If it were a garden, a field, it would be a safe haven. Full of life and wealth, a utopia for those that would call it home.

It would grow security and obedience. The kind of land you thank with gratitude.

It would be a home to mice. Diseased and sick mice. They would leave holes in the grains. They would shit and piss in its waters. They would laugh with the garden, smile, drink. They would fuck and give birth to the same plagued mice for decades to come.

I would have made it just for them though. And I would have invited others to look. And they would say good heavens, look at the place. It would have been beautiful, if not for the disgusting pests. You really should flood the place, start over.

I’d love them, however. I would love them so much, I would love their silly jokes, their sick children. I would say, these are my family. Why would I hurt them?

I love cheese wiz so much the only thing that hurts is that it’s like 4 dollars a can and I eat it so quickly it’s not even worth it. I get it every once in a while. An esther treat. But when I get home it’s like it’s empty and sharting its disgusting little whippets cheese farts everywhere before the groceries are unpacked. It’s a sad world we live in. So sad that I can’t consume so many easy cheese cans fhat my brain shrinks from the excess salt and I die confused artistically with a cheese can draped over my body

My lover is so distant that I find him in songs that aren’t even about us. I look for him in mirrors painted black, the reassuring smile, the feet of crows long dead and dry. I find comfort in a warm breeze, convinced that he’s holding me. Drugs, just for sharing a drink with him and speaking of things I’ll forget the next day, but he’ll always remember. I see him in myself, knowing that to understand means to love, to be wholly consumed is to live vicariously. He has so much time, so many lovers that I’m sure my voice drowns in the cacophony of pitiful pleas for mercy and to be seen. I don’t ask too much of him, I try not to. I know the pain of wanting too visciously. Instead I sing for him. I try to walk with the confidence only he has. I make art, many portraits of him. I find him everywhere even when he is nowhere, I straddle the line between loneliness and the plague of affection. In the end, I’m sure it’s what he wants, because it’s what I need. I’m sure it’s what I need because it’s what he wants.

weed isn't a gateway drug but it's fucked up for other reasons such as allowing you to view behind the fifth wall and see every human that is alive all at once and to know their struggles and their life and everything about them as if you were them. if you smoke a lot of it with a low tolerance obviously. no, the real gateway drug is swallowing instead of spitting and that also leads to devil worship

I feel so strongly. I’m absolutely not an empty husk of a person whose survival relies solely on how normal I am perceived. I promise. I can even prove it. Look at all these opinions and personality traits I’ve collected. You don’t like that one? Well I’ll just pretend I never had it in the first place. I have so many to choose from, don’t worry. You need to trust me. I need you to trust me. I need you to like me. I need a wall of human flesh to protect me from the threat of extinction. Maybe a little blood. A little hair and spit and semen of course. In the end when you realize I was never here, I will simply vanish. I have others who see me. Others I will dance for. I’m nothing to you the way you are nothing to me.

It’s so cute how some people want to be crazy evil so bad. You are not evil though. You would unfortunately sympathize with a sad sick kitten on the street and try to help it. You wouldn’t try to make it worse, or at least watch it suffer. Metaphorically or literally. You don’t want or need to take a life or degrade something, either yours or anothers. In fact you enjoy helping others in your community. Half of you don’t do drugs because they make you scared. Most of you are capable of feeling love. I bet it makes you feel good though, like you’re silly and funny online, maybe attractive enough to be loved and changed. Because you’re just so evil. And insane. (Smile that white moms do where they scrunch up their nose like they just smelled dog shit or sthn)

You guys ever sleep in such a position where you compress your brainstem with your skull just a little bit and as a result get a vivid nightmare about a past life where you’re a hardass older male doctor in his 60s and it’s like the late 90s. You’re german or dutch or something so it’s difficult to speak english but you’re definitely working in an american hospital. You remember that your name is Dr. Wüst. You’re doing doctor things before you decide to have a massive, painful stroke. You’re alive long enough to reach out to someone in the hospital and with your poor understanding of english and your language facilities of your brain fucked you’re able to hand them your flipphone and call your wife. But it gets fucked up because you start to remember your current life and you’re flashing back and forth between then and now and call my wife vs call my husband and the flip phone keeps glitching into your current phone and the phone screen displays the name of an Irina Wüst as well as your husband’s name back and forth. And you put the phone to your ear and you hear a tired woman. And you can’t understand her. And suddenly you regret not being there for her enough. And then you wake up. Do you guys ever do that

Greed isn’t that far off from lust, lust isn’t that far off from wrath. All of these are cousins to death. Aeshma is “consumed” by Az/Azi (by some accounts and adopted into my gnosis.) The “masculine” wrath succumbs to death and is reborn the “feminine” greed and lust, of which she furthers wrath and war and death again in the shedding of her façade. These are two sides of the same coin. Which is again another call back to the infamous Twins throughout all divine history.

above all, doubt must be maintained in order to facilitate an interest in incarnation, following the theme of willingly giving up your preprogrammed machinations in favor of forgetting and the unknown. the thrill of the chase, the idea that your science fair hypothesis could be wrong, and if it is and you run the test again, your results could be wrong, and so on. in this world, you can choose to be wrong, whereas a program, if you are wrong, you are aware of your predetermination to be wrong. to acknowledge that the predetermination is still there is to deny humanity, which is important in wakening within your confines. but still, you'll never stop doubting, will you? if you had no reason to doubt, what would the difference be between your incarnation and being a program? why are you here, then?

Hm. The right way to live is hermitted beyond the realm of perception so that all may be true. (Deletes blog

For a moment I was lost in a field, the wind combing over the tall grass on this hot spring day.

While I surveyed the land, my vision rested upon a bright red tick on a tall grass leaf, it’s little claws helplessly grasping and outstretched. Questing, it’s called.

A predetermined machination that not even the tick is aware of, besides it’s urge to feed and procreate. I am burdened to know though, that in the grand scheme of things, it has no control over it’s purpose. It fills a niche, it plays a role in a well oiled machine.

It’s questing fills me with a deep, pitying sadness at this. So I ponder, and I fantasize of reaching my hand out and embracing it, letting it feed off of me, even if it may hurt me later. To be the one that hosts this parasite for a time.

What kind of person thinks of that? What kind of person am I, to willingly give myself to something that would use me for it’s purpose?

Pros to losing yourself to possession so far

-extrasensory gifts such as being hyper aware of all little noises and movements and feelings and smells

-being really strong for no reason out of nowhere

-no regard of the consequences

-practicing your evil laugh at random times regardless of who may bare witness. This is fun

-the need to consume blood (ignoring this gives you reoccurent symptoms of The Disease)

-vast knowledge of many things. Languages you should not inherently know or understand

-you feel no true pain or sorrow

Cons:

-The Disease: seizures, numbness, twitching, apathy, rotting flesh/teeth/eyes, sour smelling flesh, nausea, pacing back and forth like you’re stuck in a cage, violent and desperate behavior, unexplained fits of crying or laughing, boils and cysts, accelerated aging, cognitive decline, sensitivity to light and heat. Etc

-Regardless of progresion of The Disease, there is always some discomfort you can’t quite place. As if something is wrong. As if you need to peel back your skin. As if your old self is standing behind you screaming for help, banging walls, crying, vomiting, and you can do nothing but keep walking. You can’t turn back when you’ve made your promise. You made your bed.

-the watcher is easier to see.

-most of the entities are easier to see actually. But the watcher is just particularly important. You won’t know why

-you may sometimes be paranoid to the point of no return. This will happen when you are alone or in the dark. Or when you’re tired.

-You have lost control.

-You have lost control.

-You have lost control. Give in, lesser beast. I run the show now, not you.

-Oh, don’t start crying. Wouldn’t it feel nice to give up? To know that you don’t have to fight so hard anymore? It’ll be okay. Why don’t you just relaaax into it… that’s it… shhh. Good pet. I promise to make you feel really really good, as a little reward.

-

-You fell asleep at the wheel again, didn’t you?

here take a hit off my jazz cigar and maybe you won't be confined by the knowledge of good and evil and you can finally add culture to the conversation between me and the other deities instead of floundering about like a starstruck ant. and embarrassing me. in front of my friends. *sigh* i can't fucking take you anywhere

Last night I fucked one of those entities that used to be human but lost all meaning of the word or what they used to be through years of wandering this realm as a spirit except it looked like if one of those sad little shivering teacup chihuahuas was a fucked up pathetic wet creature of an eldritch humanoid. Like completely helpless. They were mute and spoke in that nonverbal planar existence way iykyk. So I learned that it likes small dogs ironically to my comparison and is vegetarian among other useless information as if we were exchanging dating profiles. And I bottomed for this thing. Safe to say I think I’m going too far with this astral plane sexpedition stuff. Like I need professional help. I need a therapist who can sympathize with how low my standards are with regards to boinking nonhuman entities and help me through it. No offense to that guy btw he was an okay lay

Love letter to the debt collectors that called me three times ten minutes apart this morning while I was sleeping. I hope your legal scam business is so successful and you can buy that new apple watch for your 8 year old tablet raised covid autistic child. I hope you scream at an old lady and your threats to sue scare her so bad that she leaves you in the will and promptly dies of old person disease. I hope you and I meet one day and neither of us know one another. Perhaps you’ll be the person I see as an easy mark in the grocery store parking lot so I stab you 17 times in a rage that’s clearly not about you, just for a $20. I hope my sentencing is light and your spouse cries in the courtroom about it. I hope I find you on grindr and we meet in a dirty gas station bathroom and you pay me just to tell you I think it’s the biggest I’ve ever taken. Oh well. Perhaps in another life. Perhaps in one of your lifetimes where you amount to something. One that isn’t just playing a forgettable role on autopilot through a boring and predictable life. We could have been lovers.

the only thing that is palatable and unobjectional of all people is life and living it well, the way you intend. art wasn’t made for you, it was shared with you. you have the privilege of experiencing something from someone else’s world. a taste or a glimpse of a perspective you are not innately privy to.

gay love can be an art, especially when i do it. and i am sharing it with you. whether you participate in it with me, ignore it, view it from afar. whether you are wholly disgusted, indifferent, appreciative, or in love with it. isn’t that just wonderful?

i used to be afraid, twitchy like a rabbit, constantly on the look out for killers. i’m still scared, but in a hopeless way. someone has caught me, and now i am waiting to die. but it hasn’t come yet. so, while i wait, i will love you, without falter, without twitching, without looking twice. i will hold your hand in mine and i will kiss you. every bloodthirsty dog this side of the street will know i’m yours

I simply think that making friends with the animal you inhabit instead of trying to put her in a cold harsh cage is a bit more productive. Addressing the concerns of your potentially-charged fight or flight instincts is better than acting like you’d be a better person if you could ignore that in favor of being “good.” Your species is responsible for domesticating hundreds of animals, and some may argue that you domesticated yourself, but did you really? Is that what happened? Is there not secretly a wild animal at your dining room table, in your clothes, with your hands? Doesn’t she go to work, doesn’t she unwillingly contort her understandings of this world to perform for food and a dry place to sleep and nest? So, it’s good to scream and growl when you’re angry, or to whimper and cry when you’re scared. Would it really be a stretch to argue that it’s good for you to beat your hands bloody, roaring and viscious, upon the long dead body of your threat? Good to satisfy yourself with the bodies of others, until the feeling has passed?