I see no point in telling you who I am. The anonymous rise and fall in the darkness. Caught between the masses, standing with them, their definition emblazoned in numbers upon their forehead. The code that locks in stasis the purpose of their own life. It is here that the unity is tied, and the individual is shredded right before the very same masses. It is here, that it may just be possible to dictate events, past and present, to create a better understanding. A better comprehension.
Of one and all.
Bred into a pre-manufactured landscape, I was seen as somewhat of a burden, looked down on by those who could not see. I stood by as the blind watched me, tormented. The physical turned to suffering, and the suffering transposed into a void. Through this void, the only begotten solace came from my own consciousness. It was here, in my own mind, that the void became just that: empty and lost. Through the motions, there came something more. The physical became somewhat forgotten in comparison.
The world. The world became me.
There my mind became infected with every possible degree of misery, pain, and anguish. Inescapable, like the darkness I continued to descend deeper into. I felt excruciating forces. Abominable hell. In the waking hours I desired to fall into that darkness, and in moments of slumber I wanted to rise from it.
I didn’t want to wake from this dream. I didn’t want to die in this nightmare.
Through my dreams, I defeated all that I stood against. Fear created by atrocity. Flesh carved by steel and enslaved.
There isn’t much time.
Scattered in those dreams, I saw visions. Visions of myself. While I couldn’t understand what was being said, I knew what was meant. I was urging myself, on a different strand of time, to awaken, and awaken from this existence I was living. No longer did I govern myself. My self governed me, resisting nothing. Survival, dominated by existence.
What I saw, what I felt in my dreams, soon ceased to be triumph. So swiftly did the retribution of the soul turn to ashes in my mouth. Swept up in the burning fury, blinded by the crimson haze. I had become the destructive force that I was cleansing my world from.
Then it came. I wanted to be absolved. I wanted to extinguish the torch that burnt so fiercely, for it to be as dead as I had been.
I found myself, through the curse of suffering, expanding my existence, spreading, blinded, but corroding throughout like a virus, until eventually, there was nothing but a virile resolution. Obliteration of evil, in my purest form, still cursed, and still cursing.
The march of time folds the flesh. I see through hexed eyes the planet around me. Pitiful beings walking their material streets, in their material minds. Solving life's problems at the press of a button. Unable to see their own spirit scarred of all humanity. But this may be going a bit beyond, for I too, have been infected by the same virus.
When the spirit falters, there is nothing left but a regression to primal states. Fear that nature. That cannibalistic nature.
I failed.
Torn apart by the very hatred. Engulfed by my desire to see the new generations. The generations who would in turn become me. They. Destructors, killers, my brothers. My hollowed minds.
There lies the broken man.
I lie entrenched, fallen in fear, absent of day or night. Deprived, derided, still fully aware. Humanity’s refusal to accept. So easy it is to hide behind the smokescreen, or to be cast in front of it. The media of a dead world. A television screen drained of colour, the reality, time and time again, shot down by the feature presentation. Forgotten, but ever vivid, until the day it too stands in prime time.
But time is not without a sense of irony. I see it, but barely feel it. Bare flesh edges away from bare bones, as once more I feel the fear, the hatred, one last time. Once more, there is no escape. Once more, a hunter preys on the weak, the sick. I can see it: I can see you. You, just like all of them. Stalking predators like yourself, victimising all the same. There is no time to think. There is no time to act. Too late has it been for you this time. The claws dig in, and the fangs deliver their poison, and so, the process turns.
I too know this same feeling, this ecstasy. Eaten alive, but with eyes taxing all judgement. Down, but not out. Despite the truth that I know: you will fall. Inevitably. A lost faith that assimilation is the key. We are being watched with dead eyes and dead smiles.
My eyes are still open. I have found it. I have accepted it. The need, the deed. Too late did I realise that my strength was from that which I refused to enjoy: the killing. I’m rising once more, through hatred. Ironic, isn’t it? The same hatred brings me higher. The system has not failed.
There is no choice.
Open your eyes.
This pain is real.
