the last few nights have been exploits of terrible peril. "fiery the angels fell," & all that rubbish. but the devout of the abbatoir must be kept occupied; bodies must be had to feed that dragon of meathooks & sledgehammers. so it has been that same kind of patter that the practiced serial killer adopts- duck out of the cyst, swap a changeling for a baby, & off to the Box with them! or perhaps that isn't what psychopaths are up to these days; the trends these days change so quickly. so, out like a candle, whoosh! & when the little death is upon me, those dreams that feature, inappropriately, aquantinces out of context. not that the situations are risque, but rather that, having only barely met the volk in question, comraderie in dreams seems a bit overly...intimate. so, that has been my past few days. i dream, climb out of my niche in the hive, pull on my face, dip in the Dark, & i'm a little elfin goblin, off to the bookstore! where i blackbag the occasional morsel, whisking them away to await my pleasure!
i miss drinking like it is the end of the world sometimes. bring on the self-destruction!