Iris's Profile at Vampire Rave.

"As agony is exhumed, shall the Sacred Land be consumed. As olde feuds
are renewed, shall a will construe."

One was behindered many a year, since far before memorie could be ackno-
wledged. Memoirs, so few and far between; The ones remained either intox-
icatingly vivid or seemingly being of events that were never openly spoke.
But then, to have been psychically tithed for so very long, , siphoned some-
times for days in a row, and living without dreams concurrent: what can be
said of one who chose to exist in that state, unaware and innocent?

One is of the belief that definitions, at least those of this spoken tongue, do curtail the process of knowing, truth, and understanding. For, as one believes, you only need to enter into a pact of shared enlightenment in the moment for true communications to be achieved. Should the same concept all ways be perceived in the same manner each time it is uttered? One believes that each time, some form of uniquity, grounded in the moment, should be the determinant of understanding. To each word, its own right, its own time; Yet, when the notions in our psychic spheres cannot be formally translated into a spoken or written medium, much is lost. Take that into account, and one will understand why this one does not prefer to speak the oral languages; Not because simply because they seem to bring more confusion than aid, or because it is a source of mass chagrin, but because one knows there is a better way out there (did one mention they were insatiably "snooty").

"I have forgotten who I was before. Not by choice but by chance."

Tell me a story...

To those who are founded, grounded, nonstounded, and to those that are not a one of these things (save, curious): I will attempt to give a different translation of my...state.

My memories of this life began no sooner than the age of 5. People will tell me of what oddities took place in the ages prior, but it is as if nothing took place before the day I "proclaimed" myself five years of age.

"How was I able to speak"?

"Why should this be my first memory"?

"What significance did I place in such a mundane fact"?

I find that much of my childhood was spent in my own head; Brooding over such existential dilemmas occupied the greatest resources I had available to continue to survive. I was "sensitive" to many things and simply could not spend too much time with other people; I had to seek sanctuary away from the loud world.

For many years, I found it in a neighbor's house next to my own: A Grandfather living mainly by his lonesome, save when one of his daughters would visit. The door was all ways open, quite literally unlocked at all times of the day. There was no need for supervision, for I needed none. I went in and out as i chose and was all ways stocked with a box of Cheerios (my comfort food of yore). The house had an aroma not foreign but inviting. Though it was rather small, simple, it was well built and full of fascinating things. The back room (an enclosed and fully furnished porch) had the most comfortable armoire one could imagine. This particular piece of furniture fascinated me as did many of the rooms and things that filled them. Old wooden playthings, the basement, the spearmint bushes outside the porch window, the large tree in the yard, the spiders in the garage. I all ways was quite "polite" to my surroundings: I preferred to observe rather than interact (thus, I needed no supervision).

When he died, it was at his funeral only that I have ever cried. I have undoubtedly attended others in years after, but I never gave those corpses so much as a sad face. I was sullen: if someone died, I would be thinking of what possibilities might halt with their noncontinuance: Much the same as asking "what if...", while this person still actively participated in their own routines. Eventually, this would bore me and I would put the definition of their state in the file of non-important information. I had memories, and whatever they accomplished in affecting upon me would go on unabated despite the fact they now lay in a vaulted coffin below the top soil.

Marks

Experiences throughout my life have been my own; This meaning that although I experience some event, others do not. The old adages shant apply to these situations for its not a matter of those other experiencing something different...they simply don't experience any part of it. I've had to call into question my own sanity on occasion. This most presented itself during times of remembering what someone (nominally, a dear friend) had said to me monthes prior. I could parrot out what they spake because whatever it was, had a profound effect on my life; However, I was "mistaken" and no such words were ever spoken in my presence from their lips. Assuredly they did tell me something important enough to remember all those monthes, but I recall a quote that was never born.

Occurances such as above were not something foreign to me in a more youthful state either; To my knowledge, the first occurance I can remember with absolute susyncness was to be had at ~age 7. This was a time when I shared the upper portion of a trundle with my younger sibling, at the ground floor (this is before the bed was moved to the top floor one or two years later); I enjoyed this bed from which I could obtain the deepest of sleep. (Breathe so faint, those that birthed me took to checking my pulse as I lay there in at least one instance; I retain this same manner of somniscience to this day).

It was the middle of the night and I fancied taking a nap upon the bottom mattress (my sibling must have been spending time away with friends). There was an obligatory night light against one of the walls, just enough to shed a pale lumia in even dispersal throughout; My head was to one side (this would face me in the direction: East). I awoke or rather was in the midst of sleep with my eyes open and trained upon the corner of the mattress I was slumbering upon.

It was then, seemingly without provocation, that large numbers from the

Phylum: Arthropoda
Subphylum: Arachnida
Species : Cheiracanthium inclusum

came from that corner, from beneath the mattress. Marching in horrifying unison towards my very eyes. The paralyzing fear overcame me, but someone I jarred my body upright and called for my maternal person. As the light circuits were brought together, I began to frantically try and explain what had transpired...but they were gone (for they hide from the light, I have found). Although no trace of the inclusums would be found that night, something odd was discovered in bed near my feet...something that was not there previously: A strange porous stone (spherical,~ tennis ball size). This was the only time I would see such, for it was removed from my presence and never found again. No rocks near my residence beared any resemblance to the stone I described...for they were all of solid constitution, not even a conglomerate to be found.

(in continuances to come...)

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