thats the thing about waging metaphysical war against impossible odds. either everyone figures you are kidding, or everyone thinks you are putting on a front. i guess the occasional earnest jerk-off thinks you are insane, but what the fuck is that about? are people insane in the 21st century? thats so lame & non-futuristic, i'm just going to have to assume its the case that the double-oughts herald the age of "nobody is insane anymore." thats a good plan. anyhow, yeah. even when you feel like maybe god is giving a couple of inches? how are you supposed to tell anybody about that? how do you explain that maybe you kicked a whole lot of dweller on the threshold ass? oh well i'll tell you about my dweller on the thresher? i.e. i am imagining putting you into a wood chipper. you fucking fuck. i am worse than you can imagine but not in predicable ways. i move in fucking mysterious ways, asshole! man i will fucking kill you. i have the dreams all the time. you confront me at the gate to the tomb with one half of the key, saying we need to work together. i shoot you, shoot all your friends, & then shoot all my friends. fuck, i shoot everybody.
of course, god-damn. i pour my god-damn entire brain into this thing & the browser crashed. none of that fucking top secret shit can be allowed to hit the streets, can it? fucking conspiracy in the heavens. i talk about a creator sometimes. it is an abstraction i've grown comfortable with. its hate i can keep track of easily. but i don't mean it for that much. for what its worth. i'm not an anti-hume sucker for cause & effect. hell on wheels, baby, i got a thousand tons of every-day hate for things stored up, but you think i want to spend it all on the future? trust me, the future will take care of itself. to paraphrase a great man named james jones- "i've got crowns, i've got compasses, i've got dynamite, i'll fight." i'll fickle-fight all your champions. i'll leave not even a smell of brimstone will be left behind. fuck i'm so lonely. why was it ruined? i didn't fall so much as crumple, like a kleenex tossed aside. no matter. i bring suffering & oblivion. i will fight my war even if the only victory is pyhric. mutal anihilation is totally worth it.
the whole gang stepped into the circle of standing stones, fruit-loop flicking a butterfly knife open & closed like old man bob marley rattling his chains. that crazy old fucker mortimer had put in the ground back in birmingham had said this pile of rocks was a gate way to the 5th circle of hell, had said the faerie used it to pay their tithe every seven years. rubbing his hands together against the cold, fruit-loop wheeled on mortimer: "fucking circles of stone are bullshit, mortimer, & you fucking know it. there's enough of 'em littering the landscape you might as well just call 'em mcstonehenge & be done with it. they're about as magical as the god-damn loch ness monster. we're chasing our tails when we should be back in ohio trying to get ahold of the jacob's ladder project an' you know it."