Sorry for the lag in uploading/creating. End of the year is a busy time and all the rest of my excuses etc..
Also sorry for the subpar voice acting… I really would have preffered getting some dudebros together but I’m far too spent ATM to herd the sort of cats I hang about with.
Anywho hope you enjoy and here’s the script just in case you’d prefer to read it.
Doctor Borowski – The following is somethin I was able to grab with my pen. I never thought I’d use this damn thing. Bought it as a vanity at some conference in Sante Fe years back. Little recording device that let’s you get around certain pesky patients rights legalese….never thought I’d use it…much less for good. Hell I’m surprised the battery still held. I feel like James Fucking Bond here…
Agent Bisby : I’m going to remind you again, just one last time, that your prescence here is due entirely to my good humor.
Doctor Borowski: (Sighs) I think you understimate the amount of leverage I yield. These are my patients.
Agent Bisby : Only one is your patient, and he is a possible criminal.
Doctor Borowski: Hardly.
Alan Rickman : O gee I’m so fucking scared…listen you fucking armed accountant …
Docto Borowski : Easy Alan easy…
Alan Rickman : Alright…but just for you doc…this guy right here….
Docor Borowski : That’s enough Alan…
Doctor Borowski : Are you alright Mr. Hurst?
Frank Hurst: “Alright…hahahaa…yea…”
Agent Bisby“Can you tell us what happened?”
Alan Rickman: Can anyone tell anyone anything?
Agent Bisby: Get real man.
Alan Rickman: Yea, real…ok…let’s talk reality…what do you know about Alexandria?
Agent Bisby: I’m not here for a history lesson.
Alan Rickman: I don’t think that you have a choice. You’re gonna have to humor me. Or at least that’s what you can tell yourself Mockingbird.
Agent Bisby: (after a moment of silence) Hey! Don’t call me that…
Alan Rickman: (Laughs derisively)
Agent Bisby: Trust me buckoo…ya don’t scare me one bit. I’ve seen way weirder shit than that…
Alan Rickman: That’s rather inconsequential…and…you still haven’t answered the question. What do you know about Alexandria…
Agent Bisby: It’s a city in Egypt…what about it…it’s history, the burning of the library….what?
Alan Rickman: The library.
Agent Bisby: Well, what about it? First it was accidentaly burned by Ceasar, then fell into pedantry, then was finally eradicated by Islam.
Alan Rickman: Quaint. Very quaint indeed, but I think you know better….
Agent Bisby: If you mean that paganism and platonism survived, that many libraries existed throughout the mediterannean, then yes…if you mean something else…
Alan Rickman: O I do. Agent Bisby: I’ve never been one for guessing games.
Alan Rickman: What is theurgy?
Agent Bisby: Voodoo.
Alan Rickman: (laughs) What is demonstration?
Agent Bisby: What I’m doing now…demonstrating patience. A feat growing more and more difficult by the second.
Alan Rickman: I meant etymologically…what is demonstration?
Agent Bisby: I’m aware of the oracle of Delphi…what is your point…
Alan Rickman: My point is that there was a point to the specific destruction of the Alexandrian Library.
Agent Bisby: Alternative history is a great made for TV special but it ain’t got a thing to do with your crime.
Alan Rickman: (Laughs) My crime?
Agent Bisby: Yes, you may recall that you kidnapped and maimed Frank Hurst.
Alan Rickman: (Chuckles) Is that what he told you? That I kidnapped him.
Agent Bisby: No he has trauma induced amnesia.
Alan Rickman: And what did the good doctor here tell you.
Agent Bisby: I don’t for one instance believe that you plucked Mr. Hurst from thin air.
Alan Rickman: What in the doctors record indicates that he is prone to lyign, fanciful stories, or any particular afffinity to me?
Agent Bisby: Well nothing…
Alan Rickman: And you say you’ve seen strange things…
Agent Bisby: I am not the one being investigated right now…
Alan Rickman: And what is now?
There is a great whirring sound.
Agent Bisby and the doctor gaze around a field in astonishment.
Agent Bisby: This…this…this is my dad’s ranchouse…this is our…our pasture…our gate…
Alan Rickman: (Chuckles) I kept the docs furniture to make sure you remained in a comfortable psychoanalytic mood…
Agent Bisby: What…what the hell is happening..am I some kinda guniea pig here…was this the superintendents idea…I want answers damn it..
Alan Rickman: O come now…I don’t think you need an external authority to provide you with answers. You have yet to answer my question what is now? Let…me give you a hint…how is it that I was able to see Frank Hurst all these years?
Pomp and circumstance
How would longevity
Grace your arrogance
You call us fools
You call us clowns
We are but tools
To be herded by the fine gowns
But what if to be so serious
Is not mysterious at all
What if gravity is dangerous
And the reason for the fall
What if ouroborus was more accurate
Than you could predict
A bit less immaculate
Than an emanation of some cosmic writ
What if the serpent that feasts upon its tail
Is God’s commentary on priests who fail
To judge anterior from posterior
And spend all of their mortal days
Up their own ass far from wise Suns rays
O grim so grim is my delight
For its fun to play and tease and fuck and fight
For in the end neither might nor right makes right
There is only…there is only…there is only….
Permit me to indulge in exercise. I am coming to work on my main projects in a graduated fashion. I’ve always had to do a sort of calculus…where I approach the zero of the actual work. To zero in on the actual work I have to do other work if one can call it that.
Perhaps some uncharitable persons will merely term it idle wordplay. So be it. But I submit the whole literary canon of every nation across time may be termed such by persons that equivocate between polysyllabic discursions and smalltalk.
Social commentary aside the whole goal here is to recount what was a dream or perhaps not a dream. This occurred some years ago. I believe I was around 19 years of age.
My neighbor had a couple of MG convertibles. Like most of the neighbors in this particular neighborhood he and I never spoke. I’d always meant to ask about those MG’s but moved away before I ever did.
My silence was sealed by what was a dream or maybe not a dream. I awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in my undersized bed, and felt a strong draw towards the house across the street.
I hopped off the cot and ran unshod through my front door. As I did so I became more and more angry. Frightfully angry.
I stood in front of the neighbors. Perfectly beholding the house, the accustomed constellations, and the smell of the recently cut grass. All things that made me question the unreality of this dream.
Suddenly the neighbors door opened with impossible silence. The recesses of the home were of a sort of darkness that I’d never known before. It wasn’t so much darkness as the antithesis of light. Not the absence of light…but rather its opposite.
And there on the concrete stoop stood a man. Or what I figured was a man because I could not look at his face. My neck and eyes averted despite my will. As if an instinctual dread enforced by nausea more metaphysical than intestinal had overcome me.
I shouted at the man. Though I did not know why. I knew I hated him. I knew he had no business here. I also felt guilt because somehow through some of my researches I felt that I’d drawn him here. But I did not deserve this we did not deserve this. Cold sweat broke out.
The figure approached. Though I was stepping backwards I kept shouting telling it to come on. I wanted it to follow me to my own yard. For some reason I felt that there was some sort of strength on my own grounds that would help me in some unknown fashion. I kept functioning on suggestions about things which I could only grasp through glimpsing peripheries.
I was wrong about home advantage. I was now by the wooden stairs in the car port and the thing was upon me. I was not so much scared in a mortal way, no I was defiant, but there was nothing I could do.
As the figure leaned over in the final horrid moment before I woke I beheld that it had no face at all. A sort of fertile unwelcome, malevolent darkness, overwhelmed me and tossed me back into the waking world. In the little bedroom with the green wallpaper and the fly fishing theme.
I still recall this dream or whatever it was from time to time and thought it interesting to mention. I had never heard of slenderman or any legends regarding a faceless being. The only thing I can recall as being remotely close is the cover of a Godsmack album but I hardly think that has anything to do with the matter.
Well I hope that this little story brought some joy or entertainment to that dreariest of affairs called Monday. Take care.
The Alan character sounds a bit different because I finally figured out that my mic wasn’t plugged in all the way. I’m a noob audio wise bear with me. Hope ya’ll enjoy.
The music is free domain see the last videos description for details. Too lazy to look up the link again.
An original story I just made up as I sat here in front of the microphone. I was hoping to get some Halloween spooky stuff done (on or by Halloween) but life happened.
This idea had been milling about in my head and it came out ok. I used the name Alan Rickman and then realized it was a real person. O well…it took me half an hour to render and I’m sure Professor Snape won’t mind being fictionalized as an institutionalized salesman.
The music is awesome and free domain as far as I know. If you have similar needs or just want some atmosphere check out this link:
The Fractal Journal 