“Very few beings really seek knowledge in this world. Mortal or immortal, few really ask. On the contrary, they try to wring from the unknown the answers they have already shaped in their own minds —justifications, confirmations, forms of consolation without which they can’t go on. To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner.” ~
Once upon a time I lived life like a vampire. Inhabiting the blackness of a castle – yes, a true castle, which is never nearly as romantic as one thinks it is – I roamed cold and clammy hallways, floating down dim stone stairwells, and avoiding the piercing bits of light that peeked into tiny windows of turrets. Castles are only good for their gorgeous darkness – they offer little comfort otherwise, unless you are in need of defense. And even then they can only keep things out of themselves; not once did they protect my heart.
I learned a lot in that castle, and during that part of my life, which should have been far lonelier than I ever allowed myself to feel. Some self-preserving instinct deep inside of me signaled a dire warning that if I had faced the loneliness then it would have won, taking me down entirely, and likely forever. The castle outwardly illustrated how to construct a fortress of the heart, though I may have known that before I ever stepped into such a cruel edifice. And perhaps my heart didn’t deserve such protection. God, if such a thing exists, may not have had much empathy for my existence, and being a vampire was probably a step up from what certain others actually thought of me.
Hate to give the satisfaction, asking how you’re doing nowHow’s the castle built off people you pretend to care about?Just what you wantedLook at you, cool guy, you got itI see the parties and the diamonds sometimes when I close my eyesSix months of torture you sold as some forbidden paradiseI loved you trulyGotta laugh at the stupidity
Monster.
Dick.
Evil.
[Sigh.]
I’ve heard it all before, I’ve heard it all before, I’ve heard it all before…
Vampires have long held a bad reputation. I’m not saying they don’t deserve it, or even that they’re real – I’m just saying it’s bad, and as someone who’s been vilified in ways both just and unfair, I know what that’s like. There’s a loneliness there, and occasionally a stance of sympathy from those who enjoy a dance with the devil, beneath the pale moonlight or not. (You know the moonlight of which I speak.)
Like the vampire, I’ve committed acts of atrocity, mostly in my youth, the way most of us do – being careless with the hearts of others, caring too much for this heart of mine, and behaving in cruel, reckless, feckless, fuck-them-if-they-can’t-take-a-joke form. The unevolved part of me that relishes in such villainy takes a degree of pride in that, the same way that I pretend not to boast about my penchant for making people cry.
‘Cause I’ve made some real big mistakesBut you make the worst one look fineI should’ve known it was strangeYou only come out at nightI used to think I was smartBut you made me look so naiveThe way you sold me for partsAs you sunk your teeth into me, ohBloodsucker, famefuckerBleedin’ me dry, like a goddamn vampire
Did I mean to hurt the people that I hurt? For the most part no, and that may be the tragic irony of it all. Because the people I intended to hurt didn’t always feel it – or if they did they never showed it, and where’s the fun in that? It only served to make me try harder, to raise the level of diabolical emotional pain I might inflict, ensuring that the next time I struck the wound would prove viciously debilitating. Innocent people got injured then – the flying shrapnel of my torment an unintentional but mandatory aspect when you’re out to cause pain of any kind. Destruction begets destruction, especially where emotions are concerned. Rarely does one heart get broken without others being affected. Back then I didn’t care. I couldn’t. Caring that much would have been a hindrance and a luxury, and my heart preferred to live in stark, unencumbered fashion; being selfish is always easier than being selfless – and who, in their heart of hearts, really wants to be without a self? “I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit” – and you will always blame me for your own weakness.
And every girl I ever talked to told me you were bad, bad newsYou called them crazy, God, I hate the way I called them crazy tooYou’re so convincingHow do you lie without flinching? (How do you lie, how do you lie, how do you lie?)Ooh, what a mesmerizing, paralyzing, fucked-up little thrillCan’t figure out just how you do it, and God knows I never willWent for me, and not her‘Cause girls your age know better
I’ve made some real big mistakesBut you make the worst one look fineI should’ve known it was strangeYou only come out at nightI used to think I was smartBut you’ve made me look so naiveThe way you sold me for partsAs you sunk your teeth into me, ohBloodsucker, famefuckerBleedin’ me dry, like a goddamn vampire
It is in the vampire’s nature to kill. Murder, for them, is a means of survival. You can’t blame a polar bear or a hippopotamus for trying to end you if you’ve encroached upon their turf, and the shark that nibbles at your calf and the snake that bites you after a warning rattle are only being their authentic selves. If it was the vampire’s nature to be murderous, it was in my nature to be cruel. Maybe my nature was cultivated from nurture – I’m in no mood to argue that one way or another – I only acknowledge that by the time I moved into a castle my nature was set in stone, like some blue-ringed octopus that only wanted to be left alone.
Well, I’m giving myself too much credit in trying to take away the notion that my choices were somehow an inevitable and uncontrollable aspect of my being when they were, after all, choices; the purpose of this post is to own up to the evil that once entranced me, and may yet again, because once you’ve tasted such a thing it’s hard to not want it when the opportunity presents itself. Those opportunities arise when the heart is weak and the soul is weary; evil often flourishes in the aftermath of pain. A sadistic streak, having once calmed the hurt of a broken heart, might feel good again following similar circumstances of being wronged. The grooves are still there, the path remains apparent.
You said it was true love, but wouldn’t that be hard?You can’t love anyone, ’cause that would mean you had a heartI tried you help you out, now I know that I can’t‘Cause how you think’s the kind of thing I’ll never understand
I’ve made some real big mistakesBut you make the worst one look fineI should’ve known it was strangeYou only come out at nightI used to think I was smartBut you made me look so naiveThe way you sold me for partsAs you sunk your teeth into me, ohBloodsucker, famefuckerBleedin’ me dry, like a goddamn vampire
“It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I found myself so vividly aware of him it was as if he had only just left the room and the ring of his voice were still there. And somehow, there was a disturbing comfort in that, and, despite myself, I’d envision his face.” ~
