LIFE OF THE DAMNED

I suffer from illustrious decline; I love pain, beauty & cruelty, above all the last which destroys a world abandoned to evil. I always imagine further pain, live wounds.

I saved the hard parts of childhood, the withered faces of my grandparents who died in this spacious house after a long illness. I recreate the scene of their burials which I witnessed pure & shocked.

Since then, mine is a critical unholy soul living on the battleground of human & godly powers, driven by a mania of questions. This insatiable curiosity brought academic triumph then a fleeting & corrupt life upon leaving the classroom. I hate especially my fellow men who inspire a fascist word within me. I confess that in the bored days of my youth my discordant & private nature resulted in drag out fights & drew forth a wit from the loosest women who frequent buildings of danger & deviation.

Unseduced by worldly pleasures, I returned by chance to solitude, much before the end of my youth. I withdrew to my native city, removed from progress, among the dead. Since then I have not left this mansion’s shadow. Behind the house flows a thin river of ink, saved from the light by a spot of trees, torn by a furious wind, born of the driest mountain. An oxen cart passes slowly across the deserted road in front of the house, in imitation of an Etruscan country scene.

Curiosity misled me into an unfortunate marriage. I married a young woman whose body mirrored mine, save for one unique improvement. I treated her with scorn, loved her as I would a collapsible doll. I soon became bored with the childish, often bothersome creature & decided to just kill her in order to learn more.

I directed her towards an empty ditch in the yard of our home. I carried an iron block in my hand & used it to club her once above the ear. The girl fell upon her knees in the hole, shrieking weakly, such an idiot. I covered her with dirt & that night sat alone at the table toasting her absence.

That night and many others that followed a sudden brilliance illuminated my bedroom, banishing any thought of sleep. I began to lose my strength, became thin & pale. To distract myself I rode away on horseback towards the outskirts of the city through blank countryside. I would rest beneath the same ancient tree, the right sort of place to meet with your mistress. During these rests I could hear scattered & confused murmurs, incapable of true articulation. For days I stayed beneath the tree, my reason became blinded — a nervous breakdown. I awoke nailed to this round chair in the care of my loyal servant who defended me when I was young.

I pass the time in anxious silence, the bottom half of my body covered in a wide blanket. I wish to die & seek dark suggestions, next to me a candelabra (from the attic) is burning.

It is there that the spectre of my woman returns to visit. She walks toward me, vengeful hands in the air, my servant is cornered in fear. But I will not abandon this mansion until I succumb to the bitter ghost. I want to escape mankind even after death & have ordered this mansion destroyed the day after I die, in a tornado of fire together with my body.