Thursday, January 31, 2013

To D.


We are moving the operation to Baltimore.  It may seem like a move in the wrong direction, but the opportunities are too great to resist.  D.C. has begun to bore me, and for all the wrong reasons.  I don't know what exactly happened here, but it can't be good.  Oh well, if it makes me a Primogen it can't be all bad, can it?  I'll need you to find a new warehouse, and make transportation arrangements for the collection.  Spare no expense in this task.  Everything must arrive in Baltimore intact.  Of course you understand this.  You've been with me long enough to understand the importance of my work.  Perhaps it is time to explain why I ask you to do some of the things that you seem to find so atrocious.

You never question me when I ask you to slash their tires.  I believe you actually enjoy the burglaries. Don't think I haven't noticed.  I'm guessing that every time you climb through a window to steal a laptop or a Les Paul that you are imagining yourself as the world's greatest jewel thief.  See the joy I give you?  It's only fair though. I can sense the pain inside you when the tasks are more complicated.  The car crashes, the muggings, the rapes and the killings.  They all bother you I know.  Such is the price of your existence.  I heard you crying after you took care of little Bethany. Only five, not a care in the world.  Why her?  Why did she have to die?  Why did I ask you to do those terrible things to her, and her mother made to watch?

Do you know how art is created?  Where it comes from?  Training?  Raw Talent? Practice? Certainly these are factors, but great art, works worthy of recognition, worthy of my attention set themselves apart because of the inspiration and suffering of the artist.  Alas, I am no muse; how I wish that I were one.  How simple, how pleasant things could be then.  No, my fate lies with pain.  I make them suffer. I make them starve.  I make them curse their own mind, their life, the world that surrounds them.  That is my art.  That is how I inspire.  I bring the artist to the brink of the abyss; and only their work can save them.

Be proud to be part of this.  Every ounce of pain that you inflict comes back tenfold in the creativity of the artist. You and I are not the first.  For many years I assisted my Sire in such acts, as he helped his Sire before him.  Serve me well and there is yet a chance you shall be granted the reward I know you desire. It's not a matter of whether you can stomach the work; rather, you must allow yourself to relish in it.  The day that I can see that you take your greatest satisfaction in the most heinous activities is the day you may finally achieve your Embrace.