The Book of Not: The Book of Sanity

Everything you read in this book is a lie except these few pages. You are wasting your time if you are looking for anything more than the ramblings of madmen when you look elsewhere. Those words are no more the wisdom of Malkav than they are the last will and testament of Abel.

The true story of the creation of vampires is very similar to the Biblical story, with the exception that Caine was not made into a vampire for killing Abel. He was made into a vampire because he made a terrifying change in reality. He brought death to a place where death had never been known before, and the forces of paradox branded him forever. It wasn't some metaphysical entity that cursed him---it was the forces of nature, pure and simple.

The true story of the history of vampires is extremely simple: it is the story of conflict between the godlike vampires of the Second Generation. Their hatred for each other does not stem from a dwindling food source or a directive from Caine or even insanity. There is no insanity. No, it is simply jealousy that continually pushes them at each other's throats. Their names? Who cares? Names are nothing to them. They need no handle to push onto their identity.

The true story of the end of the world is also very simple: the world is going to end when the planet slides out of it's orbit several million years from now and everyone will die from the climactic changes. There exists a possibility, thankfully more remote now than it used to be, that the population of the world will pound itself out of existence with weapons of mass destruction. Other than that, the end of the world is merely a symbol of death-- vampires fear Gehenna because death no longer seems nearly so uncertain.

This is the truth. This is the only truth in this book. Ignore the rest.

If you have read this far, you have read all the truth there is. The angels told me, and I tell you.

Burn this page.

Dear God,

It's me again. I wanted to start this out with "You don't know me..." but of course you do. You know everything and made everything and all that stuff. Well, you already knew that part.

It's tough being your kid sometimes. It's really hard. Yeah! I'm your fifteenth-great-granddaughter. You remember Caine? What am I saying? Of course you remember.

Anyways, it's kind of dumb to give you all this background when you already know everything, so I'll just dive right in with my question and then shut up:

How come you did all this instead of nothing at all? I mean, I can see how much you like nothing whenever I look up into the sky or into that silvery thing they say is me. I like nothing, too. I like keeping my eyes closed, but I don't like sleeping, because that fills nothing up with dreams which can't hurt you. Did you know that? Oh, yeah, I guess you did. I wish I did.

They say this silvery thing is me. I don't see the resemblance, do you? But why would they lie to me? They say they are my friends, but all I see is more stuff. Where's the nothing? Besides inside their eyes, that little circle.

Hey! I've got an idea! No, it's a safety pin. Maybe if my eyes stayed shut all the time, you would understand my question about why it might be better just to have nothing. I'll try it.

Well, I guess that is all for now. I'll sign off and try our new experiment.

Yours Tru

I know how to add. I know how to subtract. I know how to write my name. I know how to eat without spilling much. I know how to multiply without spilling much. I know how to divide. I know how to write my name. I know how to read my name. I know how to talk. I know how to listen. I know how to sing. I know how to play music on a stereo. I know how to touch people. I know how to be touched. I know what money is. I know what people will do for it. I know what my name is. I know what my face looks like. I know what the dark looks like. I know what the light looks like. I know what a kiss is. I know what love is. I know what love is. I know what love is. I know what love is.

And you dare to call me insane. You dare. You.

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ.

0123456789

First, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth. Last.

Birth, childhood, adolescence, maturity, decline, senility, death, decay.

Ignorance, indifference, interest, friendship, lust, love, interest, apathy, annoyance, hatred, ignorance.

Front cover, title page, table of contents, introduction, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, epilogue, bibliography, index, back cover.

Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Open. Closed.

Never heard of it. Oh, that's interesting. Useful, that. A little overused, don't you think? Everyone knows that. No, I don't want it anymore. Never liked it. Bor-ring!

Dance. Dance. Dance. Dance. Dance. Dance. Dance. Dance. Dance.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

X=X.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.

One. Two. One two three four. One. Two. One two three four.

Preseason. Regular season. Playoffs. Championship. Off-season. Preseason.

Lie down. Get up. Walk around. Sit down. Get up. Walk around. Lie down.

Sunset. Evening. Night. Midnight. Deep night. Early morning. Sunrise. Morning. Day. Noon. Afternoon. Late afternoon. Sunset.

Escape.

Do it now.

You are flying. It is not a dream, nor is it a hallucination. You fly over your home. You see the rooftop, empty of any marking, but you know it is your home, familiar and safe. Here, in the air, you feel that powerful yearning, that desperate desire for home, the feeling of lying alone and warm in the dark, and if you close your eyes halfway and squint, you can feel that the warm breeze rising from the ground is your blanket and the patchwork of light and dark below you is the glow of your nightlight and the strange shadows it casts. This is your home, and it makes you smile quietly, here in the air. You fly above the curving streets. Above you are thousands of stars. The wind tugs playfully at your clothes like a child or a lover craving your attention. The slowly changing stoplights beat out a cadence and the soft roar of the highway makes a slow, simple dance for you in the air. You are flying.

No you aren't.

You can't fly. The wind is cold and harsh and is nothing like a child or a lover. There are no stars in the city. You have no home. Get out of my sight.

Your kind makes me sick.

Don't think that we don't understand. We know them better than they know us.

Our enemies state that our existence is deleterious to the continued survival of our kind, that our efforts and our goals consist of nothing more than tired chicanery and stale air, that our words and actions are empty and mocking, that our stratagems and plans run counter to the serious and weighty conditions under which they and we execute the remainder of our serious and weighty time here on Earth.

There are others who say that this attitude plays right into our hands, since we understand that confusion and controversy attract attention.

We are not permitted to comment on the matter.

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This page's content authored by: Jason Corley [corleyj@cobweb.scarymonsters.net]