Hey everyone! The Alpha Jan here with his second blog. Anyways, I was checking all the emails, fan letters - mostly people bitching, and updates on the website I work on as well as the promotions and replies about my first novel, and upcoming second novel.
I thought, since there are just so many people who read books with happy endings here - like in Invisible Monsters with the boy and the sore throat incident - I thought of putting up a preview chapter of my first novel Fated. Short story: its a story about two brothers, the younger brother is a proud, agnostic, outcast and the other older brother is a vain, popular, zealot. It goes to the extremes on what two people without a conscience can go through and it is written with two unique styles I placed in which are 1.) Psychological Writing and 2.) No similes. Everything is in metaphor or personification. Also, its a transgressional novel dubbed as an "Anarchistic Classic" or "Negative Society Novel" from what I am told. Cool! So check out the rest below and let me know what you think...if you want to I mean. It is appreciated.
Also I believe Bellica wanted to read some of my stuff right?
Test of the Fated
A hallow night, brought upon a fortnight, dark clouds spread across the vellum of the sky. Grim reapers cry from the heavens above as they sear into the events of revelry down below. The rain falls to the earth, swords of piercing liquid, doomed to die, corroding all. A cleansing for the Mother Earth or a destroyer for the living seems to be their destiny. The ground stained crimson, profuse from the beaten and battered skull of the God of the Mind. Standing above him, looking down upon his wounds, his red badges of rage kept fresh by the severed and wet flesh of the God of the Mind, is the King of Vulgar Extreme. Vulgarity gives him to the sense that he is invincible, or invisible. Probably a little bit of both; invisible believing that the one almighty cannot see his sins, or invincible believing he can escape the Almightys all-seeing eyes. He has become an agnostic and the only true proof of anything real is the pain he feels. The pain we all feel. It is the only true reminder that we are alive, that we all can feel, that we all are here, living ants of the world. No one is better than the one next in line as well as the one before. An audience is there to prevent mistaken information, and the escaping of truth. Justification was the only ideal worth protecting for people wanted to prove to everyone what they felt was real when he knew it is not. In this moment, what the King of Vulgar Extreme felt was real, but insecurity has forsaken his mind that the truth was something manipulated.
Jan-Michael stood above surrounded by puddles of the piercing needles from the heavens, with no emotion in his features but eyes of pure intense rage and satisfaction. The puddles of water were dyed with oxygenation by the blood of his older brother Avian, whose fresh wounds sunk in deep into his cranium, into his torso, from a fight that would be written in the Final Judgment to be an ultimate sin between brothers. As Jan-Michael looked down onto the sprawled and flailed body of the motionless and semi-dead brother, his features started to change, for the intensity of rage in his eyes was greeted by the sadistic white shining of his smile, an angry smile, a sadists smile which showed a pure satisfaction of hatred and anger deep within his soul. Something that he would need to control, for right now it consumed him. A sense of accomplishment came over him as he gripped the steel chair in his right hand, which was rich with his brothers blood, his own blood, all contorted and bent around to form the painful expressions from the impact of Avians skull upon it. If this was a victory, it came with a price, for his right arm was hurting, he was bleeding from his right eye, his good eye. He was bleeding out of his mouth and his lips were cut open from his canines. His best shirt was torn and pricked and soaked in blood. His left knee was injured from a vicious blow to the back of his kneecap. What was more ironic was the fact most of those injuries were self-inflicted during this one vicious battle.
I am better than you fucker!
Avian looked up into the eyes of his younger and supposedly weaker brother. He saw what he had done, turning his brother into someone with no respect for the living, a demon inside, a monster to a society that would not accept him, exactly how they did not accept his attitude, his mental manipulation. He feels for what he has sown. He planted the seed of anger and hatred into his own younger brother, something he wanted to there but now seeing that it was a mistake to give an uncontrollable power to a boy who had the makings of a wild beast, or a god.
You arent any better than you believe yourself to be.
No brother! I am better than you because I am!
That was a vicious slap of Avians past right into his bloodied face. When he became manipulative, and good at it, he was able to make people see things the way he wanted them to see. It became an obsession and it took over his mind. As the times of his life passed, it became necessary to manipulate on a normal basis, an illicit drug for his mentality and his social life. He became so good at manipulation and conniving acts that he actually manipulated himself.
I made a monster. I never thought I would live to see the day when you became stronger than me. I thought you.
You taught me everything that I am supposed to know. You hated me for what I am. Now I am something you like. Face it my piece of shit brother. You love me more now than you ever will!
I never thought it would be any other way.
Maybe so, but youll live long enough to feel that this steel chair is still usable on your piece-of-shit skull you pig fuck!
Jan-Michael held the chair above his head, as the lightning did its dance in the background singing to him to finish what he started. This was a chance to become better. To be the best of all of his family who were shunned. This was his chance to become the leader, a master of his own destiny. Fate is unchangeable and if he had a view of his fate at the time, then fate has designed that he would kill his older brother. Ending the master and the slave would become the ruling dictator of a nation of manipulated. It was a rewarding feeling, a negative yet rewarding feeling to know he accomplished what many others had not been able to do. Finally to destroy the one person in whom manipulation was a lifestyle of control and a need to live. A lifestyle in which many people had fallen in their intricate web of pathologic truth and real lies. For once, Jan-Michael felt proud, felt godly to take a life or in the matters of taking one right before him. He hoped that everyone would see, for this was a crowning achievement, a crown of thorns would sit perfectly upon his head and his chest would swell with pride and sadism.
He thought of all he lost, all the times he could have been happy. He thought of his beloved Jennica, for how happy they could have been and how it was his fault for her untimely exit out of this world. How he longed for something of material, which should have been taken later rather than sooner, over the caring love of a girl who saw past his destructive exterior. He thought of his best friend since grade school when he first met her. A uniquely weird name for such a beautiful girl with such a beautiful soul. A beautiful soul is the price paid from learning and having the suffering of stress in her early childhood from a mother who was never there exactly. Growing up was something most humans do when they turn twenty-one, for stupidity is something that seems to go around for it is a disease. In this moment, it is to be ignorant than to be stupid, for ignorance is curable but stupidity is terminal but in this situation, ignorance would be stupid if acted upon. The lightning danced more, forcing him, calling him, wanting him, seducing him, to finish what he had started. Finish the one task, taking care of the one person who was mentally in his way. One final swing, one sonic boom for the little living life between the point of origin to the contact, in this moment in space and time, that would be the chair above Jan-Michaels head and Avians cranium lying in writhing pain in a pool of its own red badges of rage. People cry crimson tears as well as invisible ones.
Just one more swing, just one more bringing down his wrath, so why couldnt he do it? What was forcing him to hold back from bringing forth the final judgment upon somebody who has brought so much pain and suffering into his life? Why is it that he could not end it here and now? Was it that his mind was cluttered or perplexed? Was it that he was able to see the people who mattered the most in his life telling him, saying to him, persuading him, seducing him, not to go through with something that was so easy to accomplish? The foolish way out or the right way out? Mental psych was getting to him. Before he could clean his mind and deliver the final touch of the end, a trigger of events to showed what would come forth.
Stop Jan!
What the fuck!? Who the hell is that?
If anyone could stop the chain of events, the string theory within the life of Jan-Michael which would occur in less than three seconds, two seconds, one second, it was the one person screaming for him to stop. It was his savior, the one and only person who could probably save him. If not save him, then guide him so he could save himself. The audience was typical for they were the same manipulated and controlled who surrounded and followed Avian to the depths of hell and back again. But there were people that stood out to both of these boys bleeding a waterfall of cleansed blood from the piercing sword liquid tears of the grim reapers above. These people were important because they were not just watchers of the event, they felt it, every hit, every pain, every wound implemented upon one another. These were friends who had a substantial affect on these two from the beginning. These were people who knew these two better than anyone else would ever know. These were friends, best friends, more than best friends if it came to be known, if it were to be.
Every one of them was there to either support them or stop them, a cauldron mixing pot of emotion and support or neglect. These were the people of the two brothers lives that meant anything. This is what it would be if it were to settle down among people. If there wasnt an audience, then it would be justifiable to just have these people here in Jan-Michaels mind. To see his triumph or his murder. Every one of these people who stepped up were hugely significant in modeling and molding the very shape and fabric of how they thought. One extreme on his verbs, one hopeful in her faith, one justifying, and one who is emotional.
Damylia came forward, frantic and unorganized, hoping to stop what was about to happen. She knew the consequences of what it meant to do what was about to be done. She had read about crime and punishment at an earlier age and she even punished herself; wanting to go back to a time to see her best friend be the loving and caring boy, the faithful boy, the one who didnt even care about this world, return to her. Nave is the right word to use for it for how he was but it was better to think of life in matters of simplicity for it is clean, it is honest. Jan-Michael is her best friend.
Dont do it Jan! You cant do this.
Yes I can! But I believe the right terminology is that I will do this! I will end it here! My brother must die!
No he doesnt, you are better then this!
Am I?
You are!
Not many people would have faith in Jan-Michael at this time, as it was obvious that he wanted to kill his own brother. A strained relationship when you want to end the life of your older brother. However, he was not sure about this. He hesitated before his best friend even showed up. He hesitated and wanted to end it but could not. Was he too weak to do so? Was it in his mind that he is weak? Jan-Michael was at a crossroads and he knew it but he tried his hardest to follow what he believed was the one motive and ideal worth going for, worth cherishing and protecting. Only he knew what the motive was at the time and nobody would have expected it to be what he believed. He put up his agnostic view on life and went for the agnostic output and answer but through it, he made a relevance to spiritual ideals. Damylia was able to see that.
I am putting an end to this all. He has hurt too many people to go on living. He has used me, and he tried to use you!
Two wrongs do not make a right Jan! Dont you get it? What you are doing isnt right. It is justified!
That was the one word Jan-Michael did not want to hear in this conversation, still standing above his beaten and battered older sibling, still bleeding in the rain, the piercing swords of liquid tears falling forth from the grim reapers above. He knew it would be a use of something better for justification was easy to do. It was just too easy to him to prove what he wanted to do and this is exactly what he wanted to do.
You said it! I am justifying thus this is just!
There is nothing just about killing your own brother! This is nothing but devils work!
Whatever! In this moment, I am the devil!
Damylia looked at him, deep into his intense eyes of pure rage and hatred. She saw the boy she loved deep inside, being killed by this shell of a boy she saw before her. She saw the loving and passionate boy, the one who didnt care about this world, who kept things so simple and clean, so wonderful, slipping into a deeper recess of the psych of this insane and psychotic rage, standing before his brother, ready and willing to commit an illegal act not just in Gods eyes, but in the eyes of society as well. She saw the device made by Avian, whom she didnt care much about, but she loved Jan-Michael with all her heart. She didnt want this boy replaced with this demon, this thing with sadism and masochism in his eyes. Her face fell and she began to join the grim reapers above contributing to the water all around, she looked up at Jan-Michael heavily, sadly, struck in the heart with a sword, a sword of hatred and pain, she looked into those eyes, the windows of his soul.
You arent the devil. Youre just serving him now.
I thought, since there are just so many people who read books with happy endings here - like in Invisible Monsters with the boy and the sore throat incident - I thought of putting up a preview chapter of my first novel Fated. Short story: its a story about two brothers, the younger brother is a proud, agnostic, outcast and the other older brother is a vain, popular, zealot. It goes to the extremes on what two people without a conscience can go through and it is written with two unique styles I placed in which are 1.) Psychological Writing and 2.) No similes. Everything is in metaphor or personification. Also, its a transgressional novel dubbed as an "Anarchistic Classic" or "Negative Society Novel" from what I am told. Cool! So check out the rest below and let me know what you think...if you want to I mean. It is appreciated.
Also I believe Bellica wanted to read some of my stuff right?
Test of the Fated
A hallow night, brought upon a fortnight, dark clouds spread across the vellum of the sky. Grim reapers cry from the heavens above as they sear into the events of revelry down below. The rain falls to the earth, swords of piercing liquid, doomed to die, corroding all. A cleansing for the Mother Earth or a destroyer for the living seems to be their destiny. The ground stained crimson, profuse from the beaten and battered skull of the God of the Mind. Standing above him, looking down upon his wounds, his red badges of rage kept fresh by the severed and wet flesh of the God of the Mind, is the King of Vulgar Extreme. Vulgarity gives him to the sense that he is invincible, or invisible. Probably a little bit of both; invisible believing that the one almighty cannot see his sins, or invincible believing he can escape the Almightys all-seeing eyes. He has become an agnostic and the only true proof of anything real is the pain he feels. The pain we all feel. It is the only true reminder that we are alive, that we all can feel, that we all are here, living ants of the world. No one is better than the one next in line as well as the one before. An audience is there to prevent mistaken information, and the escaping of truth. Justification was the only ideal worth protecting for people wanted to prove to everyone what they felt was real when he knew it is not. In this moment, what the King of Vulgar Extreme felt was real, but insecurity has forsaken his mind that the truth was something manipulated.
Jan-Michael stood above surrounded by puddles of the piercing needles from the heavens, with no emotion in his features but eyes of pure intense rage and satisfaction. The puddles of water were dyed with oxygenation by the blood of his older brother Avian, whose fresh wounds sunk in deep into his cranium, into his torso, from a fight that would be written in the Final Judgment to be an ultimate sin between brothers. As Jan-Michael looked down onto the sprawled and flailed body of the motionless and semi-dead brother, his features started to change, for the intensity of rage in his eyes was greeted by the sadistic white shining of his smile, an angry smile, a sadists smile which showed a pure satisfaction of hatred and anger deep within his soul. Something that he would need to control, for right now it consumed him. A sense of accomplishment came over him as he gripped the steel chair in his right hand, which was rich with his brothers blood, his own blood, all contorted and bent around to form the painful expressions from the impact of Avians skull upon it. If this was a victory, it came with a price, for his right arm was hurting, he was bleeding from his right eye, his good eye. He was bleeding out of his mouth and his lips were cut open from his canines. His best shirt was torn and pricked and soaked in blood. His left knee was injured from a vicious blow to the back of his kneecap. What was more ironic was the fact most of those injuries were self-inflicted during this one vicious battle.
I am better than you fucker!
Avian looked up into the eyes of his younger and supposedly weaker brother. He saw what he had done, turning his brother into someone with no respect for the living, a demon inside, a monster to a society that would not accept him, exactly how they did not accept his attitude, his mental manipulation. He feels for what he has sown. He planted the seed of anger and hatred into his own younger brother, something he wanted to there but now seeing that it was a mistake to give an uncontrollable power to a boy who had the makings of a wild beast, or a god.
You arent any better than you believe yourself to be.
No brother! I am better than you because I am!
That was a vicious slap of Avians past right into his bloodied face. When he became manipulative, and good at it, he was able to make people see things the way he wanted them to see. It became an obsession and it took over his mind. As the times of his life passed, it became necessary to manipulate on a normal basis, an illicit drug for his mentality and his social life. He became so good at manipulation and conniving acts that he actually manipulated himself.
I made a monster. I never thought I would live to see the day when you became stronger than me. I thought you.
You taught me everything that I am supposed to know. You hated me for what I am. Now I am something you like. Face it my piece of shit brother. You love me more now than you ever will!
I never thought it would be any other way.
Maybe so, but youll live long enough to feel that this steel chair is still usable on your piece-of-shit skull you pig fuck!
Jan-Michael held the chair above his head, as the lightning did its dance in the background singing to him to finish what he started. This was a chance to become better. To be the best of all of his family who were shunned. This was his chance to become the leader, a master of his own destiny. Fate is unchangeable and if he had a view of his fate at the time, then fate has designed that he would kill his older brother. Ending the master and the slave would become the ruling dictator of a nation of manipulated. It was a rewarding feeling, a negative yet rewarding feeling to know he accomplished what many others had not been able to do. Finally to destroy the one person in whom manipulation was a lifestyle of control and a need to live. A lifestyle in which many people had fallen in their intricate web of pathologic truth and real lies. For once, Jan-Michael felt proud, felt godly to take a life or in the matters of taking one right before him. He hoped that everyone would see, for this was a crowning achievement, a crown of thorns would sit perfectly upon his head and his chest would swell with pride and sadism.
He thought of all he lost, all the times he could have been happy. He thought of his beloved Jennica, for how happy they could have been and how it was his fault for her untimely exit out of this world. How he longed for something of material, which should have been taken later rather than sooner, over the caring love of a girl who saw past his destructive exterior. He thought of his best friend since grade school when he first met her. A uniquely weird name for such a beautiful girl with such a beautiful soul. A beautiful soul is the price paid from learning and having the suffering of stress in her early childhood from a mother who was never there exactly. Growing up was something most humans do when they turn twenty-one, for stupidity is something that seems to go around for it is a disease. In this moment, it is to be ignorant than to be stupid, for ignorance is curable but stupidity is terminal but in this situation, ignorance would be stupid if acted upon. The lightning danced more, forcing him, calling him, wanting him, seducing him, to finish what he had started. Finish the one task, taking care of the one person who was mentally in his way. One final swing, one sonic boom for the little living life between the point of origin to the contact, in this moment in space and time, that would be the chair above Jan-Michaels head and Avians cranium lying in writhing pain in a pool of its own red badges of rage. People cry crimson tears as well as invisible ones.
Just one more swing, just one more bringing down his wrath, so why couldnt he do it? What was forcing him to hold back from bringing forth the final judgment upon somebody who has brought so much pain and suffering into his life? Why is it that he could not end it here and now? Was it that his mind was cluttered or perplexed? Was it that he was able to see the people who mattered the most in his life telling him, saying to him, persuading him, seducing him, not to go through with something that was so easy to accomplish? The foolish way out or the right way out? Mental psych was getting to him. Before he could clean his mind and deliver the final touch of the end, a trigger of events to showed what would come forth.
Stop Jan!
What the fuck!? Who the hell is that?
If anyone could stop the chain of events, the string theory within the life of Jan-Michael which would occur in less than three seconds, two seconds, one second, it was the one person screaming for him to stop. It was his savior, the one and only person who could probably save him. If not save him, then guide him so he could save himself. The audience was typical for they were the same manipulated and controlled who surrounded and followed Avian to the depths of hell and back again. But there were people that stood out to both of these boys bleeding a waterfall of cleansed blood from the piercing sword liquid tears of the grim reapers above. These people were important because they were not just watchers of the event, they felt it, every hit, every pain, every wound implemented upon one another. These were friends who had a substantial affect on these two from the beginning. These were people who knew these two better than anyone else would ever know. These were friends, best friends, more than best friends if it came to be known, if it were to be.
Every one of them was there to either support them or stop them, a cauldron mixing pot of emotion and support or neglect. These were the people of the two brothers lives that meant anything. This is what it would be if it were to settle down among people. If there wasnt an audience, then it would be justifiable to just have these people here in Jan-Michaels mind. To see his triumph or his murder. Every one of these people who stepped up were hugely significant in modeling and molding the very shape and fabric of how they thought. One extreme on his verbs, one hopeful in her faith, one justifying, and one who is emotional.
Damylia came forward, frantic and unorganized, hoping to stop what was about to happen. She knew the consequences of what it meant to do what was about to be done. She had read about crime and punishment at an earlier age and she even punished herself; wanting to go back to a time to see her best friend be the loving and caring boy, the faithful boy, the one who didnt even care about this world, return to her. Nave is the right word to use for it for how he was but it was better to think of life in matters of simplicity for it is clean, it is honest. Jan-Michael is her best friend.
Dont do it Jan! You cant do this.
Yes I can! But I believe the right terminology is that I will do this! I will end it here! My brother must die!
No he doesnt, you are better then this!
Am I?
You are!
Not many people would have faith in Jan-Michael at this time, as it was obvious that he wanted to kill his own brother. A strained relationship when you want to end the life of your older brother. However, he was not sure about this. He hesitated before his best friend even showed up. He hesitated and wanted to end it but could not. Was he too weak to do so? Was it in his mind that he is weak? Jan-Michael was at a crossroads and he knew it but he tried his hardest to follow what he believed was the one motive and ideal worth going for, worth cherishing and protecting. Only he knew what the motive was at the time and nobody would have expected it to be what he believed. He put up his agnostic view on life and went for the agnostic output and answer but through it, he made a relevance to spiritual ideals. Damylia was able to see that.
I am putting an end to this all. He has hurt too many people to go on living. He has used me, and he tried to use you!
Two wrongs do not make a right Jan! Dont you get it? What you are doing isnt right. It is justified!
That was the one word Jan-Michael did not want to hear in this conversation, still standing above his beaten and battered older sibling, still bleeding in the rain, the piercing swords of liquid tears falling forth from the grim reapers above. He knew it would be a use of something better for justification was easy to do. It was just too easy to him to prove what he wanted to do and this is exactly what he wanted to do.
You said it! I am justifying thus this is just!
There is nothing just about killing your own brother! This is nothing but devils work!
Whatever! In this moment, I am the devil!
Damylia looked at him, deep into his intense eyes of pure rage and hatred. She saw the boy she loved deep inside, being killed by this shell of a boy she saw before her. She saw the loving and passionate boy, the one who didnt care about this world, who kept things so simple and clean, so wonderful, slipping into a deeper recess of the psych of this insane and psychotic rage, standing before his brother, ready and willing to commit an illegal act not just in Gods eyes, but in the eyes of society as well. She saw the device made by Avian, whom she didnt care much about, but she loved Jan-Michael with all her heart. She didnt want this boy replaced with this demon, this thing with sadism and masochism in his eyes. Her face fell and she began to join the grim reapers above contributing to the water all around, she looked up at Jan-Michael heavily, sadly, struck in the heart with a sword, a sword of hatred and pain, she looked into those eyes, the windows of his soul.
You arent the devil. Youre just serving him now.