From the dark of the border of the sunken city, whereof I tell you that I was an inhabitant of the lake that feasted on souls, I say to you that there is blood and that is the truth, though you may call me a liar,,, I am one who knows of the truth where the blood is in the vein of the beast, wherein I pen the tale of dark horror that I cannot remember yet I write here, it is not that fiction but this honest truth that elides from this, that this flesh that of the stillborn of the dark. I cannot recall the details that are detailed here in this tale but I have written them down by looking into the soul of the darkness. I am one who was listening to the dark music penning my tale of horror of the mind -- I often write of the horror of the mind because that is where my expedions into sojourns of the darkened soul take me -- you cannot stop me from doing this. The guitar solo had just started and I had got to the crescendo of EXIT LIGHT -- a story on a Lovecraftian vein such as that August Derleth might pen -- when a knock came on my door. I ignored it -- I am one who has to write when the muse that is one of darkness tells me for I am a master of dark thoughts and any mother fucker that interrupts me knows not to interrupt me or I get wrathfull and once even hit a guy -- but still the knock came at my door.

I was mad -- enraged -- furious -- berserk -- and even thought of throwing the paperweight at the door. "FUCK OFF!" I told whoever was at the door. "I AM WRITING AND THAT MEANS I AM NOT ONE TO BE DISTURBED!" But still the knock happened. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. It was as if the thing on the other end of the door did not know fear -- didn't it not know I had thoughts so dark that they scared all other people and knew how to use my fists to back them up? It was either that this was ignorant of my dangerousness or it was one that was just as dangerous as I -- I threw the paperweight at the door just to prove my point. "FUCK OFF MOTHER FUCKER! Cunt! I AM WRITING!" But still the knocking happened on the door, like the Raven in the poem by Edgar Allan Poe. I knew that if I opened the door it would say 'Never more'. The guitar solo on my boom box stopped and I knew I could not bring the scares with my story until the next guitar solo came -- I am one who times her angry stories to the guitar solos ever since Dimebag died -- and if the mother fucker who killed him ever shows his head I will beat him to death too. I might be a girl but I have no qwams about having to kick ass when I have to.

The next song started and it was FUCKING HOSTILE -- which was kind of appropriate because that was a description of that mood that I was one that was feeling it, mother fucker! I actually shouted at the fucker on the other side of the door. "You're in deep shit now mother fucker!" I shouted. "You're fucked! I'm gonna fucking kill you! You hear me mother fucker?" But still the knocking happened. He was knocking on my god damn door like he fucking owned the damn thing and I had to stop him. I picked up the paperweight but it had cracked and was spilling its water like it had been bleeding from a stab wound. "YOU BROKE MY FUCKING PAPER WIEGHT!" I said to him.

He kept knocking on the door. I threw the paper weight at the door again and it shattered like glass. I swore -- and anyone knows that when I am mad I am one who will swear the fucking place down because I am one who can get a little crazy.