Standard Maelstrom

Part I


Could This Be a Case of Schadenfreude?


Nisien’s POV:


A rogue tear down my back, awakens me. In some of his dreams, Mera weeps without knowing and rarely, that compunction manifests itself in this world. Something far worse than what has happened to me, has befallen him. But he is not aware of this.


Otherworldly creatures feel in a paroxysmal way and what they feel is not related to what a mortal experiences during his life. Our feelings are different and never polarized. In this matter, we are incapable of distinguishing our emotions and be subtle about them. This rule applies to all, even to those considered wise. In their case, they simply stuck to quietness and platitude till they start sporting the attributes of primordial arbors. Demons don’t hate, they obsess. Even the hounds of hell don’t know what hatred is. Explaining it to them is pointless. The old language doesn’t display such phonemes. In this case, English is very permissive and the foul language, Mera is so fond of – has some surprising particularities.


I watch my hands latching on his neck, my fingers tapping lightly on their own accord. He’s so warm. Always, in the mornings, he’s like a furnace and he’s oh, so, sensitive. If I pinch him casually, his whole body will go into tremors; his back arching beautifully in my grasp. I’m so cruel for taunting him, the way I do. For screwing with his mind, for going along with Virgil’s selfish plan for redemption. His redemption. What a selfish man, he bothers me. Now it’s too late to go back…. The overture has ended, the general idea has been drawn, He must remember and this web of deceit is the only one I can sketch. I nibble on his ear, I bite just slightly, inducing the right amount of stimulation, I let the hands getting across his back at the juncture point. Light pressure will make the wings retreat. He’s got them twisted once and it wasn’t pretty. I should’ve imagined they weren’t as resilient as they looked, they’re after all…


I may not feel guilt but still watching those glazed, unprotected eyes is an action I’m too much of a coward to enterprise. That’s why faking human lust, I kiss him. Firstly on the forehead, suppressing the instinct to smolder his mouth. I let the tongue trail on his sickly whitish face and then I blow… It’s a swift, chilly gush of air, gilding his frame. This body of his, it’s not his own creation. The flesh grasping the bones might pertain to him, but the rest’s been carefully sculpted. Tediously, even…. Into this flawless being which could only have been a human in the beginning. He’s numb with feeling. He ought to take action, his strong hands should come around me and pull me down, tackling me down – so he could rest his knees between my willingly spread legs.


He’s looking at me but he’s not seeing. For all that he knows, this is only a fantasy, leaving him with a bittersweet taste in the end. But I don’t stagger, I entreat him by letting those hands of mine, guiding him till the point we’re at the same eye level. I challenge him to take a sip from my being. To bathe in my scent. Might I add that I have never been sniffled more thoroughly by other than him. I turned my neck as offering. For someone who used to find kissing – a rather disgusting activity, I’ve become quite the addict now. Kissing means belonging, means possession, dominance and sacrifice, mutual understanding. Kissing is therefore a contract and with every kiss, he keeps his word as I do mine. I wreak his carcass in rapture and he leaves me with something to be fond of. I open my mouth and his essence creeps into mine, infecting me with his misery and necessity. Only in despair, does one act like this. Only fueled by ecstasy, is one prompted to forsake the voice that yells from the bottom of its lungs “I am…”


Claws drawn that leave shallow cuts, they pierce adamantly and even rip a couple strands of hair…. He pressed his upper body against mine, trapping me. His teeth tore swiftly at my lips, the blood’s all but pooled down my neck. The coppery taste makes him go berserk….More access, more….just more. More of everything…. I’m not a sexual being thus I’m not aroused, but he is and he can’t quite understand why I’m flaccid. With blood dripping from his opened, gasping mouth, Mera is bewildered. Carefully, he touches my member and eyes that were closed before open. He never paid attention to these details. He needs to be gratified, I’m just here to provide a hole for him. Does that sound horrible? I guess through a human’s eye, I’m a masochist. There’s only one problem with that assessment: I don’t feel pain. When he penetrates me dry, unprepared, only using a bit of spit as lubricant, one might shriek, might yell, and might even shut-down. While I’m, just going along with the flow. With every rough thrust that buries him to the hilt, a bloody substance eases his passage. My fellow kindred spirits would be mortified to assist at such a display of desecration. I got news for them; this Noble has fallen long ago. A sweaty palm, petting my check makes me yelp in frustration and push him away.


I’m dragged back. Can’t say I’m trying really hard to avoid such a raw display of …..Of what, I’m not sure, either. Legs propped over his broad shoulders. Somehow, I’m tense, more so than usually. I’m being pained by something and this in turn, annoys me. It’s like an itch tormenting me in a non-painful way. Just how am I supposed to help you, Mera? I’ve sent you on enough wild goose chases already. The signs are there. I can’t spell it for you. There’s a contract binding me to secrecy. I stare at him, memorizing curves and texture, scars that he’s oblivious of, ruby lips panting, teary eyes. You’re there aren’t you, Mera? Somewhere in a darkened, little room, kicking away at the walls and screaming, screaming to snap out of it, to stop inflicting such a great amount of pain and always ending in an inhumanly keen of hopelessness.


A flick of fingers causes time to stop. The Brotherhood might me able to fuck up a mind but don’t get me wrong, the extent of their powers lays within a suggestion. They’re the craftsmen who sculpt impressions. They install mechanisms within living, breathing bodies in order to decipher what makes one tick. Usually they prey on the weak ones because is troublesome to “annoy” higher authorities. Even as a human, Mera managed by far to surpass even some of what were thought to be perilous opponents. In a world divided by veils and indifference, he was the missing link in their collection. What’s more shocking is that despite the certainty of failure, they succeeded in making him, from flesh and scratch.


Within this still, you are flawless, an expression of completeness.


Another flick causes time to swing back with a vengeance and once more, hands assert their grip upon my shoulders. Dazed eyes are closing now and whispered like a mantra, an apology soars to my ears. “Cumming” such a vulgar world - provided an opportunity, I offer you release. Therefore I surrender my body. A vessel acknowledged by now, with the vague notion of pain. But unlike in the case of mortals, this kind of Pain does no make me selfish, I transcend it and through it, I overcome it. In the end, a trail of sticky cum, binds us and thus, by this exchange of bodily fluids, unspoken wishes come to life. To die. To be repented.


~~~

“There’s so much sadness in this world, Nisien. It might be cuz I’ve crashed here for quite some time, but humans are so depressing. They’re even worthy of my pity. And so are their beliefs and their gods, countless of morose souls pretending to smile. Also, don’t lemme get started on the “fear” aspect…. I’m glad that I posses neither envy nor temptation.”


“Then why do you stay?”


“Oh Nisien, at the beginning I was mildly curious, later on, I was testing a theory and now I bath under a belief proven right. They may be sullen individuals, with bloodstained hands, weeping and self-flagellating but despite Death and Anamnesis, they manage to seize the moment and hope. Hope even when Hope dies…. Sorry to bother you with my rant, I haven’t drank my coffee yet. Please take a sit, a lad will surely come to take our order.”


Jules is not gender specific. Not a male, neither a female. Jules is an existence renting bodies which then morph into what Jules desires. Jules is my trump card. If it wasn’t for it, this entire crusade would be in vain.


“Don’t refer to me as it, Nisien. You’re being rude.” His face reverts to his initial state, milky blue eyes and auburn-colored hair. - “And you’re oh, so deathly pale. No pun intended. Despite your stubborn conviction, you’re pained and you hurt through every pore and fiber of your being. Since when is pitiful a trend for my lovely Nisien? Has that thing wooed his way to your heart or whatever?”


“Mera is not a thing, Jules and I think it would be best for you to drink a coffee.”


“Touchy, touchy! Did I hit and scored? You know me, harsh is my second nature. I didn’t take care of you, just so you could ran off and whore yourself for an unfortunate soul. Despite your ability to switch one body for another, to think this beautiful form of yours has gone through so much, to think how filthy you are, sickens me.’


"Please, you’re the one complaining. Considering the state this corpse was when you decided to inhabit it and the fact that you’re fondling me, I ought to be the one grossed out.”


“The world is too much with us; late and soon, /Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;/Little we see in Nature that is ours;/ We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!/ This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,/ The winds that will be howling at all hours,/ And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,/ For this, for everything, we are out of tune;/It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be/ A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; /So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,/ Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;/Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. Lovely mate this Wordsworth” A feeling close to remorse makes Jules recite. He expresses apologies by way of literary means. Of us all, each and everyone bears seeds of Han. “Tell me, Nisien why have you come? My call was not responded and yet when you’re not expected, you pay me a visit.”


“No reason. Needed a change of scenery.”


“Or a confession…. Confess your frivolous thoughts and I’ll kiss you and make everything be well again.”


“You’re way too over-confident for your own good sake.”


“As required from one of the Firsts. These splendid oaks were but yesterday, helpless acorns. The Time I cannot grasp and Earth is something I do not set my foot on. Men and their Children – Gods as reflection to Dreams and Ideals – whiter with every blink of my eyes. They become dust and quickly are forgotten just to be replaced by others. Sad, so sad.”


I don’t know for sure when it happened but at some point, Jules lost the meaning of life. Forgot its significance or maybe he just realized that all of us were simply useless and served no purpose. Not capable of feelings, we live an existence just for the sake of living it. There’s no one out there to teach us how to die and be reborn, how to die and to forget but still be able to lay within the embrace of a lover, how to die and be alive through the aid of a companion. And there’s no language, through which we can express ourselves properly.


“I lied to you.”


“I know my liebe.”


“I made no deal with them. My wish can’t be granted through smoke and mirrors.”


“I had no doubt in my mind. You can be rather naïve at times but there’s no way, those phonies could’ve tricked you. You are my apprentice. A dumb one but a perceptive one nonetheless.”


“I just needed an occupation.”


“A project.”


“Yea… I wanted…”


“Craved for more….”


“For nuances and notes.”


“The musical score of Despair.”


“And of Bliss.”


“You’ve gotten hard for me, my child. That Mera has the most wonderful effects on you.”


A gasp and a fallen chair. “I have to scram.”


~~~

“Once upon a time, in some out of the way corner of that universe which is dispersed into numberless twinkling solar systems, there was a star upon which clever beasts invented knowing. That was the most arrogant and mendacious minute of "world history," but nevertheless, it was only a minute. After nature had drawn a few breaths, the star cooled and congealed, and the clever beasts had to die. One might invent such a fable, and yet he still would not have adequately illustrated how miserable, how shadowy and transient, how aimless and arbitrary the human intellect looks within nature. There were eternities during which it did not exist.


And when it is all over with the human intellect, nothing will have happened. For this intellect has no additional mission which would lead it beyond human life. Rather, it is human, and only its possessor and begetter takes it so solemnly-as though the world's axis turned within it. But if we could communicate with the gnat, we would learn that he likewise flies through the air with the same solemnity, that he feels the flying center of the universe within himself. There is nothing so reprehensible and unimportant in nature that it would not immediately swell up like a balloon at the slightest puff of this power of knowing. And just as every porter wants to have an admirer, so even the proudest of men, the philosopher, supposes that he sees on all sides the eyes of the universe telescopically focused upon his action and thought..."


Reading “On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense” by Nietzsche irks me. Mortals have passed way too fast past the Golden Age of Innocence, having acquired a clear sight, made them see their faults and the trembling shadows behind them, at a closer look, disappeared. Divine Providence took a leave of absence and threw them out of their axis. Mera’s still sleeping and I’ve decided not to bother him with my theatrics today. As a matter of fact, I‘ll stop altogether. Jules said that I’m too close now, too deep in, to simply freeze this relationship. To forfeit this charade. It’s been played for far too long and it is fiercely rooted. Though he also said that I could very well ignore this, burn the contract thingie and to hell with Virgil and his guilt. He betrayed Mera in the first place, he ought and must and sooner or later, despite all his trials, he will suffer the consequences. Mortals are beautiful in that way. In the way in which they suffer while struggling to obtain God’s forgiveness.


“I overslept. Why didn’t you wake me up? I’d have made breakfast.” Ruffled hair and bloodshot eyes. His movements are slowed down. Yet he doesn’t realize it. He never does, his center of gravity doesn’t let him. If he did, all hell would break loose. It’s just a matter of time, anyway.


“ It’s alright. I had some cleaning to do. I apologize for yesterday.” It never ceases to amaze me how easily I lie, considering this concept is as foreign to me as any other human thing. Now I’ve come to think that I’m as close to a clinic case as I can get. I want…. to be gentle. He deserves gentle but how can I procure this feature? Maybe just the fact that I am able to want is a sign of improvement. How frustrating is this? Am I trying so hard that I’ve developed characteristics more humane that not even mortals’ posses? The risk was always there.


“Nisien…“ Sentences are started but never have the chance to arrive to the end. He’s relieved to see me up and going. My scintillating smile is cool and breathed upon his still opened lips, he shivers. I lean forward and webbing my fingers behind his neck, I pull him into another kiss. Our lips barely touch themselves, our tongues move in wanton abandonment and this could simply last forever. The risk of asphyxiation doesn’t even cross our minds. The soft and tender flesh pushes hard, consuming me, quickly retreats and greedily laps around my neck, cheeky bites adorning patches of heated flesh. If it weren’t for the marks of the morning debauchery still persisting on my milky white flesh, I’d go all the way. As it is I stop, pushing him easily away just as his hands were about to glide down to my shirt. He’s all flushed and across his face, the signs of regret and self-discontent have taken residence. He’s ashamed and the thought of wanting more, makes him feel sick.


“Don’t worry – I whisper, walking clumsily away from him – I thoroughly enjoyed it…. “


~~~


If you don’t feed a dog, he reverts back to his savage archetype. The Brotherhood is just like that – an insatiate hound addicted to the meaning of life. As they cannot possibly comprehend what being alive is, a thought came to their mind. A crude and effective one: dissection. As already stated: immortals don’t live, we linger. This aspect can’t be changed; it is engraved in our genome. Following the syllogism, in a totally unoriginal way, thy mentioned Brothers over the course of History, have sinned a lot. This however has stopped with Mera when accidentally, instead of End and Amnesia, an unexpected consequence has been brought to life.


“Not to be taken as a skeptic, but the church you’re talking about is nowhere in sight.”


“The church’s just a landmark.”


“Be it as it may, my point still stands.”


“Mera, is never too late to be initiated onto the Path of Patience.”


“I ain’t in no hurry. I’m stating the obvious. Tell me what am I supposed to do and I won’t whine so much.”


“Why are implying there’s something for you to do in the first place?”


“Cuz since day one, you made me into a PE.”


“Would it kill you speak properly?”


“As in using adequate grammar?”


“Yes, how about that?’


“Ain’t my style, angel.” I guess that to a mortal, I’d look like that. Like what he envisions a divine, translucent, ineffable being must look like. “Tell me once more the reason for standing at a crossroad. You know, it’s an ill omen to have neither a purpose nor a destination? What are we investigating, now?”


“I told you countless times, backgrounds. We’re into people’s pasts and stories.”


“That means we’re folklorists. Eckk, I don’t wanna me no folklorist, Nisien. Wouldn’t it be better to investigate a mysterious disappearance? A in someone that is actually disappeared and traces of him, forgotten. Killed in dubious ways, wiled by some inconspicuous creature?”


“If I say that’s what we’re about to do, will stop with the gibberish?”


“Maybe. If the scenery satisfies me.”


“Oh, it will…. It most certainly will. Now tell me in which year of grace do we found ourselves?”


“2008?”


“On what month?”


“The Eighth?”


“Do you have any particular place in mind that you might want to see?”


“As a matter of fact….. What is that place, Nisien?”


“What I was talking all along.”


Jules said I had a wish. A simple one that would not interfere with the Transcendental Balance of Things. A wish is common knowledge in this artificial cities, lighted by LEDs and fed with prospects of better, shinier tomorrows. Jules also said that Men dwell too often and too easily in clichés and repeated mistakes and that no matter what, Men are never satisfied - unlike us, who are always gratified. My wish was monotonous and could take millennia to be granted. In that respect, he said that he will do me a favor and speed up the process. I’ll have to be careful and keep in mind the expiration date of his offer. Jules said and I quote: “Since you like so much to be a puppet, I’ll challenge you to a twisted game. Not harmful but lets just call it “illuminating”. It will surely be a game worthy of your fine origine. Worthy of your talents and appreciation. If you get to the bottom of it, your wish might just get granted. Did I mention that your friend has a chance in a million, just like you? What do you say? Are you gonna jump on this bandwagon whose destination is a psychedelic Nirvana?” Needless to say, I did. In doing so I’ve discovered things I do not like: such as puzzles. Who knew Perfection could be dumbfounded just like any other damned soul?


TBC


Author's Note:
Schadenfreude - is enjoyment taken from the misfortune of someone else. In the "Nicomachean Ethics", Aristotle used the term epikhairekakia as part of a triad of terms, in which epikhairekakia stands as the opposite of phthonos, and nemesis occupies the mean. Nemesis is "a painful response to another's undeserved good fortune," while phthonos is "a painful response to any good fortune," deserved or not. The epikhairekakos person actually takes pleasure in another's ill fortune. "There is no glee like schadenfreude."

Han -a Korean cultural concept of lament
"Han is an expression of the complex feeling which embraces both sadness and hope. The sadness stems from the effort by which we accept the original contradiction facing all living things, and hope comes from the will to overcome the contradiction. In the present, we accept it; in the future, we will overcome it. Life for all living things is full of contradictions. Where there is centrifugal force, there is also centripetal force. Where there is a beginning, there is also an end. Where space lasts for ever, time passes. And all who are born must die. Thus we become aware of existence, time, space and life itself. Finally, we have to admit the contradictory duality of life. It is very easy to resign ourselves to this contradiction, but we can think of it in another way. We can think of ourselves as actively conforming to the laws of the universe. When we are poor, we think of Han."(Park Kyong-ni)

On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense - is an (initially) unpublished work of Friedrich Nietzsche, written in 1873. It deals largely with epistemological questions of truth; in particular, Nietzsche criticizes the formation of concepts from individual unique experiences.

The sonnet recited by Jules is: "The World is Too Much With Us" (1802) by William Wordsworth in which he criticizes the modern world for being absorbed in materialism and distancing itself from nature.