Blood Drinker

Another glass of wine. Scratch that. Make it blood. Another glass overflowing with blood. Though pain needs to be pulsating through it as if it were its own wrathful taskmaster, churning into oblivion. It needs to be alive you see. I don’t want dead blood that has been reduced to a mere chemical composition of random chance. No. It has to be alive. It has to be evolving. It has to still be in the game.

Well, now that we have that squared away, let me explain to you what else I am doing. Drinking blood by itself during the late hours of the night is by no means a waste of time, but there is so much more to couple the act with in order to arrive at an even more meaningful destination. Like matching a fine wine with the perfect morsel of cheese or chocolate. This too has its companions that elevate its essence. The irony of life and death has plenty of nose, though my sense of smell has grown dull with age.

So, what can one do whilst enjoying a nice glass of freshly squeezed blood, still teeming with life? Well, write of course! Not just any train of gibberish, though there’s certainly nothing wrong with that. I find it to be a lot more enjoyable to write down a very particular order of words. Their structure gives them so much power in fact, that you could use the scroll to delegate actions to be carried out here in the real world. Yes, now we’re talking! I’m referring to Demonology if you haven’t caught on by now. But be careful! This is not something you want to fuck around with. One wrong turn and you’ll be the one taking the orders, and I’m not talking about some kinky bondage crap either. You’ll be taking real orders. The kind that will make your skin shiver off of your body, leaving behind a glistening pulp (that I would not mind drinking, as a side note). It takes talent and experience to write these words in the order in which they were meant to be. Without order, there’s chaos. Chaos is the hot glue that’s needed as the raw material, the heart of the matter. Think of the application of chaos like the opening at the tip of a volcano. Make the tip too small and it’ll clog the essential flow. Make it too wide, and you’ve now destroyed the landscape, at least for now. It needs to be the perfect size, a perfect spout, to permit its vehemence to be flung out into the world like molten excrement.

Language matters too. It needs to be a language which the demons are familiar with. You wouldn’t go to Mumbai and start speaking Korean to everyone, expecting them to understand you, would you? Same principle applies here. Demons don’t put in a lot of effort into learning new languages. If there’s ever a language you’d think worthy of picking up, it is ancient Sumerian my friend. The language of commands. Wouldn’t you like to command a cute little demon from the shimmering depth of the underworld? Well, you won’t. Not without a few things anyway. First, you need to be appetizing to those you’d call upon. Relax, I’m not saying that you should preheat the oven to 375, lather yourself in some unsalted butter, and season yourself freely with various herbs (don’t forget thyme)! I’m saying that you need to possess something, an aura that would be appealing to these ancient creatures. Creatures that have walked the earth many times longer than your pathetically short lifespan, I might add! There’s this misconception that demons are ugly, evil creatures that want nothing but suffering. Wrong again, I’m afraid. Demons thrive off of the light, of pure energy, like how a moth is drawn to an electric spark. They don’t want desolation. They don’t willfully seek out dead ends which won’t keep their interest. Imagine being alive for millennia. Since the beginning of time itself. Think of how difficult it would be to keep your interest in anything anymore. Things you loved a hundred, thousand, million years ago, no longer entertain you simply because of time’s unrelenting tick forward into yet another year. So, rule number one, demons absolutely loathe dullness.

Second rule is all about confidence. You must carry yourself like a leader, even if you have no clue what the fuck you are talking about. Confidence sparks interest and interest sparks control through a following.

Third rule is unrelenting dominion. You are the master! Don’t forget it, or they’ll remind you painfully by flipping the table on you so fast, your head will spin. This isn’t like the blue genie from Aladdin. There are no “rules” that tie the demons down. The spell is not a leash. The spell is an invocation, that’s it. Once your guest shows up, it’s your job to be a good host. It’s not enough to only be a good host, you need to be the right host. Do a good job and you’ll have damnation twisting and turning at your fingertips like the most gorgeous belly dancer you’ve ever seen.

Fourth rule is about demonic etiquette. Always, and I mean always, provide your demonic guest with a fresh, warm pitcher of untainted blood. Untainted, meaning it has not touched another’s lips. Give them the courtesy and pure taste of what our middle plane has to offer. Your guest will have walked the earth before, but the joys and sensory stimulation that make up our windy world may not be so easy to recollect after all these years. If the blood came from a fearful individual, that is always a bonus. I know it sounds vulgar and brutal, but as I already stated, these creatures need as much stimulation as possible to get even the slightest reaction; like visiting your elderly grandma at the nursing home, moments before she’s about to expire.

I think it’s time for a disclaimer, what do you think? A wise man named Åkerfeldt once urged me to never forget the advice for soul sacrifice. Don’t place your soul amongst the bargaining chips for the deal you are about to make, even if you know what you’re doing and you’re a veteran like me. It can all go south very quickly like any form of gambling can, and it won’t be under your control. Demons know how to play you, and they will. They’ll hustle you ’til you’re on your knees begging for them to leave. If you’re in this situation, then you’ve disregarded the disclaimer and are now their property. Always remember, that they’ve walked this earth before your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-so on and so forth-great grandpa emerged crying from the unpleasant, tubular ride out of his mother’s vagina. What are we talking about again? Wine? Blood? What’re we drinking? I guess they are both blood in a way, right?

The fifth rule, we have now completed the pentagram, is all about relaxation and inquiry. Keep calm, know what you’re asking for, simple right? No, it ain’t. Do not call on a demon without knowing exactly what you are asking for. Here’s an example: A man, let’s call him Johnny, recently went through a terrible breakup with his girlfriend. He was sure that she was the one, yet she slipped through his fingers like too much lotion during…never mind. Now Johnny here, somehow knows how to summon demons (maybe he read this story through a random click). He follows the rules I laid out earlier, and his demon appears at the dinner table like the protagonist of an Elizabethan film, after the men went hunting for a stag and the women talked about how to curl their hideous hair; no one mentions how the stag was cooked or who cooked it. Those fuckin’ servants deserve a raise in those films in my opinion, but I digress. Johnny is a leader, he’s domineering and has his jug of blood, warm and fresh from the still throbbing aorta. He commands the demon to kill his girlfriend and his girlfriend’s new boyfriend, whom he understandably loathes, and it’s happily ever after right? Wrong. The demon crawls across the dinner table and bites Johnny’s head off with one, perfected through the centuries, bite. What did Johnny do wrong? He followed my rules. He played the part, perfectly. He added passion to the encounter and made sure that his guest was well fed.

See, it wasn’t so much the act of doing what he did. It was what he asked for. Why should the demon care about killing two people it’s never met before? Jonny presented the deal from Johnny’s perspective. What he needed to do was present it from the demon’s perspective. I can’t repeat myself enough on this one crucial fucking point. Pay attention. Why would an entity that is millennia upon millennia old give a shit about two measly humans? It wouldn’t. If you’re gonna invite the hungriest of bloodsucking, used car salesmen to your table, you better make it worth their while. How can you do that? You can’t. Goodbye. Just kidding come back!

Give them something in return. No, not your soul! Hint, you’re already givin’ it. Sign over the judgement. The judgement now. The nine to five judgment of pretension, every day, every year. Again, just kidding, the demon doesn’t want that bullshit, lingering on its palate like a gobstopper that won’t stop! Nah man, think of the best time in your life. Like the happiest moment you can think of. You got it? What is it? Prom? First blowjob? First time you were noticed by the many? Okay hold that idea…Get the pitcher…Get the sword. And now, the realization. You my friend are it. C’mon, you think I’d write a manual like this? You are the final ingredient: a hopeful woman or man, ready to enter the world of controlling the most disgusting creatures we can think of. The fear is now settling into your eyes like an unwanted tenant, always late with the rent. You realize that you’re strapped to the chair and that the paralytic I injected you with is now slowly wearing off, though not enough for you to do something. And with each cyclical increase of your heart rate, your aorta shows itself more easily through your paper-thin skin. What’s wrong with this you may ask? Why did I do this to you? Well, the education system already taught you how to think: something is right and something is wrong. They just didn’t teach you this shit. Shit it is. Just fucking please, do not gamble your soul…No one wants that appendage…Now, hold that fear. You may feel a slight pinch. Who knows, if you keep coughing and pushing the oxygen to your dying brain, you may yet be able to meet the demon before the darkness takes you to the Jackal, who’ll weigh your heart. Don’t worry, I won’t cut it up ’til after your judgment. How’re you feeling? Lighter than a feather I hope…