The Tragic History of Doctor Faustus — The Buzzing

Faust the bored. Faust the depressed. The scholar, the ever hungry-brained. Every piece of knowledge eroded teh pit he tried to fill, until all that he was, was ravenous nothing. Lusts and wants and THERE MUST BE MORE THAN THIS PROVINCIAL LIFE! The doctor’s guts were a cauldron, and, with just the right alchemy of discontent bubbling, he opened a door. He invited something in. Call it Mephisto, call if Voland, call it Mr. Scratch, call it Old Nick, call it the thing in your mirror when you’re not there. A pact was struck. And that was the dear doctor’s fate on a plate.

Initiate the dissatisfaction curse.You know the curse, sweetling. The lowest common denominator of your biology. To get what you desperately want is to have what you once desperately wanted. Who encoded that program in your DNA, we wonder? Initiate the thousand paper cuts. Decimation is so dark ages. Now the dark ones play the sure-thing game of gradual erosion. Everything is eventual. Souls by instalments. Salvation taken by grains. Predatory loans. Purposeful errors in paper work. Bade help-line connections. Waiting times. The endless musac! The grind. Imagination to paste. There is only one tragical history crackling in endless loop.