In My Time of Dying

From: "nu-monet v6.0" <nothing@succeeds.com>
Date: Sun, Mar 28, 2004

(That kind of inspired me. So I sat down and cranked
out this personal death horror story, trying for a
kinky angle. It's vaguely based on the badfilm,
The Mask (1961) (it's a bit long, but enjoy.)

http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0055151/

If you want, please repost it to their Yahoo! group.)
**********************

The ten thousand deaths of nu-monet

It all began with this Aztec mask. Well, not
really an Aztec mask, sort of a faux mask that
looked Aztec-ky, but was a lot lighter and
comfortable enough to make do for Halloween, its
intended purpose.

Months early for the holiday, once I got started
on the project, I found it was much like making
a stained glass window. Small, squarish panels
of various minerals, chosen as much for appearance
as for any mystical value, set together in a firm
but reasonably flexible matrix. Easy enough to
fit and shape to my face, yet strong enough to
hold the rock plates in place. A most impressive
costume piece.

I had a substantial rock collection, so with a
little care I was able to make some fine cuttings,
even incorporating some Labradorite, almost unique
for having a peacock lusterousness across its grain;
not with the grain, as is the case with almost all
other stones that have a luster.

I avoided fragile stones such as turquoise, and
much preferred unusual agates and jaspers, hard
silicates, intermingled with jade, sodalite,
quartz crystal, sugilite, marble, amazonite, and
two dozen other distictive stones, some even man
made. A magnificant and unique work.

Surprisingly strong, I incorporated several straps
of leather to hold it tightly to my head, neither
wanting it to deform unnaturally or fall off and
break, even in the unlikely even of my dancing, or
the more likely prospect of my having to run away
from the constabulary.

My last act in the construction of the mask, done
as a whim in the early aftertoon, was to "energize"
it, in the way magical stones are cleaned and
their power restored after use: by putting it in
the freezer. Sounds silly enough, but some of the
gemstone mystics swear by it. Just a few hours,
and the typical stone is bursting with energy, of
whatever kind.

Celebrating my artistry, I then set to drinking for
the rest of the afternoon. It was only in the wee
hours of the morning did I stagger out to the
kitchen to try on The Mask.

Bugger, but it was cold! I took it to the living
room and despite the chill, slipped it on so that
I could examine it in the mirror. Ow ow ow OW! it
was freezing, but I wanted to see how it looked.
And for a few seconds, and only few seconds, I saw
The Mask on my face. My eyes seemed to glow blood
red, perhaps a trick of the light.

I woke up collapsed on the sofa, still wearing The
Mask. I reasoned that I had passed out, and felt
confused and disoriented. The near blackness of
the room gave me the thought that I must have
tripped over something; but this idyll gave way to
a strong desire to remove The Mask.

But I could not! A second or two of fumbling gave
way to a near panic as I couldn't feel the leather
straps, The Mask itself feeling fused to my skin.
I tried to pull it off to no avail, thinking that
somehow the coldness of the thing had fused it to
my face. I was becoming frantic, desperate.

And then, effortlessly, the mask came away from my
face. Relief instantly turned to puzzlement, as I
saw that I was no longer at home, but standing on
some fog shrouded hard ground in my bare feet. An
empty field at midnight, I supposed, but utterly at
a loss as to where I could be. But I soon saw that
I was not alone. The person who faced me frightened
my deeply, though for what I could not say.

A large man, concealing himself with his black hat
and a black poncho-like garment, walked before me
in a menacing fashion, his black boots crushing the
ground which he trod. Approaching, he came at me
at an angle, then at another, suddenly flashing a
thick dagger from under his cloak.

His first cut, across my throat, was deadly and I
knew it. I heard and felt, rather than saw my
blood rush out onto my chest, dizzy within a moment,
and sensing blows, rather than knife stabs, as I
lost consciousness and things went black.

I sat up, my heart racing, on the sofa back in my
living room, The Mask still on my face and my heart
racing. I felt the slash on my throat and the
stab wounds, and was amazed that there was no blood,
nor any other sign of mortal injury. I easily
removed The Mask from my face.

Had I been sober, I would have been half frightened
to death, but as it was, still with heart palpitating,
a thought crossed my mind that my death was not
that bad, nor painful. Was this death? Was it this
straightforward? Not that bad, really.

I held The Mask up to my face again, and instantly
my mind was filled with luscious image after image
of violent and dramatic deaths--mine! A hundred,
a thousand variations of personal destruction, all
felt firsthand as petite orgasms of annihilation
followed by rebirth as I returned to my "real"
world.

I realized that The Mask was a unique object of
power, a gift that few could appreciate. I also
instictively knew this--that I would never again
meet that dark stranger; but instead could experience
an endless assortment of deaths. Over time, I was
to learn that even the self, the me, experiencing
my murder could change, and with it a heightening
of sensations beyond the me I know. An old man, a
soldier at war, a kidnapped girl child, everyone
and anything.

Unlike other entertainments, there doesn't seem to
be any loss of intensity to the experience, even if
you are murdered a dozen times a night. No fatigue,
for if anything, you are over stimulated and become
lustful for rude physical activities. Your body
craves food and drink, exercise and sex. You wish
to fight for the sheer pleasure of it, and to indulge
your baser whims in violent manner. After a session
with The Mask, I am often covered in sweat, with a
hard breath, and great almost sexual excitement.

But you must return to The Mask, for that ultimate
in decadent and lustful entertainment. The first
time of the evening, you might be running through
the jungle, only to fall prey to a tiger. The next,
just a few minutes later, you may be the drugged
victim of an Aztec priest; an experience thoroughly
enjoyed for the hilarious irony involved--and I did--
I might add, actually see my heart in his hand before
I died! Then a soldier blown to bits with artillery,
yet alive enough to know his death.

I have yet to share The Mask with anyone. I am greedy
for its power, and yet there is a slight longing to
share with others--but only with those very, very few
--who could appreciate the lewd and corrupting power
it offers. But fear is gone. I no longer fear death,
it has no more power over me. I may act with impunity
for I will either die or not, but it does not matter.

Oh, ordinary people may want to share The Mask with
me; but they are not equal to the task. They have
only their one real death in their poverty, and if I
am in a generous mood I will let them experience it.

It may be a crime, granted, to kill another person,
but I see now, The Mask has shown me, that it doesn't
really matter, save if the death is entertaining, not
some boring experience, several minutes of uncomfortable
ennui waiting for your heart to stop. So if I am to
convey this gift to others, I will do it like my first,
that great large man in black with his thick, razor
sharp dagger, at midnight in some empty place. Then
they, too, will know the orgasmic delight of their
deaths, not continue to live, ignorantly, in the boring
ennui of their miserable lives.

Perhaps sometimes, but I am too avaricious of my own
lethal pleasure to share it with others yet. I know
now that I must seek out the ultimate death, pleasure
beyond human ken, and I will no longer need The Mask.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: "nu-monet v6.0" <nothing@succeeds.com>

(Here is a lovely morbid poem I did a while back.
They might like it, too.)

Cable Death
nu-monet

It's a really hot day
That cable was really tight
And then the frame broke

Twang!--Cut me in half
Like a sword just--
Just below the navel, belt

I'm still alive but
Totally freaked out and
Nobody else around

Shouldn't be alive, legs
Are next to my right side
Mess everywhere and sticky

I'm in shock really, so even
If I wanted to I--something
Bleeding blood all over--

Twang is a hot dust sound
Sounds like a cable twang
I'm not going to live

Whoa, what happened? Uh
Ouch, I hurt my hand
Scraped it on a rock How?

Hot dry dust and pebbles
Even the blood is dirty
Shiny glass in the dirt

I should be dead now even
got to wait for that, just
like a damn, make me wait!

sweat in my eyes. blink.
dizzy sick spasm black
out

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Original file name: Re- In My Time of Dying.txt - converted on Saturday, 25 September 2004, 02:05