I do hope he gets the message.
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Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Defense
Given that our favorite sufferer of anorexia has decided to move to a more intimate stage in our relationship, I felt that it has become necessary to apply more defensive measures to protect the sanctity of my privacy.
I do hope he gets the message.
Previous/Next
I do hope he gets the message.
Previous/Next
Monday, November 29, 2010
The Totality of Fear
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipzR9bhei_o&feature=related
What is this? Our Arkady Svidrigailov is starting his post with a link to a classical composition? What is he, some manner of pretentious, elitist, intellectual snob?
To which I answer, yes, I am indeed all of the above. I do not merely accept the title of an elitist; I wave it high above my head as a battle standard. It is a fact of the world that some people are simply better than others; they are more intelligent, more athletic, or have greater strength of will. There is no reason to be ashamed of such superiority, and allow oneself to wallow with the peasantry in the name of ridiculous “equality”. Am I arrogant in this claim? Certainly I am. Is my feeling of superiority over the majority of mankind unmerited? Most likely. Do I care? Of course not.
And look at that; I’ve already gone horribly off topic. Wunderbar. I highly doubt all two page views I get a day are for the purpose of reading me lecture about my outdated beliefs. No, you’re here for the tall one, not me. My existence in this tale is just part of the unfortunate necessity for a narrator to be present. No doubt you would all have been happier to just watch a montage of Slender Man mutilating a series of attractive college aged humans in unique and interesting ways. I expect such a montage would sell extremely well at every theater across the country.
Now that the familial gatherings associated with these recent holidays have concluded, yesterday I returned to my university apartment so I could resume the arduous quest of acquiring a piece of paper which will inform the world of how educated I am. Since the time of my previous post, I had not made any further encounters with the Man who is most Slender; thus the days had returned to the boredom that is associated with normalcy. His absence terribly insulted me; I had been saving him some of the leftover cranberry sauce and stuffing. After all, he certainly needs to put some meat on his bones.
It was because of this that I returned to the old bricked building which I call home not expecting anything of interest to occur, apart from perhaps a rushed attempt later that night to write a paper explaining the supposed immorality of cloning (a note to all the millions of you who are no doubt reading this: if you have at any point in your life identified yourself as a moral nihilist, taking a course on morality and ethics may not prove to be your most intelligent decision). Upon opening the old and squeaky door which provides the entrance to my apartment, instead of being greeted by the familiar sight of my roommate hunched over an old discarded pizza box, committing xenocide via his Xbox, my eyes found themselves to be level with a tie.
This was the first time I had ever been this close to the Slender Man. I had rehearsed this moment in my mind dozens of times per day; once the opportunity presented itself, I would strike at him with all my strength, attacking this monster with vim and vigor. In every imagining of the encounter, I saw myself as the victor, standing above the creature’s broken body. Of course I would win where all others had failed; after all, I am the great, the magnificent, the only Arkady Svidrigailov.
But when I stood only inches away from him, not in my imagination but within the realm of reality, I learned that all my rehearsals had contained a terrible flaw. In each and every one, I had seen myself as some grand, story tale conqueror, who laughs at the beast that stands in his way. I did not plan for the fear.
Yes, I was afraid. I am not embarrassed to admit it. Anyone who claims to not feel fear on their first close encounter with this creature is either lying or has a willpower greater than a human should be able to hold. The second I saw that ivory head of his lowering down to my level, until I was looking straight at the places where eyes should have been, I knew with absolute certainty that there was nothing I could do against him. All my bravado was useless against this thing. I stood there, absolutely paralyzed. Legs were locked in place, arms dangled uselessly at my sides, and even breathing was difficult. Rationality never played any part in the terror. Even as I told myself that He would not kill me then, for He likes to play with his prey first, my body refused to hear these cries of logic.
For hundreds of millennia we stood in that doorframe. I got my first real good look at Slender Man. Trust me, all the hundreds of pictures which you have seen of him absolutely fail to him do any justice. They do not communicate the absolute sense of wrongness which permeates the air around him. Even if I had not once heard a story of him slaughtering people, had never watched Marble Hornets, had never read a single blog relating to him, I would have still found myself struck with fear greater than anything any mundane thing could create.
He left me there, in that paralyzed state. Without warning, he moved his head away from my face, standing fully upright, and then slowly walked past me. When I at last regained the ability to turn around, he had vanished. My heart didn’t stop beating until I walked into my room and hid under my bed’s covers for at least an hour.
Never before have I experienced such a devastating blow to my confidence. Just a few days before, I had been talking about attacking this thing like it would be the easiest task in the world. And now, when the perfect opportunity presented itself, I cowered like an animal. Like a regular person.
Several hours of self loathing and trembling hands later, I was able to look back with a more objective eye on what had occurred. While I had stood paralyzed there, I had been wishing to be anywhere apart from in front of Slender Man. But when I tried to recapture that sense of complete terror…. I think it was the best I’ve felt in a long while. Compared to the monotony of the time without Slender Man, or the annoyance of the days where he would just stand back and observe…. All of that is just a mind numbing morass compared to the adrenaline fueled elation of my close encounter. It has been a long time since I felt so alive; I was aware of everything around me. The slow whisper of the wind, the blood pumping through my ears, the taste of my sweat dripping down to my lips, the curve of Slender Man’s face…. I experienced all of those with more clarity than anything else in my life. As though my mind, aware that death could be looming towards me at any moment, was trying to pack as much life as possible into the last few moments it had. There is nothing, nothing at all, quite like that amazing sense of fear.
I think I might try to see if I can experience it again.
Previous/Next
What is this? Our Arkady Svidrigailov is starting his post with a link to a classical composition? What is he, some manner of pretentious, elitist, intellectual snob?
To which I answer, yes, I am indeed all of the above. I do not merely accept the title of an elitist; I wave it high above my head as a battle standard. It is a fact of the world that some people are simply better than others; they are more intelligent, more athletic, or have greater strength of will. There is no reason to be ashamed of such superiority, and allow oneself to wallow with the peasantry in the name of ridiculous “equality”. Am I arrogant in this claim? Certainly I am. Is my feeling of superiority over the majority of mankind unmerited? Most likely. Do I care? Of course not.
And look at that; I’ve already gone horribly off topic. Wunderbar. I highly doubt all two page views I get a day are for the purpose of reading me lecture about my outdated beliefs. No, you’re here for the tall one, not me. My existence in this tale is just part of the unfortunate necessity for a narrator to be present. No doubt you would all have been happier to just watch a montage of Slender Man mutilating a series of attractive college aged humans in unique and interesting ways. I expect such a montage would sell extremely well at every theater across the country.
Now that the familial gatherings associated with these recent holidays have concluded, yesterday I returned to my university apartment so I could resume the arduous quest of acquiring a piece of paper which will inform the world of how educated I am. Since the time of my previous post, I had not made any further encounters with the Man who is most Slender; thus the days had returned to the boredom that is associated with normalcy. His absence terribly insulted me; I had been saving him some of the leftover cranberry sauce and stuffing. After all, he certainly needs to put some meat on his bones.
It was because of this that I returned to the old bricked building which I call home not expecting anything of interest to occur, apart from perhaps a rushed attempt later that night to write a paper explaining the supposed immorality of cloning (a note to all the millions of you who are no doubt reading this: if you have at any point in your life identified yourself as a moral nihilist, taking a course on morality and ethics may not prove to be your most intelligent decision). Upon opening the old and squeaky door which provides the entrance to my apartment, instead of being greeted by the familiar sight of my roommate hunched over an old discarded pizza box, committing xenocide via his Xbox, my eyes found themselves to be level with a tie.
This was the first time I had ever been this close to the Slender Man. I had rehearsed this moment in my mind dozens of times per day; once the opportunity presented itself, I would strike at him with all my strength, attacking this monster with vim and vigor. In every imagining of the encounter, I saw myself as the victor, standing above the creature’s broken body. Of course I would win where all others had failed; after all, I am the great, the magnificent, the only Arkady Svidrigailov.
But when I stood only inches away from him, not in my imagination but within the realm of reality, I learned that all my rehearsals had contained a terrible flaw. In each and every one, I had seen myself as some grand, story tale conqueror, who laughs at the beast that stands in his way. I did not plan for the fear.
Yes, I was afraid. I am not embarrassed to admit it. Anyone who claims to not feel fear on their first close encounter with this creature is either lying or has a willpower greater than a human should be able to hold. The second I saw that ivory head of his lowering down to my level, until I was looking straight at the places where eyes should have been, I knew with absolute certainty that there was nothing I could do against him. All my bravado was useless against this thing. I stood there, absolutely paralyzed. Legs were locked in place, arms dangled uselessly at my sides, and even breathing was difficult. Rationality never played any part in the terror. Even as I told myself that He would not kill me then, for He likes to play with his prey first, my body refused to hear these cries of logic.
For hundreds of millennia we stood in that doorframe. I got my first real good look at Slender Man. Trust me, all the hundreds of pictures which you have seen of him absolutely fail to him do any justice. They do not communicate the absolute sense of wrongness which permeates the air around him. Even if I had not once heard a story of him slaughtering people, had never watched Marble Hornets, had never read a single blog relating to him, I would have still found myself struck with fear greater than anything any mundane thing could create.
He left me there, in that paralyzed state. Without warning, he moved his head away from my face, standing fully upright, and then slowly walked past me. When I at last regained the ability to turn around, he had vanished. My heart didn’t stop beating until I walked into my room and hid under my bed’s covers for at least an hour.
Never before have I experienced such a devastating blow to my confidence. Just a few days before, I had been talking about attacking this thing like it would be the easiest task in the world. And now, when the perfect opportunity presented itself, I cowered like an animal. Like a regular person.
Several hours of self loathing and trembling hands later, I was able to look back with a more objective eye on what had occurred. While I had stood paralyzed there, I had been wishing to be anywhere apart from in front of Slender Man. But when I tried to recapture that sense of complete terror…. I think it was the best I’ve felt in a long while. Compared to the monotony of the time without Slender Man, or the annoyance of the days where he would just stand back and observe…. All of that is just a mind numbing morass compared to the adrenaline fueled elation of my close encounter. It has been a long time since I felt so alive; I was aware of everything around me. The slow whisper of the wind, the blood pumping through my ears, the taste of my sweat dripping down to my lips, the curve of Slender Man’s face…. I experienced all of those with more clarity than anything else in my life. As though my mind, aware that death could be looming towards me at any moment, was trying to pack as much life as possible into the last few moments it had. There is nothing, nothing at all, quite like that amazing sense of fear.
I think I might try to see if I can experience it again.
Previous/Next
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Attack
I always miss out on the fun.
The world spirals downwards towards hell, and I am treated as a sideshow. I read the blogs of others, and see the struggle, the fight, the glory, and what is the lot I receive? Slender Man does nothing but chill in the background. This annoys me. Rage is bubbling up inside of my soul, looking for some outlet that it can be released on. I am being treated as a simple victim; just another soul for Slender Man to break down and kill.
I wish I could shout my defiance towards him, and make some bold claim about my great feats fighting against him. But these great feats are nonexistent; all I have ever done was talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. I have talked about this monstrosity until I began to run out of words which I could use to speak of him.
Did he think that because of my words, I would be easy prey? That I was another weak chested fool who would immediately cave upon facing the reality of the things which I was spreading tales about? That I could be intimidated by just the threat of him?
I will be sure to rectify those mistakes he has made with all the speed I can muster.
The previous day, he appeared before me again. He stood across the street, next to a fountain covered by the shade of many trees. Of course my companions did not see his manifestation, and would express confusion at my actions, but their confusion can go and bugger itself. For this was the first time that Mr. Man had appeared close enough that I could attempt to make a throw at him, and view the results of my planned experiment. Since there tend to be very few “frickin’ huge rock(s)” in a downtown store’s parking lot, improvisation was needed. The trunk of my car was thrown open and its contents tossed aside so I could reach the tire iron located at the bottom. Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-
Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-
Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-
Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-
Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-
Déjà vu can be such an unpleasant feeling, can’t it?
The sixth time I grabbed the tire iron was when my mind finally pointed out the existence of the loop. Slender Man may have no face, but I could feel the smugness emanating off of him. With more force than I should have used, I returned the contents of my trunk and slammed it shut. When I looked back by the fountain, he was gone.
I don’t like being played with like this.
Previous/Next
The world spirals downwards towards hell, and I am treated as a sideshow. I read the blogs of others, and see the struggle, the fight, the glory, and what is the lot I receive? Slender Man does nothing but chill in the background. This annoys me. Rage is bubbling up inside of my soul, looking for some outlet that it can be released on. I am being treated as a simple victim; just another soul for Slender Man to break down and kill.
I wish I could shout my defiance towards him, and make some bold claim about my great feats fighting against him. But these great feats are nonexistent; all I have ever done was talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. I have talked about this monstrosity until I began to run out of words which I could use to speak of him.
Did he think that because of my words, I would be easy prey? That I was another weak chested fool who would immediately cave upon facing the reality of the things which I was spreading tales about? That I could be intimidated by just the threat of him?
I will be sure to rectify those mistakes he has made with all the speed I can muster.
The previous day, he appeared before me again. He stood across the street, next to a fountain covered by the shade of many trees. Of course my companions did not see his manifestation, and would express confusion at my actions, but their confusion can go and bugger itself. For this was the first time that Mr. Man had appeared close enough that I could attempt to make a throw at him, and view the results of my planned experiment. Since there tend to be very few “frickin’ huge rock(s)” in a downtown store’s parking lot, improvisation was needed. The trunk of my car was thrown open and its contents tossed aside so I could reach the tire iron located at the bottom. Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-
Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-
Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-
Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-
Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-
Déjà vu can be such an unpleasant feeling, can’t it?
The sixth time I grabbed the tire iron was when my mind finally pointed out the existence of the loop. Slender Man may have no face, but I could feel the smugness emanating off of him. With more force than I should have used, I returned the contents of my trunk and slammed it shut. When I looked back by the fountain, he was gone.
I don’t like being played with like this.
Previous/Next
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
A Lack of Introductions
An introduction is necessary after the initial hook, I imagine. That is how these things generally go. It’s in this place where I’m supposed to provide a full and detailed introduction of both myself and whatever setting we will be exploring through this text.
But here I seem to be in the business of making terrible first impressions on my audience, so I think I will sidestep those tasks for the time. My most sincere apologies to all who may be reading, but I intend to begin this tale in media res. Certainly an unprofessional start, but the events of life rarely follow that of a proper narrative’s three act structure.
The requirement of providing my name and description of self is the first which I shall be deftly dodging. Some of you know me though you do not know it, and others do not know me and will continue to not know me for the foreseeable future. I prefer things to be that way. As for the name I have taken, anyone with a taste for 19th century Russian literature will no doubt immediately be able to achieve the correct conclusion that it is an alias.
But what is the purpose of this blog? It is just one more of an increasingly large canon, another story of clawing for survival against the unstoppable force of a faceless monster. A tale of paranoia and fear, where masked madmen hunt their prey on the behest of their omnipresent master, eyeless symbols adorn the walls of victims who found out too late the cost of their knowledge, and black tentacles writhe through the foggy forests, beckoning one to walk into their fiery embrace.
There are those amongst you who understand perfectly well what I am speaking of. Those that do not would find it in their best interests to close their browser window at this moment, and go do something pleasant, like enjoying a nice cup of hot chocolate as you sit by the window and listening to the birds sing. The peace and content that you feel can make up for the lack of it that we in the former category are experiencing.
Today marks the eighth day since our tall adversary’s first appearance to me. His actions thus far have remained limited to the usual modus operandi of appearing in the background of any scenery I happen to be viewing, and standing very still in a foreboding manner. We still appear to be at the stage in the game where he hasn’t begun overtly aggressive actions against my person, which makes the situation perfect for a test I hope to run. It’s like a little science experiment, you could say.
I want to see what happens when I chuck a frickin’ huge rock at Slender Man’s head.
Previous/Next
But here I seem to be in the business of making terrible first impressions on my audience, so I think I will sidestep those tasks for the time. My most sincere apologies to all who may be reading, but I intend to begin this tale in media res. Certainly an unprofessional start, but the events of life rarely follow that of a proper narrative’s three act structure.
The requirement of providing my name and description of self is the first which I shall be deftly dodging. Some of you know me though you do not know it, and others do not know me and will continue to not know me for the foreseeable future. I prefer things to be that way. As for the name I have taken, anyone with a taste for 19th century Russian literature will no doubt immediately be able to achieve the correct conclusion that it is an alias.
But what is the purpose of this blog? It is just one more of an increasingly large canon, another story of clawing for survival against the unstoppable force of a faceless monster. A tale of paranoia and fear, where masked madmen hunt their prey on the behest of their omnipresent master, eyeless symbols adorn the walls of victims who found out too late the cost of their knowledge, and black tentacles writhe through the foggy forests, beckoning one to walk into their fiery embrace.
There are those amongst you who understand perfectly well what I am speaking of. Those that do not would find it in their best interests to close their browser window at this moment, and go do something pleasant, like enjoying a nice cup of hot chocolate as you sit by the window and listening to the birds sing. The peace and content that you feel can make up for the lack of it that we in the former category are experiencing.
Today marks the eighth day since our tall adversary’s first appearance to me. His actions thus far have remained limited to the usual modus operandi of appearing in the background of any scenery I happen to be viewing, and standing very still in a foreboding manner. We still appear to be at the stage in the game where he hasn’t begun overtly aggressive actions against my person, which makes the situation perfect for a test I hope to run. It’s like a little science experiment, you could say.
I want to see what happens when I chuck a frickin’ huge rock at Slender Man’s head.
Previous/Next
Sunday, November 21, 2010
“You see, we always think of eternity as an idea that can’t be comprehended, as something enormous, gigantic! But why does it have to be so very large? I mean, instead of thinking of it that way, try supposing that all there will be is one little room, something akin to a country bath-house, with soot on the walls and spiders in every corner, and there’s your eternity for you. You know, I sometimes see it that way.”
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