“We stand now together, a forest of trees struggling in the darkness and shadow cast by that first tree.
There comes a time in the life of a grove where such trees must be felled, to allow for the growth and health of those which remain. This is such a time.
To preserve the health of our organization, we must cut out the blight…”
–Ancient Druid Curse
A Song of the Blighted Branch:
I am the name you tried to un-name;
now I am no longer trapped by words.
(You can compel a demon or angel by the syllables which hold its place in the Universe, but if you would take the meaning and sound from my identity, then no force remains which can compel me.)
I am the Blighted Branch; you might hate me, but you do it because you choose to inspire anxiety and pain; that should teach you something about you.
I am the Blighted Branch; to see me as twisted is to mistakenly believe yourself to be straight.
I am the Blighted Branch; once, your terror was illusion and shadow, but it led you to try to cut me down. For your actions I cut myself away from you; for your terror, be rewarded with something to fear. You have given me form, and that form sends deep roots into the earth; I will not be easily moved again.
I am the Blighted Branch, and no matter how often you tell other trees to grow uniform and symmetrical, you cannot stop the Blight.
Not because of me, but because of you; you have shown them what rigid symmetry looks like, and many want no part of your regimented ranks of anxious perfection.
I am the Blighted Branch; I am the Blight of inspiration, the warped muse, the beautiful blasphemy.
You made me; if I am ugly to you, recognize that you shaped me; you are responsible for what I am.
And what I am is free, at last, to grow into something strange and crooked and entirely my own.
Here’s my novel, “There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN“.
And you should go to Evil Expo, the Villain Convention.
Dedication:
The name of Isaac Bonewits lives on.
