Thursday, September 15, 2011

Loud, Lazy Lads Loathe Love

Time to tell a tale? No, not a tale. How about some detail? Time dar detail? That is what I deduct.

Perhaps - yes, that will do nicely. My place of sleep is luckily nowhere so horrid as a Dumpster or in abandoned Metro tunnels, although it still is less than ideal. No, I rest my head some nights in an arboretum, a collection of coverage of the tree persuasion. It is a very nice arboretum, and one that I can take wherever I go, as it is made not out of material things but instead by some very talented amigos I know, who come with me to many places, though indeed not everywhere. I stay in this arboretum as opposed to an acceptable place of residence such as an inn or a hotel or even a tent, because I wish once again to confront the Slender Man as I did in days of deadlier darkness.

Yes, I speak Its name openly, as I do not temo It or Its name or Its presence anymore. Names have power, and miedo de un nombre only increases miedo de la cosa itself.
There's also something I've got to try.
Rocinante and I rest rather easily in the arboretum. I keep my weapon close and my helm closer - though no shield do I have. (I rather think I should locate one.) And the best part of it all is that it costs me nothing but effort to use, as I have very little to no money most of the time and would not be able to sustain myself during extended periods of time with no sleep. I dare not sleep in the open as I may be ambushed, something that has happened to all of us too many a time to count, though perhaps not always violently or even physically.

No; that's not all true. I do not speak the Slender Man's name any more than I taste the coffee that I sometimes treat myself to in the mornings. It is devilishly difficult to do so without a tongue.

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