ART DUMPING GROUNDS

The year is 2024. The eve of the 19th, a dark Monday night. I have gathered this based on the crude etchings on the stone wall of this cave I have been calling my home and laboratory. An efficient, if basic method of timekeeping... And one I will maintain, until a better method is found. However, the upkeep and structure of this place leaves much to be desired, and based on the cacophony of scrawls upon these walls... Well. I had far more urgent things to attend to outside bloodsport and chemical euphoria, it seems.

The writings... they cover every inch of these once-bare walls. Latin, english, greek, and bits of other languages lost to time or memory, intermingled with symbols both uncanny and alchemical all the same. Anatomy, mathematics, literature, mixing, overlapping, until it is nearly incomprehensible to understand.

It is madness. A beautiful, incoherent madness. There are answers here that the dreamer that I was, knew. I am, unfortunately, no longer that dreamer, and yet... These countless etchings mean something to me, like a memory just out of reach, oh so familiar and unreachable all the same. What was I doing? What had guided my hand so? Even now, my own writing seems foreign, my phrasing unfamiliar to me. As if the very structure of my mind has been reshaped. As if I am a stranger in my own body, lost and confused because of my stolen memory.

Why cannot I remember...? I know much. I kill for Her. She commands it. I have done so for ages. But the rest... Only glimpses. I am a scientist, but... What school did I attend? What was my specialty? Surely chemistry, if only from my experience and skill with what I do, what I am. But... Blood. Confusion. A high... Countless highs. Stuck to it. And a betrayal. Twice...? No- no, once. And death, but... Not, a death... I- my mind. My mind.

What bother!!

I am filled with frustration. I have spent two weeks already simply... Recovering from waking from my own drug induced hell, weaning myself and tinkering in sickly hazes to find the right formula to calm the craze while allowing alertness. And now that I am just strong enough to write, to try to even begin to consider how to make sense of it all... It all seems so much. Impossible. I can barely scrape together the ghosts of my own history, much less the truth behind it all. I was a scholar, a genius, I am sure of it, and now I cannae remember a bloody-

Ah... but... but calm. I must be calm. Collected. One step at a time. There is too much to do, yes, and I cannot do it all at once. Regrettable, and fury inducing. Patience must be enforced.

I must regain my strength first. I cannot delve into this if I do not allow myself to heal. And if I am not well, then She will not look upon me well, for my efficiency will suffer, and...

We cannot have that. The Trials remain priority. This is Her realm, after all.

One step at a time.

First log to follow. Perhaps a list. Plans for the rebuilding- no, restructuring of this sordid cave. I must make do... But improvements can be made, surely.

So much to do.

To work, then.