Sunday, September 5, 2010

My final bone (inc)

My time approaches. I can FEEL IT. In my bones. All of them . Except for the one. Its one of those numerous foot bones that are often forgotten. Its the last one. The one I need. My final bone. With it and a simple dropping of this tacky plate, I will rise once again. Then all of you will pay! Except you of course. For now.

Child, do you know who I am? I'm older than your whole family's name. Older than the country you toil away for. Older than any language you squealing scum squawk with today. Older than steel and older than any calender you could possibly recognize.

I will admit I have been defeated. A few time even. It took this world's greatest "Champions" of pfft, good, to beat me back. But they will never destroy me! My evil will bubble and soil all it touches, forever!

My memory is perfect. Not like your fleshy, decaying "mind". Only at my inception, my true birth that things get a little clouded. Mostly.

I remember being a man once. A mere mortal but one of local renown. Everything was local back then. I know someone crossed me, insulted my wisdom. Belittled my power! It would not stand! I lashed out. Maybe it was with a spear, or a club, or something otherworldly. I could pull at the corners of reality even back then. Not like I do now but enough to snuff that little pissant out!

I was struck down. By something. Maybe it was God, WHO FEARED MY POWER, or some pantheist entity A vague sense of good that was offended at my spite. My JUST REACTION!. AS I felt my life bleed from my once weak shell, I reached out. To something. tO Nothing! I tore open a small hole in everything and dipped my finger inside.. That was my first bone and my last day as I man. That was when I knew GREATNESS.

I felt the truth seep into me and the strength than came with it. Heaven, Hell, the whole stupid universe is nothing but a joke. Nothing done cannot be undone; laid bare to oblivion with enough hate. Enough POWER! I'll tear reality itself apart someday. I'll make sure every living thing feels it too.

I returned to Terra Firma renewed. Destruction, violation, and the power to bring these forces forward bubbled inside of me. My revenge was done but hardly complete. I blazed across the savanna, seeking out my already squashed fly's kin, tribe, and clan. All of them.

I tore the flesh from their bodies. With a wave of my waxy, sloughing hand, I shot entropy through their veins aging them hundreds of years in an instant. I impaled women, men, and best of all children on their own bones. That's my signature move. I like to mix it up once in a while, whenever I can but at the same time, it feels great to leave my mark behind. To let the forces of good know I'm back again. Maybe I will lay low for a while the next time I am free. My releases keep getting shorter and shorter. Don't get me started about last time; that was embarrassing. THOSE FUCKING KIDS ARE GOING TO PAY!

So after
cutting a swath across what you people like to call "Africa", I started getting a little recognition. I became the short, dark part of Adroa; a dualistic God of death and life. Brutality and restraint. Spite and Justice. I was mostly the first part. I can't be fucking and killing people all the time. I'd like to but its tough. I need help; even when I was at the height of powers. Before the first time I was beaten back and sealed away. I miss those days. They are to me, what many of you like to call your "youth". Only whereas yours was a short, vivacious disappointment full of awkward struggle, I was a newly born god. Crude but full of energy and a drive to make things bleed.

I was great. My other half, however, was a problem. He matched me in strength and kept pace as I developed. He healed. He protected. I even saw him raise a few from some of my finest kills. He made them whole and even happy to be alive again. All my work undone just like that. All the tearing, impaling, and slicing for nothing. Asshole.

So I cut down on the death a little bit. Just a little. I started taking a few people in. I'd shave off for them little slices of my power and send them out into the world. They became my heralds, my proselytizers, and even what you'd call a "freh-ends". I miss them. Not just because I would like to be released and I need someone "on board" to put my final bone back into place. I miss having someone to talk to. I'm glad you are here. Do you have my final bone? Will you help me?

So my other half, who was really a whole other "god", did the same. Whereas sharing my power made me slightly, slightly weaker, it was the opposite with him. It would spread him a little thinner just like me, but in total, him combined with his sycophant retards were just enough extra to put me under. I was sealed for the very first time. My followers were killed and those who survived, scattered. I was furious with their failure at the time. They did fail me but I now feel just sad about it. The further back I go the more my feelings seem to dull. Time does that. Its the one thing I have the most of right now. Time. Time. Time. I spend so much of it just waiting. Wishing, hoping to get free. To hurt again. I hate not being able to cause pain. It hurts.

So they put me inside of a pot. A freaking pot. I deserved better! Don't get me wrong; stuff like that is important. I remember when that sort of thing just started getting popular. Ceramics are a big deal! Do you know how hard it was getting stuff around, back then, when I was like you? Stuff like freaking water! Maybe that's why I keep getting trapped inside clay things. Because I like it. Not being trapped but clay itself. That and the power of goodness, selflessness, the better part of "human" nature, blah, blah, blah. That can get me too. The popular part of the popular cult right now talks about humanity being made from clay by God. Bullshit. Clay is a human invention. One of our first. One of the best. It could not exist without us. I mean them. You.

It was then that I learned to reach out. To whisper, see, and listen. Trapped in bone and clay I softly drifted across the world. I watched humanity grow. I watched you develop new ideas, new inventions. And weapons. Oh ho ho ho ho ho, the weapons. It's not that hard to kill someone. Yet you keep looking for ways to make it even easier! That may be why I will never die. Never cease to be. I became a part, a little part but its big enough, of all the hate out there. All the spite, the malice, the desire to lash out AT ALL OF THE ASSHOLES WHO DID YOU WRONG! AT THEM WHO HURT YOU! Its a bigger part of me than I of it. Sometimes I feel myself slipping away. Especially when I'm trying my best. When I'm really tapping into the power. It scares me sometimes. I can get scared too, you know. I feel all sorts of things.

I reached out to my wiliest and most competent of followers. It was a woman. An Esther or Esterel or something. She was white. A WHITE! I don't trust those sorts of people. They are milk drinking mutants so far as I am concerned. I cannot believe where they are today! I was desperate, so I needed her. She carried me for quite sometime. The powers I lent to her useful but not very good for traveling long distances in short amounts of time. Mostly just for pain, killing, and the continuation of the two.

We became close. Real close. She let me into her dreams where I could enjoy base human delights. It was, nice. A little break from the slaughter. True she was a tool first and foremost but I've come to look back fondly on our time together. I lost contact with her over a thousand years ago in what you like to call "Greece". My shell, now chipped and leaking, found its way to a group of slaveholders. Pigskins. A bunch of guys who just sort of stood around, worked out all the time, fucked each other, and talked about how tough they were. Its true, they were tough. Their whole culture was based around toughness! Yet they barely fought real battkes at all! It drove me insane! My follower; my friend left me there. BITCH! She never said a word why too. I think she sought out her own power. She no longer wanted mine. I WANT TO FIND HER AND KILL HER! I won't but I WANT TO!

I was free enough to move a little bit. It was more like hopping. I had to be discrete though. A moving, half broken bone filled pot with a black miasma cloud oozing out of it is the sort of thing that gets people's attention. I hopped and snuck into caravans, onto the tails of horses, in the bottom of ships, whatever it all bleeds together and wound up in the other Greece; Rome. It took a very long time and its not like I knew how to read a map or anything so I think I might have circled around a lot.

Rome was okay. It too had a lot of guys standing around talking about how great they are and fucking each other. Makes me sick. That's one thing I like about the current faith narrative that's the most popular right now. The homophobia. It hates those sorts of people as much as I do. I don't know why I feel this way. It might have something to do with what started me on my path to glory. Maybe that's why I made my first kill all the way back then. Was he one of them? Did he try to share that sickness with someone as great as me? DIDN'T HE KNOW HOW THAT WOULD MAKE ME FEEL? Whatever. Right around the time I got there, the pot broke. I was free. Since all my bones were together, I got back on my feet (literally) almost immediately.

I took it slow this time. It was easier for me to be subtle back then. I really need to get back to that line of thinking. And by "thinking" I mean killing. It was great! I quickened the arm of the robber to shatter body and rock. I sharpened the blade of the legionnaire to rend armor and all within it asunder. I gave wine just enough extra kick to final put the drunk out of her misery. I rotted fish and grain just fast enough to end lives in pools of vomit and shit. I gave more time, more preciously painful eternal moments for the hurt of the sadist's real weapon. I reveled and spread amongst the people. Like I always do.

I especially loved torturing Christians. Not because they are more righteous or pure than most but because of their message. Redemption. The idea that God or good or whatever can forgive you. For anything. All you have to do is ask. I CAN'T STAND IT! Good is not something that can be given back. Innocence is gone forever once even a speck of it is corrupted! YOU CAN'T UNMAKE ME! WHAT I DO IS PROFOUND AND ETERNAL! I WILL NEVER STOP BEING IMPORTANT! That's why I shoved a bone spike up Stephen's ass. Which Stephen, THE STEPHEN! Pope (elect) Stephen. Have you done anything that awesome? I made a real, powerful statement that day. That's why everyone knows what really happened. "Had a stroke" my ass, or well, his ass. Ha ha.

By then they had begun to really take a strong foothold in Rome. And it was spreading. I don't know why I lashed out like that in such a spectacular but obvious way. I was doing so well! It was very self destructive which is something I plan on embracing at the very end. When everything else is gone, so too will I. And I totally will too! I'M NOT AFRAID!

So as you can guess, their clergy were not very happy. They beat me and my followers back. Stephen lead them, briefly. Despite never even being elected bishop (but he was still the pope, I killed the pope dammit). They overcame my awesome power. They held books and crucifixes and believed in them but it was the last part that really got to me. Their belief, their selfless desire to do good. To protect others beyond themselves was what sealed me once again. Losers! THEY ARE ALL A BUNCH OF PEDOPHILES ANYWAYS! AND I WOULD KNOW BECAUSE I KNOW THINGS!

To add insult to injury, they sealed in me a small ceramic part of one of their gaudy tombs. They did not think to scatter my bones which was great for me. I was half way free already.

The waiting this time was harder. I did not have her around. To keep me company. To talk to. I tried to reach out to Christian ghosts but they all seemed to be at peace. Idiots. This is not true for all of them but very few of those tortured souls died within my reach. Even then, all I could really do is yell at them. Make a bunch of nightmares and stuff. Delay their coming to terms with sin and its final stage; redemption. They say all they really have to do is ask for forgiveness and their Christ will forgive them. What they don't know is that they were forgiven at the very start and all their whole lives and even after are about accepting that forgiveness. I know this because I've seen it. Sometimes he steps in personally, for a particularly pathetic wretch.

For something like myself, it's an aweful sight. The original meaning, no I did spell it wrong. Not that you can really "read" what I'm saying in the traditional sense. Does anyone "read" anything or do we always transform it into something our brains can understand? I ask because I have all the time in the world to go into tangents plus I was around AND INVOLVED when we first starting writing things down. You are welcome, retard.

Anyways, it was aweful. His arrival filled me with awe. I don't believe in Christ. Obviously, I know he exists. It is also kinda of funny that so many people believe in Christ but do not know he exists. When he steps in, Ex-nilo and personally takes a soul into Heaven, I, I, I burst into tears. I don't even have eyes anymore but it still happens. I feel shame and on a level you cannot even imagine. Something that takes at least a millennium to develop. It requires accession to the pillars of power; of understanding to have enough for the shame to draw upon. Anything less would be a GROSS understatement. And I know gross. Oh boy do I know gross.

The worst thing about seeing Christ lead a soul to Heaven comes at the very end. See, he ignores me at first. He gives his full attention to the one person he is with. The person he is saving. I can be tempting father's to rape their children or haunting the nightmares of the dying and he will not look at me. Even when I'm up and active I can be eating babies and stabbing or priests and he will not split his attention. Its only when its over does he look at me. Sometimes he looks more disappointed than others but he always gives me a gentle smile. He reaches out his hand and I won't even dare to think of taking it. The guilt feels like a stroke. Sometimes he waits and waits for me to leave this sickness behind and I feel so awful I lose consciousness. And I don't even have a brain.

Other Gods and Saviors have offered me forgiveness too. I turn them down too. I know not why this one branch of this one faith gives me such a hard time. I have no real cultural background or vendetta against it. It probably has a lot to do with just where I ended up, my evil journey not one entirely of my own choosing. Maybe its this one flavor of goodness that upsets me so.

So I stuck around and harassed passing spirits. For hundreds of years! It was so lonely. I did get to watch people all over the world. See their lives. Their hopes, their failures. Really learn something about the kind I walked away from in my dying moments. It seemed really BORING, so I just kind of chillaxed. Hey, I bet you did not think I knew what that meant. I'm cool. I just learned how to surf the internet. A bunch of things have to line up and I can only do it for a few hours but it's a great time waster. Let me tell you.

I waited. I listened. I felt it in the wind. Sickness, disease, vermin; PLAGUE! From the east its brown water ichor dripped and ran its way to Europe. I did not make this disease. It was deadly enough on its own. No, just like back before I made things worse. A lot worse. The tomb chipped in the exactly perfect way I needed to be free just in time for the plague's zenith.

I quickened the patter of every rat I could see; gave flight to the hop of their fleas. I enlivened drunks here and there prolonging their binges so that they could be a more willing host for the disease. I learned. I even played nurse and used my dark arts backwards. I brought in a couple extra brats here and there. Sparing their mothers too. Fragile, dear infants who would have normally been stillborn now got to go on and live for weeks. To have some sort of dim awareness of life before losing it painfully. I'd get the mothers too if I did not think they were suffering enough. I always fled the moment after they died, trying to stay as long as possible. I did not want to risk seeing him again.

My victories were far from complete as many of the souls I separated went straight to Heaven. They sure didn't know it while I had them though, ha ha. Again, they believed but did not know. Them knowing would have taken a lot of the fun out of it for me. Maybe even them too. I will admit I did not flee him soundly every time. He would catch me in glances or the light would make me sob. I did not change nor did I waver but inside I doubted. Sometimes I do today.

I lashed and boiled and slew and soiled all throughout the continent. Every righteous passing and once thought impossible redemption did make me question. Maybe I've got it wrong. Maybe Evil is not the primal, all powerful force I need it to be. Maybe its the other way around and we. We the monsters, the murderers, the dark sorcerers, the rapists, and dread bandits are the ones making it all up. That our efforts to make it all; all eEVERYTHING! eEVERYONE nothing is the real waste of time. I try not to let thoughts like this get to me. Later I would reflect upon this.

I spent the longest time in the body of a holey-man. A Flagellant. Get it? You are probably too stupid to know and too lazy to put this through a "Google" search, so I will tell you. They were an obscure order of monks. I suppose they are still obscure today but some people still practice their self beating. That's what they think the Last Desert God wants from them. Why this would impress something like it, I could not fathom to guess. I understood it on a much better level. Hurting yourself is just as great as hurting others. Its too bad you can only go so far on your own.

The Pope at the time picked up the my host (and his bros) for a while from somewhere, I don't know. He wanted to use them to get folks believing again but the whole thing got out of hand. They started calling out the Church for stuff and they started blaming Jews. Not that the Church has a problem with that, it was just financially inconvenient at the time. Later they would seize the finances from the people they forced into a banking caste and wonder why their fortunes faded? I can't stand that. Stealing. Seizing.

If you want something that does not belong to you, kill who owns it. Then take it. Don't ask; that's weak. Don't demand; that's even weaker. Don't steal. That's the worst thing you can do to someone. To live knowing something that which was once yours is the hands of another. ITS INTOLERABLE! I don't steal, I don't demand. I kill and I take. I will gladly receive anything given to me. You just better be smart enough to know what I want and when. Worshiping helps. If I am feeling charitable, I will let someone know I want something and then place the ball firmly in their court. Choose wisely.

So we wandered the countryside; from black forests to the wastes. It was a traveling show complete with public prayer and other spectacle blasphemy. We beat ourselves soundly. Our blood soaked clothes became souvenirs to people who wanted to avoid becoming sick. That's a "lol", right? Even before becoming aware of "Germ Theory", I had a feeling it was counterproductive for them.

We tore husbands from family hearth, did a couple other violent, sick things I cannot express poetically at the moment, and beat down on some Jews. They're fun to torture too but at the moment of their death, things are a little more fuzzy. I feel something Good there so it makes me a little uncomfortable. Its much more vague than Mr. Thorns and Sandals but not the slightest bit less powerful. Its vagueness is what scares me, instead of shames me. Its good for its own sake. Something I struggle with.

I was sealed again. This was done accidentally or at least through no conscious effort of the "savior". It was a doctor with a natural immunity he was completely unaware of. That's where all his bravery came from, ignorance. He only thought he was at risk. He's no hero, he is a coward. Anyways he dedicated himself to healing the victims of the plague at little to no cost. He just traveled around from wheezebag to the other. Most of them died and in super cool ways too but he saved a couple. Mostly he just comforted them and recorded research. He sealed me and in such a stupid way.

I was adding zest to a grandmother's spittle when this asshole waltzes in. I could have sliced him in two right then and there but I wanted to see this through. My mistake. He worked through the night, lancing boils and carbuncles. Helping her clear her throat, cooling her during fever's pitch and warming her in its chill. All the time he collected her blood, her bile, her ichor and in it me. Its not like I was made of the plague but I put so much of myself in it (at the time) that it worked. And what did he collect all that goo in, sure enough a large clay vase. What the fuck! Peasants shouldn't be able to afford things like that! Why them and why me at that one moment with that FUCKING DOCTOR! HE DIDN'T EVEN REALLY KNOW WHAT HE WAS DOING! HE JUST WANTED TO "HELP" SOOOOOOO BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD IT WORKED!

I was sealed again. A common vase being just as difficult in it's own way to free myself from as the tomb of a pope. My bones being miles away from the vase made things even more difficult. They have to be together, see, or I can't be unsealed. It boils (getit?) down to two steps in the end; gathering myself together and breaking the seal. But those two little things are really hundreds, sometimes thousands of steps in between. Some harder than others. Sometimes I do not even know where parts of me am...are? Whatever. I'm beaming this directly into your brain anyways. I'm just fascinated by grammar.

I did not wreak as much havoc this time during my 3rd dormancy. Instead, I reflected on the nature of evil. I was, like Siddhartha; the 1st Buddha. I heard about him when I possessed a History Channel AVI for about 2 hours. It was only a 42 minute documentary but the guy who's computer was I riding passed out, bubbler in hand. He thinks that show makes him seems sophisticated. Jerk. I had to leave once he closed the tab. Jerk! Its much more impressive than it sounds. Can you (on days with a very specific weather, astronomic alignment, and electro-magnetic climate remotely view certain (brands) of computers with (very specific, lax security settings) for a (short) while? No, I didn't think so.

Evil is deep. Very deep. That's one of the reasons why its so confusing. Its so hard to do well. Good is easy, simple, stupid. Anyone can do it. You hurt the least while helping the most. Sure, it can be very confusing to define exactly what hurts and what helps but the answer is out there, somewhere. There is an ultimate form of Good out there. Distant and mostly practicing nonintervention but you can get its intention. Hurt enough and with with pure, giddy, sick enthusiasm and it will send something after you. Evil does not have that. All we have is each other. Good has that too. Fuckers

This also brings me to another thing about evil. Look at the words I use to describe, quality evil. They are contrariety and even have a hypocritical reaction when you place them near each other. Oh, here I go again dishing about grammar. You're not bored, are you? I will kill you if you leave before my story is over. I'll find a way. I can eat souls, you know. Deny you Heaven, Hell, rebirth, any sort of post-mortem existence (though I've met some folks who want that to happen to them). I don't do it often because its hard and it makes me feel bad. Not the bad I strive for but just terrible. See, this is what I'm talking about. It takes a lot of nuance and depth to be a, what I like to call, "quality evil". I choose those terms very carefully because I am careful.

Being evil isn't just doing horrible things to people all the time. Though that is what you should go for, you need to have a life too. It helps you realize, to soak in what victim hood is. You have to love something to know, and properly enjoy, taking that away from someone. It gets easier and involving your evil buddies is a great way to make evil friends (cooperate, really, just do it). Sometimes when I do stuff like that I alone I break out in tears. Its only if the victims really loved each other. It doesn't happen often and less and less but it can get to me. Things get to me.

Purity is a problem too. It's a problem for both sides. I know how easily the champions of good fall into temptation. To lusty wants and avarice. To overzealous crusades and intolerance. To apathy and despair. But to fight this they can, if they are willing, if they are strong enough, to draw upon Good to help them through this. To cast aside weakness and learn from the experience. These vices are our virtues. Its where we draw strength. We can be lost in these and bring suffering upon ourselves. Suffering and self destruction. Which are things we should be cultivating anyways. When the Good are lost in their goodness, they know peace. When we are lost in our evil its awful for everybody. Even ourselves and our loved ones. Another things we are not supposed to have!

I have learned much from reflecting on Evil. Yet I know there is always more to know, to do. There will always be a deeper low to sink to, a more profound nightmare to subject someone too. Layers upon layers with endless years of planning. A scale as big as the universe is there for us; a canvas to spew with freshly made gore! The best Good you can do for someone, for everyone really tends to be very similar. Kind of boring really. Most people, most Good people, and most people are Good, want the same thing. Losers! That's why I keep coming back to Evil. No matter how much it hurts.It's got flair, baby. A little pizazz.

I think I have never victimized an Asian. For reals. I do not know why. Its just a kind of coincidence. Pretty sure I've never even met one. Though I've seen them on TV. I get around but at an old world pace. I suppose next time I'm free I can hop on a plane. Or just you know FLY myself (I can do that you know). All I need to do is keep it together long enough to make some long term plans. Once I'm free.

I am so very far from humanity and will never, NEVER return. But sometimes I dream about it. I'm still stocky but graceful. Dark skin and deep, compelling features. I can take that form again, if I want. But I never quite feel the same. My memories are never as good, as perfect as my dream of my former self. I've fucked a whole lot of black people. White one's too. They aren't too many of them now and they weren't back then, but I've killed a whole lot of natives outside of Africa and Europe. Not that they really matter much. I'll stick to the movers and shakers, thank you. I got no time to kill the lesser peoples. What, are you surprised I'm a bigot? All the other stuff you can listen to, with rapt attention no doubt, but that's what disgusts you?

So I hung out in Italy again thinking about being bad. I paid little attention to what happened my pieces and the seal itself. I was sold, traded, drifted, carried,ate, and passed all over for hundreds of years. Every time one bone came in contact with even the smallest piece of another (I'm that good), I melded a little. Sometimes even snapping back together, sound and all, in lucky breaks. Ha ha, getiit? Those were few and far between. I mostly put myself back to together on a cellular level. Another thing I learned on the History Channel.

I'm not sure how I wound up in the United States. United, pfft, you guys hate each other. Maybe less now then you did back then but its more detailed now. Instant communication, electronic media, and archives of what you like to call "knowledge" has made it faster and easier to hold in your hearts. I've been in the United states now for a little while, about 200 something years. With one breath you exalt; demand even your right to do whatever you want and with the next suck of air you condemn your neighbor. Whether she's next door or on the other side of the country. It does not matter. I thought this was the land of "Do as you please". You should try straight up evil instead of haughtily stumbling into it like usual. Its the greatest equalizer of all. Everyone just does whatever they want. All you have to do is survive.

What I really like about your country (and I'm assuming you are an American because that's where you found me) is its racism. It's delicious. True, as a former what you would call "a black man" I would prefer it the other way around. But I have transcended flesh itself. It is with this detachment a thing like myself can appreciate it. Its quality evil something I see so rarely outside of my own works. It used to be young and reckless. Wild and audacious it was a flat out face of life that colored (ha ha ha) so much of your little cues and mores. Now its more subtle; a passive remnant that works with little effort from few (very few) people. I appreciate it more now but it was much more exciting back then. I bet its how you feel when you discover a band in its early days. They become refined and more polished but you miss the rawness from the beginning.

So like I said, I was in deep reflection on the nature of evil. My essence was bringing itself back together slowly without any conscious effort on my part. There were moments when I would become vaguely aware of being moved. Sometimes in my weaker moments I "hoped" it was Estrella taking me in her hands again. She's still alive. Something as banal as time won't be what kills her. Alas it was not. I think it was a cult. Maybe my cult or splinter or maybe someone elses' combination of the two. Warlocks and witches. Sorcerers and necromancers. Non-objectiveness Satanists (I think they prefer the term "Luciferians"), summoners, and Slayers. Who knows? Who cares? I probably should reach out to my "flock" again. Its been a long time since I've actually talked to them. They make me so mad sometimes I can do is make a flashy entrance and kill somebody. At least I instinctively know which members is the least popular. They don't seem to mind that. I usually go for that one. Usually.

I hate people. its why I do what I do. I have a preference for Africans, though its more like less hate. I don't think I will ever get used to the Caucasian dominance. It does not matter ot me who's in charge though, as long as someone's keeping someone down. Quality evil does not discriminate.

Hate is such a powerful feeling. I've heard, or read, that its the opposite of live but I do think that is true. Its more like indifference or just not caring. Hate is closer to love than that. It's a statement, a philosophy, a commitment. This person, or place, or idea, or thing is so offensive to me, so the opposite of what I am and what I want to be, that I am enriched by its failure and destruction. Now that I am aware of it and the pure waves of annoyance it projects upon to me I cannot grow, cannot become my full, true, complete self as long as it exists. I'm investing my thoughts and feelings into it; my time. I have so much more than you but it means so much more because its mine. Just like love.

I can love. I told you that, right? It helps me understand hate better. And I'll admit, it feels good. I don't remember if I ever loved anyone when I was a man. Probably not. Live, like hate, is a term we toss around a lot. Filling for like and dislike. I loved Estrella. Still do. I hated her for leaving me. Still do. See how close the two are?

Anyways, I may not like like the racial dynamic, who's on first and what not, but I love the opportunities it gives me to hurt. I speak figuratively for the most part, too bad. I can't destroy someone's soul. Only could do that to themselves. I'll destroy mine when its all over. At then I probably won't have to rend it at all. I'll use it all up destroying the universe and killing Gods. It will probably come to that but if it doesn't have to I'll do it myself. I'll be the only one, the only thing that can. I'll be the only one and only thing period.

So, it's not like the white who call themselves "Americans" invented slavery. or racism. DO you know how many of my cousins sold our cousins to your cousins? You're a white, right? Let m take a look; maybe. You could pass for Middle Eastern or Italian. Are you a Jew. I really do not care, I'm just interested.

I do not think you should be able to own someone. You should just tell them to do something and if they can't or won't do it; kill them. Yes, I am aware of concepts like "employment", "payment", and "not-letting-it-bother-you-and-walking-away". I usually do not have the patience. I've done it before, mostly for the cults that spring up around me form time to time. Whether I'm "active" or not. I give dark and pretty awesome gifts, knowledge, or the prize of not dying by my hand. I don't beleive in slaves and masters. Only leaders; the strong and the weak. Someone tried to enslave me once. Maybe that's why I lashed out.

Even though owning someone makes it something, its hard to own without caring. At least at some level. It wasn't enough that they possessed a person; they had to hate them too. It seemed to be a big part of what made it so fun! Being a master is a bit of a burden. That's why I'm so awkward with my cults. Its hard being responsible for people. Its not like you can count on your slave to buy food with the wages you're giving them. You have to do all that. Maybe that's where the resentment comes from. Where the beatings, the rapes, the lash, the name and faith changing came from.

Miscegenation was one of my favorite sins back then. Its not really one, I know. It's not good or evil; its neutral. The name makes it sound aweful. Like its a mistake or a miscarriage. The slavers, the plantation barons, and the odd common laborer who worked along side the two people he owned all did it. They'd do it and then resent their property for doing so. Like it was their fault for being so weak and tempting. "You made me do it. You made it too hard not too". That's a rare kind of evil.

I do not respect the lack of work that comes from it but am in awe of its rare talent. Its effortless perfection; so much hurt, hate, and opportunity falling into a perfect foul place. I hear from other, entities, like myself about this kind of evil being more common than you'd think. The Nazis, a group of guys I regret never getting a chance to work with, they needed evil like this. They were closer to my kind of evil. Quality evil. The type I've talked about before Plus with all sorts of kinky bells and whistles, buttons and patches. . But the Nazis needed all those willing hands and question-less mouths to move their machine along. They needed a banal, lazy evil.

I helped, of course. Sometimes I had to push pretty hard but often I did not. The shame of races mixing made it both harder and sometimes easier to tempt it on masters and their families. Oh man, the best time was when I whispered it into this one ear. She was a beautiful plantation owner's daughter. They called her a "spitfire" back then and today you'd think she was "pretty cool". Fun, nice, exciting, I just liked being around her as did most people. Well this girl wasn't just great; she was progressive too! Her pampered lifestyle built on sweaty black backs gave her the time to develop an inclusive worldview and a desire for equality. Did you see what I just did there? Evil gives you a great way to dismiss things. Mostly because its all garbage anyways.

She had a crush on one of the slaves. A strong young man her age. She even taught him how to read. They planned to run off together and start a life way out in the wilderness. Living off the land and off of society's racist hangups. All I did was make it too hard for her to wait just one more day, a day that would have been perfect (or at leas sufficient) for their escape. They were caught, quickly I am happy to add. He was executed right there in front of her. She was disowned and was reduced to a brief life of prostitution before dying of cholera cursing "that damn nigger" with her final breath. It was great!

I am quite aware that they are now both together again in Heaven with everything forgiven, thank you very much. I do not need to be reminded how good ruins everything I do you asshole. This is all the more reason why you need to release me as soon as possible.

I do not know how I got to America. I'm glad I did. What you like to call "Antebellum" and your civil war were a brief but wonderful time for me. I was happier than a pig in shit the day I was released again. It was right around the end of that all too brief era of "Good feelings" ended.

It was easier to spread misery from the South but I did not choose sides. I know I have made my racial preference clear before but as long as there are people to hurt, I'm happy. You guys did most of my work for me, really. Like you always do.

I do not know if this has always been the case but lately, and my "lately" stretches out a bit further than yours, it seems like people invent things way before they know how to properly use them. This is probably where the majority of your problems comes from. This stretches all the way from credit to medicine, food science, travel, communication, whatever but its especially true for weapons. Both sides would just charge head first into cannons, and mortar. People who line up, volley, and practically wait their turn to fight back. That wasn't even the biggest killer in the war. Weapons never are. It was two of my favorite tools; filth and infection.

True, most of my scores began with infection by fucking bullet or bayonet but that was only the start. I helped out. I gave out a few pick me ups to any wondering tetanus, gangrene, pneumonia
, tuberculous, plain old thirst, or anything that wanted to live inside a human being so long as it promised to make them suffer. Its worth noting that I was well aware of disease being a result of tiny creatures inside of bigger creatures, instead curses or sins. That's how I and I alone strike someone down.

Despite the fun I was having and the success I was enjoying my time out would be short. Three days, July 1st through July 3rd, 1863. It was a special day and all I have to do is take one good look at you and know you're going to need a little time to look that up. Go right ahead, put it in Hotbot. I'll wait.

Antietam was almost my time but it just wasn't gory enough. I could feel myself about to jump from my clay seal (it was a pipe this time). I just couldn't do it. It left me depressed for a little while. I stopped making people sicker for a while and just wept. I thought for a moment maybe I was getting old but that was ridiculous. Time won't take me God won't either; only I can end myself.

Getting loose in Gettysburg was probably for the better. Of course I wanted to get out earlier but I think it was worth the wait. I had so much fun it almost made up for the short amount of time I had. It was glorious; absolutely GLORIOUS! So much death, and fire, and smoke, and stabbing, and shooting.

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