Naysayers be damned, this bitch can write a self-centered bit of rambling!
My initial experience with Edifice Angels was one surrounded by feelings of love and self-grief, intermingled with walking, puzzles, Jennifer Coolidge impressions, and a relationship with our story's bewitching creator, of which I hold dearly.
My second, more private experience has allowed me to truly lock myself in with this eukaryote and rust-colored work of maddening sex, love, and un-death, and the story of Edifice Angels is just that; maddening. I need more. Is it a good thing that I see so much of these different parts of Denver in both my old and new selves? Probably not, but I don't fucking care! I'm high off of my own Nietzsch-isms, man! I'm gripping my life by the tits, and I'll play through this work of art repeatedly until its prose has festered long enough in the vial that I'll end up injecting into my sinew next Monday. That was an estrogen joke by the way. This story does such a wonderfully shitty job at making you feel pity for everyone involved, and when you're old like I am (twenty five by the way), I just want to tell each of them to shut the fuck up, maybe fuck each other, and come to terms with the fact that you're still human. Angels, demons, gods, devils, archangels, humans; we are all human, and that is our divine flaw. We fuck up, and it is up to you to either grow, or fall to the floor covered in puddle filth.
The things we do for those we love, the things we do to feel alive, the things we do to feel some semblance of self in our own bodies; all of it, stupid or not, is what makes us just a little bit closer to our own humanity. The direct or indirect harm we cause to ourselves and others, whether by our own hands, or through convincing those that love us, even from exterior beings; every bit of it that I have have been divinely forced to experience has pushed me ever-further toward wielding Longinus's lance. I will forever both thank and curse the forces that be that have led me through the abuse, the broken bones, the stabbing and gunshot wounds, and who could forget not only the pain from pleasure, but the pleasure from pain. If I had been killed, I never would have found solace in this great work of Charlotte Rain's. I would not have committed to the self-reflection that my time playing Edifice Angels led to, and now I at least know that I am probably not a good person!
Divine comedy be fucked, I am selfish! I will throw myself into hell, and come crawling out of each circle evermore, just for a chance at maintaining my humanity and love. Until then, I will continue piercing my skin and scrawling it with ink for the reminding pain of who I've become. I will continue to pump myself full of the drugs that alter my chemical makeup, to be the woman I was born to be. I will continue to love, yearn, cry, and mourn. Until I die, I will walk the Earth as Constantine, waiting for the day that I kill myself all over again to trudge through blood-mortared brick and soul-rended steel, and turn Gabriel's wings into crimson on tile. I am the Eve that committed the original sin, and until I die, I will play Edifice Angels. This is my hole, and it was made for me.