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Satachrist is...

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Friday, February 13, 2004

  An End to an Ending.

Today belonged to the memory of a great thinker: Immanuel Kant.

More than anything else he was the personification of the Germans' inbred idealism. Only a German could rationalise the metaphysical and completely ignore the pragmatism of the coming age. What a brilliant contradictio.

And what would we have done without him? 


Wednesday, February 11, 2004

  The New, Improved Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion

Protocol CCCXXI: No Nation Left Behind
Through nefarious and underhanded dealings, the International Jewish Conspiracy has installed morons and incompetents in positions of power in several key governments throughout the world. The ambitious “No Nation” protocol calls for the investiture by 2010 of at least 36 new national-level leaders handpicked for poor leadership and diplomatic skills, dubious moral fiber, or sub-average intelligence.

“2010 is coming soon, but we’ve already had a lot of important successes,” says Jeffrey Schwartz of Governance. “Installing Berlusconi consolidated the national and private media of all Italy in the hands of one worldly individual who, let’s just say, has never admitted to chopping down any cherry trees. In Spain, Prime Minister Aznar has drastically reduced faith in government almost entirely through the use of poorly considered facial hair. And in America, let me tell you, do we have it made!” Schwartz, however, calls on the Membership to be vigilant: “Howard Dean is a real worry to us. Putting Bush in power called for manipulation of the polls, the judicial system, and the media. People are getting smart to the operation and there is a good chance someone with a 3-digit IQ could be back in power if we don’t keep an eye on things.”

 


Monday, February 09, 2004

  Rebirth.

On the day before my rebirth I was mostly mourning a year that should never have happened. 2003. "The year is dead," I remembered myself saying on Dec. 31. "The year is dead. Long live the year." I also said things like "balls not bombs!" when I threw snowballs into the crowds. It was not a good year. But things can change.

As I sat there at home, sick and alone, contemplating on the nature and therapy of pediatric diseases, I couldn't make myself think further. Somehow the bad year had never really ended. The small private party I had planned was cancelled due to my sickness. It would be a rather lonely birthday.
There was a quick call from a friend who wanted to stop by, and I was already preparing a fresh pot of tea. When I opened the door though, I saw two men in black coming up the stairs. I recognised them of course, but the outfits looked curious on them. I was impressed.
"Sir," said my friend. "There is someone here to see you."
It was completely dark by now. And through the door came a bowed creature in a grey monk suit, his face hidden. "Ah," it hissed. "The blood of my ancestors." In one fluid motion the creature embraced me, bit my neck, and together we sank down to the ground. He offered me his wrist and said: "Today is your day of rebirth."
After he had left the other two led me outside. "You are being expected, sir." I was escorted down the street where a lady in a white ballroom dress was offering me her hand. "We were waiting for you, my dear." It was perfectly obvious that the only thing I could ever do was play along. It was simply too beautiful to resist. "Je suis desol?, my lady," I said and kissed her hand. "Letting someone like you wait, is not so much a crime as it is a mortal sin." With a smile and wave of her gloved hand she dismissed her two servants. I offered her my arm and together we walked down the street were a car was waiting. A young man with a turban opened the door for us, muttering "myladymyladymyladymylady...". Again. Impressive.
"Where are we going?" I asked. The lady in white shrugged. "To a little... event." We drove for a while and chatted ildly. I told her a story about a young man who murdered his beloved and her lover in a moonlit night, and was from then on forever haunted by the image of her face on the full moon. The story amused her.

Our journey ended at something that looked like a round grey tower. It was an old air-raid shelter. We climbed the steps, each of which was lit by a candle, and a man in a black suit and shades opened the door for us. I looked at him and smiled inwardly. You, I thought. Inside I learned that there would be no light in this place expect for the glow of candles. I knew the man in the black robe who stood there, awaiting my arrival. I knew him better than anyone But he introduced himself as Caleb. The lord of this place. "You must be hungry," he said and I didn't disapprove.
There was a room covered with black sheets. And there he was, in chains, hanging from the ceiling. It looked beautiful. A small black-haired parasite was gnawing on his leg. Caleb ushered it away and the next second it was swallowed by shadowy arms. There was barely a scream. We stood in front of the hanging man. "I hope he pleases you," said Caleb. "It is so difficult today to find decent... material." I smelled the man's neck and he started to wimper. Decent material. Oh yes...

There was a staircase, leading up in a spiral. We were following the candles. In front of the big door we stopped. I could hear music from inside. Live music. I couldn't believe it. But Caleb merely waited, expectantly. While all I could do was ask myself why I still felt so normal. Then the door opened.
The first thing I saw was the band, playing. The singer noticed me, drew closer, grinned through his Alice-Cooper-makeup without missing a note. "... Let me die / In your arms / Wait for me my darling / Don't close your eyes..." You bastard. You fucking lovely bastard.
Then the moment was there and I turned. I faced the crowd. The army of undead. All around me are familiar faces. And the moment kept lasting.
When the song died down Caleb clapped his hands and spoke. "Tonight," he said, "is the the night of rebirth. Tonight our friend is reborn among the great ones. And this night is all his. All for him." By the gods. The undead raised their glasses in quiet cheer. Then Caleb clapped again. "Play!" The band began their next song.
And I had to laugh. It came straight out of the depths of my stomach, I had no control over it. I laughed and laughed. It was the first time in my life I think. But that night, it was not the last time.

Other things happened. There was wine and dancing. My friends offered me their eternal loyalty. It was part of their present. One of them had to incorporate the role of the vampire hunter. He spoke up, then threatened me first with garlic, then a crucifix, then sprinkled me with holy water (I'll forgive him that) and ultimately shot at me with a crossbow. Another friend threw himself gracefully in the line of fire and took the arrow that was meant for my heart. It was perfect. The poor vampire hunter was of course consumed by the mob. But not before he could put on his trusty helmet with the "Danger Seeker" emblem. Not that it helped him much.
Saying that it was the greatest party ever would be a grave understatement. And for a good while it lasted forever.

The next day I was having brunch and birthday cake with my family. When my grand-mother asked me how the party went, I suddenly found myself dumbstruck. I didn't know how to answer. My vocabulary proved to be severly lacking.
That evening I went to meet my friends again. I wanted to thank them, a thousand times. But hell, I had no idea how. So I brought cake.
My supposed short visit turned into a late night meeting. They told me about their ideas, about the secret meetings and the planning. Their excitement was barely containable and I didn't know how to respond. "I still don't know how you did it," I said, shaking my head. "Oh easy," said Christian. "With about three months of preparation. And well... we always wanted to do that. You almost ruined it when you got sick."
Then I just told them. About last year. About the feelings I had carried with me through 2003. About new year's and that I had felt lonely. "It was over," I told them. "You chased it away." They smiled at me.
It was over. The new year was here. Finally.
The year is dead. Long live the year.

We talked about friendship. About us and about all the others. About how we had found each other and became parts of each others' lives. Then one of them said it. "It was you," he said. "We met because of you. You brought us all together." I was at a loss for words. But I think I was getting used to it.

At the party I remember a friend's friend addressing me: "This is one hell of a party. No one ever did something like that for me. They must be really good friends of yours."
No. Not good. They are the best.