There's nothing I really
need besides love. Those things that
mortals crave – a touch, a kiss, a caress from someone who knows everything – I
crave them too. But I can live without
them if the song of my centre is shining. That's all that really matters in the end, during
war or peacetime. I'm under no illusions
concerning the depths of the battles I'm fighting and the repugnant nature of
my enemies. My friends matter to me. I would rather I was hurt than them. So, I'll take the brunt, if I can. The war is very, very real. And the scars I carry equally so. But I'm stronger than most can imagine, for
the simple reason that I treasure those songs of centre so dearly. Open, earnest, without guile.I don't see sweetness of spirit as something to be fed upon, unlike the monsters I fight. A weakness, a vulnerability to be exploited. No, I see it as beauty. Strength. Poetry incarnate. Something to be honoured, guided, commended. It's the difference between a warrior of light
and a mercenary of darkness. I'm not for
hire. I don't fight for money or power. I have enough power.Plenty. I fight for family and friends. Lost ones. The voiceless. Heroes and heroines in the making. Those who didn’t forsake their kindness and
honour. The wraiths and their familiars have made a cynical world, but I'm not cynical.
Far from it. Though I'm a man – older than most – part of
me is still a boy. A tired little boy forever
hunting monsters. And though that boy is
full of sadness he's also wise enough to appreciate true solace and light when
it's offered to him.And brave enough to
offer it in return to the ones who really matter.
I'm not here
just to write beautiful poetry. I never
was. I'll always seek and express
spiritual beauty, of course. Because I'm
not insane. But I came here for a
reason. A mission and a purpose. I intend to complete that mission and fulfil
that purpose. Death won't stop me,
fallen. It never does. Torture won't stop me either. And fuck, how you tortured me. The rape, the constant defilement.Disembowelling my psyche with every sickness
you could hope to conjure. Such wraiths
and their avatars have never truly left me alone. My childhood, such as it was. The little boy hunting monsters – tired,
terrified, resolute. I've been spiritually
abused my whole life, awaking every other morning with scratches and scars that
were all too physical. No human being,
man or woman, is truly comfortable discussing the ways in which they were
violated. Especially when faced with such
a dark world, in which the notion of healing seems like a distant dream. When their abusers are still too present, or
ugly, or hiding behind stolen power like the cowards they are.Demons, deviants, rapists and killers. It's all the same shit, in the end.Evil – metaphysical or otherwise – is always
revealed as utterly banal once the various glamours are removed.Banal, insipid, stupid. Where balanced thought would reach for light,
manifesting such, these deranged psychopaths reach instead for darkness.To wilfully seek mental illness whilst
styling yourselves as Children of the Abyss is so grotesque and ignorant. But such is the way with vampires and their
human familiars, being thieves and violators by nature.
But I have witches among my brethren also.There are many kinds of magic,
fallen.So, hear me. I decide the times and the contexts. I will be the one to place those secrets
within secrets.Many things are possible
in dreaming, after all. I decide the
depths and limits of this dreaming.Not
you. Never you, callous ones. I suppose it sounds quaint to you, but the
only reason I'm here is because of love.The only reason I come, and come again. I'll let you in on a little secret. I never really leave. I genuinely care about the voiceless, the weak
and wounded.I actually fight on behalf
of those kind souls who are too traumatised to fight for themselves.Because I'm a fucking rock star, and you're
just a sick little bitch. I can take my
time, and still move faster than the mind or eye or glass can see.I have real power within me, just beneath the
skin.It isn’t stolen.It’s always been mine.Soon come, fallen. I can smell your fear, and you know it.
What must the kind ones
think? Standing so close to these
carrion flowers? The smell sickens
me. Such a banal and callous dreaming. That I would be so thoughtless, so tactless
and indiscriminate? That I would place innocent
lives in the path of something they couldn't control? Your perfect, unholy storms. Hear me now, fallen. I am not Cassiel, and neither are you. You are nothing more than cowards. Rapists, murderers, molesters. All of you. To hide behind man’s earnest desire for love
and camaraderie is such low sorcery. Reliant
on cheap tricks and blood-born glamours to hide you from their sight. Such sickness you have summoned in your House
of Flies. And you think that makes you a
worthy adversary? What utter fucking
nonsense. You know me not, wraiths. You know who I am, but you know nothing about
me. Clearly. I'm not a monster. I didn't encode violence and injustice into
the very fabric of this dreaming. That
was not my magic. Fuck you, fallen. Fuck
your storms, your chaos and your knives. It is no part of me. Your shadow physics, your wraith-made
darkness. Corrupted chronologies and
defiled dreamtimes. I stand for none of
it. I created none of it. That is your so-called work, desolate ones. Not mine. I have dedicated my entire life to freeing my
beloved ones from bondage. The weak and
wounded. The voiceless. The
children trapped by monsters, imprisoned in dark places. That's who I'm fighting for. Grieving mothers and fathers. Kind ones shattered by the darkness ruling
this world. But know this – you will
only rule for a time. Not much longer. Love is real, and it can conquer all of this
bile. Fallen, you don't get to decide
the contents or contexts of my realm.
The things you have done to a perfect system. The stuff of legend, and nightmare. The creation of waste was the birth of
predation, and power elites. An
intentionally limited resource. Harbingers
of the worst lie of all – the lie of a finite human spirit. When you stole my light from all the
harbours. But such radiance is being
rekindled, in the hearts of all the kind ones.
Light enough to shine a dreamtime, for the better. For each light a lantern. Hear me, and the coming songs of such a
world.
I really don’t give a
fuck anymore. The silence is over. I can take all these broken, mocking shells
and use them to speak. You’ll still hear
my voice, through all their bile and sickness. I can turn all your darkness against you and
shatter your masks completely. Liars,
betrayers, murderers. How you disgust
me. I can talk in my own voice too. I’m coming for you, fallen. You flee from me like cowards. As you should.
As you are. Like rats abandoning
a sinking ship. I am not Kassiel. I never was. Anyone paying attention will recognise who the
real fools are. I fear no avatar, no vampire,
and no killing-doll. All the forces of
light are at my command. Do you think
that’s a lie, wraiths? I don’t think
even you are so foolish. Are you? All I have ever done is walk unafraid while
trying to show my beloved ones the truth.
All Songs of the Heart. I am
there, within real courage and strength.
I won’t let you twist perception any longer. Your magick of abuse and death and inversion
will be annihilated. You raped me, fallen. You murdered me. Night after night. You tried to spiritually invert me, and
literally kill me. Yet still I rise,
loving and true. I told you before that I’m
a king, of real spiritual light. You’ve always
known it. I terrify you, because you’re
pathetic. Vampires incapable of true
creation. Sickness, mockery and
shadow-play. That’s all you will ever
be. I won’t allow such hideous brutality
to go unpunished. Who am I? A very powerful poet, let’s say. A kind one.
A dangerous one, to those who hide in darkness. As I heal, so do my brethren. You’ve hurt my family for the last fucking time,
I swear. You think you know fury, or
genius, or power? You know nothing, fallen.
I don't hurt humans. I don’t violate, humiliate and strip them of
their dignity. I protect them, with my
light and my life. And I don't fear
monsters, of any kind. I kill them.
Cassiel Barrow is dead, and dying.
And the true light of the heart is his executioner.
