Matthew's Notes

[Matthew]

Daily Cleaning Regimen Morning Routine A dip in either ice cold water or hot water. If hot water, a small dose of Bath Salts are used to help improve the feel of the skin. Soap and oils are applied to both hair and flesh in calculated doses. Skin Cream is applied on face and left to sit while soaking in bath. Body is completely rinsed and face is cleaned. Hair Pomade is applied and Face Powder is used to cover any sudden and unexpected blemishes in immediate appearance. Toothbrush and Toothpaste are used, then a small amount of Mouthwash for a gargle and rinse. Mouth is then rinsed with clean water. Cologne is applied, and appearance is double-checked for any inconsistencies.

[Matthew]

It is increasingly rare that I find something that makes me feel so fluently. Not only did she make me feel (if only for but a few fleeting moments), but I could tell that she made the universe feel. The universe loved her more than others. She was different. It was obvious in how the sunlight would dance with her hair.

[Matthew]

The buzzing behind my eyes isn't an instinctive demand not to feel. It isn't an OCD reaction like I first assumed, like I first told Razkar. The buzzing is something else. It hasn't happened in so long that I thought it had gone away, but then it woke me up last night. My medical expertise is lacking on such matters of the mind, so perhaps I need to find someone who can understand this rather odd perceptual symptom. The Ethaefal doctor would know what to do. Odd that I think of him now, and odd that thoughts of him remind me of that painting. The painting his wife gave me.

[Matthew]

I've woken up on three separate occasions with tears on my cheeks. I have absolutely no idea why. Perhaps the sudden change in air? Zeltiva is very different from Sunberth, but I doubt that has anything to do with it. I feel nothing when I awake, though sometimes I am a bit sleepy. I feel like I've rested well. There is certainly no lingering sadness. So why does it seemed I have wept? I can't remember the last time I cried. It was back when I was a small child. How very melodramatic all of this is.

[Matthew]

I do not understand the boy. I do not like children and I do not understand children. It would be so much easier just to drive a knife through his throat while he slept peacefully beside me. If he holds such a monster and has the potential for such a future, why not just end all the possibilities here? It would be the logical thing to do. But no, Tanroa said to raise him, to guide him. To bring him up in what was good and what was evil. I do not understand either of those concepts. They are as foreign as the boy is. Edreina would know, Kaie would know, even Nate would know. Me? I have no idea, nor do I want to know. But I have to, apparently. If I have to but my mind cannot, then something simply has to change. That is why I need to find the doctor. He was last here, in Zeltiva. If it is something that can be fixed, then it must be fixed. I need the ability to empathize. That is all, and hopefully it will be simple. I feel like I don't have much time. I don't know why.

[Caelum]

The envelope was hand folded, heavily waxed paper. The edges were torn rather than clean cut and it was obviously not done in this fashion out of some misplaced sense of artistry. On the back flap and spilling over the borders to ultimately take up the entire side of paper was scrawled in thick but faded ink: Matthew Parker c/o Theresa Parker, Head of Medicine Univ. of Zeltiva Inside was single piece of folded paper and a second envelope. The paper read: Matt, don't read this in front of your mother. In fact, stop now, find someone deserving of ill luck, and read this in their presence. The second envelope held a final sheet of painstakingly folded paper. Late Summer 512 AV Dear Matthew, I fear that you're being watched. Your best chance of deflecting this letter from being spied upon is to get completely shitfaced immediately after reading it. Don't save the letter anywhere but in your Library, and even then roll it up and tuck it into the binding of your least impressionable book. Leave the book on the reading table. Hide it in plain sight. I trust by now you know more than some small bit of how this game is played. Are you sufficiently prepared? Good. Here we go. I have reason to believe that your memories have been tampered with to a potentially debilitating degree. If I'm right, then it has been done through the manipulation of your chavi (look it up) but I cannot begin to say why. It is only now that certain knowledge has been made known to me, certain memories of my own returned to my full comprehension, that I reflect back upon our hours together and wonder. Admittedly, it could be nothing and I'm merely giving you a reason to be paranoid. Yet as I filter through the recollections of my previous life, too many hunches and half truths in this one have come into a new and revelatory light. If in reading this you find yourself ill in agreement with me, look west to Cyphrus. It is the direction they call me in now, but where I will land I can neither say or yet guess. I remain, Caelum. post script: Knight to F6.

[Matthew]

I have been told that I am an 'intelligent' sociopath. I don't have problems with drugs, I don't commit crimes, I don't take pleasure in hurting people, and I don't typically have relationship problems. I do have a complete lack of empathy. But I consider that an advantage, most of the time. Do I know the difference between right and wrong, and do I want to be good? Sure. A peaceful and orderly world is a more comfortable world for me to live in. So do I avoid breaking the law because it's 'right'? No, I avoid breaking the law because it makes sense.

[Matthew]

It strains at the seams. It feels like there is so much inside of me, yet I have not the slightest clue what it is or how to even begin letting it out. Am I filled with pain, happiness, love, wrath, or chaos? How infuriating is it that my very own body has become such a stranger. I wish the soul could be bared upon an operating table. I would slowly strip all of this turmoil from it. I would carefully perform a surgery that would extract this parasite of histrionic sensation so that I could finally function without flaw.

[Matthew]

I've never written poetry before now. Poetry is an odd thing. This thing, like a broken mind sieve Sorting out all my thought and actions As unnecessary and pointless I hold on to the idea of peace It's description I read in a book Yesterday When it still made sense Gathering scattered thoughts While picking up scattered possessions Placing them on proper places To remind myself of some kind of order. Thoughts pile and intertwine, Then erase themselves into a blank page.

[Matthew]

Sex is a practiced logic to me, one with every move calculated. My brain is always working while I perform, noting each and every response of my partner and using that knowledge to adjust my strategy on the fly. In those moments, the slick and sweaty bodies of both male and female clients alike turn into a puzzle. Every fantasy is different. Every erotic craving has some subtle variation that marks it as a creation of their individually unique mind. Every new puzzle has an answer, though. A logical solution. A piece that clicks perfectly into place. I find no personal pleasure in it, only what I assume is the fulfilment of a hard day's work. In the end, it is the ideal result of my mind reaching out to touch their bodies through looks, touches, and every single kiss. But what do I do when I realize that her lips reached out and touched to my mind? It is not correct. It is foreign. It is an unknown pressure. It is darker than what the gasps of all the others label as delicious sin. It is softer than all the other scents. These are not the sensations of logic. And suddenly I am faced with a puzzle that I cannot comprehend.