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|Favorite book:||The Chronicle Of Philip Ivan Longmon|
|Member Since:||Jul 15, 2014|
Before: I sink into my grave; I have to get something off my chest. I can’t help it. It has to be said. I have spent so many days alone contemplating what went wrong with my life. This solitary confinement was not earned. I hadn’t killed anyone. I hadn’t stolen anything. I just failed to love. Strange as it may seem: I just didn’t think; I needed it. Now: my death beckons; I have to reconsider this position. No longer could I sit back; and, not care. Why didn’t I have a plush pad to call my home; a fast ride to bomb around in; or, that that lady friend to make homesick. So I took pen to paper; and, a world was open to my mind as if it was true. If: truth could be silenced; I could kill at will. Here I could do no wrong. I just had to make it a world I could be proud of. I got madness instead. I wanted to populate it with single-minded individuals willing to go to any lengths to get what they wanted. That’s what I wanted. This character I’d fashioned - topping the bill - was just like that. He’s rudimentary manner was what the world needed. He’d be its hero to the end. I’d make it so. Regardless of the foes that threatened it: he’d always be there to save the day. He’d spend no lonely nights like those other heroes. He’d have plenty of friends to share his life with. He’d be beloved by his family. He’d be emotionally everything I’d like to be. He’d be the spitting image of Adonis. He’d be as strong as Hercules. He’d be crazier than any mad evil genius able to hold the world to ransom. He’d be able to take his fight to the universe and beyond it. He’d be incredible. There was no taking it back. He wasn’t an immaculate conception. He had a mother and father that needed to see that beast live. He had an extended family waiting to reject his blood. He had friends more than willing to abandon knowing him. None could corrupt this soul. I’d keep him straight. I’d support a soul like this to see everything right. He had to be mad; bad; and, a cad. He was all I needed to keep that ink flowing. He was born into a world unable to accommodate a mind like this. I was ready to do that. He was the truth. I had no reason to lie about this soul. It was on top of them all. To prove it: he’d become the immortal enemy to all claiming dominion of this imaginary world; and, the universe it sat in. I’d also made him the enemy to the greatest threat to them all. He’d alienate his family; and, cut all links to humanity to live on. He had a monster I was too scared to look at. Death had become his best friend. He’d battle demons and angels alike. In him: I couldn’t hold my tongue. All my love had been invested in him. How could I let him down? So an immortal battle suit was made to ensure his immortality was forever assured. He had to accept suicide was his only out. Would he do it; or, see the end of time? I’d rather sleep in that crib than see him there. He had the answers the world needed. He had to make everything right. He’d have to ride rough shot over everyone to get his will done. He’d have to explore any problem given him to ease all those minds. He’d have to shame every alien mind willing to play god to simple minded people. I gave him way too much to do. He had all the powers any comic book author could be proud of. He had everything to find love. The women weren’t a problem. He was a Casanova. I had no complaints there. It was just me: I couldn’t let him go. Yet: I’d scream; stay every time they’d part. Any could have been the one. I had to accept that. Why couldn’t I make it so? I wasn’t scared the world would be doomed without him. I was ready to accept that. I simply couldn’t see why there had to be that perfect one to take him away from me. He was stinking rich. He bedded a string of women from every corner of the world. I saw no reason to stop. Each of these women needed to be loved by him. He had to share what was God-given. I take no credit for this. That design was inherited by my own design. He’d make do. Alterations would have to be made over time to keep my interest. He’d be stronger and smarter than I thought I needed for this soul. He had a crew of super humans with supernatural powers that could blow anyone’s mind. Something extraordinary was going on. I didn’t have full control of the laws that allowed all this. I just didn’t care. They had me feeling free. Besides: I had this character to keep everything in check. I tell you the truth here and now. I can’t lie. I love her way too much to see this character die. You know how it is. You should really see her. Forget that angelic face; and, that body that just won’t quit: the evil thoughts that race in my mind put horns on my head every time. I can’t see another day go by without her. I’d see this day out to show you how much it hurts without her on my mind. There is nothing here to keep me occupied. She’s all I needed. She got everything I want. I’ve already seen the end to come. I’d not take it back. I just can’t stop this feeling burning inside. I couldn’t see it play out any other way. I had to wait for it to explode. This had to be the answer to my prayers for the human race. This passion ran too deep to obtain it any other way. I was ready to forsake all others to see this character sleep by that love. I couldn’t see sex as food. This character could do just that. Ha! He had only had one thing on his mind: death to all. She had to think higher than that to escape losing her mind to this monster. He was my gift to women kind. He was the one she had to be begging for. He’d demonstrate this soul every time without fail. He could control the universe by sheer force of will. He could leave it an empty space; and, end time. He was the true big bang. He was worthy of every souls devotion. He was the only one that mattered. I’d not created his universe without that soul to keep it in line. That was fact. The only hope for any universe was to accept he had a right to find love – even if it was already inside him. I had to warship this devil. I couldn’t worship the gods with it here. I kept my eyes on them. They too were fascinated by what he could do. He was so complex. There was no pinning him down. He was the referee when anyone took things too far. Stealing souls and cursing minds was his pastime. Order had to be maintained. And: there was only one way to do that. I didn’t want to listen to his words. I had to plot everything to avoid the chaos needed to set this soul free and see death to all. There was no sex without a child in mind. You might as well be drunk and laugh. That’s how serious it can be. I needed someone to give me a hand. I wasn’t sure I liked her this way. This game had no point. I needed something to prefect my game. She was just too fine to deny. I couldn’t see why I couldn’t cheat to obtain her. My charm stifled by that thought wasn’t being kind. All I saw was trouble. He’d have his fun. Only one thing could stop that. And: that was to save the world. It was easy to spill blood here. It was easy to go on a holiday and escape all the troubles demanding war. He’d made me crazy inside. It’s like no one else mattered. Best you know: nobody bother him here. It’s like I just don’t care. It’s just how I felt. It’ll save you a lot of time to accept that now. It won’t help you to fight it. I thought above you on this one. This soul had destroyed enough to make me cry. I had to accept it like I was a little girl. Why did I have to see it this way? This is where I wanted to be. I saw sure this character would save my heart here. It was so crazy I had to see more. I had to mean it. There was something serious about this soul. Yet: I just wanted a little fun. I need somewhere to escape to. It was nice a distraction from all that pain that griped my soul. It was the reason why death called so loudly. I had to bury that pain. My heart would still be bleeding if I didn’t have this character to see why it had to end. I’d drop cash anywhere. Why did I want to deny my greatest pleasure? I needed to see myself right like I forced him to see. Nothing could stop him. I did the maths to make him unstoppable here. Telling someone else was all I needed to see this true. I don’t know why I had to liver the pain. No moment could replace that next meal. That’s how he saw her. True love had to be blind. Why love your child when another would play your way? That was love. You had to accept the blame. He had to adopt a soul as his own. I had no example to see that way. So this exploration would have to be a long affair. I’ll flirt with every aspect of that search. I’d settle on what I like. I liked how they worked here in every aspect. I smiled. Beauty ruled. I had to wonder what was beautiful. Than that phrase: beauty was in the eye of the beholder sprung to mind. This was beautiful to me. It was just too funny. It was nonstop. It crushed my heart. So I took his to. I had to. I just wanted it to stop. There was no stopping it. Could it take me home? What a fool. I needed protection. It was like I wanted to share all. It wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to escape. That’s why I stayed in to avoid confronting the horror that lurked outside. Here I was safe to damn everything without troubling only myself. I was no man to another man. He was here to win it. I had to give up; and, accept it. He was here to help. I understood the score. I just had to accept no one could catch him. He had to accept everything else to see death when he was missing. He was no longer there to protect them for a reason. I was longing for someone to show I was here to hurt nobody. He showed: there was only one foe here. It was where my love was. I just had to see sense. But: this character had to live with it. I was ready to accept that I wasn’t seeing it right. Yet: I didn’t want to dream a single night without her. That’s why he never did.
The year is 1997. Longmon no longer in the private eye business - or: when I come to think about it; in the public eye - has chosen to live out his life as a ghost writer (by the way: six months ago; his wife, Samantha, had a baby girl - they named her Grace).
"Have you written a book?" said Samantha - entering Longmon's poor depiction of an Edwardian study.
A large, green, leather desk chair slowly swivelled round towards her: "You know I have," said Longmon - wondering why her arms were hidden behind her back. "What's that?"
"A book," she said - stopping a few paces in front of the desk. She was simply dressed in a black knee-length sleeveless dress; and, white pumps.
Longmon - bare-footed and bare-chested - leant over the armrest and tried to ascertain the nature of her question. "What book?" he then said with a hand lifting his long hair from his face.
"Guess," she said - shifting to shield her rear.
"Have you written a book?" he said - giving up on his undertaking.
"No," she said with a quick violent shake of the head.
"Then is it one of mine?"
"That's what I hope to find out."
Longmon turned himself to his computer screen: "Dear, you'd find; if you read the author's name, it'd say who wrote it."
"Don't get smart with me, Philip. Did you write this?"
Longmon arched round and saw that a large book had been brought in to view. "Nope!" He turned fully round to hold out a hand. "Show us it. What's it about?"
"It's about us," she said - not wishing to relinquish the book.
"About us?" he said - still beckoning for the book.
Instead of handing the book over: Samantha parted the heavy hardback covered book about midway through. Where: she then scanned the two uncovered pages. "It's filled with things only you and I could have known."
"Just show us the damn book!" Hand gesture more pronounced and determined.
Stepping out of reach, Samantha quickly brought the open book to her breasts. "Don't fucking shout at me!" she said - snapping out a kick towards Longmon's out stretched hand.
"Sorry," said Longmon - dropping the out stretched hand to his knee. "Please, can I see the book?"
"Did you write it?"
"No I did not." He held out his hand once more. "Now can you bring it here?"
"Why can't you fucking say please?"
Samantha thudded the book shut, took two paces forward; and, then at arm’s length held out the book. Where: Longmon- book in hand - red the front cover before flicking the wrist to read the back cover.
"Devlin Brown," he said - reading the spine of the book. "Who's Devlin Brown?" With those words: he looked up to Samantha who, by this time, had perched herself onto the end of his writing desk.
"Don't look at me!" she said - shifting until her feet left the ground. "I still think you wrote it."
Longmon ripped away the front cover; tore down the title page; and, found the story of their lives.
The first question you may ask is: who is Devlin Brown? And: the second would be; why should you even care? If: god was here; he'd probably make everything clear. Because this - I hope - is the sad; funny; cruel; kind; mad; wise; painful; pleasant; strange; and, familiar tale of my life. And: if all goes well; it should follow the struggle to the understanding of self; the awareness of the will; the development of the whole; the understanding of time-space; the concept of the physical; the concept of the unknown; the self-realisation of self; the development of the self; the understanding of the external; the understanding of the internal; the reason for reason; the development of reason; the concept of reason; the understanding of reason; the adjustment of reason; the adjustment of understanding; the adjustment of self... And: so it goes on between adjustment of reason and the understanding of self. A testimony of life; and, its end (I wonder).
The Magnum Opus Of Devlin Brown
The Making Of A Child
First: I have to take you back to the love of two couples. Who: in my opinion; should not have loved each other to begin with. But: luckily for me they did. For as you should know: the concept of life begins with a sperm and an egg.
It was the 60s (the exact year was 1964; and, a mild period had just given way to a wintry spell. The couple (who I've mentioned above) were newly arrived Jamaican immigrates – you’d have probably of guessed that from my name (if not: don’t worry). They had just moved into a seven-by-ten bedsit - one of nine rooms available in a Victorian, Bayswater address in London. It had a metal-framed bed with its mattress stood ready for the scrap heap. It had a cheap lino floor-covering awaiting a good scrubbing; and, some old curtains - barely covering a small window - needed replacing.
However: any pre-spring cleaning ideas would have to wait until they had gotten back from their respective jobs. He was a bus driver. She was canteen worker. And: it was while they were getting ready for work; a single sperm had penetrated the skin of an ovum. Thereby: starting my creation. I am Devlin Winston Brown. And: this next section is dedicated to them both:
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