"Waiting for a Shoulder on Which to Perch"

#0072. It has become common to not believe in evil. It has become common to paint cruelty and devastation with a brush of compassion and empathy, seeking humane ground, seeking knowledge, understanding, connectivity. Evil gets relegated to simplistic folk, people too ignorant and guileless to perceive the gray nuance of existence. But it is another lie. Dirty things, lies. Evil is real. It lives among you. It hops from shoulder to shoulder. Devils pull at your beard. Devils lick salt from your weeping eyes. They are there in the hearts of oppressors and instigators to violence. Ignore the Devils at your peril. But, no, you ignore that at all of our peril.

"Alistair by the Lamppost"

#0073. Outside the anteroom of the secret place is Alistair, he is a friendly face, so sadly drunken. He spills secrets because his mind is addled. Sad thing, that. Such a waste. Friendly face. Sadly stumbling. This is all it is, that's his big secret. To endure you need to waste yourself. Burn up in the atmosphere or live immortal in the wallow. He knows the right choice. He gives the answer to anyone who will ask. He is the reason I can hear the Giant's cry from the edge of space. Alistair is everyone. I am as foreign to him as he is to me. He's the one who's not alone.

"Alice Towers Above All Else"

#0074. Come listen. She speaks so much. She speaks so quickly. She has no fear in her. What could she fear? The morning I met her, she had rode across the Sun in some flaming chariot. She had settled warfare and famine and pestilence and even death. She was so beautiful. She shimmered angelic. She brought with her no host of heaven. Just porcelain face. Porcelain hands. You've been away too long she said to me. And I knew she was correct. But she still can never answer my question of Dear Alice, what, pray tell, is the point of it all?

"Elisabeth and Wiley"

#0075. Do not thank me, she says to him. The Mountain is immobile. I could not pass it without help, he says to her. She demurs. The Mountain is immobile. The two stand at the only pass. Elisabeth knows the way well. In those dangerous reaches, she prays to a god that Wiley cannot believe in. They don't move of their own accord. Each little step is orchestrated by a higher power. If they knew, they would just fall down and let the gods do all the lifting.

"The Prophet"

#0076. The sky opens up and it spits forth its one and only Prophet. Other Prophets had been liars emboldened by the lust of followers and the power of cult. They spilled like serpents into the muddy bath. I would like to assume the mantle of it. In the depth of night, I feel the Tongues again inside my brain. That should be me spat out by the sky. He has no Tongues that I do not possess. I wanted for meaning so badly. I was going to fix it all. Instead I became this.

"Shadows"

#0077. The tomb has no warden. The prison has no gatekeeper. It is a place of honor system incarceration. But there are so many Shadows. When you try to leave their side, they stitch themselves right up to you. The whole of the secret place is just Shadow. You can try to speak to them but they cannot respond. You are taught to believe they are mimics. But Shadows travel to places untraceable. They survive in memories and consume the poor victim's intellect. Shadows leave the brain in place and semi-autonomous when they finally assume a human identity.

"The Breathing Specter"

#0078. I don't want to open my eyes. She is waiting for me. She is always there waiting for me. She exists between spaces. I can feel her breath on my face. There is a chill to it. She is a breathing specter. She wants me to look into her eyes but I refuse to open mine. I can feel her moving closer. She is always drawing closer. I won't open my eyes. That won't keep her at bay.