The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The room is cold, and the sort of dark one only gets underground. It is the middle of the night. I sit in silence, contemplating the overhang of weather-yellowed fingernails, and think not for the first time that I ought to put myself in order. The wry twist of my lips drips with familiar bitterness.



She asked me today, in cautious and tentative tones, if I would consider professional help. Without cracking an eyelid, I parted my lips to tell her I'd rather shoot myself (the thought crossing my mind that it might come to that), but what escaped them was "Is that what you want?" Her answer was sculpted to be supportive rather than affirmative.



In the future, I hope to avoid the suggestion.



She has since sought sleep from the rattling contents of a plastic orange cylander, and having wearied of sleep, I have done the opposite. So I sit in silence, more stimulated than alert, picking at the remnants of an unfinished dinner and awaiting the bus that will return me to my personal hell before the dawn sheds light on my abscence there. I have overstayed. I have engagements in the morning.





I travelled here with the idea of celebrating the new year. Or, more accurately, of attending a celebration of the new year. Unexpected nostalgia defined the experience. A basement aglow with the rythmic blinking of LEDs, arranged in rows across the synthesizers, amplifiers, compressors, mixers, crossovers, samplers, processors, and drum machines nestled between the inevidable and oh-so-familiar tangled mounds of audio cable. A basement apulse with aimlessly creative electronic stylings, or perhaps aimlessly styled electronic creations, show time long since finished, you know if we run your outs into channel 4 and mix it in at the 909 we could sync us both to him. I tuned a sound system for the first time in memory, but that was my only contribution. My personal equipment was not present.



I caught up with the ever cheerful russian now stationed in silicon valley, visiting friends for a night between family obligations and flights to Cuba. He is leveraging ideas we once discussed with one of the most successful companies in the world. I was thoroughly informed about the state of the stock market by a man I've shared homes with; it seems he is making the transition from computer science to financial planning. I informed him that my hope to reposition myself geographically was seeming more and more remote. I was greeted with suprise by people once regulars of my house, the sort you can come home to find in your living room without blinking. I was tackled to the ground by a best friend who had assumed me dead. I was asked how I was doing. I said I was tired.





Upon my retiring, I felt the thick cloud of obscurity resettle about me. I slept away the next several days, tucked quietly out of the way. It was nice, for a few hours, to pretend, but everything drains me now. Soon I will return to my solitude.



It is only a short time until morning. Soon, I will forget what I remembered briefly. It will be easier that way.