#sam krieg

You know, you're just like one of my characters. You love evil. You don't run from it, you don't try to avoid it. You welcome it. You crave it. You invite the pain and you cherish the suffering. You dive right into the filth and you make no attempt to wash it off. And when you finally climb back out, it doesn't matter how bad it smells, how the stench and taint cling to you. You just can't wait to dive back in. Like a dope fiend hankering for a fix, you don't want it to ever end. You need it. Your entire identity, your raison d'être, is at stake. Think about it. Who would you be, what would you be, without this? Without your precious war on evil? Without your secret world, your sacred brotherhoods, your ranks and titles and rituals? You'd be just another rat stuck in the race with a dead-end job, living for a pay-check and the weekends. One long booze-soaked downhill slide towards the dark and cold grave.  But you probably believe in what you do, believe it's right, that it's good. You soak in it so others don't have to. You take one for the team. You bend over and spread your legs and let the darkness inside. And somehow, you justify it all with utilitarian pragmatism. You're a bona fide American hero. Get the hell outta here. Go find an abyss to jump into. Go soak yourself in filth. Maybe it'll be different this time. Maybe you'll save them all. Maybe you'll finally find some god-damn peace, some closure. You're just like every character I've ever written.  Fucked from page one.

Life has a strange way of creating situations that get in the way of your passions.

"The day the fog rolled in, I stood up here in this ivory tower and watched it all. It came like an avalanche, like a tsunami, obscuring everything in its path. First the shoreline, then the fields, the forest — the town. It lingered for a while, before receding. There was no one left. The fog took them, all of them. At least, that's what I thought at first glance. Turned out there were others who escaped the fog - somehow. Me — and the sheriff, she was paying a friendly visit — I was above it all. It didn't touch us. That night, it was deathly quiet. The fog around the island obscured everything, sight and sound. One or two people tried to leave. They walked into that thick mist, and all we heard were the screams. The next morning — with the dawn — came the townsfolk, returning from the sea, like one of my stories. Followed by what the Wabanaki once called "the pale men." The Draug. That's when I decided to stay put and keep writing. There's a strange inspiration to be found in imprisonment."

“You’re just like one of my characters… You looooove evil. You don’t run away from it, you don’t try to avoid it. You welcome it, you -crave- it! You invite the pain and cherish the suffering. You dive right into the filth and make -no- attempt to wash it off. You bend over and spread your legs and let the darkness inside. And when you finally climb back out, it doesn’t matter how bad it smells, how the stench in the taint clings to you; You can’t -wait- to dive back in. Like a dopefiend hankering for a fix, you want it to never end. You need it. Your entire identity, your raison d'êntre, is at stake. You’re just like every single character I’ve ever written; Fucked from page one!”

You're just like one of my characters... You looooove evil. You don't run away from it, you don't try to avoid it. You welcome it, you -crave- it! You invite the pain and cherish the suffering. You dive right into the filth and make -no- atempt to wash it off. You bend over and spread your legs and let the darkness inside. And when you finally climb back out, it doesn't matter how bad it smells, how the stench in the taint clings to you; You can't -wait- to dive back inn. Like a dopefiend hankering for a fix, you want it to never end. You need it. Your entier identety, your raison d'êntre, is at stake. You're just like every single character I've ever written; Fucked from page one!