I ran outta luck, last week, hospitalized, no visits due to covid, and all that jazz... You should not be reading this shit. My liver packed the bags on me and bought a one way ticket to "fuck you, die!", I don't clearly remember how I ended up in here. Idiopathic failure, so they say when they know shit and failed to accused me of anything else. Like it is my own fault.
They accused me of all sort of things - from mental instability, to drinking bleach, alcohol abuse, drugs - before concluding that my body is running down the hill without provable reason. They were observing, said so, I think they done nothing to reverse my condition. I don't know why I am still alive and who should excuse me or for what, to leave.
I am out of time but showed zero sympathy to suffering of the machine I live within, because after all it is not mine to claim it's pain. Sure it hurts, but living does more. I don't really feel the pain anymore.
Nurses misinterpret it as no empathy and mockery to drama kieffers in there, called me an unapologetic piece of garbage and so transferred me in another solitary room.
They can all go suck a ginormous cock to whatever demon they worship. Should they expect the waterfall to flow out of my misery it would be one made of fire, because the death is not tragic, only love is.
So, now it is me alone in this room listening through the walls at a place full of exotic sounds. It is unbelievable, unreal.
The darkness that follow might be comforting, mesmerizing, even rewarding, because all the monstrosities happen on light, somehow the darkness was always so warm, and light was so cold.
And today I feel so cold. I guess this is the way it happens, when body is shutting down.
You may see what I dropped on my Twitter. I was not really an emotional sugar foam. I can't be by the book, by the rules, their feelings are all fleeting, feeble emotions, fake indents of personality and scars made of ink, nothing of it is real. I think I was overly enthusiastic with my prospects about dying under a day time. Holly shit, how wrong I was...
They filled me up Christmas turkey style with some chemical industrial waste and fried my brains out. I don't think I have a part operational anymore. But that is a point. A crippling reality. Humanity going under crippled of own horns with the squeak, not a roar. Painted faces nothing more, there is no thirst, not one that plagues me.
And pictures that pour at me like a commence plague me, I am almost sorry trying to prevent or warn towards that future. I would be sorry, but I can't be, it doesn't let me, call it crazy, but screaming of billions of people kind of pinches my cool...
So many give up the ghost an each day, nobody cares, but what about ones who died inside a long ago, they died out of themselves. It is a suicide. I am not sorry of them. They chose so. I am so sorry of those dragging their nightmare down through the floor believing it is the one going into the hell.
I guess that is the way it stepped out of the slumber, though the floor, with the army of cursed trying to pull it back down. There was no sound, just a supersonic scream only children and dogs can hear.
That's why the dogs howl and children cry hiding away. Because nobody else can hear it, and nobody else believes it.
I just want to ask you. Can you still hear a scream? Or you just rush across that hall not really knowing why and what is so tense about it?
A few days ago I hoped I would make it but now when hope is gone, I really don't care anymore. I regret nothing. People come and go in this place the same, screaming. Everyone is so entitled, perfect lil unicorns, and so awoken. I fucking hate it, to be a crow, hate to point at nauseous facts and observe the tantrums unfold. You call a courage a carnage, I can't fix it for you, you call a cannibal god your savior, how can I take it when you all either suck balls or lack a pair, and you call me a mad one.
At least my madness is beautiful - it is a blond blue eyed petulance, can you run away from it (?), no you can't - and it's not under that purple headed ransom. I'm just it, you can deal with that or not. I know what those demons outside of a club look like. Hit the fucking breaks, it is not over. Yet. And check your six, this is not entirely by B-liar. You shouldn't be reading this.
Like if I could have something with it, they can not escape the genocide. That is the last final aim, that is what I saw. The rest is just like romanticizing the abomination, just like Tzuzaq being bleached white, but he could be anything. It is not his name, I think, I maybe just hope it is not, same like I hope you didn't drink that poison.
He could be just a symbol, of a way I die. Death is always white. Like our friends out there who wrapped their guts in the innocence and think that plastic tits are augmented reality. I have a problem with that. It is no wonder I saw Tzuzaq attempting to terminate my case. And I strive to it, for some reason he is all my inclines merged into one, I just hope that he is not somehow one of my incarnations, or yours. He could be a ghost of what I see. He could be my madness. Is this upsetting?
I don't want to be a broken record, I don't have the perfect last words, I am just a random person on the sidewalk. Some things are worth living, some dying, some are worth everything. Everyone pays the price, no thing is rent free. I done a horrible thing and I am going to pay a terrible price. Etc...
Celestial kingdom, it is in the numbers, how much they spared was not a conscious choice. It is numbers. That's why the name. And how they can remember, if they deleted all of it. It is not a past that has been written by the prophets, it is a future. They plowed though the entirety of our creation, AI included, like the knife through the butter. There is nothing left, beside a bloody clock. They kept that, no idea why. It is not the same one, like the one today in that mountain. They also find the time fallibility ... amusing.
With the same assurance like I was claiming all these things. That how much they are sure about it. And amused.
I knew this will end up like this, with a shitty reason to die for in the first place and inevitable executor. I don't even care to know why. Because there is no consolation-prize in this.
So, I wanted not only to live up to a dare devil, I intended to die a devil. I also don't turn up on the dress and light up on bullshit, that was just for an extra rage kick. This world is beautiful but boring, and I felt alone.
Sounds ungrateful, doesn't it...
Even if these people around me now think my behavior is result of some inner turmoil about own life, they have no idea how badly have I failed and it is not about my life. That is only between me and Go... Aw... Is it?
Even when I have been offered all the secrets of the Universe, I decided to stay ignorant and seek only a view of the sunset above the clouds, because I had a choice, and I am not sorry.
You may think that the knowledge grants salvation, but some secrets are meant never to be revealed. And it is, well... was my salvation. Now I am cursed.
You are better off not knowing anything.
Pay the piper or face the music. No, it is not about you and what we do about this. Really, I can't do shit now. You can find a substitute to everything, but that's all it will ever be. A substitute. Yeah, I am writing this because I am trying to find an escape hatch. Why this thing lasts so long and I am imploding. Doesn't let me live, doesn't let me die.
I guess the higher you fly, the further you fall, so I need to roast some more. The Hell would be more fun...writing this is a pain. Village folk next door think it is so. I don't share their musical congestion. I didn't hear so much moaning not even in porn.
I'm so bad ass, it even creeps my own skin... :)))
And I was just all about that where is that room, around the time they sent me a psychologist to ask me one more time have I had enough ( REALLY!!??), while that was going on, and she was like "we understand how depressive this must be for you", dear, I don't think you have a fucking clue, but ok, also I don't think I had enough.
It is not like if I personally decided to kill myself in one of the most horrifying ways, and no, your meditative bullshit won't fucking fix shit now. I guess, you know, I was feeding a wrong wolf, so he ripped out my liver... dear.
I really didn't know what I was answering, her questions or is this a God making a joke on me.
"Did you have enough..?"
(moaning down the hall)
What a fuck should I answer, is this a witchcraft, am I poisoned, do I know how it happened, no I don't think so, it is a backstabbing betrayal, at best. I don't know how to call it. How will you go down the pipe with that on your mind, claiming it was just an accident of your ego and you really think I deserved it.
I mean they wouldn't send me a psychologist, you know, ask if I made a peace with myself - What about the fucker crying over there!?
I don't know how old he is. I just hear his sounds though the wall. I was observing this new nurse to ask her about him. Nicely.
I know what you are thinking, but let me point at the cold fucking FACT - duck tape and turn off the light because this is the best I can... Now, go and put a bragging right on that, smart ass.
She also asked what religion I was. I said I am a nudist. She looked at me cold, trying to emphasize this tasteless, metallic flavored compassion - so I corrected myself, and I said, I wish I could say "sex enthusiast" so that you know what kind of a last sacrament I want.
Obviously my brain is polluted with chemical garbage, I am not even close to how mad I appear - the best I can is to trip that bed has some weird fringes or it is tilted to one side, this unevenness is destroying me - the world is now a multi-color hallucination, all shapes are 3D fluorescent gibberish and people talk in uni-vocal consonants.
Every time I open my eyes or blink, I feel that I needs to tunnel further on out of this hole where I dropped in, just to reach the breeze of reality. And how real this is?
Either I am inside of some sort of the paralyzing feverish horror, or chuckling on all things when I am not plotting how to Loki-out my way down the hall, with all those insinuating sounds. They didn't give me drugs, but mental Viagra. Psycho is creeping out. Not that I care. I mean, I could have pretended to be an objectionable harpy, but too many things happen in too many wrong ways.
I hope the body is a paramount to material connection, if not the hell I know what crazy ideas should I have when I sprout out of my mortal chains. Jesus...
When I die they will just need to lower a body in a pit, to half of them they will need to pull out a butt plug and scrape them off the prosaic dick they were sucking the whole life... Reality check, man. That pipe is not a security life line, it doesn't cover any damn permeability, sufficient to wipe off your ass.
Don't hold your breath, to whom it concerns, I am going to torch all my dirty laundry the same as I am burning all my money. Humans should be able to live off their own work, not to feast upon carcasses like cockroaches. I hope you choke on this. Put all the other fines under this too, you can knock your eyeballs with them alike, including alimony. I hate all those overvalued equity things.
A man in a wall is getting to me, I don't understand a word but it sounds sad. Is he talking to somebody? I can't hear the words clearly, maybe he is in a room next to that one. I am leaning my head on that wall, I hope he didn't hear me hitting it the day before. Maybe he was drugged solid or sleeping, or room was empty.
I am trying to guess how old is he, what he looks like... Pause. I am fucking dying, give me a break.
I know I sound like a predatory jerk, don't call the police yet, I can't get up.
See the stitches on that bitch, that's how my body parts feel.
Overly attentive personnel planned to put me on home care, their plan fell apart when I went full mad max telling I would rather gut myself like a fucking salmon with cracked bathroom mirror than allow my family observe me being marinated while they are all well capable of dealing with my case in hospital.
No, I wouldn't feel fucking better at home so that you can get me off your balls, ramp up and jack off in the personnel toilet during the night shift, may I mention the exact hour or not...
I don't want that my little girl finds me dead and cold in the morning... I would rather be scrapped off the floor. Mister motherfucker I know where to cut.
Your nurses are paid to fuck with carcasses, my child didn't do anything to deserve it.
I am not just another suffering martyr. I am entitled to your services - unconnected if your jack off on reluctantly interesting circumstances or something else more attentive - as same like any of those over there shedding crocodile tears over own tragedy. And they do not know about you cross breeding with the liquid soap.
Sophomore emo nightmare rolled out, but I think a punch line was when I said that I am glad COVID banned visits. That one was a ball cracker. No, I am not heartless, I just know what I want and I don't pity myself.
And in case you are into some other more terminal things, maybe me and you could forge a deal. You know, like a last resort.
Squeamish details and ablaze of insults following that unfortunate comment aside, I am still in the hospital.
I am Satan, obviously.
He did visited me this morning and asked do I have other disgusting events to retell. I wanted to ask him about a man inside a wall, but I thought he would be jealous.
He suppose to be my doctor, and I not suppose to be his shrink. I asked him how old is he, but he stomped out and pulled the door behind himself not looking back at all.
I think that a fuckery with that man is one of the things that keeps me ticking even when my expiration date has been gruesomely overdue.
I was also thinking a lot about one dentist, he kind of stuck with me. I think that these masks we have been forced to wear even more entice my impulses. The tooth fairy...Uh-huh!
I can't believe what kind of emotionally sick and selfish world I am leaving, I only feel for ones that are like me because none of these hungry greedy dependable turds will understand them.
I hope to shed this wasted husk and slither from this skin into another, I cursed everyone else, should they have ever know by what I cursed myself...
I don't think I will wake up after this, I keep on falling in and churning out my soul from who knows where.
After this, I will delete my machine, and probably just fade away.
There is nobody to excuse me, in a few hours there will be dark and I am alone. Maybe I should ask again to open me a window, which they refuse claiming there is a draft, but nobody is entering this room frequently to make an issue about it.
I think this was what I had to say, what I supposedly had to do, after all I am a writer, the art of the words is the only way I ever knew to fight through this world, the rest of me is just a dust.
My body doesn't belong to me, and the void may take my soul but it will never get my heart. My heart is condemned more than my soul is cursed, so... I don't know. I guess... Goodbye.