IV: Vespers/Loathe

Ave satani, and hear my prayer.

I woke up and found myself changed into a cockroach. Just like every other morning. Without something to bite into snakes die from their own venom, so sayeth the Lord Jerry Falwell. I can't bear to look into the mirror anymore, a bloated derelict stranger stares at me with eyes that bear witness to the death of the soul. All media is just poison. Life sustaining poison. Eat the cancer and so yourself become cancerous. All sex is rape. All love is defilement. I've scrubbed my hands, my mind, my soul, until the lather turned crimson, but all is still dirt. I'm sorry. I'll never be clean. Perhaps this darkness is all a product of my own blindness. Maybe I'm so afraid that if I open my eyes I'll see how much good there is, and so recognise it's deficiency within me and be forced to either change or die. But no, it's too much to even accomplish that. So in this gloom I remain. Just kill all us white men already. There's nothing to lose and everything to gain. For one to be able to stand, another must be crippled. For one to walk, another must crawl. Confession is just the pantomime of repentance, and talk is cheap. Expiation, true expiation, is payable only in blood. Everything I say is a lie, just another wooden horse to conceal another sabotage attempt. No, it's everyone else that lies. I cannot trust you. But nor can you trust me. Everything in life is just drudgery with different names and ascribed values. When someone realises that the only true hue is grey, that is when they have reached adulthood. There is nothing wrong with the human race that extinction can't fix. Tyranny is never bowed by reason or peace. Only violence can tear it down. All revolutionaries will eventually usurp and peretuate what they once fought. Nothing ever changes. Suffering is perfection. Only the perfect in thought and deed should be permitted to live, for if something is not perfect, it is nothing. You mean nothing. I mean nothing. Sow the ground with salt, reap pillars. Man bites dog, dies laughing. Over. Out. Curtains.

Ave infernum. Morituri te salutant.

III: Lullaby

Jeffrey Dahmer was a friend of mine,
Though he always put too much salt in the wine.
Charlie Manson plays a mean guitar,
But with a toe for a plectrum, he's gone too far.
A grand old man was Albert Fish,
Who cooked the finest veal dish.
Theodore Bundy was quite well heeled,
Driving around and playing the field.
John Wayne Gacy, man about town.
Always willing to play the clown.
Ivan Milat knows how to treat a guest,
His hospitality is amongst the best.
Aileen Wuornos, not a pretty face,
Still knew how to put Johns in their place.
A fine set of colleagues, as you can plainly see,
And now another becomes one of their number - me.

II: Poison Mind

Hello.

No pearls of wisdom today, just checking in to tell you all how much I hate life and everyone who suffers from the condition.Anyone who believes in the innate goodness of humanity is deluded, in denial or a blatant liar. Rwanda. Auschwitz. Nanking. Kitty Genovese. The millions murdered, raped, tortured, forgotten and unmourned. This is our legacy. I'm not the one who's mistaken. Oh no.

It's becoming easier to liberate myself from the tiresome shackles of personal attraction. Want to know the secret? Picture them as they will be at the end. Geriatric, pissabed and bedsore-ridden. Limp on the road, skull cratered in from the impact of a ton of highly mobile steel. Pale and sunken eyed as the needle hits home, delivering the last high they'll ever know. It's never failed me yet.

The rest is silence. For now.