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 Satan, My Favorite Man

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Cazz
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PostSubject: Satan, My Favorite Man   Sun Jul 12, 2009 7:38 pm

I want to tell you a story of a man I once knew. A man unlike any I have ever met. A man with insurmountable power, attraction and mystery. A man tortured by his created destiny. It's difficult to know how to start such a mystifying and ultimately ironic story but I shall do my best.

I guess it best to start at the beginning. I was but a child when I first met him. So inexperienced, young and possibly a bit naive. I was dating his half brother at the time. It was midsummer the day we walked to his house. When I entered his home I was immediately overtaken by the scent of patchouli-vanilla. It wasn't him, he never did have a scent that I could place. It must have been her, the one who broke his heart. I sat at the edge of his bed avoiding his penetrating eyes. I didn't utter one word during our visit, not one.

Latter he recalled this insignificant event to me; "It was you wasn't it? The strange girl who sat at the edge of my bed that day?" Although I can't recall the purpose of our visit I can tell you it was quite brief. I was only in his house but a few moments. Within these few moments I fell in love. Love or infatuation I can't tell which. Three years passed before I saw him again. Many things had happened to both of us in those three years. Our next meeting we both laid in a chaotic state of life. Mine just beginning his had been laid out for too many years.

After my first meeting with him I spent time in a detention facility, drug rehab and a mental institution. Finally I was called to the service of god. I went on mission trips I preached the word of god all across the US. One day I found myself on the floor of a church bathroom cursing the very god who saved me. It was then I realized I had tried incredibly hard to hide my very existence. The endless hours I spent in prayer were but a futile attempt to hide what I had always tried to run from. It was time for me to return to my true self, to ultimately face my demons instead of exorcising them.

I had never forgotten him. Through all my trials in those three years his face lingered in my dreams. Ironic, isn't it that I fell into a circle of people who knew of him. One girl in particular, Aspen. We worked together. I was shocked and in absolute awe when she pulled a picture from her purse and began to speak his name. Even though I was aware she knew him I never pursued it. I was not quite back to my normal self and still had lingering bible passages corrupting my brain.

It happened that a very old friend of mine called me out of the blue to let me know he got a shipment of incredibly potent acid and I should take up the opportunity to "see" again. I wasn't all for jumping back into the drug scene again but I knew Aspen would appreciate the gesture. So I hooked her up with 5 or 6 hits. While making the transaction I decided to spend sometime getting to know her. I couldn't deny she was very enticing. The epitome of a gothic princess. So naturally when she asked I take a few hits from the ones she purchased, I did. I couldn't deny such a beautiful creature. Nothing prepared me for the trip ahead of me though.

Through the years I had taken a lot of acid but nothing like that night. By the time the tracers started to appear I was thinking to myself "Jesus Christ! Why did I ever give this up?" I was higher than I could ever remember. In fact, to this day I have never reached that "out of this world" experience with the aide of drugs.

I was enjoying myself thoroughly when Aspen suddenly jumped from her quiet position and shouted "I have to leave!"

"Where the hell are you going?" I questioned a bit surprised but mostly worried I would have to coax this poor child out of a bad trip. A bad trip, its funny all those times I had done acid in the past I had never had a bad trip. I had gotten strict nine poisoning a few times but I always had the mindset to glide myself into a happy funny little land and quietly let my mind ponder. But nothing had fucked my mind like the curse of Christianity.

"I just have to go that's all. I have to leave."

"Leave? Where are you going to go it's two in the morning, Hun, and you're tripping?" At this point a man with an impressive build and extremely long black hair stepped into my point of view. I don't remember him being in the room with us at first and then I realized he had helped Aspen cut the blotter into my mouth then quietly rested at her computer during the duration of the evening. In fact, I then remembered he had come with me and my friend to ensure the transaction went smoothly. It was then I began to recall the strange events occurring just a few hours earlier that I had spaced out completely. Even now trying to recall the details are quite sketchy.

My friend, Allen and I arrived at Aspens house in the early evening the man with long hair accompanied us. I don't remember watching Allen drop any hits but I knew he was in fact high at some point during the night. He drove us there so he must have taken his hits at the same time Aspen and I did ours. The man with long hair abstained from any drug use that night. Not on any moral grounds, mind you I believe his whole purpose was to "baby-sit". A job he ultimately did very well. After we took our hits Aspen and I pranced around her parent's house like little fairies. We hopped and danced having a great time in the beginning hours of the night. By the time the acid really started to hit our systems we decided we best settle to the house on the edge of the property. The one in which Aspen lived. We opened the front door and stepped into the moonlight. It was then we saw Allen standing on the porch drenched in blood. Aspen was concerned about the possibility of stains in her parent's impressive house. I, on the other hand, remember wanting to feel the sticky blood on my skin, to roll around in it until I was glimmering in red, to taste it.

The man with long hair emerged from the dark. No doubt prompted by the commotion to leave his quiet computer. He grabbed a towel from the large house and ordered Aspen and I to her house. We giggled and ran like little children across the yard, taking refuge in her little one room house. By the time the man with long hair returned Aspen and I were hitting our peak. To this day I have no idea what the cause of the blood was or how the man with long hair handled the entire situation, at that point in time I didn't really care. It was like Allen said I was able to "see" again.

I wished I was able to stay in that created heaven for eternity but I was interrupted by Aspens insistence to leave. The man with long hair tried his best to calm Aspen down, to convince her that she did not have to leave. But to no avail. In a frenzy she got in her car and sped away. As the dust settled from the dirt road my mindset changed. My thought process went something like this:

"She is going to wreck her car. If she wrecks her car the cops will come to help her. If they come to help her they will see she is on acid. If she is on acid they will know I am on acid. If I am on acid they will come for me. If they come for me all my family and friends will know I did acid again. If they know then Jesus will know. If Jesus knows I will go to hell. Oh My God! What if Jesus returns tonight and he finds me here on acid?! Holly shit! Jesus is coming and I'm on acid!"

I have know idea if I stated my thoughts out loud or not, but by the time I turned to face the man with long hair I am sure he was concerned about coaxing me out of a bad trip.
"I need a bible! I need a bible now!" I yelled, panic causing my voice to crack. I ran back into Aspens house. "She has to have one. I know she does. There has to be a bible somewhere here." In vain I searched her little house looking for a book that might posses a justification for a girl like me to enter god's kingdom. As I exhausted my search the man with long hair stood quietly in the doorway. Most likely relieved to see I was content with searching Aspens house, at least it kept my perplexed mind busy. I'm sure if he had a bible he would have gladly handed it over to keep me occupied in searching its pages for an answer.

"Perhaps in the old testament, in Genesis, where it speaks of the tree of life. Adam ate from the tree of knowledge why can't I possess fruit from the tree of life." I mumbled as I looked under her bed. "Her Parents! I bet they have one." I exclaimed as I tried to push myself through the doorway.

The man with the long hair blocked my exit. "You can't go in there Cazz."

"Why not? You don't understand I have to." I searched his eyes for a bit of sympathetic understanding.

"I locked the door. Besides, look what you did to Aspens house, you can't make a mess of her parents house as well." He pointed to the floor of the small house. I had in fact ransacked the entire house in absolute panic as he watched from the doorway. He was right, I might have been high but I was still respectful enough to know I couldn't go into their house.

I found myself in quite a bind. I grabbed his shirt and pressed my body against his, "He's coming, He's coming and I'm on acid." I sobbed as I buried my head into his chest. He stroked my hair and attempted to soothe my heavy mind.

"It's ok Cazz. Yes you are on acid, think about it. Your mind creates its own reality on acid. It's not real." I remember being pacified for a moment but I eventually found myself standing in the grass in bare feet cursing at the sky, daring the Christian god to take me. Tears streamed down my face as I bellowed for what seemed like hours. The man with long hair stepped to my side to hold me once again.

"It's not real Cazz, It's not real." That's when he spotted Aspens car winding down the road. "Look! Look!" He tilted my head in the direction of the approaching vehicle, "Aspen is back." As her car pulled into the driveway I began to feel like myself again. It was as if my thought process was being pulled away by the oncoming car. I once again entered my happy land, well not quite, this time it was a bit distorted. Normal everyday objects seemed foreign. As if I were on another planet, as if I didn't belong in this world. When a rather robust woman stepped from the car wearing a cast on her leg I almost ran in fear.

"Cazz you need to come with us." Aspen yelled from the passenger window. I gathered my things and hurriedly got into the back seat of the car the man with long hair sat next to me. We drove into a part of town that I should have been very familiar with; in fact we even passed by Allen's house. Every streetlight, every passing car looked as if it did not belong, as if I had never seen it before. I consistently asked where they were taking me.

"To my house." the woman with the cast calmly replied every time. Even the word house made no sense to me. We dropped the man with long hair where he asked and continued our journey to this unknown destination called "my house". By the time we pulled in front of a newly built modular home I was returning to reality bit by bit. I was still high but in contrast to the rest of the night I was able to compose myself rather well. As I entered the house the robust woman took it upon herself to give me the grand tour. I walked into a living room that was littered with pornography, magazines and pamphlets on the floor and furniture. I remember thinking it was rather odd but continued in my course.

"Over here they are smoking a joint." She pointed to a group of people in the corner of the living room. "And in here, pretty much everyone is drunk." She commented as we passed the first of three bedrooms down a long hallway. That's when I saw him sitting on a bed not far from the doorway. He was in fact drunk and found the robust woman's comment quite humorous.

"Who's that?" I asked pointing him out.

"Him? Oh don't bother with him, He's Satan." She said as she continued down the hall.

"I love you Satan." I calmly stated as I turned to follow her. From the corner of my I saw him stand attentively to his feet as he nearly drop his beer.
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Rob_Macabre
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PostSubject: Re: Satan, My Favorite Man   Sun Jul 12, 2009 9:38 pm

This is very good, Cazz. Much better than your poem. There are a few typographical errors, but that happens to everyone. Other than that the only problem is that it ends.
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PostSubject: Re: Satan, My Favorite Man   Sun Jul 12, 2009 9:40 pm

Wow thank you Mr. Rob. I have some ideas as to where to go from there.
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PostSubject: Re: Satan, My Favorite Man   Mon Jul 13, 2009 11:53 pm

As Rob said, there are several typographical errors. I also see several instances of slightly blurry syntax - sentences which, in context, make perfect sense, but could be worded a little better.

My main problem with this story is the style in which it is written, which confuses me slightly. Many of your phrases bear a distinctly old-world feel to them, as though they were being written in the early nineteenth century (or being written by a modern writer who's trying to emulate said style). There are several unnecessary adjectives - words included to strengthen the text, but are ultimately not needed - and I see a lot of use of the word 'but':

I was but a child ...

This is fine when it comes to nineteenth century gothic prose. However, I also see a great many modern phrases intermingled, as is the subject of drug use - so I can't help but ask: do you want a modern feel, or an older one?

The problem is this: our era does not mix well with that of Poe and Stoker. I suggest you settle on a single style, and either modernise or antiquate the text. Given your numerous references to automobiles and LSD, I would suggest going with a modern approach.

Despite my problems with style and text, I didn't mind the story so much. I personally take no particular side when it comes to Christianity and Luciferian Satanism - the latter I personally believe to be moronic, but I actually believe that the former has certain positive powers - when dealt with in a spiritual fashion rather than a fundamentalist one. With that in mind, I tended to find the heavy anti-Christian statements included in the story a tad wearisome.

Still, a pleasant read.
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PostSubject: Re: Satan, My Favorite Man   Tue Jul 14, 2009 1:16 am

Well done, Chris. Fifty bonus Literary regard Points for an excellent review.
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PostSubject: Re: Satan, My Favorite Man   Tue Jul 14, 2009 8:25 am

Thank you Chris for your suggestions. I had wondered how I was going to continue the style through the entire book.

In my defence I would like to state that I myself do not follow Lucifarian Satanism. Other than the name I did not think that the story had an underline feeling of Lucifarianism. Indeed, it is loaded with anti-Christian statements, but does not promote Lcifarianism in any way.
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PostSubject: Re: Satan, My Favorite Man   Tue Jul 14, 2009 8:28 am

I intended my reference to Luciferian Satanism as an example, not an accusation. In hindsight, I could've worded it a little better. I apologise if I seemed unobjective.

No need to defend yourself, Cazz Razz
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PostSubject: Re: Satan, My Favorite Man   Tue Jul 14, 2009 8:53 am

Thank you once again boys. I will post more as I get a chance.
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PostSubject: Re: Satan, My Favorite Man   Wed Jul 29, 2009 12:48 am

I have been thinking about what was said about mixing the two styles. At first I had agreed that the two did not feel right together. After thinking about it, I have decided that I like the story better that way.

My reasoning behind this being; Cazz is relaying the story as an old woman. I like how the older style text leaves an underlying connotation of wisdom.

With that said I think it might be prudent to give a bit of background on my Satan Stories. I do not write fiction stories. Everything that I write about I have experienced on a very real level. Parts of these stories will coincide with reality (as you know it) others will not. It must be said at this point in my life I can not differentiate the two.
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PostSubject: Re: Satan, My Favorite Man   Wed Jul 29, 2009 7:58 am

I have two minor grievances with this.

One - at no time in the story does it say that Cazz is an old woman, relaying a memory. We're left to fend for ourselves, here, and without even letting us know this ("I was but a child" could mean she's no older than thirty, and often does) one does not necessarily have all the relevant information needed. So: if you want us to know she's an old lady, I suggest writing that into the story.

Second - it's quite possible to suggest wisdom simply through words, but to mix pseudo-Victorian English with modern English is actually an affront to both styles. It also suggests a certain level of lingual retardation on behalf of your character; as a human grows, so does their parlance, until their speech - including everything from grammar to elocution - reflects the society in which they live. Yes, certain phrases or accents will be with them for the rest of their lives, but not to the level you portray.

As such, someone who has undergone this process is not going to mix older modes of speech with newer ones, even if the action is subconscious. The entire thing feels unreal, and kinda forced because of it.

And sorry, but I'm calling bullshit in regards to the 'not writing fiction stories' thing. Call it a different medium for the truth, if you will - I've heard it said that a fiction author is simply a person who tells the truth through lies, and I personally kinda like that ideal - but don't dress unreality up as fact. It's cool in a story, not so cute in real life.
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