Waste of Time

Useless. Wasted trip. There was absolutely nothing to be found in Uriel's shop and even less in the nearby buildings. Except, you know. It.

You know... You know I think something is a bit wrong with me lately. I screamed at It when I saw It just standing there and he... Just watched me. I know... I know he watches everyone like this but... Usually there is not something ELSE going on in the background that he is a part of. Furthermore it... It isn't staring with a hunter's stare. A hunter admires his quarry to a degree. Respects them in a way. This isn't like that... No. This is... Like a Person with a pet. Oh Look master I run, jump and hide and beck and call. I even play with the other pets from time to time. Did you enjoy me barking all sorts of sounds at you master? I know you did.

I shouldn't have though. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary. For this complete and utter madness that is. Roland tells me that nothing is wrong with me, that I am not acting out of the ordinary but I swear, I swear I am less... Focused. I think? I don't know anymore. I just... I know something is not right with me. I can prove it. I simply have to look back at the older stuff on this blog and I can see the change. Pointless to ask what caused it. So much has happened. So little EXPLAINED. Questions, questions and vague worthless excuses for answers from CLOWNS and PSYCHOPATHS.

And I know it is becoming more apparent to others. Despite what Roland keeps telling me. I am not fine... He tells me it's stress but it is more than that. We ate at a diner yesterday and people kept giving me odd looks. I thought we might have been in a Proxy town or something, but no. No they were just people. People looking at me. It's funny when you think about it... I remember their eyes watching me but... The rest of their features are blurred and formless. Reminds me of It. Maybe It does have a face, maybe it did... But what we are seeing is a living memory of some faceless stranger in a crowd. Which is all It is really. It is every faceless stranger we've never met. Every scheming, wretched individual hiding behind those formless faces in the depths of memory.

You know maybe that is what Proxies are for... Does It Itself know It exists? Is it aware of Itself? Or is it merely aware that we are aware? If so, what would happen if no one was aware it existed? Would it simply cease to be? But how can something cease to be? It has to go somewhere. It came from somewhere, but where? No. It was always here wasn't it?

Someone speculated this before of course. They received no concrete answer, because no one knows. No one can answer. Not even It. Stupid pointless speculation, how does it live? Does it even have a concept of death. Does it know what that is? It comprehends yes. It comprehends so much but it... It doesn't comprehend in the same ways we do. Maybe it can't.

Where do the Others fit in? The Doctor, the Rake, the Archangel. Nearly Two Dozen, nearly more. Smoke and heat in an empty void, locked in the dreams of a dead city. A Garden and it's Keeper. Mirrors mark the path in the belly of the Mother of Serpents. Water devouring Soma flows through the veins. Knowledge from the Blank Pages of a black, endless library.

Something hungry deep inside. I need it. Ever hungry. Ambrosia. Parched of thirst. Soma will quench it. The Violet and Yellow lights clash with one of deep Red, flecked with Amber. They speak in darkness, under moonlit skies.

The people in that diner saw something was wrong. I know they are right, but I don't know how to fix it, or how bad it is. Roland is the only thing I have to keep track of my mindset, outside of this blog. Useful. He has become very useful. Strange for someone so moronic.

We're going to have to continue driving. I think I'll go back home and see what happens. Nothing better to do. Best to be somewhere familiar, I think. How is everyone else?