I don’t care anymore if everyone feels the need to figure out what I am. I think the main problem has been all along that I’ve never fit with the vision in my head. If you make a new one, does that technically mean you’re settling? We grow as we age and our vision must change, but I believe that at the core it will always be the same. If the core is stagnant, then that means everything else is just superficial. Those ideas, the changes to that perfect state of being? Nothing more than painting a wall or changing the carpet. It looks different, might even feel different, but the walls are still as solid and the same as they ever were.

I don’t think I’m faltering anymore. I’m getting there, somewhere. This place, it’s coming up on me fast. I feel so much like nothing matters. I’m not alone anymore and I think that has made all the difference in the world whether I choose to believe in it wholeheartedly or not. I am the same, but now I’m not so afraid. Consequences seem so unreal. I can be the devil I always wanted to be. I don’t think I’m happy; this is so different from that.

I believe I’ve been tricked into a false sense of security. I’m not better. I’m not thinking about dying everyday, but I sure as fuck think about hurting. It’s all so laughable now. I’m in my own hell, and I’m somehow enduring my misery because of this slow burn. I feel so ready to explode. It hurts so bad but it feels so good. God can’t know what this feels like. I curse the people who dared to speak of me.  I curse the ones who’ve made it so impossible to get here. But I’ve needed it, all of it. All of this suffering is leading to something. I can feel it in my bones.  

I’ve had my first taste of true, evil revenge and I want nothing more than to go on drowning in it. There is no substance and no amount of fucking that can equal or compare to this. I don’t know how I can be so fucking high and so damn low at the same time. This hazy landscape makes it so easy not to think. I don’t want to be a person of words anymore, I want to do things. I want to move beyond my own stiffling mediocrity. I want to tear off all the lies and show it all to their fucking judgmental faces so they might all sit back and stare at the beast they’ve harbored.

I’ve been here all along. And I’m so fucking patient. Oh god, you can’t even believe. I’ve been waiting. And, I swear to that abandoner, that hater of men, it’s coming. These years of hatred and self contempt have prepared me beyond reason. My disgust with myself is what gives me power. My complete acceptance of my uselessness and cowardice are what will make me strong. I am going to go so beyond what anyone could ever dream. And I will sweat and bleed and hate and scream. But I’ll get there. I’ll push harder than anyone has ever pushed and break myself into indescernable parts.  I’ll fracture like glass.

 I’ll be nothing but a thousand bleeding, angry shards.


If you build it, Jesus will come…

I’m at that point again where I want to rid the world of anything and everything christian. I’m generally a very accepting creature; a Satanist who has attended church here and there without trouble and still to this day has some extremist Christian friends. The funniest part is that you would assume it would be the children of god who would welcome the sinners, hardly the other way around. Yet, that is why, to this very day, none of them know my religious background. I haven’t gone to lengths to conceal it, and generally people assume I am Wiccan, which is much more tame and easy to live with, apparently. The few times I have been in a situation where a christian friend was exposed to a symbol of said Dread Father, it was met with disgust and hatred. I find little reason to expose myself when I know what reaction awaits such an action.

The most hilarious thing is this fascination with Wicca that people have. I’m over here throwing curses and they think I’m in the backyard skyclad under the full moon burning sage or some shit. I’m not really sure how that’s much better. I suppose the generally accepted stereotype is that  Wiccans are little goody-two-shoes witches while Satanists are these ugly, demonic things who sell their souls and bathe in virgin’s blood. I suffer no illusions. I know what the perceptions of me are and could be, were the wrong sort to figure out my line of philosophy.

My tolerance for bullshit is low. You say you want to be free of sin, yet all you do is . . . sin? You can’t escape sin, that is what is so backwards about christianity. You can smell the stink miles off. You’re caught in an endless cycle of sinning and feeling bad about it. You have that extra piece of birthday cake? Guess what? You just sinned. You filling out a bit ’round the middle? Another sin. It’s all forgiven of course. Before you’ve even sinned. But just the same you’ve got to feel bad. It’s your christian duty.

And about the fornicating . . . You fornicate. You fuck your husband or wife every night without the intent of a child. I’m not married, so I’m just a filthy whore when I do it, right? Even though I’m not the one that let some guy jerk off in my vagina. I’m pure! The white stuff hasn’t hit the inside of mine just yet. Doesn’t that technically make me a little less of a cum bucket than you?  Sure I fuck, but god let us invent these great things called condoms that help stop us inbreds from passing on our tattered, blasphemous genetics.

I’m not sure why I bother thinking anything through. christianity is based on faith, which can’t be measured! It doesn’t have to add up.  That’s what makes jesus so wonderful. Science has to be explained, but not the jesus.

You know when you close your eyes and make a wish? God’s the guy that ignores you.

Not that you should be asking him for anything anyway. Too needy for my taste. Why should I ask someone to do something for me, if I know that it costs? Nothing comes without a price, without loyalty. There is no such thing as people giving to one another freely. They always get something out of it, some payoff. Maybe it isn’t openly apparent, but it is there, waiting to be discovered. We’re all selfish, and really, there’s nothing wrong with that. What bothers me is when people go to extraordinary lengths to conceal it.

Like God. He has a whole book telling you why you should follow him. No one ever asks, “Hey, what does God get out of it?” He gave us life, so we must pay him back? Is that the idea? Yes, well, he also gave us suffering, and pain, and hate. He hates. Read a hundred fucking pages and you can feel it, seeping from the pages like a poison. Hate’s good, but not when you spend your life trying to deny it, calling it evil, calling it dark. Hate is the brightest light in existence. There’s more hate than anything else. Embrace it. Love it.  

I never asked him to live. I don’t owe him anything. I also never asked him to die for my “sins”. They aren’t sins to me, they are life sustaining activities. I’d have nothing else otherwise, because I sure the fuck am not going to bow down and lick someone’s boots. He died so that people would worship him. He died to become dictator of the world. And let us not forget he can come back again any time he pleases. It didn’t matter if hedied. He’s immortal after all. He can just impregnate some other virgin and start all over if he wants. I only get once. That cocksucker can just get killed off, and suddenly, “poof!”. He’s a martyr. Savior. Benevolent, selfless, you cannot apply those words to something like that. He’s just as human as the rest of us, with flaws and stupidity and biases, and most of all, a desire for power. Mr. Megalomania. Mr. Sadist. Mr. Fascist. Mr. Fucking Bigot.

People throw bible quotes in your face, tell you to look it up. Try to prove it with The Word. All you do is give me more fuel. More reason to hate it, hate the confines, this fucking little prison. I don’t hate the people, no, not like I used to. I just hate him, the hypocrite. The one who does it and gets away with it with a sickly yellow grin. People are always going to have ideas I hate, oh well. At least it gives me something to bitch about, right?

This is the way things are going to be. You will cry all alone, and it doesn’t mean a thing to him, to anyone. We’re all disposable and useless, yet we still live acting like we mean something. It’s just an excuse. Just a lie. We can’t even accept our own selfishness unless we coat it with something aesthetically appealing. Dress up that neat little pile of shit, make it look pretty, less self centered. Denial. Everyone is in constant denial.  

You’re here for five minutes of pleasure, and a lifetime of pain. Take it or leave it.

Forever routine, and God the band aid.

Same thing, day after day, over and over and over. Get up. Eat. Exercise. Eat. Fuck around on the computer. Sleep. I’m bored by my own existence, by the pointlessness of it. It continues yet I feel as though I am not a part of it, only some distant observer uninterested in what is occurring because it is not my life. It’s so wrong to wake up alive, it’s so wrong to breathe when there is nothing to live for but a secret hope that things will somehow miraculously improve. I just have to ask one question: what the fuck can be improved?

I’ve come to the conclusion that there is very little that will satisfy me, get me to anywhere near that idea of “contentment” that people talk about. I know I’ll never have happiness, so I set my sights lower. But even that goal seems completely unattainable. Again, I ask, what the fuck can be improved? I don’t know what I want, and for the first time in my life that really bothers me. If I don’t know what I want, I obviously can’t improve anything. This numbness is all-consuming. Every aspect of my life has been clouded over in its fog, leaving me feeling lost and empty. I don’t know anything anymore, and I hate it; it’s the worst feeling.

I’m always late to hear things, but the other day I discovered Anne Rice’s site (you know, the author), and was irrationally angry that she had gone from being an atheist most of her life back to being a Catholic like she was when she was young. Renouncing her books in a way, too, that was the moment where I instantly decided I didn’t like her anymore. You never condemn the past, especially one full of ideas that you nursed for so long…. There had to be a reason why you believed those things, it doesn’t just disappear! The truth is, I fear becoming like that. I fear giving up everything I am because I get tired of fighting a losing war. Complacency is unacceptable. If I ever become like that, lazy and tired of fighting, then I truly am something that deserves suffering, some sort of hell.

It all leads back to the question: what do I want? And the answer is there, it’s right there where it has always been. Before I die I want the world to know that I am not like them, that I don’t have to be this generic “unique” that everyone else is. I stand alone, all alone. They chastise me because they fear what I reflect back at them. My eyes are full of anger and hate, while theirs are full of “love” and complacency. I am everything they avoid being. Everything they were taught never to be. I may be weak and wretched, barely alive, but my words are stronger than theirs can ever be. All because I believe in them. I am not scared into faith like they are, and not just faith in God, but faith in others. I don’t require such things; my emptiness can never be filled by a God or another person, it can only be repaired and filled by myself.

God and love are band aids. People use them to cover over the spots that are empty. But that’s just it…the hole is still there, it is always there. That is why they fear dying, because they were never completed.

I want to finally gather the courage to pull all of my writing together, to make it into something…to make it worth something. Otherwise it will just rot and fade away like my body will. Everything would have been for nothing. I have to do it, somehow. I have to get the willpower, the drive to try, even if it means failing. I have to try.

Gods are people that are cleverly selfish; gods are things of deceit

Each moral is a vanity,
Every law a lie
There is no such thing as happiness
Settle for violent discontent
Everyone vies for first touch; the corruption of innocence
All is to my distaste

The desires are truly a pursuit of life
Abstinence is a wish for death
Every pretty little lie makes me stronger;
It is the world I wish to contaminate

Those people so contemptible
Stand by and swallow my lies
Serve the one that blasphemes the best
Let me sever all of your useless ties
Now build me up to be your martyr, your new dutiful God
Betray my trust, tear down my loyalty
Watch as your God dies

Lick the red from the dirt
Gaze upon my dead eyes
Let me decompose in my world so perfectly constucted
Let my soul drift away
Ask me why I leave you to die alone,
Ask me why I leave you to suffer and toil
I’ll simply say,
“For those horrible things you did to me”

Nobody gives a damn about you, or anybody else.

When does guilt become something that should be unlearned?

I’ve always been a very…guilt-ridden person. It probably has a lot to do with my upbringing, with the staunch Catholic views my mother instilled in me when I was of a more impressionable mind. It’s taken a very long time for me to push aside those philosophies in search of my own, more forgiving ones. And because of this early corruption (oh yes, it is most definitely corruption), even with my new, personally learned ideas, I still struggle more often than I care to admit with that voice of times passed. Like a bitching, nagging mother, the voice still frequents my everyday life, attempting to shake the foundation I have so painstakingly erected out of sheer rebelliousness and hatred of tradition. I’ve fought for what I’ve learned, stood before my critics and laughed even when it threatened to bring down my careful illusion constructed to charm a society of idiots. Everything I’ve strove to accomplish—both personally and for the sake of a facade to hide myself behind—almost becomes lost in the face of that old, decrepit conditioning.

There was once a time where I could do nothing that went against those ideals I’d been taught. I was a prisoner in my own life, never pursuing my own interests because I feared becoming ostracized for having an interest in such things. I wanted nothing more than to pass beneath the glare of society’s eyes, to go unnoticed, unchallenged. Of course it didn’t always affect me…. After years of having what I wanted at my fingertips yet never actually having it, I slowly began to obey a few of my “lesser” instincts. All on the sly of course, as I was too ashamed to ever reveal my interests to the people around me, and I did not have any intention of threating the image I’d been perfecting for so long.

It was the sight of conformity that eventually began to make my blood simmer. Soon enough it was alight. Oh yes, maybe I had been taught things in my youth, but my mother had always claimed I could do as I pleased. It wasn’t true of course; her ideas of what a kid should be allowed to do were limited, but were not nearly as conservative as what I began to see in my newfound friends. I was practically a stripper in comparison to a nun in regards to my allowances. I had everything, they had nothing.

I suppose I just wasn’t content forever being a God-Whore chained to the cross like a pitiful Jesus; no I was not to be a servant or a dog wearing a collar of bondage.

There is a truth that I’ve discovered. Guilt is a human idea. This fact leads to many things, the first being that humans are, in all their stupidity, biased. Rarely do I come upon human philosophies—especially religious philosophies—that are founded in any sort of truth. Generally they are born of idiocy, or the faulty reasoning of diseased minds. And due to this, those ideas cannot and should not be accepted as truths. Naturally, people scarcely take the time to ponder themselves, let alone the beliefs that they have followed since childhood completely without question. So what is guilt?

Guilt, like many human creations, is an excuse. It’s a pay pass for being naughty. It’s something we’ve designed in a futile attempt to deny ourselves the things we so desire and make ourselves feel terrible if we do follow our wants/needs. Why do we deny these urges? “Because it isn’t right. Because that might hurt my relationship with so-and-so. Because it will make me look bad.” Really, it’s cultural conditioning, learned culture, that dictates what is “right” or “just”, and what isn’t. These flimsy little excuses we’ve made to justify our actions don’t hold up to logical reasoning. There is no need for excuse. You enjoyed something, so what? Why must you feel bad about it?

What this all connects to is one idea, the one that I hate the most: prestige. The philosophy that in order to live a good life you have to be obedient and constantly protective of your reputation. That somehow, this idea, which I remind you WAS CREATED BY MAN, should dictate how you live your life. And for what? So that you look good in other peoples’ eyes (which, by the way is ONLY because of cultural myths) and suffer on the inside? To live a life of abstinence toward anything and everything in the face of that which pleases you…it is one of the most ridiculous notions human beings have endorsed so far.