display | more...

Dear Reader,

There is a part of me that wants to apologize to you.

Maybe you've had the experience of truly knowing that your end was coming. Maybe you've felt the sick bulging of cancer just behind your nipple. Maybe you've seen the bright headlights of a speeding truck that found itself in the wrong lane. You've survived all that for nothing. From the moment that your eyes caressed the hard vertical line of that capital "D," your days, hours, minutes have been numbered. A part of me is truly sorry, but I warned you.

It is a sick, cold sort of rage that compels me to put these words in public view. Now that you've read it, your precious little life will become a temple of violation. You will be replaced, piece by tortured piece by a person who looks just like you. They, subtly and overtly, will destroy everything that you love.

The spirit that enlivens these words is older than time. It has waited, carried across the sands of culture to my fingertips. The web of fate shivers as your eyes move. The motion of your mind attracts the spider.

The world makers who sit beneath the illusion of dimension you perceive created this world from their own detritus. They anchor strings to our mayfly backs and watch us skitter blindly across the wall. We each have potential to suffer. We each exist on a spectrum, falling closer or farther from torment. This is the only measure that matters.

All of the beauty that we touch and see, it only sweetens the game of the creators. They have made us as spoiled children, impressing upon us that the universe cares for us. They do this for the joy of our terror as their fingers first touch us with the agony that is now your destiny, as it is mine.

But you did not heed my warning.

Little bits of you have already started to disappear. Depending upon how heavily destiny leans on you, you may not even notice it at first. The cruel intellect, the vicious design of the wheel of life was shared with me through the zoetrope of coincidence. Surely this was not a measure of mercy, but a way to make my suffering more exquisite.

You will feel these things, as I did, and you will question whether the change has already begun.

Little bits of you will disappear. First you might notice that you do not see as well. Maybe you will find your patience lacking or your rage watery. The ones outside of you will not understand, they will not see anything missing. Where once there was the hard bone of conscience, there will be cold mathematics. Where you were once flesh and blood, you will be copper and glass. IF the eternal masters deign to experiment with pity, you may not notice the change at all.

Know that, from this point on, you are a corrupter. When you touch your lover's skin, know that you poison her. When you encourage a friend, when you build your life's work, know that all you are is the potential to violate.

I don't share this with you out of the love of our malign creators, theirs is not to be loved. I do this out of hatred for you. The only part of me that remains is this agonizing rage. You who flap your insect wings through the light, unaware of the torment for which you are destined, I am disgusted by your blind freedom. I do this because misery loves company, how much more so does a misery that is eternal.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.