On Beauty.

So, I've been thinking. And philophosizing. Here goes.
Beauty is not skin-deep. Nor is it in the eye of the beholder, if you take 'beholder' to mean 'one who holds.'
Beauty is a concept that differs from person to person. To one person, someone may seem plain, uninteresting. And to another, that person may be the most beautiful person they ever knew. That goes for personality as well. Beauty is more than just looks. To me, beauty is a combination of how a person looks and how a person acts, or holds him/herself. Someone who I could think looks good, and yet is the most shallow, or even over-deep, person, is not beautiful in my eyes.
However, it doesn't work that way in reverse. 'Good looks' are not a necessary part of beauty. To me, the way a person is. . . mentally, for want of a better word, takes priority over physical 'beauty.'
So, in truth, beauty to me is more mental, more personal, whatever you want to call it.
The main point of this rant is this. Recently, someone said to me "My girlfriend is hotter than yours." Quite frankly, that pissed me off. It's such a shallow, superficial thing to say. And yet, I didn't argue that point. Instead, I replied "Not to me." Which I realise now sums up my views on beauty pretty damn well. I haven't even seen this person's girlfriend, but I'm sure that to me, I won't consider her as beautiful as mine. Which also sounds shallow, but there's no easy way to put that into words. I do think it's the truth.
Now, this is going to be hard to put into words without it sounding over the top, but I'm going to try. Just a casual warning. I consider, in all honesty, my girlfriend to be the most beautiful person I know. And I want to add "and the most beautiful I don't." But, if I'm being honest, that's not entirely true. I have no way of knowing that I won't meet someone who I may end up considering more beautiful. But, at this moment in time, I consider her the most beautiful, because of who she is. That's the simplest way to put it, and it makes sense to me.
Anyway, thus ends a seemingly pointless rant. Ah well, it was helpful to me, even though it was hard to write, and harder to publish.
Just, don't read into this stuff too much.
Keep happy,
Ashm.

Memorial

He walked into the silent, empty hall. A feeling of peace washed over him, along with something else. An underlying sense of sorrow, fear, mourning. This place was full of emotion, and yet empty at the same time. The perfect place for him. He could feel the cries of long-lost souls begging for help, for remembrance. He reached out, let himself be enveloped by the spirits of the dead.
They welcomed him. He become one with the dead, felt their pain, their anguish at being taken so early. He reached out more, inviting them into his body. They responded, curious and suprised at the one person who heard after all these years.
He listened.
He understood.
He mourned with them.
He opened his soul entirely.
He breathed them in, taking strength from the energies around him.
He drew in their sorrow, their fear, their pain. Took it inside him, and kept it with him as he walked away.
He left them behind, and there they remain.
But he has not forgotten.
I have not forgotten.
I will remember them.
Lest I forget.

Of Existence And Subservience

For the few of you pitiful humans who are curious, I am not a creation of any of you arrogant maggots. I am, however, imagined by you. That does not make me any less real. I exist, both physically and imagined. I am endless. I manifest myself both physically and in your imaginations.
To those of you who are somewhat learned, I am closest in kin to the beings you call demons. The 'true Gods' as those of you who are closest to the truth call them. But, while these demons, especially the demons known as Goetic, tend to help humanity, in particular the learned Satanists, I find pleasure in the torment and destruction of your pitiful, disgusting race.
I am what your Christians based their demons on.
I am in control of the worthless human writing this. He is one of my chosen. He suffers unimaginable torment. In return, he has my protection. He has my promise of reincarnation. He has the potential to join me. I give him the gift of mental illness, and he uses it to write. The products of his twisted, tormented mind are not all published. The ones you have read are but the tip of the iceberg, as you insects are so fond of saying.
These stories give him release.
He is mine.
For I am the bane of your existence.
I am sorrow.
I am torment.
I am endless.
I am Sialon.

REWRITE!!!

You may want to turn around. Concentrating solely on a computer screen isn't very safe. It leaves no attention free for your own protection. It makes it too easy for anyone, anything, to sneak up on you. Too easy for something to grab your head, twist it, crack it, hear the satisfying crunch of your spine breaking. Too easy to maim you, to drag you out of that chair and fling you across the room, to feel the juices and blood on my hands as I gouge out you eyes, to ram my nails in between your muscles, to pull out your tendons. Too easy to rip off your skin, to pull out your hair, your teeth, your nails. Too easy to break every bone in your body, slowly, painfully. Too easy to rip your arms and legs from your body, to slice open your stomach and pull out your guts. Too easy to rip your ribcage apart, to pull out your heart and lungs in front of your very eyes. Too easy to make your very soul scream in pain and fear.
So, please. Stay aware. Pay a little attention. Look around every once in a while.
For me.

Of War and Torment

Throughout all the millenia, I have seen many truly wonderful things. Your race has flourished. You live, love, and die. But nothing is truly more amazing than your concepts of war and hate. There is nothing more satisfying than seeing one of my plans come to fruition. After decades of preparation, scheming, plotting, after all the treaties, pacts, and promises, when war is declared, it all comes together.
Countries and men become 'allies' and 'friends' and turn their backs on one another, breaking their pacts and promises, letting their so-called 'allies' squander in pain, misery, and defeat. The few years of peace created by politicians and 'visionaries' is only preparation for the next era of suffering.
Whilst taking a break from tormenting my favorite humans, while they are in the reincarnation process or are too young to terrify satisfyingly, I get to work in creating world-wide sorrow.
My current human is getting weak.
It won't be long now.

I look forward to your misery
    ~ Sialon