Witch Nemesis in Lover's Form

Thoroughly interesting post-vegas two hour nightmare.

Everyone in my neighborhood, including the purpuras, yosh, andy lucas, several of udi’s friends and others, were all involved in the production of a massive and complex rpg/performance art piece in a horror vein, involving eerie magic powers, ridiculously cool costumes and recurring serial plotlines that we developed as we went along.

It took place on various stages: the purpura house, the dark streets and yards, a giant vegas-like subway station with white tile and escalators, the rundown stage and auditorium of westwood high school.

At times there were spectators: sisters, parents, Erin, sitting in the creaking wooden chairs, or following us at a distance through the grass. Sometimes they applauded.

There were costumes and special effects: dark cloaks and purple top-hats, thin staves and curses. A blurry soundtrack by rasputina, shifting in and out of our attention, in the hands of Holly somewhere behind the curtain. Flight and magic spells and monsters. Puppet strings. Ravenous things stumbling in the shadows.

One of them, tiny and dark and vindictive, was hopelessly in love with me. She tried to undermine my control, to betray the threads of our own story, to twist it to her design and by the story make me love her–but it only made the story more complex, more spontaneous and more beautiful. I could see in her eyes that it was real. She loved me. I thought of her as author, my equal, a balance for my own vampiric presence in the tale I spun–a witch nemesis in lover’s form. I shunned her–but I let it go on. I let myself believe her intrigues were part of the structure of the story’s creation, but I knew they were really a part of the story. It was an evil thing of me, a selfish thing. She was my creature.

When I woke, it seemed I had been asleep for days.

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