We hope you've enjoyed what you've seen thus far, but that was only a snapshot of the minds behind BEWARE!. What you see before you are the untold adventures of the muses that inspire us. Take a moment to clear your psyche as we help you bring this story full circle.
Hurry everyone, put on your Sunday best!
On this first Sunday we must be well dressed!
All the preparations are now complete,
Keep in mind this task was no easy feat.
In celebration of our new cult, we call BEWARE!,
Let’s all rip out a chunk of Donald Trump’s hair.
Chop off his head and put it on a stake,
Then call up his daughter and cancel their date.
Storm the Capitol steps with whips,
Uncle Sam in rusty chains and a gun on our hips.
Our sons will help us slay the beast,
And from its flesh our wives shall prepare for us a great feast.
For never fear, our master is a coward,
When all is over his gluttony will cause him to be devoured.
This is an excerpt from the logbook of an unnamed spy trapped behind enemy lines. In an attempt to maintain his sanity, the ever shifting “motion man” as he was dubbed by the U.S. government, wrote down an account of his day to day life. The following journal entry is a previously classified file that has been released to the Smithsonian to put on display as a part of their new World War III exhibit. The year is 2020.
Fighting has finally died down in the nation’s capitol, and I am fortunate to have survived this long. Right now I have been ordered to remain on standby. After my failed assassination attempt on the President, I try to stay inside for the most part. I don’t have much longer before my money runs out, and winter is quickly approaching. Occasionally I can find work as a mover, but business has been slow these past few weeks. If this was the old days I would’ve called Smitty; the old bastard is long dead now. As I write this, I am sitting outside my apartment building. I would usually work from the comfort of my room, but I have reason to believe that they have my living quarters under surveillance. There have been several instances when I have awoken in the middle of the night to tapping sounds in my walls. I thought it was just an inconsiderate neighbor, but the rooms on either side of me are vacant. Right now, I do not have the luxury to dwell on such things. I need cash. Cold, hard cash. Sometimes I contemplate thievery, but my moral code will not allow it. Not to mention I can already feel my mother scolding me from her grave just for having such thoughts. Feeling defeated, I went to visit Clair at the corner store with hopes that she might be able to help. There was a line at the register, so I waited. She had her hair up today, and I couldn’t help but notice the way her tightly wound curls undulated with every one of her movements. I will neglect to transcribe the events that followed regarding our time together out of common decency. By the time I left her, the store had been closed for hours and night was all around me. The walk back to my room flew by, for my thoughts were consumed by thoughts of my old life back home. The rest of the evening was uneventful and I am now preparing for bed.
**This stanza is my final effort to explain my death. You may categorize it as a suicide for lack of a better term, but I have been entrusted with highly classified information and this is simply a preemptive measure to ensure the safety of my kinfolk.
Just as I started to drift off to sleep the tapping started up again. I lay still, one hand tucked under my pillow, firmly grasping my .44 magnum. The sounds continued, louder and more present this time. I cannot allow myself to be captured. I am a soldier. The best of the best. I know what my fate must be, but strangely enough I am hesitating. My mind wanders not to my dead mother or my little brother I left a long time ago, but instead I am consumed with sadness over not being able to spend any more time with Clair. This is unacceptable for someone in my line of work, but I am not ashamed. This is the life I have chosen and I take pride in the fact that I will die guarding the secrets of my home. I do not have much time left, so these will be my final words to the world. I can only hope that my life was not lived in vain.
"I didn’t know you still had those.” Tony was referring to the sun glasses Dasia was sporting. They were the same ones he had gifted her last Christmas, but that was a long time ago. You wouldn’t have known if you saw the two lock eyes today though. The mood was festive. Love had defeated lust (even if just for a moment) and they were truly happy. Tony’s car was out of the shop, and in an effort to celebrate, the couple was headed to the town carnival. Besides the fact that they had scored free tickets, this was a rescue mission. The long semester three thousand miles apart has taken its toll on our now estranged lovers. Even now, they refuse to abandon ship, but this is no time to dwell on the past. Currently Dasia is giggling uncontrollably at Tony’s misfortune. He wants to be mad at the snot nosed kid who spilled cola all over his shirt, but it’s been so long since he’s seen that smile. What was a clean shirt if it meant he would be blessed to witness something so beautiful. Still, Dasia felt bad for laughing and offered her cherry red lips as a peace offering. Within the next half hour they were on the merry-go-round. Tony, again the victim, could barely keep his lunch down. To him, the torture was never ending. Yet again, Dasia was in her own world; Tony didn’t even realize he was the reason for her blissful state of mind. Regardless, his tolerance had expired and the dollar pizza they picked up on the way was now plastered on the cheap, rotating sheet metal floor. Embarrassment rushed over him and it was as if everyone within a thousand foot radius stopped what they were doing to take notice of his blatant fuck up. In actuality only Dasia and a small boy (the same one from before) had seen what happened, but that was more than enough. “Oh shit Tony are you ok?”, she asked while digging in her purse for some tissues. He exploded. “I told you I didn’t wanna ride this stupid thing! But no, you couldn’t care less. Always thinking about yourself. This is why I wanted to take a break!”… It wasn’t anyones fault really. They both knew it was a matter of time before something like this happened anyway. It was understood that pursuing this relationship was a high risk investment, but somewhere between the happiness and love they forgot that. No matter, the damage was done and the tears were rolling down Dasia’s cheek. What else was there to do; she loved him. In the background they could both hear the conductor hurling profanities into the air in distress over his soiled machine. Tony just stared at her blankly as she avoided eye contact. This is not what he imagined when they were planning their summer vacation together. When did he get so cold. After a few more seconds of feeling sorry for himself, Tony finally snapped out of his subconscious and back to the beauty sitting across from him. All of the emotions he ever had in relation to Dasia were brought to the front of his mind but for some reason he felt them in his chest. In a feat of desperation he tried something completely foreign to him. He told her how he felt, and to his surprise the tears ceased to flow immediately. Both Tony and Dasia learned something that day; if they didn’t love each other, no one would.
I met myself today,
He really aint have much to say.
same ears, his eyes looked kinda glazed.
probably from the doja he uses to keep the lies away.
pops can read his thoughts, but that ship has sailed.
keep Raury on repeat in my room praying peace prevailed.
I’m a monster in my dreams, but he’s the lord of that dimension did I mention.
Please BEWARE! before you enter, for we guard our thoughts viciously, and yes my dress is kinda tight, but you cannot contain the vision G.
Drunk pissin off the roof, a doubter pushed me guess it’s do or die.
But if i go then so are you, there’s room enough in hell for us both to fry.
Get some grey goose for this ugly duckling.
Leavin out the back, you know he’s up to somethin.
Creepin in at night, he’ll sleep tight from the Robitussin.
Probably won’t even notice his daughter fussin she can’t breath.
My wings are coming in, my army is getting stronger.
You may think you won the battle, but I’m no longer your chattel.
I sit high upon my saddle for I’ve learned to see.
Everything we are was but a myth before you went and murdered me.