Sometimes I wonder if I “run cold.” In relation to body temperature, I don’t often feel warm. I naturally have a lower body temperature than humans, but I don’t mean I necessarily feel the opposite of cold. If I am a naturally cold blooded creature, then everything around me should be blazing hot. Though I wear long sleeves, coats, hoodies and robes. I feel as though I need to be warmed most of the time. In the summer, I wear scarves and it’s controversial amongst mortal friends. My whole body is covered most of the time. I crave a warmth from Daniel I can no longer find, but still pretend is there.
Once in a while I heat my body up in the shower, raising the water to temperatures that other of the Kindred find worrisome. And when I step out of the shower, my entire body tingles as the temperature of it rapidly decreases to it’s normal preternatural state. I wonder if this is what the mortal body feels like as it dies. It makes me wonder if my body could even be considered real at this point. Just like time, what is a body if I am no longer a part of it?
That reminds me that there are these ancient batteries that were found. These clay pots that ran an electric current somehow. Historians think that ancient humans would press their hands to them, and they interpreted the electric shock as proof of God.
Jesse told me that.
I haven’t written much, partially because I forgot about this website for a while. But also I was on another reading kick, inspired by a friend of mine. She is also my mortal age. Someone was also selfish with her body. And she is a friend that reminds me that it’s easier to be curious than destructive. We browsed the Barnes and Noble store for hours one night and I bought a book called “Tender is the Flesh.” It was very fun.
When you’re brought to The Blood at an age on the line of child and adult, the natural process is severed and you’re stuck forever as a ghost who misinterprets everything, because no level of adult wisdom or understanding was ever captured. “I don’t get things.” Benji often tells me. Sometimes I see myself so much in Benji. Everything about us is so similar. He knows about these demons I harbor. We often compare the cult to his foster homes. He wants desperately to go to Palestine. I want to take him so badly, as Marius took me to my homeland. A closed circle. And Benji is weeping to be with his people. He doesn’t remember them, as I had not remembered; taken and brought to a foreign place, not knowing the language, not knowing if he were commodified… only remembering the feeling in his body.
I’m sorry Benji, I shouldn’t tell these people so much about your suffering.
Some other experiences from this week:
A human girl in the bodega called me “King.” I laughed out loud. I’ve been called a prince many, many times, but never a king.
Daniel is increasingly going out completely alone, even to feed. Without me. I feel the skeletal grip of death around my heart again but I refuse to believe it’s an attempt to leave me.
An acquaintance told me I speak like I’m writing a screen play. I told him I’m not very good at speaking. He said, no no, you just have a large vocabulary and you want to use every single word…
…making friends with all sorts of different Kindred across New York City has been surreal. Probably the first time since my theatre and meeting Louis have I extended far beyond my current coven.
