A separate entity, my flesh. What secret purposes does it intend for my soul and for what reason? Whom does my frail, beating, bloody heart swear allegiance to? The dust I am part of, it's like the locusts sweeping over the plains of Africa, devouring everything in their path child and plant alike. Spreading disease. A nosferatu. I, for better lack of the words, really believed that my stories and the nonsense were true. That through fiction the writing might become solid, holding breath and mass. I feel as though I've brushed with the devil himself and came out of it corrupted. I feel as though my arrogance will leave me with no hope in the brace of darkness after I pass from this coil. As far as I'm concerned, for the time being at least, I am just writing a story on disparate pieces of paper. I don't know what's happening to me but I can extrapolate a plausible guess as to who or what is behind it and for what purposes. Strange, to know without knowing. I've faith that some poor gentleman with some fairly decent idealistic proposals that was betrayed by his own kinsmen and nailed to a cross before being resurrected, a gentleman who was born of the ruach, the feminine Holy Spirit and the Father, (much like all of us but a direct descendant to Their will, Their literal Son), will see me through this with all the effortless grace They are capable of. If I am wrong about the ruach, then may God forgive my ignorance. This is my testimony, to all the teeming masses of Smiths watching in their silent malevolence. With all your taunts and technology. If I were to take a walk a hundred miles south, nothing would change. Even if this is all an illusory container, I want you to know that I'm not going to stop praying through my existence. I'm not going to stop believing. I've seen true evil in my sleep. It's strange, the paradox. If I hear something that comforts me, it is dis-settling. If I hear something that dis-settles me, it is dis-settling. I guess I'm a permanently agitated person because of you but that doesn't mean you bother me. What do I love? You know the answer to this and I don't believe that you have that power to take this away from me, nor have you ever or ever will. What do I request? Only to be ressurrected and allowed into the One True Kingdom of Heaven after I die. I guess I am not extraordinary, for I ask for a splendidly extraordinary gift, right? To be honest, I'd like this all to end now but I suppose the only reason it continues is for some purpose, or for the very purpose of purposelessness. I imagine that after my youth is spent, I won't be entertaining for you any more...I think it's high time that I read The Holy Book in it's entirety.
Indeed, I don't hate you. I love you as well as Them. Does this mean you move me? No, you don't instigate even an iota of emotion beyond the perfunctory acknowledgment and response in communication. Not with your double speak, not with your mocking solemnity. I will see what you do there, soak it all in and we will both come out apathetic. You to me and I to you. It feels good to be stoic in the face of jealously insane, obsessive and adulant odium. I'm going to make sure I will eventually have no tells. That I will be the immovable object and the unstoppable force.
"You cannot possibly hope to provoke that creature."
If you'd like to make my fiction into truth, to make this little game into reality, I'll tell you my pseudonyms. If The Lord God Almighty will this to be so in the name of His Plan, I'll tell you my pseudonyms.
I am:
Praying Mantis the Bullet
Mr. Machina the Anonymous Writer
Vin the Nosferatu
Nihil the Wrath
Son Halek the Saiyajin
They are me and I am them. We are one.
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