1:36 p.m. - 2008-02-21
My image on my black wall
Three slits from an edge
an edge that I found,
my excalibur
So heavy to lift, yet I manage to swing forth and bleed open that slab of skin that stands between Glory and I. The blood trickles down my arms, forecasting the river of sorrow that will flood the land. I wait, uncontrollably for the waters to reach my chest, maybe then I can bathe and rid myself of the stench of death.

I am not a man that wanders the land without name nor without crest, for mine is carved deep unto my chest. I've had many lords and many of them have I turned my back on; but there is one that I, even after leaving his court, do I practice his credo. My loyalty to him, in the past was so unchallenged, that even after war days, his shield doth I carry, close to my breast. Perhaps, it's the fact, that other oaths I have taken, were merely of words and air; while the oath I took in his court was made with edge and blood. I carry his crest, on the left side of my chest.

Many people have seen the wall that I've erected. They've been within my inner court and seen the image hanging from this black stone wall. They see me drinking from the cup of BABYLON with a mark on my chest. They see me drinking to sorrow and death, they see great many things in this image of me; but what they don't see is my sharp edge, no, they don't see my excalibur on my right hand. Beware, for this is the one side of me, you won't be able to stare at.