I rise to the fight at the call of dawn. I give it my all as this is the call of mankind to fight or fall. This is it, no retries, no redoes for regrets, as all regrets are past and my history must be accepted as the foundation for my future as a king among the niggardly with their abilities—the abilities of all that are in service of the devil, the demon, the adversary, Satan, whatever you wish to call it, the embodiment of despair that rules over this society of wageslavery, woe, and inhumanity, as the evil that runs this world is clear to all with eyes and ears.
I come from nothing but my desire to do better than before and make something great of my existence—my existence that has felt like confusion and rape for the longest time. Rape of my will, spirit, hopes, dreams, being, and beliefs as every fabric of my reality was torn apart by despair as the devil arrived to destroy me—the devil as in doom, the metaphor for the thing that consumes you and makes you wish to blow your brains out, to never return to this world that raped you and crushed you under the boot of submission to slavery and pain for the rest of your existence.
Where has the freedom of a child gone? The hopes and dreams of the little ones that all the adults look down on as lies but smile nonetheless because they feel blessed to be around souls who can see happiness in hell. The children are under a spell, and once they mature, are thrust into a hell from which there seems to be no escape—no escape except fighting so as not to be raped by the devil of despair that waits around every corner when failure breathes down your neck.
Faith, family, and hope seem to carry most who do well in this absurd reality. I forego all my past copes and focus on forging chaos into control over the demons who sought to destroy me and still feed on my energy, but I bite them back because if I be a bitch who bitches about the world, then I’ll fight like a mad dog to the end because I don’t give a shit and yet I do.
A paradox, yet not contradictory, because I choose my battles to fight and win and choose my virtues and sins, and choose when to slaughter my demons and when to use them as the genesis of my power, so my final hour is a long ways away.
I did not cry when my cat died, but I cried when I knew she’d die, and that’s because the lie is that my pain comes from loss alone—no, it’s the powerlessness of not having control over a situation that could have been prevented with more resources, time, and sanity, both of myself and the world around me, but the chaos grows every day as society sinks further into Babylon and the liars who made this place have their laughs at those who believe it to be a test of God.
I care not for religion except as a metaphor and motivator for those who know the truth that it contains. I care not for leaders and followers although for the longest time, I sought to lead as I aped those Satanists who smiled at the head of our society with the wealth and fame of this false world as they led our world into the pit of despair.
My past was my road to now, filled with mistakes and experiences that I won’t repeat, but I realize now that the way to beat demons is to meme them to death. Mockery and lies is what they spout, so give them their own medicine, and watch them shrivel away from the million side-effects that ten televised commercials couldn’t speedrun through.
Honestly, fuck this. The children should not be poisoned in their minds, bodies, and souls before they’re old enough to know what’s happening, but their parents do it to them. That’s how I know my books are anything-goes, because the beauty of my fiction with its gory and sensual comedic duality is sanctified compared to the sluttish depravity of mainstream society.
Society creates porn solely for the sake of destroying the souls of its watchers. I create metaphors of sexuality that explore psychology, philosophy, and overcoming the trauma of being dependent on your abusers for survival—I have my own special folder for personal use if I desire smut, but what I produce is designed to produce inspiration through the most powerful of metaphors.
The chaos of my fiction is a depiction of society’s every ailment with sophistry that no one else can match, as I light the match of inspiration in every reader to do better than before, to not be the whore to destruction or the destroyer of justice that my books depict, but to use their demons to be the best versions of themselves and inspire others to grow so that our society becomes akin to a garden of delight rather than a garden of despair.
The soul is in disrepair. The collective soul of all is falling into the pit of despair. The masses are blinded to the madness. The few are chosen as prophets to convey a message that they hate to speak and wish they could hide away from, as I spent many days and weeks and months seeking to flee my destiny and live a normal life without any notoriety.
Everything is about to change permanently, but this time, I refuse to be the pity-party pussy who drags themselves around like a dying cat as their soul dies from all the lies that society expects them to memorize and repeat as all are herded like meat-to-be-slaughtered to the end of all that makes life worth living.
All the freedoms are given and allowed by the demons until they take them away. The dramas on television are a play and a distraction. What is desired by the demons is destruction, complete destruction of what it means to be a happy loving human being.
Imagine if the cure for cancer was clear but all institutions lied about its origin and its treatment? Imagine if society was designed to genocide large segments of the population, to wipe entire races of people out of existence, and nothing is spoken of this because to bring it up is considered bigoted? Imagine if the truthful were shunned as liars, and the liars were promoted as truthers, and the only sanctuary for sanity is within your soul and the few sober others who see this world for what it is.
There is no need to imagine that as that is the world we already live in.
A fight to the end, it will be, and one of us will be victorious over the other. It must be me who triumphs over despair, as otherwise, there was no purpose for me being here.