I love a rainy night

It rained all night last night. I sat outside in my yard, watching the droplets brush the leaves this way and that way. I listened to the soothing sounds of the wind and rain. It was like one of those ambient noise tapes of the rain, only much more wet.

I could not let the weather distract me though. I had an important mission. I was studying the man across the street. His bald head reflected the light of the streetlamps. He was of average build and wore flannel shirts. He walked with a limp, but he did not use a cane. "Too proud," I thought.

I reached into the plastic bag that the modeling clay was packaged in. My hands worked quickly, fighting the elements. I molded a rough figurine of the man, doing my best despite the darkness and rain. After a few minutes they were nearly identical, but in 1:10 scale.

When I was finished, I brought the figurine inside and played unsettling, sick games with it.

The Lay of the Land

His long robes loosely hung from his meek body. His long gray hair blew slightly in the breeze of the overcast fall day. The magician stopped and adjusted his magical hat. He kept a tube of anchovy paste in his hat, and the tube was blessed with an enchantment that ensured its contents could never be depleted. His gaze wavered suspiciously to the east, and then to the west. The magician was nervous. His sharp, crooked toenails scraped the ground.

The magician began to cast a cantrip of protection, expertly taking off his magical hat and squeezing a thick bead of anchovy paste on to his pointer finger. He stuck the finger in his mouth and vigorously brushed his teeth until the flesh of his finger was excoriated to the bone. The blood dripped from his lips, running down his chin. The magicks began to take effect. The trees of the forest quivered, recoiling from the appearance of the magician and his sorceries.

The magician put on his magical hat again. He said to the forest, "I am Barack Obama, the king of all lizardmen!"

The magician cupped his hand to his ear as if to listen for a distant reply.

The autumn breeze whipped through the trees, and the rustling could be plainly heard to say, "Fffffffffffffffffffffuck yyyyyyyyyyyou..."

With a great whooshing sound the breeze subsided and the magician and the suspicious forest resumed their standoff once again.

Short and Sweet

The wise man and the foolish man were walking one day. The wise man said to the foolish man, "It has been said that either you are part of the solution or you are part of the problem. The irony of this, of course, is that both diametrically opposed parties in a conflict believe themselves to be part of the solution and the opposed party to be part of the problem. Therefore, it easy to imagine the root of all conflict arising from this. But, the conflict does not actually arise from this. I have the true root from which all conflict arises is in my backyard. It is a rutabaga. Sometimes I drink 2% milk and urinate on it."

The foolish man stopped and gave a look of bewilderment to the wise man. The wise man then exclaimed, "I am a master topiary sculptor," and he deftly cut off the foolish man's penis with pruning shears. So goes the story of the wise man and the foolish man.

Now and Later

I woke up choking, wrestling the bed sheets. Once you know what it is like to feel, you know you can't just turn it off. Sometimes you'd like to. But most of the time you can't. Sometimes your muscles ache. Sometimes your mind longs for the calm of another era.

I've lived through a thousand deaths. Sometimes you ask, "Is it worse to die, or is it worse to come back?"

It is worse to die. Because I will always come back. I am back now, and I will show you the pain of futures untold, and the mirth of pasts unrealized. If we all could take back, or push forward, there would be no forwards or backwards. We would clamp down hard on the present moment. We would show the agony of a young man birthing Ba'al, unwittingly giving birth through his penis to the rain, to the infinite depth of life.

We subjugate the truth, imparting our own message. The true message is that we live to die. We live for the worst parts of life. We live to prove how bad life can get. And we strive to bring the worst to ourselves. We re-elect the politicians. We re-elect the lipstick testers and the prostitutes of the world.

Thus, to be naked is to be clothed. To have is to have not. And today's damp mist is tomorrow's hot, wet pussy.

The Looming Truth

The truth exists independent of the observer. This can be easily observed. Take something that you know is true. Now think about that. True, isn't it? Even without the consideration of your feeble mind, reader, it would be true.

The same is true of good and bad. For example, take something good, like eating an apple, or injecting heroin into the tip of your penis. These things are good because they are observed to be good. But what if we change the truth of them, and view them instead as bad. Then they are bad. And so, good and bad only exist in the eye of the observer. Therefore, good and bad are falsehoods, and the only truths exist independently of their being observed.

Now consider the coming apocalypse in light of these facts. Is the apocalypse good, or is it bad? The answer is neither, reader. The apocalypse is TRUE, because it will exist independent of you or me. Even if you kill your parents and eat their bones the apocalypse will grind on, eroding the fabric of your life and mine. We will be cooked like coca-cola glazed hams and served up to the reptilian sorceror Barack Obama.

The government has worked hard to obscure the truth, but in doing so, have revealed it in spite of themselves. The government is a league of lizardmen. For many years they were incubated in earthen mounds. Upon their hatching, they have advanced the agendas of the abhorrent wizards of the ruling class. The downtrodden amongst them are mixed with bowel movements and recycled into the mound. A sickly sweet smell fills the air around the mounds. It is the unmistakable smell of a pastry shop.

The lizardmen use this cloyingly sweet musk to deceive us and to advance their falsehoods. That is the way of the government. In these cases, Barack Obama uses unknowing, subservient humans to pre-chew his food. Behind his visage lies a terrible secret - that he is incapable of mastication. A team made up of one man and one woman alternate hourly shifts chewing his primarily vegan diet and extruding it from their mouths into his. As we speak, a tortured rope of food slips from their lips to his, and his body is nourished while theirs fail.

This is the truth.

I can see it clearly now

"You couldn't figure out what was going on."

That's what she told me. She told me about reading Deepak Chopra and meditating, and about starting to see everything for what it was. On the inside, I laughed. I had seen everything for what it was long ago. It certainly wasn't transcendental meditation. It wasn't about demerits or your permanent record or what woman you had handcuffed to a bed. It was about the future.

And now is the future, reader. We sit in the last oasis, a place between the fabled past and the inglorious future. Where the coming shame is yet unknown, and men cut the lining out of their pockets not merely to spite their pants but to masturbate in auditoriums while great orators speak. Orators like the sorceror Ben Bernanke.

Say it with me reader. Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

I have used technology. I have taken the next step. And just as those before us struggled against the shackles of government, so too does the box spring creak and the bedframe rattle against the wall. This is the way that the seed is issued forth, and the future is created.

the panic of man

Listen up reader. I know you are suffering because of your failure to heed my words. I know you are facing the looming menace of the Musulman hordes knocking at your door. You are living a farce. And one day the Musulman will say to the white man, "Do you now see the error of your ways?"

And then the Musulman will cut out your tongue and your testicles and take your women as his. Anybody who knows anything knows that this reality has been brewing for some time. And during this time, the white man built the supermarkets while the Musulman built the first spaceships.

Your life is a convenience. It is built on the backs of the retarded and the gentry and the gentiles. You see, any person that you pity is actually someone who has an advantage over you, because your pity belies a part of your mind that is weak. A true thinker realizes that anyone who is pitied comes from a position of strength, whereas a magnanimous person comes from a position of weakness. The more power that is consolidated in one man, the less ability that he has. Because of the growing pity he will have as a result of his own inflated view of himself. And so I must look on reality and re-evaluate.

In spite of the recession I have become a millionaire several times over with my investments. I have had sex and I have eaten hotdogs. I have bought and I have sold, just as people are bought and sold on a daily basis. But I will not sell myself. I only buy myself and I sell the others.