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Chapter 24: LLC's

Every time I have dreams, or nightmares disguised as dreams, I somehow, someway inevitably snap out of them, and my eyes glow, setting off a resilient white, momentarily blinding me.

§warmed with deep, passionate feeling, I gradually gain the ability to see at some point in the midnight hour, or during the magic hour, while plagued with Alzheimer’s, and other diseases interrupting the flow of things. How my brain works bewildered me.

I was briefly stagnated, with no idea on how to move forward.

I murder and kill in a procrastinate state of mind.

Ђere was nothing worse than a famished vampire during her time of the month. Yes we still have periods, at least I do.

What am I into?

What are my hobbies?

I lust after a kill, and hunt down thy prey, and rob a mortal of his or her precious blood and, in some cases, I eat vital organs when I am really famished, or if my eyes art bigger than my stomach, with thoughts of the past, or lingering nightmares snaking through thy mind…

That’s the job of my pulse, though my blood flows in reverse, to remind me that I am more powerful than a nightmare, since it all starts from thought, and in the mind.

I don’t think I’ve mastered my thoughts…

I’ve spent centuries convincing myself that I had, and that I have.

I used to think I had those nightmares because of the last things I thought about when I fell asleep…

But that couldn’t be the case because just the other night, after killing a victim when he was getting off work at a power plant in Wisconsin—exhausted from 13 hours of slave-type dictatorship from a vicious tyrant without heart and emotion—I thought of wealth, prosperity and the law of attraction when I fell into a deep slumber, and I had a nightmare about the Atlantic Ocean swallowing me whole.

I awakened after an hour of drowning and flapping my arms and legs without an ounce of light in sight, panting and barbaric.

I knew it was the Atlantic Ocean because I can still taste remnants of dead slaves, from hundreds of years ago, lingering in my esophagus right this instant.

My pulse, and the pulse of mortals, was a glitch exploring a faulty Nervous §ystem without incident.

Unlike I, a woman, a vampire that will live forever, and have lived forever already, many call it centuries, and yes they have come to pass! and I’m still alive, and well, and as gorgeous as ever, mortals do weird things for survival, even ax each other out and kill themselves just on the strength of having the opportunity to advance in life and come into wealth and prosperity.

But they wanted handouts, and wanted it easily given to them while they selfishly save their jackpots.

A broke mortal will scream Bingo every time, and didn’t have all the winning numbers, stalling for cash, like I.

From what I see, while hunting for blood and food, many people want the world, but didn’t want to work for it, or help others in the world; they didn’t want to go through all the potholes and dead ends and ups and downs when it came to failure, easy come, and yes easy go.

Hadn’t humans realized that in order to gain experience in anything, and understand the logic behind it and the reasons for it, ye didn’t know what success was even if it stared ye in the face?

Trial and error, the basis of hypothesis lay on this incredible foundation of polarization and opposites, going through all factors, eliminating the lesser of evils, and going with the more obvious evil, when it’s laced with deceit and for profit, making the secret investor blush from his real estate property.

Ye selfishly donate to charities so ye can brag about what ye gave to the public, and naysayers, and how much ye gave to silence the critics, and why ye gave (expecting favors, and a tax return).

With a cold heart ye pretend to be a cheerful giver, but ye were really Robin Hood’s Robin Hood, stealing from the poor to give back the rich.

I call them brands, corporations and LLC’s, and they art only in thy life to earn thy last dollar through what they offereth, and spend big money to advertise their offer via commercials, programming ye into thinking ye needeth what ye see, keeping ye dependent and broke while they go on extended vacations investing in ways to destroy the poor and the middle class.

If I was a mortal, I would push that aside, and all the aforementioned things aside with it, and get to know myself, and get myself together.

Ђrough trial and error I would learn what works for me, and shy away from things out of my control.

I would stop relying on others’ for guidance and put an end to their validation, because when ye love yourself ye do not needeth it.

§eeking their permission to be yourself ails ye; keep them at bay if ye wish and desire to grow within yourself. Keep a stranger (and most of thy friends art strangers, associates) away from anything pertaining to ye and thy self-worth.

If ye didn’t work for it, and didn’t contribute just a tea spoon of thy time towards a cause, then don’t check for thy name in the credits when I succeed at what I do, and look good doing, I might add.

Right this instant—just as sure as I was breathing, just as sure of myself, confidently, that my gushy opening vibrated with lust and a hungry needeth to be pleased, as well as I, and my body—me, myself and I (the vampire) needed release…

Sigh. Instead I lay about my Quarters, my place of solitude with the strictest of tranquility, sleeping soundly, having been in a lazy mood lately, because I was at a crossroads/

There was a Yield and U-Turn sign up ahead, in all directions, held in place by a nightmare that was there, but I couldn’t see, yet I felt it on my arms, breaking me out in Goosebumps, and that I taste on my tongue.

My past, present and future was spread out before me in unusual, confusing ways. And if ye don’t know where you’re going, how do ye know ye have arrived?

In that I found myself floating through my dome ceiling, and, a few short minutes later, shopping during the burning of the midnight oil.

My answer for everything was always the same thing, eat (drink blood) and shop it all away, shop till I drop!

Buy a bunch of expensive things that become material possessions once ye bring purchased items home, spending thy hard earned money on the creations that came from the Creator’s thoughts.

Mortals earn their money through hard labor and a government keeping track of every single thing they do.

I earned my wealth through sex, murder and inheritance.

God hath a book of Life; the devil hath files and social security numbers labeling each and every mortal on earth.

Who knows what Tommy Hilfiger was thinking when he put out those outrageous clothes, created from the soul of Jim Crow, from what I heard.

Who truly knows what Σlizabeth Taylor really felt when she opened her famous diamond jewelry counter and released a reflection of it, called White Diamonds, such a lovely smell. Ђat perfume, fragrance, what have ye, oozed from my body, as I rest, trapped by the finality of hibernation in the back of a famous store.

I was so tired from shopping. I must have gone to a hundred shops!

All of my bags lay about, and I was too drained to carry them, or use my powers to rid myself of them. §pilling from those bags, with corporate logos all over them, were pricey clothes and heels and costume jewelry and lip gloss, make-up, statuettes or mortals making strange faces to the gods…

Plagued with nightmares once again I was, and as I battled a fallen foe from my past, and I couldn’t see his face, he was a vibrating blur, a few mortals saw me, my eyes dilating, and noticed my items.

“Look, Donnie! Ђe bitch is passed out!” came the rushed husky voice of an overweight man with a famous pop star on the front of his shirt.

Ђe taller one looked me over, his eyes wide and he interjected, “Wow! Look at all that jewelry!”

Ђe two men slowly approached me. “And she’s a fine woman! Look at her! Gorgeous!”

Fat Man squatted, struggling of course, and snatched my $45,000 diamond choker from my neck, and leaned over and ran his tongue along my face, slipping his hand up my dress, panting.

“Today must be our lucky day! Looks like she’s down for the count! Donnie, maybe ye should slide up in it! Ye art a virgin, aren’t ye?”

“I am not a virgin! And I don’t needeth ye to tell me anything! We art already stranded out here, and even if we take all these things how art we gonna get it home? We clearly stay across town!”

“§o ye ever think before ye talk? Or art ye naturally a bozo?”

“I beg thy pardon?”

“Ђy brain, does it work?”

“Does yours work?” Donnie asked, offended, shoving my gold rings in his pocket. And in that I learned something. Ђat mortals loved money and pricey things, and cherished it more than life.

Ђey didn’t think to call the paramedics to help me, and didn’t have an ounce of compassion to call the authorities.

Ђey assumed I was strung out on drugs and were going to screw me on this wet cobble stone pavement, behind a closed super store, Gucci, and rob me blind.

My body wasn’t going to move until it received a moderate amount of rest, no matter how the moon glowed, or how tempting human blood, I had to be obedient, and in a dream state I don’t sleep to dream, I dream to find out the future, what lies ahead for me.

Revelations come to me in that form, sometimes. When I’m in danger I have those dreams, and I have them now, as I slumber in the face of danger, but my sense of smell paints the images of what I now see, and I saw the men clearly, even with my eyes closed.

And this wasn’t thy average night of rest, after ye retired for the evening, and made sure thy family was tucked in, safely and securely, and thy alarm keeping things kosher until the rooster crows, and you’re up and at ’em yet again to make ends meet, or to pay bills that seemed endless, or maybe ye art at thy wits end right this moment, as ye read about me in a comatose sleep, my pupils dilating, putting my pressured tears on dialysis without any hope for a donor, and moving sporadically behind closed butterflies, ah that’s how I describe my hypnotizing eyes!

In the dream, in my dream, in the dream itself, and the very foundation it was based and created on, I was searching the images of my past, present and future as they flashed before me like words on an index cards before a blind, illiterate dyslexic.

Fat Man looked me over once more, while his buddy stood on guard, being the watch dog, and not a look out man. He was rubbing his erection, about to cum on himself, wondering how a woman felt, and knowing he never experienced so much as a kiss from the female species in his life, and was the true virgin, not Fat Man.

Notwithstanding, I see a series of rainbows form behind my closed eye lids while the heartless men busied themselves around me, more worried about being caught than anything, and this caused them to be stagnant.

Ђe radiant color of rainbows projected something into my corneas and retinas that even the sunlight can’t, or the moon’s glow for that matter, no matter the form, realistically or in JPΣG form stored on thy external hard drives for future reference.

Or any image or picture clad with pixels my eyes take in.

When they clap against a world sick with kingdoms starting to turn against kingdoms, and government planning assaults on other governments, right now, as I sleep, deeply I might add, watching the greed of the men, and the sexual needeth there within, and the rainbows turn in complete circles.

The colors morph into those hypnotizing black and white swirls, the kind that opens portals in thy eyes and ears.

And shows the pathway to thy brain, and everything in between, and roundabout.

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