The Lonely Night Hysteria.

You did it again,
yes you in the mirror,
you put your faith in a cruel world,
All my dead friends come to haunt, harm and hinder, never letting go,
here to drag me down to Hell,
just say goodbye…

I was much offended this morning when I came to notice that a Christian Criminal had commented a rather old blogpost of mine, obviously appalled at my closing statement about how religious clergy should be executed and religious believers sent to labour and re-education camps for training in the proper ways to see the world. Beginning with some cautious moves – “I am not even sure it is worth commenting” – this diseased fellow is sure one bad sick bastard. Of course it ISN’T WORTH COMMENTING. Why did you have to do it? I chose to approve the comment, however, because it splendidly shows the true stupidity and fail of religious people.

“You make the same old assumption that thru out the ages has been made: Christianity =’s religion.” Here, as far as I was able to read, this person claims that I equate all religion to Christianity, or something. I am not sure, there’s a strange “’s” after the “=”, so maybe it was intended to be something else. The post in question specified that it was for all religions. This includes Islam, Hinduism, most forms of Buddhism, Mormons, Judaism, Catholicism, Protestantism, etc. I hope this deranged one isn’t suggesting Christianity is something more than a mere religion— in which case this person is more stupid than I first thought.

Then the Christian deviator continues to and fails to make much sense, since it seems as if it has not properly read the post. Oh, and Jesus never existed the way he was portrayed in the Bible, hope you know that. Then it seems to suggest that I am prideful and believe I am without sin—I am anything but prideful (but sure as hell HATE-ful). One part – “Religion is nothing more than Man or womankind’s attempt to explain our existence. This is not Christianity… The work of Christ was not to explain our existence but to offer eternal life…” – seems to suggest I have initiated a discussion of this. It was the old redneck in the videos to which I linked which presented Christianity as an explanation to existence; which by the way is a crucial part of most religions, including Christianity, regardless.

Then the post suddenly loses touch with reality; claiming I see myself as the high priest of history and the well-read bearer of truth, which is just a fucking stupid thing to say. I’d never raise myself to such heights. I am of the opinion that everything I and everyone else says is utter rubbish, a retarded voluminous regurgitation of nothingness, a black hole of fail. I’m full of shit, and so are you, Christian. I know nothing, and neither do you. We all just assume a lot of tripe is true, though we will really never know, the end days you await will come someday, maybe you’ll be long dead by then or not, but it will never be the way it is in your orgasmic fantasies. Nothing ever is.

The end is the end. We walk a uneven path through a rugged mountainous landscape of deserted villages and pitch black forests full of decaying carcasses. Everything is a lie. There is no such thing as truth. Your views are out there and all over the place, oh Christian deviator, you will be judged one day, not by God or Jesus, but by my firing squads: an event you cannot stop no matter how much you believe. It will be the end of humankind, for nobody will escape my grasp, you are all dirty, sick; we are all sinners, rot woven into flesh, the smell of scorched human bone, and as such we must be eradicated. No more promises and hopes, no more FAITH or other delusions, no more false belief in how things will work out in the end—

No sorting, no mercy; all equal at last, tissue ripped off limbs and grilled pink, a public barbeque, the mass extermination of the human race, the final solution. Do not make the mistake to assume I hold myself above others. I am certain that I am as worthless as anyone, and I will finish of myself once my job of eradicating everyone else is completed, for as I am a human like the rest of them, I must also perish in the Great Purge.

Now that this issue has been sorted out, I’d also like to add one more thing. It was that day a while ago. The day whose name shall not be mentioned, sometimes referred to as the “Day of Love”. The day it was incepted in its modern form was certainly not a day of victory—well, not victory of love, either way. Maybe victory for the companies selling flowers and heart-shaped objects and chocolate in red heart-shaped boxes. I’d like chocolate in a yellow box shaped like a hammer and sickle, where each little bar looks like the badge provided by the State Stalin Prize 1941-1954. That’d truly be a superior thing. Much better than some pesky hearts… though hearts in a realistic and accurate shape and size made of chocolate would be pretty cool too. I’m not sure I’d like to desecrate such a great thing by eating it, however. I prefer my Stalin medals intact.

We love like fighting cats, sleeping under the moon outside a burning barn, bringing heat to our frozen bodies by way sex and proximity to the fire, slowly burning out and diminishing into a glowing mountain of grey-black ashes, like a volcano by night it glows—and we, intoxicated by love and ecstatic sex, embrace one another and become as one.

There’s no such thing as free will, so what does it matter that “freedom” is “infringed upon”? People should not be free. The Bible is pretty unclear on the subject of free will, occasionally suggesting it exists, other times not; how is it going to be? Are we responsible for our own sins, or is God? Does God make us repent; make us ask for redemption for the sins God made us commit? Why would God create organisms so imperfect such as us? If we were created in the image of God, what does that tell you about God? : That God is a mean, sadistic psychopathic control freak, worse than even me, and on top of that – unlike me – God is omnipotent, all-powerful. I have no power. I make no difference and have no illusions thereabout.

Contradicting ourselves is in our very nature.

Is this life this degradation
this pointless game, humiliation
Born to die, we’re born to lose
and not one choice we make we choose
And when this life is at an end
we find that Death’s our only friend
Must we suffer through your games, oh Lord?
Can God really be so bored?

We waste our lives destroying, hating,
while beneath our flesh a skull lies waiting
Blind to beauty blind to love,
we fear of our loving Lord above
Some live their lives to play their games,
some live as victims, the insane
Your experiment oh Lord has failed
and I trust that when we meet you will forgive us

It’s futile so I’ll end this note
and find a knife and slit my throat
and come to track you down oh Lord
you better watch your back,
be sure that when we meet you’ll be surprised
no loving praise, no glee filled cries
Just pain and hate and tear filled sighs
and the question in the end is “Why?”

–London After Midnight, A Letter to God

The schizm in fascism is more like a fetischism.

Rehased notions of dreams; combat the lack of creativity.

Speaking of dreams, last night I had a nice vivid dream, one of those long ones that seem like they are different dreams woven together. It found myself on a field by a muddy slope down towards a stream. It’s one of those local streams that have no real names, but everyone just call it The Stream. I was not alone; a former friend I haven’t seen in many years was there with me. He was doing something down in the water, maybe digging for clams or trying to capture the small freshwater fish not yet killed by some oil spill with his hands. I look up at the sky, dark clouds coming in from the west. “It looks like we’ll get rain”, I tell him, but I don’t think he hears, he’s caught up in the mud digging.

After a while, he turns to me and vomits out a flat uninterested “what?” I tell him it looks like we’ll get rain or something. A cold breeze comes in from the west, northwest to be precise, and embraces us, rattling the browning leafs in the trees growing in the swampy vicinity of the stream. “Yeah, yeah”, he says, “we’ll get going soon enough, nothing to worry about.” He has a camera around his neck, one of those old analogue ones. History. This scenario smells like 1995.

Eventually he tires of whatever he’s doing, photographing earthworms in the wet mud, maybe, and we get on two bikes. It doesn’t look like the bike I used to have, it’s blue and red, a paradoxical political intercourse; and we pedal across the field and across the dirt road by the school that leads up to the old military ammunitions storage they downsized some ten years ago. As we cross the school yard and I encounter a peculiar notion of nostalgia, a vague memory from long ago, it begins to snow from the darkening skies. It’s not cold at all, it’s warm, summer time, yet from the sky the purest snow ever, white like virginity, and it doesn’t melt as it hits the ground, it lands like volcanic ash, and our bikes leave a trail.

We take the path through the woods, it does not look like it does in reality; it isn’t paved and it passes on a narrow ledge above a marsh full of tropical-looking ferns, highly odd looking for this region in reality. But it is a dream, so I do not reflect on this, I merely absorb the feeling in the air, a notion on unreality, a strangeness and relief of being not-me ever-present in my dreams. We come out of the forest, and follow a narrow road up to a large house.

I guess you might say it looks like something out of a bad horror movie; it’s Dreams In The Witch-house, and this is the witch-house in Arkham; the walls weathered and in demand or urgent attention, but none has cared for many years. He hands me a camera, my former friend, says something I don’t register and walks up to the door. I follow, insecurely – or maybe that is just my real perception of what I would have done were it not a dream? – and we walk up a set of stairs that lead to a door inside the house; apparently it is arranged with partitions, i.e. a block of flats. An old lady opens- my maternal grandmother, strangely- though in this dream she is my former friends’ mother, nothing else. “It’s coming!” she says, “It’s coming to town! Let’s get up on the roof!” And on the roof the view is spectacular, despite the chilling rain that has now replaced the volcanic-ash-snow, and despite (or because of?) the horrific thunder and the flashes of lightning, purple and orange, white and blue, green and yellow. It’s raining immensely, and the wind has picked up, it’s hard to see for my hair gets in my eyes. “There it is!” she screams, and amongst the buildings towards the city – which looks strangely Japanese, must be my weeaboo traits playing a trick on me – I can see it, a tornado.

It’s a grey funnel that now reaches down from the clouds, and we hear the noises it makes as it shatters windows and entire buildings down in the valley; it seems we are on a ridge of sort, which looks nothing like anything I’ve seen in real life. The cityscape is not that of my usual City-of-Dreams, either. “What if it comes this way?” my former friend asks my maternal grandmother-gone-his-mother, “shouldn’t we try to find someplace more secure to hold out? Why do we stand on the roof?” And his mother tells him that the view is the best from up here. “What about the security risk?” And she says with great certainty that it will not hurt us, that it knows “respect”.

“Capture it”, my former friend says as we are riding a boat down a narrow channel by small wooden houses surrounded with lush greenery. I hold a camera and I can see the tornado sweeping through distant neighbourhoods through its zoom lens. I click a few times, capture a few pictures.

Suddenly, we are surrounded by ruins. Everywhere caved in homes and pulverised concrete, here and there still standing structures, partially collapsed homes, a burning school; it’s still raining, and it seems to be turning towards night. A dead body floats in the waterway behind us.

I am alone in the little boat. It looks like a kayak of sorts. I drift along a beach in the darkness, it’s still a bit windy and every now and the salty ocean spray come into my mouth. And I feel depressed; drifting alone along a shoreline lined with abandoned and collapsed hotels. But at the same time, it is a strong moment, the kind of moment when you take a deep breath and reflect upon how awesome the surroundings really are. Then there was something about a library, and then I woke up smiling, so glad I had a dream–

“Suddenly I had a bunch of gay guys on my profile, and my girlfriend left me.”

Anonymous 03/31/07(Sat)01:00:00 No.23307478  [Reply]

Arguments with the religious (or between two religious parties) can never be resolved because religious claims are not based on evidence. On the world stage, when it comes to resources and power, any ‘conflicts of will’ which cannot be resolved empirically must inevitably be resolved through violence. This is why sectarian violence persists endlessly in the Middle East and other parts of the world.

This is one of many reasons why religion is incompatible with a rational world; When the religious are in the minority and refuse to yield to rational argument, only one solution will remain….

And nothing of value will be lost.

Let’s get curious.

There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused, and my utter indifference to it, I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. No new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.

And the sun never sets on the Queen’s vast empire. I don’t… understand what it is you are doing here. Is there something on your mind, something you’d like to share? I can’t really write at this time, too tired, I ought to sleep, but alas, laziness has got the better of me.

I can hear it. The tapping on the windows, the paws in the snow; the tracks I found this morning on the roof outside my window; I know it was here, watching me with hungry eyes. But it is not foolish. It does not just act on whims. It’s cold and calculates its every move in advance. I walk through the dark and I feel a certain presence, a lurking horror waiting to consume me. Slashed pectoral fins on gables; this is a fish market of horrors, shark fin soup and even whale meat, even though whales are not fishes, though the writers of the Bible thought so.

Maybe it’s a dragon, it’s that lunatic from Unexplained Mysteries, “draconic chronicler”, who thinks dragons are responsible for many unresolved disappearances around the world every year; it’s that retarded guy writing about the “money matrix” with his zero knowledge of economy and the workings of currencies—and quite what I am saying I am unsure, but I guess it goes into the category of hatred & bigotry. Winter storms in China leave people stranded on railway stations in the cold and BBC thinks it’s some sort of horrible disaster, reflecting that it somehow suggest that the CPC is losing their edge—

Jan-Ove Sundberg updated his Swedish website. He does that a bit more often than he updates the English version; and sometimes a tad bit differently. Sundberg is deranged, I can assure you; the man has problems that rival those of many members of the Church Cult of Scientology. He chases after little girls and boys with his pompous speak about sea monsters after giving away all his old UFO material from his old days. Now he says any whale carcass is a gigantic prehistoric turtle or aquatic lizard. But of course, that rotten carcass with some sections hardened by the torrid rays of the summer sun must be a armoured monstrosity. It cannot be something prosaic, because that’s so mundane.

This one time, Sundberg tried loosing weight by taking some deadly pills that gave him diarrhoea, so he didn’t want to continue. Who wants to spend every day thinking of where the closest toilet is? I know I don’t, and that’s basically my life. Great, isn’t it, a punishment well served, wouldn’t you say? “Karma”, you might say, or the good ole’ “Some God punish immediately”. I kind of feel sad for Sundberg. Life can’t be easy on him. He is kind of crazy, but in a sad way, and he can’t help but threaten people when they write things about him he doesn’t like, he can’t help but try to pretend he’s some other people and try to insult them—I guess it cannot be helped. I wish he’d be more a reasonable fellow.

This one time, when I wrote of him and his site, he was very offended once he found out and resorted to trying to impersonate various people and commenting, saying things like how I was some ex-Norwegian Bigfoot-investigator from San Francisco and how I should be locked up.

Of course, he doesn’t compare to the crazy guy who threatened to kill me because I said a distant army-friend of his was a complete and utter moron… Humans, such pesky little bastards, always relapsing into this primal stage—fail like Invader Zim and whatever those degenerate retards like those days, maybe it’s some new crappy MMORPG—anyone who plays WoW should be shot, I could repeat that mantra forever.

I swallowed a litre of vitriol and slept in a barn full of wives
when morning came i emptied my colon on the cows
so many things to do, so little time
my every morning a ceaseless yearning, time to crack up
Snuck out and raped the willows lemon smell, to my surprise
I shat myself… no worries or qualms, I had my reserve,
Kept my calm through eerie moonless night & rage

This fail knows no bounds.

A local newspaper recently proclaimed that McCain was ”the candidate with which the world would have the most ease cooperating”. This coming from a newspaper published by the mentally limited Liberal Newspaper Ltd., it comes as no surprise, but its sheer idiocy is too much; one really cannot help but cringe at the thought. McCain was, after all, the deranged old bastard who stood up on a stage and with a screeching voice sang, “BOMB BOMB BOMB IRAN!” Of course he’s going to be a great diplomat. He’ll send hellfire raining down upon all nations disagreeing with his Christian delusions.

On a lighter note, I have not eaten much of anything for a good twenty six hours. I consumed some popcorn as a substitute. Very good, indeed, save the fact that not eating has left me feeling kind of nauseous. But I guess the awesomeness evens out in the end.

And as I relish in my own misery, there comes a short flash from a pesky ad someplace, a disgusting little blurb that hits me in the forehead like a sledgehammer; the event has the dimensions of a colossal asteroid impact; it’s that guy with the sweaty reflective and sullen forehead and the ridiculous expression on his face, the Christian lunatic – none other than the Devil himself – or whatever evil deity you might classify him as – Ron Paul. He’s back again with his receding hairline, the wrinkles and the Constitution, he’s back with mongrel supporters that make fan-art quality campaign contributions, cheesy advertisement that makes you retch—it’s a total and utter horror show; lunatic supporters running around freely in the streets, lighting a few bongs and screaming something about the evils of the Federal government, NAO, and how good rebels they are for not paying taxes, how the “truth” about 9/11 must come out—

It’s the FEMA death camps again, it’s Alex Jones, it’s Ron Paul, he’s the only hope; like brown and partly dried blood, he flows over the world, a thick mud-like substances that smells of iron – ironworks, gold – he’s talking about the gold standard and how it will save the U.S. from all things bad, smacking his conservative fist in the face of neo-liberal conservatives like Dick Army; It’s not Tom De Lay, it’s La Vey, the individualist sock puppet who wrote the “Satanic Bible”, what a bunch of drivel—

And no, for the hundredth time, the Trans-Texas Corridor, a project to build a network of over-dimensioned tolled motorways combined with railways and various pipelines, is not a part of some “FEDERAL GOVERNMENT LAND GRAB”, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS. It’s a quite poorly planned project, way over-sized and quite frankly uneconomic, but it is not a federal government land grab. The project is within the state of Texas. No plans exist to extend the TTC outside Texas so far, though some cheapskate state governments wanting infrastructure to come without much cost and effort for them might look into expanding tollways. The “NAFTA SUPERHIGHWAY” is a collection of existing roadways of NATIONAL IMPORTANCE. What part do you not understand?

Tolled motorways suck like suburban sprawl, and so does Ron Paul.