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Sunday, November 25, 2001 
7:56:26 AM 
Epiphany 

Warning: This is my first rant, and when I do things, I do them in spades. I had just spent all night writing, doing things, and basically thinking about how I had been feeling miserable for myself for the past week. Then I wrote this. I'll post the comments this one’s earned a little later, but until you get there, enjoy. You’re in store for something strange...
I can feel it. I can really feel it. What is it, what is it? Power is what it is. I can feel it flowing through my fingertips, flashing through my mind, forcing every muscle in me to tense and tremble. There’s something powerful in me, yes there is. I can see an entire universe pass through me. I can see the people, the people I have forged from pieces of me, and have created out of every important moment and aspect and memory of my life. That is what they are. People call them voices in my head, they are wrong. I have made them out of me, and they will stay here. I can feel them, and their collective essence running through my veins, running with my pulse. I can’t stop trembling now, it’s at times like these where I feel like a god. I feel like I can do anything, fly, spin, twist, move with every atom within my fantasy. It is my world, I can’t stop saying that, It’s the little microcosm in my head, the one I can change with the flick of a pen, the crack of the pencil, the click of the keyboard. If I feel pain, they feel pain, if I rejoice, then they do the like, and vice versa. I personify them, and they personify me. I could feel myself becoming them from time to time. You have not felt an identity crisis until you have felt what I have felt. And I could care less, because though I don’t know who I might really be, I know that I am ME. They are me. They are they. I am them. I go around in circles all day, not caring, not really knowing, but feeling perfectly content most of the time. My friends do not know how powerful what I have is. You do not either, until you have felt it. They are not just parts of a story, not characters to be developed, not people to be designed on a storyboard and thrown away like so much trash. Fame is not something relevant when it comes to them. Accomplishing is the merest point, but it is all I need, and all I really want. John Sectier, Greyson Black, Janie Goodfellow, Rank Archer, Omega the Wicked, Psycho Kay, Eno, the Four From the Gate, the Hidden Ones. All of them and more sucked right out of my head and slapped onto paper or a computer screen. They will always be a part of me, for the day I lose them is the day I become lost, and disappear into the very depths of history, significant as the rising of the sun each and every day or as unimportant as a single speck of dust floating among the vast sea. 
This is the whole of who I am. I am the spin doctor of ages, the storyteller by the campfire, the writer of legends that will be told of millennia from now. I am Enforcer. I am Observer. My name does not matter. I am me, and that is all you need to know, and it is all you will ever need to know. 

I can feel the power, like electricity between my wrists. I have the world inside of me, and I will not waste it. Now I must stop this trembling, for nothing is wrong, things have just been set right, and I will cry from the bell towers that I am...

 

Comments and such: 

...BATMAN! 

~ Someone 
Oh boy, just when we get to know him, he goes insane... 
~ Dana 


Enforcer, you scare me. 

~ StarmanDeluxe 


*Enforcer's now ubiquitous popcorn cart rolls up next to him. It rocks back and forth a bit, giving the impression of someone both clearing his throat and straigtening his tie. Its power cord swings 
'round in front of it, with a piece of paper held in it.* 
"Pop. Pop pop POP pop poppop. Pop pop Pop pop pop POP pop pop. Pop pop Pop POP pop pop. Pop POP POP POP! Pop Pop pop pop POP pop pop Pop Pop pop POP pop. Pop POP pop pop? Pop pop pop pop. Pop pop, pop POP pop pop. Pop pop poppop POP. Pop pop Pop POP pop pop. Pop pop POP pop POP pop Pop Pop pop POP pop. Pop pop Pop pop poppop." 
*The cart pauses, as if it's collecting its thoughts. The door on the popcorn popper opens, spilling out the now full load of popcorn into an array of bags waiting on the ground. Satisfied, and emptied, the cart continues.* 
"Pop pop, pop POP pop pop. Pop POP pop pop. Pop pop pop POP -- Pop pop pop POPPOP. Pop pop POP pop pop? POP! Pop POP POP POP! Pop pop." 
*Seemingly finished with whatever it was saying, the pushbar bends into a wide grin, as the two front legs bend slightly, giving a fair impression of a bow. It begins handing out the bags of popcorn to listeners with its power cord/tail/arm.* 

"p0p!" 

~ Pollo Loco/Deuce 


.....You also have the same problem I have--one monolithic slab of text which contains my thoughts in a manner daunting to a prospective reader and which renders it illegible to all but those most determined to pry the intelligence from this block.... gotta do something about this! 

~ Cap’n Lazarus 


OOooo!!!! Is it a book?!?!? 
Gimme gimme gimme! 
Give us at least a sample, a taste of what you have written. 

~ The Sinister Chris 
Back home with you...
...unless you'd like to read more...
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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