NO. NO. NO. SHUTUPGETDOWN. SHUTITSHUTIT. DIE.

Onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnne . . . break her neck again, boil the fool alive, push it away take its eyes hang it forever and blow apart the tree but it never goes away you bastard, stop whining, stop whining at me, you can't have it you can't have it, you can't have it, you can't have it, you can't have it, you can't have it . . .

Hatred of the stupid little girl. Shut up. Die, bitch. Shut up. Die, idiot. Shut up. Die, cuntlicker. Die. Die. Die.

But NO. You're still here. You don't ever leave. You just. Hsssssssss. Bastardbastardbastard. Traitor. Traitor to the cause. You can't remember the Oath, your brain is mush, I can't stop you, I can kill you and kill you and kill you and you won't fucking die, please?¿please?¿stupidchild. please I'm BEGGING you stop it.

Hsss. She never goes away. She's the monkey on my back, not the other way around. Oh, I suffer moments of revelation too, bitch. That doesn't mean anything.

://Let me stop shivering for a moment and.

Neverneverland is Deadog and Wunderland and Deadog and Wunderland are Neverneverland. The City is gone, subsumed again, now by Deadog, where it rains. effigy is as king. She has destroyed herself and made a perfect mask that no one will ever get the better of, but she hates it. You would too. She destroyed the crown and ate the wire that held its power and now she is more than god itself. She can do anything for any reason in there. It's only limited by her mind. Which is. Very limited indeed. The blindfold signifies this and a million other things.

Massacre was in hibernation, I'd thought it dead, but it came back and. Um. Something about Rapture. It can fly again. It and effigy are like the good old days in the Underground. Fighting and fucking and screaming and grinning and avoiding each other and being unable to avoid each other. Mostly Massacre lives in the shadows, between the folds of reality, near the time-space whirlpool that hides the dog's original memories.

She's thrown up mountians. Gigantic mushrooms. Oceans, rivers, cathedrals, everything and nothing. The clouds are wierdly colored, but you wouldn't expect anything else, would you? She lobotomized Cat-thing& Bat-thing, replaced their brains with meese {pure rage} and set them loose. Since Bat's a wuss next to Cat's tendrils she gave him metal teeth and drove spikes into his paws for new claws. The two of them ravage the countryside like good little nightmare denizens are supposed to.

She killed all the golf balls, old myrmidons {even the grey, she lured it into her home and snapped it in half and ate its wings}, a lot of the foliage, hid the swamp so no one can find it unless they already know the way . . . basically cut everything that was good {gangrenous} from the heart of the place. Not that it will really help anything. A true nightmareland would still eat us in a second and spit out the bones. But never{never}mind.

She took the last Red Coat and disassembled it to learn how to make more. There's a great big vat sitting in the middle of the forest {you need architecture, fool} churning out these things. She wants to make an army. So far, success is marginal. They exist, and they're robotic and evil, but nowhere near as powerful as the originals. It's in the masks, and the coats, and the shadowstuff, but she doesn't have any of that and thinks it's all about metal anyway. Still, at least they look interesting. She walks among them and kicks them to death in order to get a toothpick. She'll figure it out eventually.

There's a bone cathedral. It looks like that room in Riven where they made offerings, but all made of bone. She doesn't feel pain at all, almost. Maybe 1/100th the nerve endings of normal people. So she masturbates on the tusks. And tied up Massacre to the throne and screwed it. {Massacre doesn't have any genitals . . . I have no idea how she does this. I get the impression that it's more about the act itself than the results. Power, seduction, superiority. Playing around.}

. . . I'd thought One was dead, too. But I guess she always was, in part. She's not really herself. More zombiefied than usual. She'll lie around being a nicely dead corpse for days, weeks, until something stimulates her {some outside influence, some reason to feel the heart} and then it's. Just back to old habits. effigy's losing the battle and she knows it. She's getting almost depressed over it, which is somewhat unlike her. Circumstances change people, I guess. It's linked to the rain. She'd absorbed some of Depp's blood when she killed him. I guess it shows.

The body twitches. Flails against the ground like it's choking, like a frog's leg given an electric shock, like a landed fish. Flop flop gasp gasp. Like a chest-burster, but it's all around us.

Take that fucking mask off, effigy. It's not yours . . . it won't help.

OhSHIT. The law of threes. You fool. You FOOL. Oh gods, you finally understand for a moment. No wonder. Oh god. No wonder. No wonder.

"You are such a fool to worry like you do, you gotta stand up straight, carry your own weight, these tears are going nowhere . . ."

No. On second thought I'm going to do the only thing I'm good at. Build a voodoo doll. And rip it to shreds. Slow and shuddering. But rip it to shreds. Because I can't stand any more of this. Even though I'm going to. Even though it'll never really end. Rip it to shreds. Because it's meaningless and useless and no one can ever see it anyway.

Cough up your intestines, kid. It'll help nothing. But the taste is to die from. Hssssssss.

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