Confoozled, Cadmus, and Political Incorrectness

I didn't go to work today because I wasn't sure I should. Nobody told me about Memorial Day. I called Ron to see if I was to go in for more observation, but I got his voice mail and he hasn't called me back. So....here I sit at home. I remember his telling me that they had part-time people who worked on Saturdays and holidays and, since I still don't know how to do the freakin' job yet, I knew that I wouldn't be the only one there. I hope this doesn't get me fired before I even got to start, but I didn't want to risk working on a day that I wasn't supposed to and make the Powers that Be think I'm trying to take advantage of overtime money when it's not necessary. A rock and a hard place. If things go south, I have the option of calling four different places who want to interview me, so things will still be okay. It's all good....but I really want to keep this job because it's gonna be low stress, and I'm all about low stress.

I'm seriously considering working more on The Chalice today. I'm almost to the point in "Sui Generis" where Kelat visits Cadmus' past and sees him as a youngling, angelic with flowing raven hair, beaten and broken by his "tutor" to the point of sublime apathy. It's the only moment where I allow Cadmus to be a sympathetic character (like I allow him to do anything these days...).

And now for Memorial Day. While I feel badly for a lot of the people who have been killed while serving in the military, there's still that niggling thought that most of them chose to be there. I feel worse for those who served and died in Vietnam, Korea, and WWII than I do for anyone who participated in the Desert Storm and "Operation Iraqi Freedom" (what a crock THAT is), because they were subject to the draft. As for anyone in the military fighting so that I can be free, well...... WAKE THE FUCK UP, AMERICA. We are free to roam as far as the chains around our ankles allow us and it's my opinion that the military has played a definitive part in assuring that we all keep our place. Memorial Day is a day when the propaganda engine goes into full gear. The ones in charge make sure to present images that will pull at the herd's heartstrings and make them want to sing anthems and be all patriotic and shit. Well, I'm not having it. If you want to sign up to serve the Evil Overlords and you get your dumb ass killed in payment, don't expect me to mourn you or fall on my knees in gratitude that you helped protect my so-called freedom. What the fuck ever.

The Youngling

A pit of fire surrounded Kelat ~ a manifestation of the lie of Hell propagated by the Apostate. Before her sat a young man with ebony tresses cascading over his bare shoulders, his eyes two pools of profound sorrow. Kelat circled the bereft youth, sensing anger and loss in him. Hie eyes followed her and she felt their dismay and hatred of her. This was Cadmus. Younger and filled with a special desperation, thoroughly unlike the creature she met in the desert, but e there was no doubt that Cadmus sat before her.

The mark of the angelic was upon him, surely an indication of his Tarmian origins. There was no part of him that did not dwell in Grace, but that Grace was being attacked on a profound level in an attempt to turn its natural inclination for beauty into a degenerate force. Kelat had heard that some of the Tarmi captured by the Apostate were turned in this manner, but they never survived to carry out his bidding. They always perished at the hands of the Apostate's programmers shortly after they succumbed to the trials. But this one was different. Perhaps it was the human part of him, or maybe the dragon within that allowed him to tolerate such abominations. She wasn't sure. All she knew was that she wanted to rescue this beautiful youth before he became what was lying in torment on the floor of her cave.

"When is this?" she asked the Cadmus thoughtform that brought her here.

"Seventeen years after my birth, ten after my apprenticeship to Nissius began."

"Apprenticeship?"

"Into the Arts of the Apostate. You should know. He learnt them from your kind."

Kelat sucked air in through her teeth. The Shame of the Apostate would forever plague her people, it seemed. "Believe me when I say that the Tarmi never taught torture. What distresses you at this time in life?"

"I hunger. I ache. I am alone. I feel that I no longer feel. I wonder if I ever did."

Kelat ached for the youth. On a whim she approached him, cradled his head against her breast as a mother to child. He sat rigidly, barely tolerating her kindness.

"The time is close, you see," the angelic youth whispered in a voice like snake skins rustling in a desert wind. "I will rise."

Revised Revision of the History of Shriekback

Long overdue, I finally made the requested revisions and have sent it off for approval. I'm pretty certain everything will be copacetic, considering the changes were simple ones and I was told that everything else was A-OK. So I'm posting it here in anticipation of it being uploaded to Shriekback.com in the next few days.

( biog )