Everything must be this way

The jackals who closed in on my imagination are not dead yet. In fact, they’re still very alive. The Soft Parade has now begun. Listen to the engines hum. Cobra on my left, Leopard on my right.

Just the hunter of the green vest. Who has wrestled before, with lions in the night – out of sight, the lights are getting brighter. The beauty in your eyes, it fails to see me for who I truly was, and who I truly am – what I’ll arise as, from the ashes, like the great pheonix when you are the one who I rue on your deathbed, you’re forgotten. I fucking hate you. Hershenrider. Hicks. Suhr. VCU. “Teachers” who taught me to hate myself. You’ll rot in hell when I am the media king you fucks feared me to be. When I am the one who made sure the world knew you are sick, suburbanite fucks with slutty daughters who would rather fuck me than respect you. Who would rather be remembered for their passion than obedience.

Yeah, you fucking losers with your 7 am jobs and your 9 o’clock habits of fucking wives that pity you. The crawling kingsnake, he crawls in each of you, but mostly he crawled under your skin and he fucking won, you sad motherfuckers, because he is free, and you are not. I am free, like I said, but not cheap. I win, motherfucker, and I take the winnings where I walk. You will not survive the Revolution. Neither will I. – It’s not ours, it’s Nature’s and when you resist her, you suffer the greatest. Succumb and all is right. All is peace. Can you find your soft asylum? When the Man is at the door?

There’s still a few animals left out in the yard, but it’s getting harder.

Count your sheep, you flock. Number your days, count your blessings, name your daughters Rebecca and Megan and I will take them from you anyway. You are losers. Fucking sit-at-home-mothers and intellectual want-to-be fathers. I am the new Kurt Vonnegut. I am the New Psycho. I am the motherfucker you wish you were. I have the modernity under my old-fashioned raisings and I will rape your state of mind with a smile on my face and a grimace in my chest. I am the golden king. I am the one you wish you could be. I am the writer. I am the solace. I am the Peace. I am War. I am everything you wish you could be, and so much more.

I am every bit of inner dialogue that is missing from your life. I am every bit of intelligence you lack. I am the motherfucking awareness in the back of your mind that you once shunned in favor of blissful ignorance. And I will make you fucking pay. I despise the whole god damn lot of you and there’s not a god damn person on the face of this earth who can strip THAT from me. Are you ready for pain you fucking losers? I hope so. Because pain is your new definition of success. Pain and loss will replace your happiness in the year 2009 and 2010, especially.

For, you see, I am the first coming, forget the second, of knowledge and evolution in practice. I am the voice in your head that asks the questions in silence – that says what you are thinking – that begs the question. But I don’t work for you. No, you’re neither my master nor my enemy. Neutral. Painless. Numb. Worthless. To me, you, my dear readers, are the trash, the scum of society to whom I owe nothing. Not a thousand dollars – not a thousand apologies – but half a dozen fuck-yous and that covers it. Covers the lot of you. I hate you. I hate what you stand for. I hate how you live and the philosophy by which you live. Regardless.

I am the one whose words you have come here to read. “I am the one, who controls the Sun.”

I am your God. Read my words. They will not be re-printed. Only followed.

We’re starting something new now. We don’t follow the rules anymore. We design them.

I’m the crawling Kingsnake, and I rule my den.

I am coming to rule yours, too. When I change the way you habituate yourselves. I will fuck you and hurt you. I will not let go. I will not stop until your system is destroyed enough to resemble mine. I will kill you.

A Modern Effect

There’s another air strike on your position. Enemy UAV is airborne!

Your commander’s voice is booming over the sound of gunshots and explosions around you. The raging battle is deafening but his voice is louder, telling you to “Kill. Kill. Kill.” Yes God. The adrenaline has rushed into your face and is popping capillaries to the point where your eyesight has become simultaneously dulled to a violent hum and sharpened to perfection. You have loaded a rocket-propelled grenade, it is armed and ready. Your fingers stick to the trigger guards with sweat, but seem to be sewn to it by your nerves.

Orders are to take the Akhbar Bridge, or destroy it trying. Your regiment’s duty is to ensure the continued existence of seven points on the map. So far, you’ve lost one building but not the critical one. Not yours. Sitting. Dividing. Waiting patiently for the signal, you–a man in shrouds appears around the corner, firing his AK-47 before he even sees you. You pull the trigger. Your life, nor your death were in vain because you have killed a would-be attacker, thereby sparing your teammates an embarrassing loss. You might be dead, but so is he. And that’s that. You might be dead, now. An everlasting memory in your family’s eyes, a stain in the dirt, an American Flag sent Home, but at least you killed him.

Connection InterruptedExcept – you didn’t. Because you lag.