sitting bolt upright from a nightmare when i was not asleep like "the thing that most people don't understand about vampires is that it's not instantaneous. you can be surrounded by them for years, very, very slowly inculcated or even kept like livestock and farmed for your blood, which is not the point, which is not literal, long before you will ever realize what you've been forced into and twisted to become. more than anything it's like a bank transfer. it's you being transferred, through an automated clearing house, as if to fund munitions for war. your being, itself, slowly siphoned away to an endless expansive world devoid of anything, which we've all seen in our dreams, perhaps made of glass, or covered in water, a place that is somehow programmatically encoded in your mind, which you could see for yourself before being told. this is where the real harvest can occur, leaving behind a shell of an automaton to go through the motions of your life. it is, fundamentally, a process that requires self-propagation to survive. you are not the mark. your victims are." and laying back down and closing my eyes to return there to see if there's anything to be done for the long dry and empty dead while the most heavenly chorus of a train horn down the street, an uncommon and nonstandard chord for the industry, echoes across the city, across the graveyard next door with its thousand solar lanterns memorializing only those who could afford it, just to obfuscate the scale of death, and across a thousand for-profit blood plasma donation centers and gas stations plugged into an open vein
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