It's 2:30, and I'm too busy coughing up lava to sleep.
It's not like I sleep anyway. Aderall and Caffeine tend to do that.
Anyway, some sort of siren song brought me back to this thing, so I might as well try to say something.
This isn't working.
I'm sick. That's news (not really, considering I spend a good chunk of my time either being lethargic or sick). It's a special kind of sickness that happens to me every year at the exact same time.
Is this interesting? Let's go into the really gross details!
Well, my tonsils swell up to be as big as Chicken McNuggets, I start to sound like Tom Waits when I talk, I cough up this thick, yellowey mucus, and my nostrils leave the taps on maximum.
I have no idea why I'm talking about this! I just want something to talk about. There's something I want to talk about but can't! Spit it out!
Ok, so this sickness, by some cosmic coincidence (read: God hates me) always happens to fall on the same weekend that the church across the street from my house has its big carnival thing. Fair rides, cotton candy, clowns, carnies, the whole shebang. I've lived across the street from this my whole life, but I rarely ever went due to the fact that on the one weekend in the year they have it, I always end up in bed trying not to choke on my own sputum. Well, I'm old enough now that the Fair is more of an annoyance than a magical festival of lights and music. You try sleeping when you have a bunch of drunk pre-teens screaming bloody murder at all hours of the night.
What am I complaining about? Like I ever sleep!
Fucking kids these days! Jesus Christ, I'm 22 and I'm saying that! Frankly I had half a mind to go up to random kids and start handing out pamphlets explaining the basics of the Slender Mythos. Hehehehehehehhee.
That's not funny. Jesus Christ! What's wrong with me!
I'm not afraid of Slenderman. This isn't some bravado, macho thing. A better way to describe it is, "I have no reason to fear Slenderman." I have plenty of reasons to hate him, but seeing as I am not a pre-pubecent child, or fit any cliches for horror movie victims (I'm neither Black, Blond, nor Promiscuous) I don't think I'll ever see him. I have real things to be afraid of. Lions, tigers, and hobos, Oh My!
See, I was well enough to go to the fair this afternoon. Well enough to get a funnel cake and go home, at least. I got in line at the funnel cake stand. Then I heard this heavy breathing, like someone dying of tuberculosis. In the line next to me, was this dude, looked like every "Scary Black Man" archetype I'd ever seen in movies, scragly gray beard; natty, unkept hair; and a black trench coat in the 80 degree heat that made me think he was either hiding some sort of mini arsenal or just hiding the fact that that coat was literally the only thing he was wearing. He stood there, sunglasses on, face pointed directly at me. That gaze freaked me out so badly, it took me a whole minute to realize he had a seeing-eye dog with him. The point is, I think, is that there's plenty to be scared of in the world already, and even the minority of those things are actually worth getting scared over.
Not that I don't freak out a little when I'm running on zero sleep, and out of the corner of my eye I see something move. Or I see a silhouette of a tree in the dark that looks a little too much...
Ok, fuck it, Slenderman terrifies the bejesus out of me! Are you happy now!
But that's normal. That's rational! That's like being afraid of the possibility of getting eaten by a shark. "Ok," says I, "I'll just stay out of the water." Or, in this case, don't go making friends with children, and make sure they stay the fuck away from my computer. I don't know any kids. I don't dislike them, but I don't particularly go out of my way to make friends with them.
My sister is pregnant. That's what this entire entry has been about. Somehow it took the above bit of logorreah to allow me to wrap my head around the fact that someone I've know my entire life is suddenly reproducing (something I often forget is a thing people can do) or the fact that I'm old enough to be "Uncle David."
This is my middle sister specifically. Not my snooty, insane oldest sister who I barely know, not my perfect and evil youngest sister, but the middle one: the one that didn't get Mom and Dad's insane expectations thrust on her, the one who left the house before Dad got to the point where he was sitting outside ever night with a shotgun because he was convinced the CIA was trying to steal our trash, the one member of my family I actually like let alone spend time with. If it were one of the other sisters, I'd probably only see the kid every other Christmas if I could avoid it.
Naturally, it'll be several years until the little dude's old enough to use a computer, and many more until it can find ol' Slendypuss, but still.
The point is, I want to put all this behind me. All I want to remind me of the fact that something like Slenderman even exists is the daily Chemo updates from A.J. But it's not going away is it? I can't escape.
I sent a text to IX last week.
"Dude, Need your advice.
This is David, by the way."
Two days later, came his response in the form of another flier stuck under my car's windshield wiper.
"The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
Funny, he never struck me as the Simon and Garfunkel type. Either way, that helps me about as much as the Bush administration helped to soften overseas hatred for America.
I've heard Black Sun's side of the story. Slendy takes the kids to Candyland, and all is right with the world. Noctis is bad for making the kids stay.
The thing is, I want to hear Noctis's side of the story. First hand.
I know you're there. I know you're reading this! I know you can find me! It's not hard. Hell, you could have your Government buddies "Backtrace my IP" or whatever. Just don't leave me in the dark like this!
It's almost 4:00. I have school tomorrow. Fuck!