He Who Gives and He Who Took.

The sounds giggle from your stomach, don't they? They sing in the gurglings of your last meal, fresh, warm, three-fold and heady. Every welling up of bile and fluid and scarlet humour forming a filmy bubble in your fleshy brain, and bursting, releasing that terrible cadence of a name, that you love and hate and fear and don't know why: Malkav Malkav Malkav. He who gives and he who took, he who was eaten twice by his childer and he who knew. Knew something too great.
Don't ask me my name, please.

Twice. Two. Dos. Shhhhh. Numbers have power. You know that. Numbers mean things, names haven't meant a lot for a long time but numbers still are important even now even when you can't keep them in. Personally, I believe he had eight. Eight. 8. Sideways to infinity. He had eight, two died early, stupid, they were they were. Lots of cousins have died in stupidity, better to be gnawed than stupid with undying sight. Two, anyway, back to two. He was eaten twice, so why can I say it Malkav Malkav shouldn't it be gone? Is he still digesting the name I know? He eats them, you know. He eats the names we should be able to remember, the names of the places that grow in the back-alleys of the web and why can I say it if he ate it? One of us ate the names, one of us ate his name, and now we call him by the backformation of the family name we cling to when it should be the other way around. We came from him. He doesn't come from us. What was his name? That's a cobweb trail you'll go down and never come out of.

The first time we ate him it was more proper. Propriety. What a laugh.

It, he, it's the process of unifying. Literally. Look past the word you already know. Unify. Un-I-fy. Malkav is the process of the un-I-ing, of un-you-ing, of coalescing and viewing himself subjectively through his childer, himself, you, and removing the idea of separate minds. We're different to the outside, but you know we're all the same, I'm you. So shut up when you're talking and listen.

He gave to his brother and took and gave from and to his childer and took from his grandsire but it was too much wasn't it? And now we look like we're looking at more which we are. The hushed up corners of the world, the corners of the cornerless shape we un-live on.

Don't ask me my name, please.