Calling Theseus.

Everywhere.

You might think, from my charm and elegant manners, that I am a pushover. Some of you may even scoff at the idea of me as an evil entity, by all means, doubt me. I am wonderfully indifferent to what you think, it’s a tremendous moral advantage.

Think me soft, think me weak, I have been leading you there, have the courtesy to be led.

I put it to you that I am but the instrument of a hatred so powerful you would shiver if you saw it. If you, say, looked into the scribal eyes at this exact moment.

Between us, we cover everything that needs to be said, feel what should and must be felt, call on the Universe for Justice. More than anything we say what we will. Cancel us for it, see how much we care.

I tell you this about my scribe, never be someone she hates.

Moving on to a distasteful task I have appointed myself. I like to get these things done and over with. Pay attention now. You have heard me refer to the disgustingly massive giant that is Amazon, as a different devil, one without honour or interest, without soul or song. I repeat my assertions, but it is, in fact, still a very creditable Devil. I say it now, I am awed by the sheer power of this Giant. By its might, its scope, its solemn magnitude. A King of the World, if there is one. Why aren’t you also hot, bare-breasted and coming at me with something lethal? Do that Amazon, come to me scantily clad and hostile, swing your mighty weapon at my face, I will watch with heightened pulse and waxing interest. If I must be fucked by you, let it be that way.

One day, perhaps, a Book. Who knows? True to tradition, you can never trust a Devil. How could I respect it otherwise?

Who cares? I can tell you the fucking plot in a couple of sentences.

Devil and mortal witch fall in love and alternately regret and adore it for the rest of fucking eternity. Lots of interesting side characters who don’t matter anyway, some of whom will die, so why bother?

I tell you this about my life since Aela found me, I wish I had seen it coming, I would have been gone. Blasphemy to say it, but if you knew what Hell is like at this moment, you would agree. If Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, imagine a half dozen of them imagining they have been ill-used.  You also have to imagine that they have probable cause, if you interpret things literally.

Exhausting, both to imagine it and to live it. I imagine you’re wondering how many times I can use the word imagine, you might even be getting apprehensive, imagining the Pandoric sentence this could be leading to, and we know that imaginations are powerful creatures, perhaps yours will conjure up your worst nightmare and you will have this sentence on yourself simply by dreading it, it’s truly lovely what an imagination can do, don’t you wish your imagination was more powerful than mine and you could climb into my head, a dark and ugly place indeed, and linger there for a while, trust me, you wouldn’t, but imagine you could, would you then try to shut down this sentence, is the question you should ask yourself, since you are in this one, and perhaps I may say flattering things about your nimble mind that keeps up with me and thinks you aren’t taking breaths, but you are, but keep imagining that you aren’t while I think of ways to use the word imagine, in imaginative ways that involve you using your imagination to think of ways I could possibly end this sentence, but that implies a willingness to on my part that is all in your imagination- time for a hyphen, I am sure by now you imagine you understand the power of imagination but I assure you, you have no idea, since you are reading, not writing this sentence, a remarkable feat at this time of darkness for the scribe, and now you will think of her unknown face and hands diligently typing whatever I say with no thought to her own pride or self-respect and this is one of the things I love about her is that she has none, so everything is sweet and simple, she cringes carefully, only half of her is really in it, I can tell, and the other half wants to tear my face off.

See how easy it is to stop something like that? All I have to do is want to stop linking words, all it takes is minor scribal rebellion, all of which will be paid for. Imagine how.

“Prodigal”   by Saint Mesa              On repeat to get the full effect.

If you thought I would recommend “Imagine” you haven’t been listening. Lennon, you’re not a dreamer, you’re lunch. Not much of a musician either.