Sometimes I dream.
I take that back, I always dream, all reploids do, if we didn't we'd go nuts like humans with sleep deprivation.
I know that I'm already nuts, but at least I don't see bugs crawling up my body, yet.
But sometimes I dream, not remember, that would be like a video rewound and played again. Sometimes I dream, and my nightmares are new horrors.
I Dream of Him. Sometimes it is his true face, scared and blank blue eyes, some times it is His face, as he was when he hurt me. Some times his eyes are His.
And he hurts me again, and it is real to me.
I feel dirty when that happens, though I bare no outer marks from what happens in my mind I can still feel the blood.
So I take titanium X wool, take a real water shower and scrub myself until I do bleed.
The blood washes it all away. I tilt my head up to the shower head and close my eyes, my hair hanging from my flung back arms in thick strands, and I imagine that it's blood.
My blood, his blood. But never His blood, or the blood of innocents. Innocent blood leaves marks on your hands and body, stains you when it and your virtue leave you, tainted blood purifies.
I am not saying I was pure when IT happened, but...I was not as I am.
I have been reading. Even now in this time when people can be made and not born people turn to religion for hope and certainty. Out of hope or perhaps I was willing to try anything, to recover or to at least escape everyone around me, I visited a church, my hair hidden under a trench coat. Even if I did not believe there are places that feel serene because the people in there find serenity in them. I told not my name nor that I was troubled. I may not share the faith but that priest was a good man and knew I was troubled.
He was a good man, but told me false things, how could THIS get better eventually? He said that if it was as bad as I seemed to think it was I could only go up. Wrong again, I can go sideways. He knew I wasn't Christian but said I should read the bible and find Jesus.
Even if I did I don't think Jesus would accept a machine shaped like a man made to kill things and likes other machines shaped like men.
But I dug up some old, some of the oldest I could find, files and read them, thinking perhaps translating the damn things would take my mind off of reality, as they wouldn't let me do paper work for fear of upsetting me.
Despite myself I found it interesting, a few of the stories, but mostly on how language has changed and been altered, and I felt some kinship with some of the women in the stories as they were treated horribly.
Like Leviticus was the one that said a man should not lay down with a man as he does a women. But in that time your dog was considered more valuable than your wife at the time, so it was up to interpretation if he meant sex or treating men like animals.
I was his dog, he held a knife to my throat and cut a line along my jaw, peeling away the skin until I barked for him.
....I have to dream about it, I'm not going to write about it too, I don't want to.
...
Arete, Ara-teh, like 'era' only with an 'a', and the 'teh' is short, not like tete, that's Greek, it means excellence or virtue, or virtue as in "by virtue of." It was used to describe what you were good at. A rickety chair had very little virtue at being a chair, very little arete.. In earlier forms of the bible they used that word to describe Christ, "And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him" (Mark 5:34)
My virtue at being a Hunter, at being me flowed out when He hurt me. I truly fit my name now.
I look back on my thoughts and entries, and I realize that sometimes I can't differentiate whom I was writing or thinking of. In my mind, just as in my dreams, they share and trade eyes.
...
When I held him when He came back to me, when I touched his clothes virtue flowed back into me.
I have not touched him since.
--Zero
...
Mark 5:25-34: "And a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years, And had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse, When she had heard of Jesus, came in the press behind, and touched his garment. For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole. And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague. And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, Who touched my clothes? And his disciples said unto him, Thou seest the multitude thronging thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me? And he looked round about to see her that had done this thing. But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what was done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth. And he said unto her, Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague."
I take that back, I always dream, all reploids do, if we didn't we'd go nuts like humans with sleep deprivation.
I know that I'm already nuts, but at least I don't see bugs crawling up my body, yet.
But sometimes I dream, not remember, that would be like a video rewound and played again. Sometimes I dream, and my nightmares are new horrors.
I Dream of Him. Sometimes it is his true face, scared and blank blue eyes, some times it is His face, as he was when he hurt me. Some times his eyes are His.
And he hurts me again, and it is real to me.
I feel dirty when that happens, though I bare no outer marks from what happens in my mind I can still feel the blood.
So I take titanium X wool, take a real water shower and scrub myself until I do bleed.
The blood washes it all away. I tilt my head up to the shower head and close my eyes, my hair hanging from my flung back arms in thick strands, and I imagine that it's blood.
My blood, his blood. But never His blood, or the blood of innocents. Innocent blood leaves marks on your hands and body, stains you when it and your virtue leave you, tainted blood purifies.
I am not saying I was pure when IT happened, but...I was not as I am.
I have been reading. Even now in this time when people can be made and not born people turn to religion for hope and certainty. Out of hope or perhaps I was willing to try anything, to recover or to at least escape everyone around me, I visited a church, my hair hidden under a trench coat. Even if I did not believe there are places that feel serene because the people in there find serenity in them. I told not my name nor that I was troubled. I may not share the faith but that priest was a good man and knew I was troubled.
He was a good man, but told me false things, how could THIS get better eventually? He said that if it was as bad as I seemed to think it was I could only go up. Wrong again, I can go sideways. He knew I wasn't Christian but said I should read the bible and find Jesus.
Even if I did I don't think Jesus would accept a machine shaped like a man made to kill things and likes other machines shaped like men.
But I dug up some old, some of the oldest I could find, files and read them, thinking perhaps translating the damn things would take my mind off of reality, as they wouldn't let me do paper work for fear of upsetting me.
Despite myself I found it interesting, a few of the stories, but mostly on how language has changed and been altered, and I felt some kinship with some of the women in the stories as they were treated horribly.
Like Leviticus was the one that said a man should not lay down with a man as he does a women. But in that time your dog was considered more valuable than your wife at the time, so it was up to interpretation if he meant sex or treating men like animals.
I was his dog, he held a knife to my throat and cut a line along my jaw, peeling away the skin until I barked for him.
....I have to dream about it, I'm not going to write about it too, I don't want to.
...
Arete, Ara-teh, like 'era' only with an 'a', and the 'teh' is short, not like tete, that's Greek, it means excellence or virtue, or virtue as in "by virtue of." It was used to describe what you were good at. A rickety chair had very little virtue at being a chair, very little arete.. In earlier forms of the bible they used that word to describe Christ, "And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him" (Mark 5:34)
My virtue at being a Hunter, at being me flowed out when He hurt me. I truly fit my name now.
I look back on my thoughts and entries, and I realize that sometimes I can't differentiate whom I was writing or thinking of. In my mind, just as in my dreams, they share and trade eyes.
...
When I held him when He came back to me, when I touched his clothes virtue flowed back into me.
I have not touched him since.
--Zero
...
Mark 5:25-34: "And a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years, And had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse, When she had heard of Jesus, came in the press behind, and touched his garment. For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole. And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague. And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, Who touched my clothes? And his disciples said unto him, Thou seest the multitude thronging thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me? And he looked round about to see her that had done this thing. But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what was done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth. And he said unto her, Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague."