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~Azling & Dagon~

Dec 27 1998

I knew not I was thirsty,
When I first drank from your well.
Thought I, perhaps a sip or two
Yet in short time could tell
My thirst could not be quenched
And the realization grew
That although I drown in waves of passion
Yet still I thirst for you.
~The Poet~

My Azling,

In the spirit of the moth dive bombing the flame.

I have an unquenchable parching thirst. I have made you a tape of the Poe stuff, and songs of my screaming baritone. Also, a promo video of the ~Whimsical William Warriors~ and a thing or two. I am wanting very, very badly for you to have them and I need you.

The date and time:
Now. I can not function, I can not sleep, food has lost all taste. Sounds like a story I wrote, I do feel very much like Sara. I can not breathe unless I am reading your words. Azling you have snatched my very soul, I simply must be in your presence as soon as possible, if for only for a moment or forever. The only day that I could not is the 29th, a very important night to me, but if you tell me this is the day I might breathe your breath, I will be there. If you say come right now. I have had no sleep, but I will be there. ~I say tomorrow!~ What time?

The Place:
I simply do not care, any f*#%ing place, I will be oblivious to the surroundings. If in Chicago, I have the perfect graveyard, or a
walkway over Lake Shore Drive. My request is someplace close to your heart, someplace that is you, maybe in front of your house or backyard, so you can look out your window and think of me, or some local place of solace. An old stomping ground. I do not care. Tell me, I will be there.

A renaissance tomboy. Black. Sexy, but comfortable and ready for a fight. And above all, a long black hooded robe.

The circumstance:
I still do not wish this to be the day we "meet". I do so want to breathe live into our scriptures. I do not want to hear your voice or see your face just yet, but this must happen VERY soon. I have to hear your voice. I have to see your face. For now I just want to give you a package and a surprise. I just want to see the way you move, and breathe in your presence, maybe a glimpse of your piercing. If this disagrees with you, or if during the passion of this encounter it becomes more than you can bear, (as it might for me) just speak the words ~"I love you"~ if I heard you speak those words aloud, or anything else, I would lose all control and rip off your hood, look you in the eyes, slice off your clothes and #%!* you on the spot. I have lost all reason.

Imagine you stand on the brink of a precipice,
peering into the abyss.
Your first impulse is to shrink from the danger.
Unaccountably you remain,
Your sickness,
and dizziness,
and horror,
merge into a single thought.
What would be your sensation during a fall from such a height?
And this rushing animation chills you
with the fierceness of the delight of its horror.
For this reason do you now more vividly desire it.
Without a friendly arm to check you,
you plunge and are destroyed,
You leap because you feel you should not.
This is the spirit of the perverse.
The imp of the perverse.
You might call me mad!
But who is to say that madness is, or is not,
the loftiest intelligence?
Whether much that is glorious,
Whether all that is profound,
Does not spring from disease of thought,
The weeds of the mind.
We who dream by day,
Are aware of many things
that escape those who dream only by night.
In our gray visions we obtain glimpses of eternity.
And thrill in awakening
to find that we have been upon the verge of the great secret.
We penetrate, how ever compassless and rudderless,
Into the vast ocean of light.
Who then shall blame me for my visionary eyes?
Who dare call my conduct unworthy?
To dream has been the business of my heart.
We will say then,
I am mad.

~Borrowed mostly from various Poe writings~

Trembling, Violent Hugs & Tender Bloody Kisses,


I will be here perpetually hitting "check mail" until I her from the woman I love. Waiting to breath

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