Posts Tagged ‘ProPow’

It’s been a good run so far with FFI, and although we have a few slow-downs recently, we’re still growing every day.

Rainy Lake - August 2011-13

Rainy Lake - August 2011-13 (Photo credit: fabfotophotography)

If you are a reader of one little blog, casual or otherwise, you most likely won’t understand the title of this entry, and that’s a-ok. If you’re an author, most likely you won’t either, but you should and shame on you.

This date, August 13 2011, was when over one-thousand collective brains got to see the beauty that is Fisch Fail Inc. It was also the day that I noticed our blog was becoming something of a big deal. Honestly until that point I mostly blogged for no one, except for maybe myself and Mr. Fail, but afterward I began doing it for a lil ones… I mean the readers.

Seriously though; you guys have gotten us to new heights, and for that I am thankful.

A lot of crap has gone down recently (more on that later) so the blog has gotten somewhat neglected as of late, but hopefully that will change and more posts will be on their way.

Here’s to getting 1000000 views before the end of the year!

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Fisch Fail, INC, is still a baby, still growing, still something…infant

If we were a human baby, we would be learning to speak, and maybe eat something that didn’t have the consistency of baby food. But fuck, we’ve already moved on to tacos and alcohol… Says something about us!

Anyway, yesterday we hit a random milestone… 20,000 views (and damnit, I was going to make sure I got to make this announcement!).

So, it took us nearly a year and a half to get our first 10,000… It took us 6 months, to get our second.

Lets try and beat that record (for us) even quicker.

Tell everyone about FFI, let’s do it!




Minute by Minute

Image via Wikipedia

So another day, another post.

I took a brief step away from the blog, mostly out of being busy as hell, partly, honestly, from bitterness.

I come back to the blog and find that some people are actually POSTING again?!?

Everyone tell Drez to stop distracting me and to do his homework…

…Okay, now that’s done and over…

I have absolutely no clue as to what I should be writing about these days. I mean hell it’s not really hindering me, because I can ramble on uselessly for pages…

…like. right. now.

I suppose this is basically a life-of-luz-update.

Sidenote: Luz-Obliterations or was it LuzOb-Literations? whatever… is NOT going away forever, I just haven’t been reading from my Kindle in forever (I have a first ed. hardbound Larry Correia book I’m working on) so as soon as I start Kindling (?) again I will be posting more rough-as-cowshit Luz-Whateverthefucks.

I HAVE A LUZOB GLASS! thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Fail (or whatever… don’t you love my vague days?!?) and will most likely be posted by one of them or myself. If I had my sd-to-usb reader on me I’d post it now… oh well.

Man I LO~OOOVE when people little effeminate ringtones go off in a dead quiet space… then persist because the douche-tabogan has big-ass headphones on and cannot hear said effeminate ringtone… THEN persist to get jingly-balls text messages… I swear if my Give Everyone One Free RPG Round a Decade law ever came into effect…

In time, my friends… in time.

Okay… so now about other “projects…”

Well certain things are on less-then-temporary hiatus (most of my broadcasting and rpg shit) others are just pretending to hide under the surface…


Apparently we’re gonna hit another FFI milestone here soon, and I’m sure one of us will keep you posted when we get there…

But yeah, I’m tired of writing, and I want a submarine sandwich (who says that anymore?) so I think I’ma go do that.

Lastly; I just got accepted into a very awesome and very terrifying University program in WEGJGWJHGERHERH and this may begin encroaching upon my reading/writing/breathing time… but we’ll see!


ps: oh, apparently it is LuzOb-Literations…

Profanely Powered Extra 3

Posted: December 6, 2011 by luzob in Random

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Profanely Powered (Episode 5)

Posted: October 6, 2011 by luzob in Random

An example of Eye Trauma

Umbra eyes

How may a mere man judge his true character?

I have absolutely no idea as to why I tend to pose questions when I am fully aware I will never receive an answer.

I was drugged once again, and this time I have become conscious enough to truly explain what I believe is going on.

The stitching that was holding together the skin of my lacerated cranium has been removed, but my beard is becoming quite cumbersome.

I have no razors for to shave, and I have no mirror to see the scarring from the “injury.”

I make jest as to the nature of my “injury” because that is what the Addoc, someone whom I have had more than a couple of meetings with, tells me what occured.

It is strange that I often see more of the Addoc than of the other caretakers, all except for the wonderful Coats. I believe of two theories as to why I may have them working on my head.

1. Most likely the actual issue; One of the brutish Coats handled me somewhat more roughly than usual (which is quite the thing to say, considering their oft violent temperament) and I was injured whilst in transfer to this dismal room.

2. The blackguards surgically added/removed/altered something within my head.

Call me a pessimist (I am used to it) but I am a believer of the latter.

I wish I could fully explain that goingson of this institution, but a candid impression is currently impossible. It is a personal belief of my own that the AAPP is attempting to de-Power every individual that resides here. Either through chemical, psycological, or surgical means, every single person who is Profanely Powered is becoming weaker in time. I have heard many accounts from the other patients, and now that I am much more mobile I can interact with those around me to a limited extent. Unfortunately I have yet to become “de-Powered” enough to gain the ability to speak again, but without my voice I am merely an unexceptional being.

Almost normal… except for the miniscule urge to wish destruction upon every living specimen around me.

It is much easier to views those around me as specimens, and this eases the more sociopathic impulses in my mind. The only time I am able to surely hear my own vocal articulation is when I am creating these entries. Despite the attempts of others to quell my Power, I believe it may have become stronger.

The past few weeks I have had a visitor; not of the human sort, but of vermin. I use this term loosely, as the mouse that began to frequent my abode was quite welcomed initially. I would speak to him in similar fashion as you, and give it ill-procured sustinence pilfered from our eating area. I usually use these offerings for my own use, but decided that his life was at least as important as those around me, so I fed him. Eventually he began to actually grow and change, unlike those around me. I wondered if he became over-expectant of my gifts, and would periodically speak to him in harsher tones. This tended to cause personal dischord with him, and I finally understood this occurence.

I could actually control him just as those around me.

I named the creature “Human,” indeed befitting to the frail being, and it has now been three weeks since our commencing introductions.

I suppose one would surmise that social interaction is in the midst of daily routine for me, and this would be correct to the casual onlooker. By casual onlooker I mean mostly person within these walls.

It is just a phantasm of reality, as I have heard from others is the best appoach to leaving this horrid fixture.

I have also heard of another canard from my room-mates of another Power, and despite the claims being unfounded I will detail them due to my interest.


Those who are often awash in the darker areas of towns are usually branded with a sense of belonging to those areas, an imprint of self melding with the physical location. Apparently a very rare percentile (most likely those who were born into the setting) will have such an impression from these sheer darkness in the area that they almost become the shadows themselves. Paling of skin, and hair are commonplace,then blindness will ensue as the eyes redden and dialate. This lack of vision is in fact replaced with a far superior sense; abilities far more acute, and ghastly, than any Norm could ever behold. Often smaller in bodily stature, the Umbra can be easily as ignored as the shadows themselves. This is to their apparent advantage, as outward perception is not to their habit. An intensification of their Power can manifest itself in one primal way that allows them to be both subtle and deadly: e.g. the ability to create tangiblity of the shadows themselves.

This is the only information I could discern currently, and more intel will be reported when available.

At times I feel as if I am a reporter, sending knowledge of a vastly unknown subject to those who would otherwise never know.

…or maybe I am ignored by all.

…all but Human, and who knows if it is not just the foodstuffs that he is attentive.

We now have an audible signal that resounds throughout the institute at a certain nightly interval that warns us of imminent slumber (more on this later) and has just been issued. Human is here with me now, so I will feed him and end this for now.

I have to get out of here…

Profanely Powered Extra 2

Posted: September 14, 2011 by luzob in Random

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I, for the life of me, cannot recall how long it has been since I have transmitted.

I cannot remember when the last time I was aware of my surroundings.

I know it has been awhile for a few reasons.

I have grown a beard, how disgusting…

The inner workings of my room have, changed? The wallpaper, at one time a colorful shade of deep blue (how calming) is now some indeterminate neutral shade of white. My eyes are still quite blurry, and the finer details of everything around me are obscured.

There is some good news and some terrible news.

The good news is that, while specifics are sketchy, I may be mobile once again fairly soon. More on that another time.

Bad news. As I have alluded, something is very wrong about everything currently. Not just my surroundings but also my body.

They think that a lack of movement will keep me from being able to notice the itching hatred in my head. More specific, on my head.

Stitches, at least fifteen or so.

Something has happened, and while I have yet to determine what exactly is occurring (or has occurred) I will find out.

I’ll… I will… find out and kill those… motherfuckers.

This place is changing me…


Posted: August 9, 2011 by luzob in Random
Tags: ,

We’ve been busy as all get-out… but I assure you everyone (and I mean everyone!) will be creating a veritable storm of posts as soon a humanly possible. Thank Mr. Fail and Mr. Pie for keeping us going strong, and I can assure them both that they will not have to pull everyone’s weight.

Thank you and have a wonderful day.


Profanely Powered (Episode 4)

Posted: July 21, 2011 by luzob in Random

Back again…

That lockout was much longer in length than I would have ever imagined. I am mostly unharmed, and still able to write, if one could call it writing. The incident was apparently a complete mess, with Coats running about and every other staff with a serious look of “I hope everything is alright” on their faces. It was amusing, at first, to watch the proverbial cockroaches skitter around randomly, as if they have no clue what is going on. According to my knowledge a small band of Zappers found some unique way of communication (they are all in solitary because of their electrical charge amplification) that involved the electric grid in the facility. One of the Coats found them speaking through the wires and must have been a new hire for the AAPP, because he decided it would be a good idea to open the offender’s cell and question the individual. He ordered the Zapper to sit still while he questioned him and searched for contraband, which sitting still is the most dangerous thing a Zapper can do. Usual protocol mandates the wearing of heavy electric suits while in contact with a Zapper, and if this rule is breached there is little in the way of punishment from the Chairs (informal name for the higher-ups in the facility). The judgement comes from the millions of volts pumped into your nervous system, resulting in instant demise. This green Coat must have attained this fate himself, and within seconds the rogue Zapper disabled the South3 floor’s locks (all locks are sectioned by floor, which is then sectioned North and South), allowing half a dozen individuals to bolt (my apologies for the pun) out into the third floor, wreaking havoc along the way. Yet another safety protocol ensured that these electrified men would not get very far, but just far enough to lockout every cell in every wing. As a general slap on the wrist, the Chairs declared that every patient would stay locked out until the appropriate repairs and security overhauls were finished. As a final cherry upon this gloomy cake they also shut down the electrical grid for this as well, until a secure connection could be established. This meant no writing for me, as my interface is reliant upon electricity (more on that at another time).

To keep myself entertained I began communicating with every object within my vicinity. Obviously this had little bearing on decent conversation, but did prove to stave off the most violent of boredom for a while. Obviously they have enabled the electric grid once again, and I can continue my therapy.

I should not have said what I had just said, but because it has been alluded toward for some time now, I may as well elaborate…

There is a reason that I am writing/saying/transmitting these to the world around me. The words one could be currently seeing are not written by my own hands; for I, the narrator Wayne, have lost the ability to use my fingers and arms, and have little mobility from even my legs. This has only become apparent to me within the last few weeks, but my motor functions have slowed to near-nothing. The Docs could not figure out my ailment, but through certain drugs and surgeries are attempting to “fix” me. This process has left me with much distress, and as part of my mental conditioning, one of the Docs gave me an interface I could “speak” to via brain/thought patterns that bring about words upon a small monitor, and with another thought can be sent everywhere. They believe this to aid in my recovery, but has done very little from my observations. Usually a transport device is used by a patient such as myself to become more mobile, but due to my Power it is deemed too dangerous for those around me. So here I lay, softly turned every other hour by an automatic system meant to prevent bedsores, wondering when my arms will move again. At least I can still transmit my thoughts until they may shut down as well. I am learning of new emotions almost weekly, and this week I am beginning to learn of despair. I do not shed tears like many other roommates have, I do not feel the sort of sadness I encounter daily within the blank walls of the AAPP. I do feel as if I miss being mobile, though. Even pacing about my room is a luxury I cannot obtain anymore, and this is why I use the word despair. At one point I believed I wafted around, future-less, and with no goal other than to exist like a seed in the breeze. Now this seed has become a dormant houseplant, destined to be watered and dusted, and not even seeing the future of getting out of bed by myself. Quite unfortunate, indeed.


Profanely Powered Extra 1

Posted: July 11, 2011 by luzob in Random

Today may be an unfortunate one indeed. There was apparently an incident involving a handful of Zappers, and everyone is on lockout as I speak.

Lockouts occur when a security issue arises that cannot be handled by the Coats, and more extreme measures are required. In the great words of another, for the purpose of not misinforming you I will give no information at this time. I am writing this for two reasons: Firstly because we have to stay in our quarters for at least 24 hours (I am bored) secondly and most importantly it may be awhile before I will get this much privacy again to write.

Even more unfortunate, Coats are going down the line and searching all of the quarters, and I am next. Wish me luck.

Profanely Powered (Episode 3)

Posted: July 6, 2011 by luzob in Random

If this takes awhile to transfer through, it is because I had to create another channel, but this should be a rarity.

Greetings to those who can actually read this. Good tidings to those who have some issue getting these transcripts, and my apologies to those who cannot follow.

One slight clarification I will give out is the last few sentences of my previous transmission, is that I, at a pre-determined time every night, am administered a very powerful Neuro-Inhibitor Dosage concoction, or NID, said to give me the ability to “rest my mind, and accomplish a sleep-like brainstate” as the Administrative Doctor, or Addoc, says upon Orientation. It is humorous, that I talk about the Orientation, which was the first day I came here, due to the fact that the NID they give me gives me quite the disorientation. They say it puts me to “sleep,” but I know it’s so the Sweeps, or janitorial crew, can do their trivial dusting and polishing of my room, so that this veritable rat cage doesn’t become too unsanitary. Usually I make a goal to finish what I have to say before the drugs become active, but not knowing the hour of the day (more on that another time) can become problematic for this purpose. If my words cut off abruptly, then either this channel is compromised (which is highly unlikely, and more upon that some other time as well) or I am too dosed for comprehension.

In the recent entry I recall (which is difficult) mentioning my newest name (i.e. Suggestive) used to describe my Power. I now have accumulated enough informative knowledge to know there are other names for the different Power archetypes/classifications/labels I have come to become acquainted. I believe a wonderful list is to suffice:

  • Suggestives: Individuals whom use specific brainwaves to harness the deeper psyche of another as a weapon against their victim. Small feats such as minor suggestions (ex: asking a small favor deemed usually inappropriate) or reading the subtle expressions one unknowingly gives off daily are simple and can be performed with ease. Heavy-magnitude operations such as suggesting violence against a close cohort or mass thought distortion can become quite taxing and could result in minor brain damage or coma.
  • Elemeno: Those who have a form of control over elemental force. Their name begets the infantile nature they are usually afflicted with, mostly because “l, m, n, o” is the highest they can learn of the Alphabet, so they became to be known as the Elemeno. Depending upon the current outburst of emotion a Elemeno can have differing abilities. In most cases anger relates to fiery bursts, sadness begins a deluge of water, fear induces tornadic activity and joy brings about the dramatic growth of life (usually flora) around them.
  • Stalwarts: The complete opposite of my Power, these heavily-built bestial fellows are a product of genetic preference and sheer indomitable willpower to become stronger. Usually these individuals begin innately with two abilities, one physical and the other mental. The former is a lack of Myostatin, which is the protein that inhibits muscular overgrowth, and is the reason for their excessive musculature. The latter is a constant mental drive to increase one’s strength. The combination of the two thus give the Stalwarts non-Norm size and strength. Any Stalwart that is unable to perform by various means (some work out constantly, others will dance, run, etc.) will have fits of unnatural rage at either themselves (suicide is common) or others (as is homicide).
  • Vems: Everyone can be angry at times, and the expression of this rage is quite natural for most, but not in the way the Vems do. Vem, being short for Vehement, is a Power of complete vociferous hated. Many years ago, before Power even existed, science determined that the concept of “holding in” anger was false, and that “letting off steam” not only was unhelpful, but could become an excuse for future violence. Vems actually destroy known fact with the ability to collect any slight against them and dispense, at will, powerful vocal attacks that can not only damage others’ hearing, but can create the concussive force to shatter solid surfaces (you won’t see any windows around their section) or completely ravage the inner workings of living beings. How these cacophonous barrages can be created with little to no damage to the individual is still unknown.
  • Dupes: These “people,” as I use the term loosely, can copy certain things to varying degrees. This vague definition is due to the fact that these individuals are actually an umbrella term for several Power sub-groups. The Fifth Level (more on this system later) or lowest are those who can emulate nearly any sound they hear, but most of them are delegated to mere novelty, thus they are not usually in A2P2 (which I heard some of the room-mates call this facility). First Level Dupes are apparently frightening persons that can not only modify their vocal capabilities but also change their physical appearance to that of a doppelganger- esque being. This Power usually has limited ability in terms of time, but if a Dupe can become a completely different person for even a few minutes, havoc may ensue for hours.
  • Zappers: Have you ever had contact with another in a dry room and got an unnerving shock? Imagine this feeling, but intensified by millions. With an immensely high metallic content within their bloodstream, and paired with an abnormal amount of electric activity from their brains, Zappers tend to think, speak, move, and attack quickly. Commonly more obsessive in personality, they strive for efficiency in every endeavor. The faster things can be performed, the calmer they stay. If idled for even the briefest moment, a Zapper can build a change within their bodies that can become potentially lethal to themselves. To alleviate this a Zapper may discharge their excess to devastating effect.

So far these are the Powers I have heard of, come across, and duly noted. Rumors are abound as to other Powers and they will be noted as encountered. At one point I had overheard the term Whisper, but as the name suggests is kept rather secret, and no other information is available to me.

I suppose a closing should be appropriate at this time, but a quick ending will have to do, for I hear footsteps.


Something Original

Posted: July 3, 2011 by luzob in Alcohol, Contest, Entertainment, FFI Live Event, INC.

It’s a strange feeling; at times I feel as if I’ve been on FischFailInc. for around a week, other times I feel I’ve been here for years (though we’ve only been here for one). Is this common? When I come to this white interface to write, it is almost like an old friend I can say anything to. It won’t judge me for spelling incorrectly (however rare) and for grammar issues (common, but it’s the internet, right?) or for whatever random shit I throw on here.

You can easily tell when we’ve hit the proverbial creative brick wall, because it’s usually only Mr. Fail posting and I tend to become more serious.I just texted Drez and Ech with a simple “post on your blog” and maybe they will follow the call. I need to become more dedicated to this growing project, and the countless other projects I’ve half-baked since joining FFI. I know I’ve been going through some things, and I have school and work and such, but honestly no excuse should pull me away from our community. As we all know, the internet is serious business, and I should treat it as such (am I joking?).

Let’s make a tally of my lil projects (including some that may/may not be unveiled now).

My chief project I want to work upon is Profanely Powered (insert link to the posts here) but I have no idea where I want it to go. I’ll brainstorm some ideas and my goal is to get the third episode up before the end of the week.

FischFail and I have a lil project we were working on before he ran off to Super Magic FunPoiLand. I won’t delve too far into the pre-production, but just know it is an audio-based product that if off the ground will land right here for everyone.

Do I actually have any more projects? Maybe our co-authors can refresh my memory? I have horrible recollection in this… horrific heat. Seriously I feel like I’m catching on fire as I type.

I really wonder if our Chat Fridays will take off sometime. Maybe one day we’ll hit 8pm and we will go from 3 people (our average current) to around 50 or so out of nowhere. Stranger things have occured, such as the fact that we used to feel happy about over 10 views to our blog, but now are sorely “disappoint” when we get less than 20.

I believe every co-author should put something similar to this in their next posts: What I think could possibly improve our blog.

Firstly: MORE POSTS! …we can always have more posts from everyone, including maybe some guest authors and such. A possible extra Chat day? Once we figure out which chat we will stick to, that is… Nextly: perhaps shortening the deadline for the Reader Insignia Submission Contest? I try my best to never blame our readers, but maybe lighting a pyre under them could get us more submissions? No input is too awesome nor retarded, etc. for us, and I am slightly impatient to implement our contest reward… Lastly: FISCHFAIL.COM!!!

So what do you all think? More poop stories? Drunk posts? Audio posts? Keep doing the same shit we always do? Randomly scream Cranberries lyrics whilst naked on the couch? it… could happen… maybe not as a suggestion, but perhaps a threat? better keep those views up… if you know what I mean…

…You watch, biggest views day for the month now… Just watch…

…wait… you can’t…

Entrails and All That Jazz

Posted: June 23, 2011 by luzob in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

So this is a post for two differing reasons: one for my new text-isodes (sorry Ech, stole it) and one for Mr. FischFail himself.

How’s the series coming along for everyone? I hope it’s at least garnered a little attention. Send me some comments or talk to me on the nest Tinychat Friday and gimme some feedback.

Nextly, on a more serious note: “So, here’s the plan.

Eventually, when I get off my ass, and actually get around to do doing so, I will get this blog switched over to a personal domain, in the meantime, I get to deal with wordpress, but that is neither here nor there.”

You wrote this on June 3rd of 2010, Fisch, when you didn’t know nor care if anyone read this damn thing. Just know I remember and we will see your plan… your dream, become realized…

That’s it for now, kids. Back to class.


Profanely Powered (Episode 2)

Posted: June 22, 2011 by luzob in Uncategorized, Writing
Tags: ,

Well I have lived long enough to write out my second entry for some reason, but maybe I am being too bleak?

To all of you (if there is any of you) my name is Wayne. To others, I have been given other monikers. That Disturbed Guy. The Problem Patient. Mr. Angry (one I personally enjoy*), That Thing, and an entire laundry list of other psychocentrism. Such a lovely term: psychocentrism has become. I believe it to be the zenith of the hatred we must endure on a daily basis from the Norm. To think that they are far more superior just because they can hide us in similar institutions such as this and deem us “Profanely Powered”? I suppose I am becoming off track (of what track I have no idea) from what I really wanted to accomplish tonight within this entry.

Have you ever felt the extacy of revealing the inner most blight of the human soul? Can you possibly imagine how it could feel to watch a man bury a camping axe within his own cranium just because you told him it is a good idea? Call it sociopathic, but I believe that the image of two individuals clawing and gouging in a screaming fury at one another due to the thoughts you can easily implant in them is quite freeing. Now I will not justify my actions as being “just” or “fair,” and certainly not from some form of “divine calling” like the Celests believe, but I may eagerly admit that I feel a rush from deep inside my heart at the Power I have been given.

I hear the other patients, whom we must call our fellow “room-mates,” of things I have never witnessed before in my short existence. Everything from different, more colorful vocabulary (I have learned many ways to insult the doctors*) to forms of kinship that is completely alien to me. I can but only listen to most of these experiences, though, do to the fact that for roughly twenty hours of my day I am visually isolated from the rest of the room-mates, unable to see or speak to them. I can indeed hear them.

This morning I have obtained yet another name: Suggestive. There are slang-terms for every Power variant, and apparently that is mine. Something else interesting to note is that I am the only Suggestive within the confines of this facility, a truly intriguing realization, and one that can either become a boon or a liability. Being the only of one’s sort in here can mean constant agonizing attention, but can also garner respect.

The name Suggestive is quite appropriate, for the Power I control is a dominion of the mind through my voice (why they silence me) and through certain facial expressions (why they obscure my eyes). The human mind, more-so the Norm mind, is somewhat difficult to break, yet can easily become malleable. The inner thoughts that most disregard as fleeting moments I completely utilize. If one has a small amount of doubt in one’s mind, I can turn that into doubt for oneself, one’s actions, and one’s existence. Doubt turns quickly into hatred, and it is only a matter of time before a man, utterly confident on the outside, is plunging a scalpel into his own throat, shedding hot tears of water and blood from anguish previously unknown. Before I was in solitary at the Norm prison I had little to no control of this Power, but countless hours with only my own thoughts allowed a greater knowledge of my blessing. Before he knew it, the Warden’s pawns began to suffer from “acute episodes of profound depression and suicidal tenancies.” These officers weren’t a threat, really, but merely the only entertainment I could acquire. One of them men really stick out to me.

“Chow time, freak.” The tactful lawman grumbled as a tin pan of gruel slid under the door for me.
“I appreciate the meal, sir, but I could certainly use a friend around here, I grow so tired of eating alone.”
“What the fuck are you on about, freak? You tryin’ some mind trick shit again?!?”
“I was solely just explaining my loneliness, which I am sure you can relate?”
“I… uh… what do you want?” His voice shook, and I knew I already had him.
“What is your name?”
“Greg.” He whispered.
“Well, Gregory. I would just enjoy to see another human’s face whilst I take in my sustenance.”
“I’ll open the vent at least, but only for a sec.” Off came the spitter guard, and our eyes met. I knew I could destroy him at that moment…
…but i wanted more… “I would like actual company, I know you need a friend as well.”
“I know…” He trembled, resisting a sob. “I’m just so damn lonely.” Now it was time to make an attack.
“It’s not fair what she had done to you. You were such a good husband.”
Now unlocking the large iron door. “It’s so hard to be a good person around her!” He began crying as the door creaked open.
“She took the kids too, right? Do you think she’ll ever come back Gregory?”
“No, I really don’t think she’ll ever come back, it’s as if it’s not even worth it anymore.” There we go.
“Perhaps it is not, Gregory. But what shall you do?”
He stood there, in a melancholic daze, hands shaking and fingers in unrest. Greg grit his teeth as if wracked by one-thousand painful deliberations. He knew only sadness for that few minutes that would become his final. He whimpered, unable to create a coherent string of words.
“Greger… miss… wife. No good… nothing… no good!” He kept screaming those two words over and over, and began slapping himself between breaths.
“NO (slap) GOOD (slap) NO!!!” The smacking noises became guttural thuds which in turn evolved into sickening cracks as his fists balled up. Blood saturated his pressed uniform as he spoke in partial words and broken teeth.
“Grrrraaaaaahhh! Maaaaaamargh! Nnnnnn…GRRRRRAAHHH!” Soon he dug his dirty nails directly into the flesh of his cheeks, and deeper, spewing blood in a slick pool on the concrete, punching a few fingers through the walls of his mouth, creating holes larger than his own mouth. Eventually a couple other officers came running to the sound of his grating swan-song and stood there, yelling at him. Greg vomited a grisly combination of blood, flesh and molars at them, and before any sense could be made of the scenario the others pulled their guns and commenced firing into his chest. In a panic, one of them decided it would be a wonderful idea to place his barrel against the forehead of his partner, and a red cloud erupted from the other side. Soon enough he shoved the weapon into his own mouth and their skull fragments and medullas met against the dark cement walls of my cell. I had obtained the company, and entertainment, I desired. I sat in the midst of the beautiful gore, bodies twitching mere inches from me, and I bellowed in laughter. My attention was concentrated so much upon this that I barely noticed the prick at my back, and the upwards of one-hundred thousand volts ejaculated into my muscles.
Take in this scene, my friends. Three eviscerated individuals, untouched by their murderer. Before this incident I was mostly ignored, forgotten by my captors and left to decay in ths putrid… hole? Oviosly this was to change, ad within the month I was transferredddddd…

Te durgs ar begingn t kkick in noow.. Teime for bde.


Profanely Powered (Episode 1)

Posted: June 16, 2011 by luzob in Uncategorized

So this is my first entry at the Hall of Assholes, aka American Asylum for the Profanely-Powered. They had almost closed within two yards of me today, the big men we call Coats, due to the fact that they wear heavy overcoats lined with different substances… to protect them from us. If it was not for their goddamn Carry-All Devices I would have turned them into people-stew. Wait… I’m getting way ahead of myself here.

I should start with my name I suppose, just like any other journal. But just like any other contraband, I should most likely just give myself a fake name. Let us just keep it simple, for now, and call me Wayne. I have no idea why I just chose that, but I guess that is a good thing.

I grew up with my first 16 years of life similar to the rest of the Norm, which is the government’s name for those who have no genetic defects, no mental illness, and no Power (or so it seemed). The first ailment the doctors noticed was that my primary brain waves were… off? Eventually they diagnosed me as “Chronic Mental Condition: Status Unknown” and all my wonderful doctors turned into caretakers for me. Just before my twentieth birthday I got a gift from them: an actual diagnosis. “Psychophrena: Latent Obscura” was the name, if my memory serves me (which it always does). Something about having a completly different set of electrical impulses that would at times allow me to run my thought patterns more efficiently than the best superprocessors, and at other times would begin to run me, sometimes to violent outbursts, but often into the nearest wall. They deemed me “Harmful to self and others, in need of constant care” which means they bugged the fuck out of me until I passed out from boredom or exhaustion. Eventually my family sent me to the San Antonio Mental Treatment Facility, which is a misnomer because most of the kids stuck in the “Young Adult Rehabilitation Center” were far beyond treatment, myself included. I met a few friendly-types, but mostly enjoyed 15-20 hours of watching them watch me. Despite this “constant care” I found myself in a few scuffles with some of the not-friendly-types, and if it were not for one certain brush with oblivion I would not be typing this currently.

One of the bigger boys, whom I shall call “Dick” (because you are what you eat*) decided that during one of the only phases of the day where I could have social interaction he needed to attack me with some home-made contraption, the only quality I remember was “rusty.” Now conflict resolution is not my strong point, and Dick seemed to be lacking this as well, but when one finds out (for the first time) that the sight of one’s own blood gives them the tendency toward violence in the likes of the common sociopath, bargaining turns into… begging? It felt so good, bashing Dick’s head into the (at the time) cement flooring, but it felt better when I noticed I was not using my own hands. Poor dick, with sanguine shiv still in paw, abruptly ceased his onslaught and instead decided to beat the living fuck out of himself then and there. Orderlies attempted to restrain him, only to find themselves joining in on the revelry or self-destruction. Another took away Dick’s weapon, just to plunge the brittle edge across his veins lining so delicately his arms and wrists. Within five minutes the entire wing was an erruption of beautiful chaos, flailing limbs holding together what was left of their tendons and musculature, and I can dub that moment purely as the most sensual experience in my life. One person remained unharmed, but a small gouge in his right shoulder. That is right, kids, it was me. Well from that point on I couldn’t just be held in a place where I could destroy everyone I come in contact with. I needed to be restrained… for I was dangerous… but where? At this point those only known as “Different” were just beginning to open their proverbial eyes, with no place of concentration to keep us “secure.” Of course, off to prison I go, but for such a short amount of time I cannot even recall the name of that establishment. The only recollection of that institution was my long hours of solitude, and the ability to harness my newfound Power into something more controllable, something more devastating. In time they established A2P2 (if you cannot remember what that is for, keep up with me*) and once again I was carted away, but this time to a location where I could finally become myself.

Right now I am in hiding for the night, an area not to be disclosed, and writing this to you, to whomever will listen, for if I do not keep my minds busy, they will take me over again.

* If I ever say something humorous to myself, I will star it, due to the fact that I will most likely forget it was funny.