing,’ I told myself, ‘and the evil nightmare always comes true.’ It’s no wonder that I’m always brooding darkly in the way that I do. It’s no wonder that I am prone to inadvertently spawning virulent little egos, just like microscopic viral spores (as in fact I often think of them) – released so that they can go out and contaminate the universe. ‘What kind of a weekend did you have?’ my colleagues at work might ask me. The kind-hearted ones. ‘Well I had a lot of dark thoughts,’ I reply slowly, ‘I spawned a great cloud of dark eidolas…’

 

This is a form of inverted creation really. It’s like being an evil god. You’re not exactly creating anything, not really, but it is as if you are. You are deepening an illusion, when it comes down to it, and by deepening an illusion you are doing the groundwork for inverted creation.  We are increasing the power of darkness, not to put too fine a point on it, and by increasing the power of darkness we are opening the door to all sorts of stuff. There’s no limit to the horrors that you can call down upon yourself when you go down this road, there really isn’t. The darker the shadow the more diabolical the monsters that can come out of it. I don’t imagine that anyone is going to argue with me on that point! Deep down, we all know that. No matter how rational we might like to think we are, we all know that – we all know that and we are afraid. As well we might be.

 

So I am a Lord of Inverted Creation. In a way. In a completely subjective, meaningless way, admittedly. I have magical words that I can use. Words that nobody else knows. Words that no one else is allowed to know about. I sound awfully grandiose when I say this I realise – I have an inflated sense of my own self-importance, I guess you could say. Inflammation of the ego, as someone used to say to me. ‘Better go see a doctor about that’, they used to say, ‘it’s looking rather nasty, possibly infected. You’d better go and get it lanced.’ Things weren’t always like this though. There was a time when, there was a time when. Or was there? I was just a kid hanging out in the park with the other kids then, no different from anyone else. ‘Freestyle Boy’ they used to call me. That was my handle. I used to do my own thing back then, and I got respect for that. Things were good back then. There’s a real world out there and we mustn’t forget that. A world that is good and pure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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