varbis.com

Some days you just pine for the past — some experience you never experienced even.  Just a general feeling for a particular time.  Or just a tangential reference to something I don’t even understand.

Thinking back to a place I used to lived where life is great.  OK I admit it things were wonderful sometimes in that country, but just hearing some music in a language of that country brings me back to the wholesome innocence of those people.  Myself included. Which brings me to an idea I’ve been tossing around about the media.  A large percentage of religious people in the US who believe in the bible

You ever notice people say the world is getting worse?  Well I say the media is getting worse, and there is too much of it.  You can constantly view some apocalyptic videos around the world 24 hours a day if you want.  How do you think the world will look if all you view is disaster news backing up your theory that the end is coming soon?

Meanwhile there may be nothing going on out your window.

Gorgeous in her fleeing  enwrapped

closure ground wisdom clearing

Granted you knew what the hell you talk about it all the time.

Feeling as though on a ship to sea

with inky, blinky, and moo.

whoever the hell they are.

They watch expecting greatness

but laugh at the stupidity of the verse

never reading another word

spending their life viewing it with mockery and contempt

always alone upon the only road I know

but sometimes there are others out there as I am

but not always

 

 

The mechanical tongue is back to torment you. You may decide to stop reading right there, but that is a mistake, because soon I’ll have you in my grip.
But til then, a few mundane details of everyday life here in the country. People like to hear about the country, especially when the live in a city. The hardest thing to get used to moving from a city to the country, is the quiet and dark at night.
In the city the noise is non-stop. You get used to it, don’t even notice it is there. Humans are indeed adaptable are they not?
But the essence of the contrast between country and city, is the vibrating concrete with the subways running beneath, storm drains, heat reflecting off steel in the summer. That part was supposed to set a kind of mood. I hope you noticed. But I digress as always. Don’t get me wrong, I love the country. And I am used to the quiet darkness. Got over the paranoic theater of a haunted house. No lights turning on by themselves, no flies scambling across glass as deliverers of its will. I laughed about this story with her. Yes coming in out of the earth, some spirit or ghost of some sort that might want us out. Such silly roleplaying but Cthulhu needs slaves. That could be a meme you know. Like an army recruitment poster. ‘Cthulhu Needs Slaves’. I have to admit watching Evil Dead II last night did not turn me onto HP Lovecraft. HP Lovecraft is all about leaving alot to your imagination but the movies spell it all out for you a bit too much. And the movies are gross. Somehow my imagination is less graphic than the movies. I like that about myself.

It hurts how much society expects of a person these days. All for money. Bio survival anxiety abatement tokens as Robert Anton Wilson once called them.
I’m turning into an angry person. What can I do? Sometimes anger is a natural reaction to a particular problem of the mind. Besides, anger and humor are lovers. Don’t you laugh at campy movies because they mock anger with bizarre melodramas of the endpoint of psychotic rage. Why not make it a source of creativity? Just get audition for a play with a role to let you get out all those negative emotions in a healthy way.
Why write unless it is something that shakes up the world a little? I mean what have I got to lose, as rotten a person I may be. Rotten by some arbitrary standard I made up for myself which is not too easy to shake loose. I don’t have to though because it makes more sense to maintain some semblance of structure in life. Been there. Done that. Shaken it all off.
I hear you now saying how too much structure will hinder creativity. You know this from personal experience perhaps?

Never trust personal experience unless you are the person who experienced it. DUH!

That was my deep thought for the day just now. I hope you appreciated it. It was plopped out like a egg from a golden chicken with the words ‘Faust’ enscribed upon its chest. The chicken leaves the egg and moves back to the yard. You wander about thinking if maybe you are hallucinating. There are no golden chickens.

Let it rest. So much happened in this lifetime, that it takes a whole lifetime just to write about it. Why spend my life writing about the thing I am supposed to be living?

Maybe that is one reason some choose to stop writing for good.
At the same time some stick with it and deserver respect assuming what they say makes sense to you.

In closing, I leave this moment to a computer upgrade.

open wide

Memories of dubiously prescient dreams
Hornets cobras chlorinated water
Cobras cobras in stagnant water
Lonely drunk in a crowd in a tomb
Little explosions on the horizon in the womb
Emotionless face of the native American
Sever my arm though I have no quarrel with them
It was due to splitting in two
Antagonized father and son
Near the ocean.

Shoo shoo I say to the hornets
Imaginary hornets conjured by a cop
In a go-cart wrapped in table cloth
Covers my drunk criminal head
At this resort a blue hunchback bled
Awkward and limping through the explosions
Adapting and training in hostile sands

Who are the new Gods of America?
They await your worship
They sustain your dreams
Marijuana seed in the bathroom lay
Bisexual security guard teaching Japanese in Malay
Entering screens flying near the out of the cave
Under starlight police hornets slaves
The dark night at the console
Too busy for my song
About the identity of a wife who was wronged
Patio of a colored gaseous cloud
Tattoos of death burnt flesh of the proud
Burnt flesh stolen from graphic novels
Troubling foreigners with tales of H.S.Thompson
Warning there are plagues come from the mouth of the tomb
Prescient dedication to those in jail

lick away the ear wax
with this mechanical tongue
and take flight
in the mind
with this example

in the beginning
hops and passion flower
so start at the end
and sing
contradict
complain
about every offender personality
that bleeds like a head wound
until you wind down Friday morning
whine with the passion of a survival instinct
fight and screech in the court
about how life is short

I’m by your side
I cover up
your cosmic
dirty plate
my adventurous son
drives to work
as he spouts gallows humor
with the thought
you can’t beat the past

but time is like
the flesh wounds of
reckless expectation
you can smell time
like an infectious gash
yet it is a part of All
during the course
of our future-romance
oh well
up her ass and cunt
in front
that’s how to handle
the election of Being
you groan
and to think Being
is banned

but such phraseology bolsters
the political stance
of the son
from a
pink apartment
in Chicago
and hankies satisfy
when a straight guy
gets it
when he gets it
like a song of water falls
upon
splinters of heaving
arctic ice
on troubled
sweaty skin

sail in search of confirmation
but your ships lay waste
to the world
you may find the new world
at the end of the journey
so celebrate
for we all leave celebrations
slightly sad

hey you powerful man
give yourself up
to the continuum
and gain all power
you may grow thinner
or die fatter
but you do not need
food or water
now
unless some phrases
are illegal
some symbols too expansive
for the schedule
like waterfalls
this poem-throne of fluff
pon’ which I sit
disqualifies me
from the recitation of
the vast swipe of a moment
yet the moment
incites these words
your insides condensate
yet you’re a part of the One
under
It’s
constant smile
as
It
feeds you
plasma intravenously
along with all the stars
that expand their coronaries
like a prophet in a stupor
and comatose
two nights ago
thanks to a
pool of effective customer service
and the wine
yet at the same time
I openly admit
the symbol of the All
hidden in 3-D V.R.
where I jack-in for peace
while at the same time
convinced of my own Mind

alas and alack
piles of brown
turn inwards
into themselves
while I return
to the old schedule
with pants off
living in an America
of pink lights
and restless words
that revolve around a glass box
and underneath
who knows?

be still O happiness
for a British schoolboy
responds to you
quietly
he evades conventional
outmoded glaucoma
like the Greek monuments that stand
between periods of abstinence
like fine objects
reminders of office supplies
it’s not over
now I dig a grave
and invite an enemy
to a bit of my heart muscle
on a hero for the journey
the object of this earth
is to lie to the institute
but be at peace
and drive
alcohol poisoning
and teriyaki
I was told later
prompts a smile
until the desire for union
shines
and rejuvenates the elections
barely into the ocean of ’86
I find G_d
He is a white rancher
forever great
who treads in black socks
before the Truth
the poem of the air
he throws flowers up there
to float with impulses
that pulse
like belief
like air in the bloodstream
as we sit in misery
on His earth
beneath His Generous Buttocks
of the Ages
for he sees things as they are
after words
and as we write the words
uttered by The Mechanical Tongue
of His own
out-there reality
calm and courageous
along the way
the truth comes forth
bellows
and flaps
with strength
but the Parthenon is superior
studies show
with it’s air of enigma
beyond even the creator
but here back on earth
I ride the bus
walk in the forest
drive by
as I hear a roar overhead
and think,
does she see as I vomit?
again and again?
at least it wasn’t
on the blessed veranda
that divine dump
but never mind
with confidence
return to acceptance
to ensure survival
lure me in
from the murky hours of 3AM
with its
late staggerings
by the side
of The Great and Meaningless Void
that Hungrily Awaits for No Reason
as I cry from atop the hotels
as a drunk cycles around trailers
as I wonder about the fire
of the present
that burns
out
so what if one shoves
a child
as he visits his proud defender
in a bar
in San Francisco
and onto Fremont
blooming
on the bank
of love-lakes
but the fact is
we deny instincts
that salivate over a fight
and assemble thoughts
together randomly
the cruel fertilization
for the seed-soul of wonder
while the family
implores you pause
before you act
or speak
from within the light
of your own insight
poems of influence
are a muscular system
that thrive
where ‘they’ ban the light
so let the specialists protect my rights
as I’m drunk
on lakes of my best interest
see
the sun set
my joy in red

so I do it all
pursue the wealth
through seasons numerous
become my own experience
once I even work wearing a collar
until the Parthenon spake
thusly
look with your eyes
saw off your hand
if not in tune
with the Higher Truth Beyond
the lamppost
encircled in vines
beside
a young child in San Francisco
I must report
that I set many a trap
for at least ten people
while ‘happy’ at a bar
with lectures
you might expect from an officer
who reports
the discovery
of a conspiracy
of a thought-filled insurrection
doubling as disinformation
yet here in Union Square
I cannot bear family
that is how the hangover starts
unconscious
somewhere

The Jung-Freaks

 

Jung-freaks have opinions

Like everyone else

Bu thanks to the concept

‘projections’

Jung-freaks eschew reasons

Especially if your tone is

Too aggressive

Or incisive

Wondering what is

behind their opinions

 

They protect their ego

Through the brilliant

Ability to detect

When one is ‘projecting’

 

Since their viewpoints

Do not require explanations

And they’re above reproach

Just because they are

Who they are

And because they believe what they believe

Or since they

Must avoid disagreement

Out of fear

Or depending on their current

Emotional state

 

their only recourse

Is to ‘diagnose’ those who disagree

With the magic phrase

‘You’re projecting’

‘You’re projecting’

Like a doctor diagnosing

Rectal cancer

Or the flu

 

But they are more like

Doctors who

Diagnose a person

With

Alcoholism

When anyone with

A brain knows

That alcoholism is not a disease

It is merely a bad habit

That has gone so far

That the drunk

Thinks he can’t control himself

Anymore

And so he can’t

That’s what he’s told himself for years

you are what you think

And he doesn’t think

He just does

What his subconscious program

Dictates

The program he chose

For himself of course

And reinforced over and over

Until the program

Took over

Like a virus

Or spyware

It runs there in the background

Sapping your performance

 

That’s why people

Invented God

God is just a new program

That eventually works

In the background

The more you reinforce the habit

Of using God as a means to an end

It’s much like disassociating

From a poorly written program

Though sometimes admirable

Sign of your own

Personal creativity

And boldness

And replacing it with

A user-friendly

Corporate

Program with little room

For invention

Or innovation.

 

 

You pretend that

someone else can

until you eventually

change your habit

 

 

What they really mean

Is that they feel

Their pet theories

Are threatened

By another’s doubts

They mean

You caught them

Believing things

That they never

Questioned before

You came along

Or they mean

They can’t bear to

Reveal their ignorance

On a subject

That they suppose themselves

An authority on

 

Or they mean

They’re scared of

domination

By your

Extensive knowledge

And the confidence it brings

 

They resent the

Insolent presumption

Of one who knows

Thanks to hard work

And study

 

Yet regardless of the soundness of

Your logic

Or knowledge

And their impotence

They believe their

Unfounded beliefs

Deserve respect

Just because they hold

Those beliefs

With little understanding

Of why they believe

 

So they say

You’re projecting

You’re projecting

And they say it

With a cool smile

their fears and doubts

Allayed

For now their opponent

Is not misinformed

Or illogical

Or ignorant

Now they

Have a psychological ‘condition’

And who better to

Reveal this condition

Than the Jung-freak?

 

Its how Jung-freaks

Look down on the people

They disagree with

Instead of backing up their views

With reasons

And facts

While the rest of us

Know

you don’t need

to prove you are a better

person than someone else

out of some hidden sense

of personal inferiority

but rather you need

to discover what the truth

is about any given question

because you know

you have the ability to do it

and you have done it before

 

 

Poor ol Jung

His ghost weeps over the

Casual misuse of his

Concept of projection

By so-called

Faux Seekers of self-realization

Who thumb through his books

Like a good beach read

Grasping onto

Any psychological theory

That rids them of the need

To do their homework

 

For projection is not a

Tool one uses as a wild card

in a debate

Or an argument

 

It is something that happens

Between the analyst and the patient

Which helps both of them

To bring

Subconscious thoughts

And feelings

To the surface

In an atmosphere

of trust

openness

and wisdom

A true analyst uncovers

The projections

That really matter

Over long periods

Of analysis

They take their time

Like a master on

A sculpture

 

They do not use projection

To conceal their own

Failings

Ignorance

And self-doubt

When confronted with

Someone who questions or

Doubts one of their sacred cows

Not at all.

 

Even worse,

Projection is based on that

Soft science called

Psychology

Yet it’s adheres invoke

Projection

Like it is the law

Electromagnetism

Or the germ theory

While in reality

In the hands of

An armchair psychologist

Who reads Jung casually

Without much rigor

Or focus

It might as well be

A ten year old

Yelling no

No no no no

Or I want what I want

Or a Father who says

It’s true because I say it’s true

Or it’s true because so and so

Said it’s true

 

but instead they say it like this

I think you’re projecting

You’re just projecting

If they are insecure enough

To take everything personally

And to be at a loss

For an explanation

They try to act as if

They are beyond explanations

Beyond answering questions

Beyond stating their case

As if they’ve reached some pinnacle

Which no one can grasp

Or understand

Some revolutionary hunch

Beyond trifling little

Debates and arguments

And the more they try to

Convince you

And themselves

The more obvious the lie

Becomes

And if they act like

Jesus on his way to the cross

The lamb to the slaughter

Never defending themselves

You know they want the truth too

But they’re not willing to

Push themselves to get it

Instead they meekly go along

With whatever you say

Patronizing and condescending

With an air of

Invincibility

And at some point during

The Pop Jung-Freak’s

Faux elevation

Into the netherspere

Of transcendent wisdom

They wait for you to

Become irritated

And bewildered

At their spectacle

Of fraud

Deceit

Delusion

And self-confirmed

Attainment

Of nothing less

Than the emperor’s new clothes

Or the alchemical transformation

Of base metal into gold

While evading the real issue

And then state in their

Ridiculous and maddening way

 

Don’t you think you’re projecting?

Don’t you think you’re projecting?

 

 

You’re projecting

Instead of stopping to

Reconsider their unfounded

Beliefs

Or stopping to consider

Maybe their opponent has a point

And they should go back to the drawing board

But no

All they can say is

You’re projecting

You’re projecting

And with that

They think they have completely

Gotten to the bottom

Of the real reason

Behind their opponent’s

questions

contradictions

and doubts

and justified annoyance

at unfounded beliefs

to gag from sleep
Is what Tiger and Benadryl reap
To flaunt inner turmoil
Will tighten sadness’s coil
I read about incestuous lines
But my indignation
No longer whines
If I don’t get what I want
My alter ego comes to haunt
Without any goals
My passions grip and hold
I try to make a new rhyme
To pass the meaningless time
Artists are abnormal
They crawl down unexplored wormholes
If I don’t madly trust
I fear she’ll turn to dust
If I don’t forge on
I’m just another pawn
Of memory
And of illusion
She says
To none are you obligated
What do I want?
To that I’m fated
Did you cast a spell?
Bringing me here
Yes I did
And my next brings you near
If I mean what I say
Then I say come to me
Every today

The formula of invocation
Is still an enigma
But for you my dedication
Is my hearts only dogma
And my fancy it is not a secret
It cannot be
That the rhapsody of when we met
Is a symphonic impetus
Frees all of me
For you
For you
And only you
Around you
I have dejavu
We talk til the last moment
I forget from when time came
And to when time went
A genuine laughter
Has not erupted from me
For what seems like an eternity
Until I’m around you
I wonder
What am I supposed to do?
So when can we
See each other again
Ever thought of boarding the train
En route to Thailand
Wouldn’t a trip be good?
Before I got too far
I bid you adieu
I am the fool who steps off my cliff
Who falls into you
You are like red rain
Falling down all over me
You are the cheerful violins of Vivaldi
Inspiring pastoral poetry
How shall I compare thee?
Your voice is like a brisk breeze
And I am your swaying Juniper Trees
Like spread wings of Monarch butterflies
Are your open ocean eyes
Delicate
Intricate
Unique sighs
Your presence sweeps me
Over the angel falls
Perpetual
Exhilaration
Constance
Like finest silk
Your countenance
Through clear still ocean depths
You are a seabed of endless variety
From atop Great Everest
You are the greatest view imaginable
Truly you are like this and more
Yet I am all conceit
To value these word
As adequate equivalence
To your ineffableness
Besides
I don’t write pastoral poetry
So let us traverse
A path modern
And down to earth
I will tell you again
So you will know
How I fancy thee so
Did you cast a spell bringing me here?
True I did
For my next benevolent hex
Have no fear
I bid you come near and hear
It is my heart that says
Come nearer with the pass of days
Perhaps our social roles
Shall fall away
To reveal our true souls
I am sure my layers
Of theatrical make-up
My chameleon art
Will wipe away
Well find the jungle safe again
But I live in a cave alone
I must
Because I don’t trust
But I am a cocoon
About to burst
I’m excited
Let’s live now
So how

her stars are cold
as you breathe beneath the waters
she brushes her hair
as you are getting smaller
you found her there
but really don’t care

put your trust in me
and the little daughter
we’ll bring you to yourself

cracked and reeling
I float towards the ceiling
pavement stretching back to itself
the wallpaper peels and cracks like feeling

come this way
thought it takes a little longer
in the end
you’ll only be stronger
it takes a lot to see beyond me
but look beyond
that’s where I’ll be

the witch’s shadow
floats from the castle window
caught on her island
nowhere to go
spider webs and dust
a body made of rust
lanterns and caverns
as I begin to trust

lampshades and curtains
pulled aside open wide
revealing a void out the window
and a cipher inside

ants drip from the sun’s blasphemy
soaring over oceans
of all you can see
alternate dimensions
spiraling toward Infinity
looking for an exit
out of anxiety

where is your face
my Black and blue
sugar feel ya floating through space
can you tell me which way is true

clasp your hands
look to your side
now you’re so beyond my lies
she’s gonna take you away from me
remember when you couldn’t sing of my eyes

a child floats in an amniotic fluid
as drapes and silken handkerchiefs pass

her fruits are never ripe
her seeds are cracked in two
I ask her to bury me
but begging won’t do
finally release but first a gift
the world turned inside out
a perpetual rift

I kept it as a promise
but where’s my reward
you left me on the mountain
and alone on coastal shores

I offer you life
but you turn it away
desperate for strife
you can never pay
naked and crawling
what more should I say

come back home
don’t you tire of being alone
I Want to know the secret
of what I have to do
to get this life in order
so I won’t lose you

these paths are grey and cold
let me follow you
until we both get old

am I doomed to seek
but never find
so very tired
with so little time

V Inc

Center of the Sun.01
The man was sick with a terminal illness, homeless wandering the streets. His life in ruins and no one to turn to, no resources left, he remembered one thing a friend had told him. At a particular street in the city there was a manhole where a person who knows death is coming, and has no hope, can wait nearby for one full day and someone will come to them and offer them some sort of deal that will allow them to live and to have a new life. But the specifics were not clear. It may just be a legend. But he was out of options, and it is amazing how willing a person is to believe when stared down by death. So as his friend told him, he waited nearby the manhole continuously for a full 24 hours. He did not notice if anyone saw him or was watching him. As the end of the 24 hours elapsed he was met by a man who told him to return to the manhole and someone will meet him there and give him instruction. So he did. That morning a man indeed showed up and told him they should remove the cover and go down together. They climbed down the ladder into the dark drain below and suddenly the man pulled out a gun and shot him two or three times.
You’re as good as dead already otherwise you wouldn’t be here.
Listen good, over there is a letter. You have to read it and make a decision. If you decide to go through with it, ring the doorbell, and a woman will appear.
So he crawled over to the letter. It was only half a page saying that if he was willing to give up his blood, in exchange he could live forever. But that was all. He looked at the doorbell and with nothing to lose, rang it. Indeed a woman opened the door soon thereafter. She looked like a medical practitioner of some sort. She bade him come in and took him to a workshop where she explained to him he should now slit his wrists and let the blood flow into a container. She demonstrated for him by slitting her own wrists, letting the blood flow. So he did it and let the blood flow into the container. Soon a man showed up, sharply dressed like a businessman with his jacket off, and bearing only a vest. He handed him contract to sign. The contract explained, that by offering his blood he has made clear his intention to live forever as a vampire. If he chooses to escape death and become a vampire, he will become the property of Mr V’s organization that will train him on how to be a vampire while being a part of regular society. He will be given skills that allow him to get a new lease on life. He will be trained on how to conceal what he really is. In effect, he will be given a second life, one that does not end, as long as he plays by their rules. If he does not follow the rules, than his life will be forfeit. He signed the papers since he knew he was very close to death as it were. Immediately and ferociously, Mr V attacked his throat like a wild animal. And then he fell asleep. When he awoke, he realized to his surprise, that he was alive, and that his new life had just begun as promised. He felt grateful and wanted to follow Mr V. But it hadn’t sunk in what he was now.
He learned in time that Mr V had created a vast network of vampires that assisted those who were dying and were willing to accept being a vampire as long as they followed Mr V’s rules. They were beneficial rules overall. They gave the vampire something to do, something constructive, it taught them how to avoid detection. They could live in harmony, more or less with the human world while still being a vampire. But of course there was another group of vampires who thought that humans should be made to live in harmony with vampire ways and, as one might imagine, their goal was controlling the humans rather than living in harmony with them. They thought it shameful to hide what they really were and wanted to force the humans to live in the vampire world rather than the other way around. Naturally this approach was bound to lead to a lot of bloodshed and conflict which is what Mr V wanted to avoid.
There is an urban legend that says if a person knows the time of death is near, there is a manhole in a secret part of New York City where you can go to escape death. The legend says that the dying person most find the location of this manhole cover on their own but no indication is given on how to accomplish this.
Nevertheless, if a person is able to ascertain the whereabouts of said manhole cover somewhere in New York City, they are to visit it and wait within eye shot of the cover for a full twenty four hours without leaving for any reason. The one account of a person who was dying, found it’s location, and waited for the full twenty four hours describes how the scene unfolded. Supposedly the man was dying of an incurable disease, and being a very sensitive person, he sensed his time was very near, perhaps too near for him to even make it through the ordeal of going to this place and waiting alone for something to happen. One might think it would make more sense to expend energy on experimental treatments or perhaps some other medium of salvation from death aside from the customary tale of eternal life after death. But who knows, this approach is as much of a tale as anything else so it may just depend on the instinctual proclivities of the person in question. At any rate, so the story goes, the man waited for twenty four hours within eye shot of the manhole and after twenty four hours had elapsed, someone he had never seen approached him and handed him a note and then left. The note read ‘we see you have been waiting by the manhole for twenty four hours so you must be seeking salvation from death. If this is the case. Come back early in the morning when there are very few people around, remove the manhole cover and climb down. Someone will be there waiting for you. He will take you to the next step of your quest.
So the next morning he went to the manhole and pried it open. Fortunately it was in an dilapidated industrial area of the city, so there was no one around at that early hour. He pried open the manhole cover and climbed down the ladder to the sewers beneath. From this point on the details are hazy, and it is unclear how anyone would have pieced together the events that unfolded, but the story goes that he was met by an armed man who, without saying a word, shot him twice with the pistol and then told him, ‘you and I both know you are going to die anyway. This act frees you of all hope which is the first step in your quest to be free of death. Do not worry because pain will not matter if you are able to make it to the next step. You are now bleeding profusely in your leg, and your neck. You do not have much time and there is no going back. Then he carried the man to a doorway with a little buzzer. He rang the buzzer and a woman dressed as a nurse or some sort of scientist or medical technician perhaps, opened the door. They entered and she told the dying man, ‘lay down in this coffin. As your blood drains from your body it will be collected in this coffin. This is the price you have to pay for your desire. You must sacrifice your blood to gain eternal life as many human myths have declared, but of course, this is a more literal version of these tales don’t you think?” She laughed heartlessly as if it were all a game. As the blood flowed out of the wounds in his body into the coffin he could hear the blood being sucked out by some mechanical system. And it was then that a man appeared above him as he lay in the coffin holding a scroll. He declared to him. You have come here seeking freedom from death. Death is upon you. You have paid in blood for what we offer. Before you can be free of death, you must agree to the following rules and sign in blood. If you agree to be free of death understand that you will never die. But once you have passed from life to eternal death, you must agree to always be under our protection for the gift we grant you is not free, and comes with great responsibility.
At this point the man was fading in and out and barely aware of what was going on. He couldn’t understand how anyone can put a person through this, and demands vows, and sacrifices while he was in such a weakened, state. Still, after being read the ‘rules’ he signed in blood. It was then that the man ferociously tore into his throat blood spewing forth while the nurse stood by smiling and then he blacked out.
He was not sure how long it had been when he woke again, but it was much like going under anesthesia where one does not remember anything about being unconscious as if no time had passed at all really. When he woke he felt completely refreshed as if he’d slept like a child for a full twelve hours. He felt completely rejuvenated and refreshed as if he was in his prime again. When he rose from the coffin, he was greeted by the man who had torn into his neck and the nurse who had collected his blood.
Welcome to your new ‘life’. From now on you will be under our protection. We will teach you all you need to know about your new life.
He was puzzled? What had just happened?
You are now a member of V Incorporated. Our firm handles the training, and acclimation of vampires into human society.
VAMPIRES?
Wait you mean I’m a vampire now?
That’s right. You are a vampire. I turned you into one yesterday. But you signed a contract which states that you will be under our protection. We do not let new vampires into human society until they have received a full course in training on how to live in human society harmoniously.
Harmoniously? But don’t vampires kill humans for for food?
Well yes in a manner of speaking, sometimes. But that is one of the issues we will address. Vampires have instincts just like humans, but like humans we can control our instincts to some degree. Just like humans controlling the instincts is necessary to get along well with others.

So according to the story, this many who was dying followed an urban legend without really knowing what would happen but figured his options were completely limited. And he ended up a vampire under the care and tutelage of some underground corporation that trained vampires to live harmoniously in the human world. But like all new beginnings, he was like a child who knew little. As time passed he would learn much and discover that V Inc was not the only Vampire Organization in existence. There was at least one other significant organization that had completely different goals and views on how vampires should exist in the world. Naturally Mr V preferred to keep his new students ignorant of this other school for as long as possible until his students were strong enough to resist the temptation of the anarchist school of vampiricism.