Disclaimer: I do not own the name Nny, as it refers to JTHM which is owned
by Jhonen Vasquez and the Slave Labor people. Do not sue for I am poor.
"A Nny Moment" By Nny the Stampede
You make me sick. Sitting across from me spouting your lies straight into my face. You believe yourself to be clever, but I've got news for you friend. I see right through you and this façade. I hate you. Hatred so deep it courses through veins hidden by my own façade. A burning urge, no a need, to kill you is veiled by my friendly smile. You are ignorant to my needs of violence as you babble away about this or that. I'm such a better secret keeper than you.
Grinning as I always do, I painstakingly stomach the trash you speak. My favorite knife tucked away from view in my overcoat. If you weren't so oblivious, or stupid I haven't decided which, you could see the knife. Occasionally light catches the metal and sets forth a reflective gleam in my eyes as I stare at you. Slowly I play with the handle of the cold steel beneath my clothing; and you keep talking, although I'm no longer listening.
Lies are funny things. I use them all the time, but for some reason I only get angry when they do it. When they lie to me, and when they lie to each other. They should die for lying. Hypocritical? Why certainly it is. Who fucking cares? I most certainly do not while I sit and ponder your impending death. It will be slow and painful just for you my friend. I have it all planned out.
The urge to slice into your skin is unbearable. It is pulsing through my arms down to my fingers that fondle the weapon. Finally I decide that I've had enough, and I pull the glistening knife from under my coat; the veils and curtains have been lifted or pulled away. Oh, you're not so talkative anymore. Why I wonder? The silence is almost a comfort, and briefly I reconsider my decision to kill you.
Briefly, but I know if I put the knife away, back into my pocket, you will continue to talk. First, though, you will laugh; treating me like a joke. Feeling your fear creates a large pit of pleasure in my stomach, and I realize I like you better this way: Quiet, trembling, and scared. You're not talking. You're not lying.
You have dropped your own façade as your wide eyes glance from my eyes to the knife, and back again. What is it you see I wonder? In my eyes...What is it you are searching for? A scrap of mercy? A hint of humor to tell you this is all a prank? I think not my friend. Do you see my hate? My contempt? My plans for you in the next few moments? Obviously you must have gotten at least a fleeting glance because you've begun to move. Away from me, and the tables and chairs you run quickly, but let's face it; I'm faster.
A sound similar to that of a large rock hitting the ground, and yes, maybe a bit of smashing celery is heard as I throw your head into the concrete below us. Some blood leaks from you, although, I'm not sure from where. Did that hurt? It must have because your eyes, those damned windows to the soul, are screwed shut tightly. You know you are going to die don't you? I wonder if you will beg like so many of the others, or take back all those lies you spouted.
Somehow my booted foot has found its way a top your head as it lies sideways upon the earth. I lean down into a crouch so my face is near yours; man the pressure on your skull must be tremendous. I wonder how much pressure it would take to crush it like a melon? Just POP! Beads of sweat are beginning to seep from your pores and ease their way down your pale skin. I whisper very faintly for you to open your eyes, and out of fear you comply. Behind those open eyes I see nothing I had hoped for. Simple emotions and thoughts that might have saved you are not present. There is no remorse for past actions and words. There is no higher level of consciousness, and thinking on your part. Nothing but fear radiates forward. Jesus, you look like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, knowing your about to be pulverized and guts sent splattering all over the highway.
I am pissed. Suddenly your silence is making me angrier than your words, lies, and I need to hear you. I pick you up violently and slam you against a table moving it several inches. I need to hear it. Something. Anything: whimper, scream, beg for mercy, but don't you dare just take this! SPEAK YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!
The blade sinks past your shirt and deep into your vulnerable belly with a satisfying squish. Well, now your mouth is open, but you still have nothing to say. I take the knife out, covered in red liquid, and jam it back into you this time coming forward as well right near your face. Your mouth is moving, but still no sound. No words of wisdom, no lies. Come on, speak I dare you.
From your moving lips comes a gurgling avalanche of blood. As it spills out onto us both I jump back, tearing the weapon with me. The blood burns me like acid, and I try in vain to get it off. You slip down and fall to the floor. Soon I realize the blood will stain and I'm helpless to prevent it. FUCK! This was my favorite shirt! I don't worry about my overcoat because its blackness hides the blood; at least it has with all the others.
Oh, shit! You're dying much faster than I thought you would. A chuckle escapes me. Look at you( Super hero to conformity( Once at the top, now lying in a heap at my feet drowning in a pool of your own blood. It makes me giggle. Once again my blade is plunging in and out of you. Blood spatters in all directions as I rip deeply into your tainted hide again and again. I'm carving a masterpiece. You twitch and convulse with each stab. This probably hurts. It is time I ended your suffering, because that is what life is: suffering. I imbed the now warmed steel into your chest cavity and rip until I have penetrated the heart.
This is my job. I end there suffering so that they may be reborn to live another life free of this one's mistakes. Unfortunately, often I find that the people do not learn anything. Instead they continue to lie about themselves. They tell themselves and others that they are happy, in love, living the way they had always dreamed. BULLSHIT! I am here to show them how wrong they are! Only when they die, or facing the prospect of death do people realize mistakes made and lies told, and only then do they wish to correct them. You, though, friend have not begged or called out. No thinking have I seen in the eyes that fill your skull. Have I made a mistake with you? If so then I am sorry, I guess.
Your eyes are closing now; violent spasms subsiding. Jeez, you look so familiar. Have we met before? Met in another time where you were more of a liar? Have I killed you before?
You are dead, and I step back out of the blood pool. I pocket my only real friend once more and head off into the warm summer night. Briefly I wonder if I had killed you in the same fashion the time before. How unoriginal of me if so. I will be sure to think up something new for our next encounter. Slowly the blood is licked from each of my fingers, and the rest will be washed away in the rainstorm that has quickly approached from the west.
Lightning stabs the sky and liquid begins to fall, but no thunder is heard. Heh, this storm reminds me of you old friend. Much like you dearly departed, there is no noise, and once again I am comforted by the silence.
"A Nny Moment" By Nny the Stampede
You make me sick. Sitting across from me spouting your lies straight into my face. You believe yourself to be clever, but I've got news for you friend. I see right through you and this façade. I hate you. Hatred so deep it courses through veins hidden by my own façade. A burning urge, no a need, to kill you is veiled by my friendly smile. You are ignorant to my needs of violence as you babble away about this or that. I'm such a better secret keeper than you.
Grinning as I always do, I painstakingly stomach the trash you speak. My favorite knife tucked away from view in my overcoat. If you weren't so oblivious, or stupid I haven't decided which, you could see the knife. Occasionally light catches the metal and sets forth a reflective gleam in my eyes as I stare at you. Slowly I play with the handle of the cold steel beneath my clothing; and you keep talking, although I'm no longer listening.
Lies are funny things. I use them all the time, but for some reason I only get angry when they do it. When they lie to me, and when they lie to each other. They should die for lying. Hypocritical? Why certainly it is. Who fucking cares? I most certainly do not while I sit and ponder your impending death. It will be slow and painful just for you my friend. I have it all planned out.
The urge to slice into your skin is unbearable. It is pulsing through my arms down to my fingers that fondle the weapon. Finally I decide that I've had enough, and I pull the glistening knife from under my coat; the veils and curtains have been lifted or pulled away. Oh, you're not so talkative anymore. Why I wonder? The silence is almost a comfort, and briefly I reconsider my decision to kill you.
Briefly, but I know if I put the knife away, back into my pocket, you will continue to talk. First, though, you will laugh; treating me like a joke. Feeling your fear creates a large pit of pleasure in my stomach, and I realize I like you better this way: Quiet, trembling, and scared. You're not talking. You're not lying.
You have dropped your own façade as your wide eyes glance from my eyes to the knife, and back again. What is it you see I wonder? In my eyes...What is it you are searching for? A scrap of mercy? A hint of humor to tell you this is all a prank? I think not my friend. Do you see my hate? My contempt? My plans for you in the next few moments? Obviously you must have gotten at least a fleeting glance because you've begun to move. Away from me, and the tables and chairs you run quickly, but let's face it; I'm faster.
A sound similar to that of a large rock hitting the ground, and yes, maybe a bit of smashing celery is heard as I throw your head into the concrete below us. Some blood leaks from you, although, I'm not sure from where. Did that hurt? It must have because your eyes, those damned windows to the soul, are screwed shut tightly. You know you are going to die don't you? I wonder if you will beg like so many of the others, or take back all those lies you spouted.
Somehow my booted foot has found its way a top your head as it lies sideways upon the earth. I lean down into a crouch so my face is near yours; man the pressure on your skull must be tremendous. I wonder how much pressure it would take to crush it like a melon? Just POP! Beads of sweat are beginning to seep from your pores and ease their way down your pale skin. I whisper very faintly for you to open your eyes, and out of fear you comply. Behind those open eyes I see nothing I had hoped for. Simple emotions and thoughts that might have saved you are not present. There is no remorse for past actions and words. There is no higher level of consciousness, and thinking on your part. Nothing but fear radiates forward. Jesus, you look like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, knowing your about to be pulverized and guts sent splattering all over the highway.
I am pissed. Suddenly your silence is making me angrier than your words, lies, and I need to hear you. I pick you up violently and slam you against a table moving it several inches. I need to hear it. Something. Anything: whimper, scream, beg for mercy, but don't you dare just take this! SPEAK YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!
The blade sinks past your shirt and deep into your vulnerable belly with a satisfying squish. Well, now your mouth is open, but you still have nothing to say. I take the knife out, covered in red liquid, and jam it back into you this time coming forward as well right near your face. Your mouth is moving, but still no sound. No words of wisdom, no lies. Come on, speak I dare you.
From your moving lips comes a gurgling avalanche of blood. As it spills out onto us both I jump back, tearing the weapon with me. The blood burns me like acid, and I try in vain to get it off. You slip down and fall to the floor. Soon I realize the blood will stain and I'm helpless to prevent it. FUCK! This was my favorite shirt! I don't worry about my overcoat because its blackness hides the blood; at least it has with all the others.
Oh, shit! You're dying much faster than I thought you would. A chuckle escapes me. Look at you( Super hero to conformity( Once at the top, now lying in a heap at my feet drowning in a pool of your own blood. It makes me giggle. Once again my blade is plunging in and out of you. Blood spatters in all directions as I rip deeply into your tainted hide again and again. I'm carving a masterpiece. You twitch and convulse with each stab. This probably hurts. It is time I ended your suffering, because that is what life is: suffering. I imbed the now warmed steel into your chest cavity and rip until I have penetrated the heart.
This is my job. I end there suffering so that they may be reborn to live another life free of this one's mistakes. Unfortunately, often I find that the people do not learn anything. Instead they continue to lie about themselves. They tell themselves and others that they are happy, in love, living the way they had always dreamed. BULLSHIT! I am here to show them how wrong they are! Only when they die, or facing the prospect of death do people realize mistakes made and lies told, and only then do they wish to correct them. You, though, friend have not begged or called out. No thinking have I seen in the eyes that fill your skull. Have I made a mistake with you? If so then I am sorry, I guess.
Your eyes are closing now; violent spasms subsiding. Jeez, you look so familiar. Have we met before? Met in another time where you were more of a liar? Have I killed you before?
You are dead, and I step back out of the blood pool. I pocket my only real friend once more and head off into the warm summer night. Briefly I wonder if I had killed you in the same fashion the time before. How unoriginal of me if so. I will be sure to think up something new for our next encounter. Slowly the blood is licked from each of my fingers, and the rest will be washed away in the rainstorm that has quickly approached from the west.
Lightning stabs the sky and liquid begins to fall, but no thunder is heard. Heh, this storm reminds me of you old friend. Much like you dearly departed, there is no noise, and once again I am comforted by the silence.