Ode to Pain
by Jonathan Quince
Saturday, January 31, 2004 22:32:37
Pain. Through the red haze of a body wrought with agony, this single word floats like a dagger through my mind. Pleasure’s compliment, its twin, its antithesis, has me deep within its dire grasp; tendrils of frozen fire creep through my essence, beckoning and demanding, enveloping me in that fearsome cradle of blackness that ruthlessly crushes all but the strongest of souls.
The pain blazes through my nerves, threatening to snuff out my existence with a blast of icy flame. I exalt in it, revel in its terrible majesty. I am its servant, and it is my slave. It seduces me with its dark allure, offering harsh and dreadful promises of power beyond imagining. I surrender to it, befriend it; and through its awful passions, I command myself and become master of my temporal being.
Kneeling before myself in orgasmic torment, I pray for the release of searing agony. Wounded with fury, I throw back my head and laugh the laugh of a madman, challenging the pain to enthrall me and myself to meet it and embrace it. Beautiful and excruciating, an inferno of virtues consumed, the pain rides forth to meet my defiance. Striations of a thousand colors fly across my vision; the silent screams of daemonic torturers drown the sounds of the world in a melodious cacophony. Through the arcane wizardries of one who has embraced that which promises to annihilate him and, through the grim disciplines of Hell’s own master, assert his will to overcome it, I shatter the bonds of that which would break me and emerge, enlightened, into a world that shall bow before my thunderous visage.
Wielding the sadistic tortures of an angel of wrath, I smite my minions with torments beyond comprehension. Leading them through the nightmare world of broken souls, I bring them to the nexus of freedom and self-mastery. Beyond all pain, beyond all fear, we stand high in the ethereal realm of those who cannot be touched by worldly worries. Triumphant, we drink from the cup of those who have dared to conquer themselves; and slaked on that victory, we are at peace.
No longer an enemy, pain has done our bidding. I trace my finger lovingly through the mists of sweat and blood we have shed in this merciless battle over our natures. Marking my servants with the firebrand of my ownership, I caress them lovingly, not ungently, with the implacable hand of one who has forged his own soul and can no longer be bought by pity or remorse. And at the behest of my overriding and sacred will, pain comes forth to bring them ecstasy. No longer cruel, but with the angelic hand of awesome majesty beyond worlds, my caresses of fire and blood enthrall my slaves with orgasms of liquid annihilation.
Pain is a master to those who fear it. It crushes the weak, destroys all who are inferior to its challenge. But to those seduced by the vicious promises of damnation, it is the bread of life and the cup of salvation. For those who dare to ride the immortal heights of passion, pain is indeed a worthy lover and a faithful servant. With the fire of my mind, I embrace and command it.