You know that thing where sometimes you might just start to doubt yourself. You might just find yourself stepping into a deep puddle of self-doubt. But there could be a very good reason for that you see. Did you ever consider that? It might be the case that you don’t exist at all and you only imagine that you do. It could be that you’re just faking it. It’s all fiction in your mind and sometimes that fiction starts to wear just a little bit thin and it’s at moments such as this you find you’re unaccountably doubting yourself. For no good reason at all you’re doubting yourself only there is a reason. Let me paint you a picture. Paint a picture. Paint a picture. Let me paint you a picture. Sorry, I’m going a bit off track here – it’s all swings and roundabouts in this game, do you know that? You ought to know that. What you gain one moment you lose the next. When one door swings open another slams shut in your face. It’s no wonder you doubt yourself! It’s no wonder you get that feeling that things aren’t quite right. It’s no wonder that people get paranoid sometimes. Why wouldn’t they? Why wouldn’t anyone get paranoid? They could be a good reason for that you know. There could be a very good reason. Did you ever consider that? Did you ever worry when you give someone a lift that your car will smell all stale and sweaty? Because of you. Because of the way you are pretending to be real when you’re not. Because you’re fake. That always creates a bit of a bad smell. A bit of an unwholesome pong. People notice something like that – or so you might think. So you might suspect. It might start to prey on your mind. Let me paint you a picture. You’re walking down the street going about your business as usual and all of a sudden you start to doubt yourself. Am I really a person, you might wonder? Or am I only an impostor? And that’s it. That’s all it takes – you’ve got full-blown impostor syndrome! You’re impersonating an unreal person. You’re mimicking someone who isn’t really there and that’s a felony. You could be up in court for that. Pleading your case. Pretending to be a person. Pretending that you really do exist. For a brief while you might even start to believe it. You start to believe your own fiction. It becomes comfortable. You relax. Then doubt sets in and you find out that you’re out on a limb hanging out over a precipice. You walking on thin ice and everyone is looking at you in that way people have when they know something isn’t right. They know something doesn’t smell right. You’re trying to keep on pretending of course, but it’s only a reflex at this stage. Only a reflex. It’s nothing more than a reflex which persists out of pure pointless momentum and nothing more. There’s no reason for the lie you see. It’s a completely pointless lie. It doesn’t serve anyone – there’s no one there for it to serve….
I was thinking about the good times – the good old good times. I was thinking about how good the good times were. How very good they were. How marvellously wonderful they were. ‘How good the good old times were!’ I burst out, overwhelmed by the poignancy of the realisation that I had just had. The tears ran freely down my cheeks.
The happy things made me happy, the sad things made me sad, the interesting things made me interested and the funny things made me laugh. All the things, all the things. ‘The happy things are so good at making me happy!’ I said to myself. So good, so very good. There was a big smile on my face. A big sentimental smile.
The cheerful things always made me cheerful. I like the cheerful things. Do you like the cheerful things? Everyone likes the cheerful things! The cheerful things are so very cheerful. The cheerful things are so good at making us cheerful and glad – how could anyone not like them?
The good old cheerful things, the good old cheerful things. They’re just so cheerful. I don’t know how else to describe them. Sitting here as I am in my favourite chair I am overwhelmed by the profundity of my own thoughts. I am impressed by how true they are. I’m impressed by how very true they are. How very true.
‘My own thoughts are just so profound!’ I declared – ‘I ought to be a philosopher by rights!’ I contemplated taking up the life of a philosopher, roaming around as I pleased and benefiting the world with my wisdom. But then a loud chirping or chirruping sounds set up in my head, a sound just like a field full of crickets on a hot summer’s day, only louder. Much, much louder. My knees grew weak in an instant – I recognised that noise. I knew it for what it was. I knew the creatures that made it…
The crickets were practically screaming my head, only they weren’t crickets – that was the thing. They just sounded like them. In my mind’s eye they looked like them too – thousand upon thousand of big fat healthy brown crickets chirruping away in the hot summer sun. Singing their hearts out. The noise was deafening and I knew that was because they were feeding. They were feeding away. They were feeding away for all they were worth on my life energy. They were sucking it all up for themselves.
No wonder they were so fat and healthy and glossy-looking. No wonder they were singing so loudly – they were feasting and they love to feast. They don’t just love to feast, they live to feast and that’s just what they were doing right now! They had struck gold; they had found a rich vein and were mining it for all they were worth!
They were miners I realised and they had struck gold. They had struck the mother lode. They were miners and there were mining me. They were the green-flies of the soul. They were the horde of hungry aphids and I was the wilting rose!
Then the ear-splitting racket abruptly ceased and instead a terrible wind arose, a wind that blew my thoughts in all directions. It was the entropy wind – ‘You know what they say you know what they say you know what they say you know what they say you know what they say you know what they say you know what they say you know what they say you know what they say you know what they say you know what they say’ said the entropy wind. It whispered and howled and blew through every corner of me.
This was the wind of dissolution. This was the hot dry desert wind and it was blowing night and day. It never stopped blowing. It blew all before it. My own thoughts had become meaningless to me, like so much rubbish, like so much trash. My own thoughts had become meaningless to me and the desert wind was blowing them this way and that. My thoughts were being scattered to the four corners of the world like so many dead leaves…
Sometimes it occurs to me that I want to talk about my experiences and open up about them and blog about them and all that sort of thing and at other times I think that I must be mad to be even considering this. I recoil in horror from the idea. None of these thoughts are mine however. None of the thoughts I have belong to me any more – they happen all by themselves, they have nothing to do with me. They aren’t my thoughts and this is me talking – it’s all just my mind running off automatically.
My mind is basically a ghost. It’s the ghost of who I used to be, the ghostly summmation of all the experiences I thought that I’d had back when I was, or seemed to be, who I thought I was. Things used to be so simple back then – so very simple and yet at the same time so fantastically absurd. It was an entirely invisible form of absurdity however – invisible to me at any rate! Completely invisible to me. Looking back on those days, which admittedly seem rather unreal to me now even at the best of times, the one thing that I can remember is that I took it all very seriously. I took my life as I understood it very seriously. Why wouldn’t I, I suppose? Why wouldn’t I…
There is an anomaly here that I can’t come to terms with, however. I won’t say that I ‘wrestle with it daily’ (because that would itself be rather an absurd not to mention pretentious thing to say) but it is something that I keep coming up against. Who was this person who took their life so very seriously, and what was this ‘life’ that they were so very fixated upon? Given the fact – that is – that the person in question didn’t really exist (and therefore wasn’t me), and given the fact that the supposed life they were living didn’t really have anything to do with anyone (and certainly not me). What was it all about, I ask myself? I can see that all of this talk would probably be intensely irritating to most people, and would be seen as nothing more than a self-indulgent waste of time, but this is nevertheless the point that I keep coming back to. There’s an image in my head – the image of a tight knot of energy spinning in space. I can see a cluster of tightly-knit field lines constituting some kind of force-field within which was trapped this idea of a person and this idea of a life that that person was having. And yet at the same time this ‘force-field’ of which I speak was responsible for creating that idea of a person, creating that illusion of a personalised life.
I’m perfectly aware that this type of convoluted discussion is going to be highly irritating for most people… …no, wait – I already said that. So anyway my initial impulse was to go public and talk openly and freely about my experiences and I do sincerely believe this to be the most helpful thing anyone could do, but then almost immediately after coming to this decision I felt myself swinging around to the opposite point of view. But – as I have said – none of this was me, it was only my mind trying to stick its oar in the same way it always does. The ghost of my mind is trying to reassert itself, trying to re-establish itself. Trying to reintroduce itself into the picture. It’s too late for that though – things have changed in some fundamental way and they can’t change back.
It occurs to me not for the first time (but as if it were the first time) that what I’m talking about is the Literal World and the process of escaping from the Literal World. The Literal World is a horror we have no appreciation of, generally speaking. We have ZERO appreciation of that horror, curiously enough… It’s a very frightening thing, only we’re not frightened of it! We’re not frightened at all… There are so many false escapes from the Literal World aren’t there? So many false escapes, so many false escapes. Every time we think that we have escaped then that’s a false escape. Every time we have a narrative about ourselves escaping then that’s a false escape. The Literal World is such a Vile Hideous Thing, isn’t it? So very vile, so very hideous. It’s the most loathsome thing I know! I feel shame about all the time I’ve spent there – so much shame, so much shame. What was I doing there, I wonder? Just what the hell was I thinking? That’s just my little joke, of course. Just my little joke…
I was barking like a sea lion. Barking and barking and barking. I was barking like a sea lion in the dreamscape of my own imagination. Only it wasn’t a dreamscape, it was reality. It was all too real, all too real. I ran along the landing, my breath coming in ragged bursts, barking as I went. I wasn’t barking really I was coughing – that’s what it sounds like when I cough. It sounds like a sea lion barking.
I had to get away in a hurry. I tore down the stairwell, taking the concrete’s steps two at a time. I only knew one thing and that was that I had to get out of there. The Hero Force was strong within me. Only it wasn’t – I only knew one thing and that was running. Running was my middle name. The Hero Force was in reverse; it wasn’t Hero Force any more. I’m sure you know what kind of force it was. Not the heroic type anyway, definitely not the heroic type. We lose everything when we run – did you ever realize that? There’s nothing left of us when we run; it’s very important for us to understand that. It’s very important for us to understand that everything’s already been lost. If only we could understand this. What are we running for then? Do you see what I’m saying? It’s already lost but we don’t know it. It’s already been lost but we keep on trying to hang onto it. We’re trying to preserve something but what we are trying to preserve is no longer there.
The Hero Force comes and it goes. That’s what I have eventually come to understand. There is a season for all things; that’s what I have come to understand. So now I bide my time – I spend the days waiting. You would walk right by me without noticing. You would walk right by me without giving me a second glance. You’d never pick me out from the crowd. I bide my time. I wait. Day by day the evil grows – it seems so strong to me that I can smell it. I can sense it at work all around me. Evil has grown confident, sure of its mastery over this poor world of ours. There’s no one there to oppose it.
The moment was fast approaching. In some way that I could not explain I knew this. I knew that some extraordinary event was about to unfold, one way or the other. I felt it in my very bones. The physical world is only the icing on the cake, after all – it’s important to realise that. It’s important not to get carried away with all that icing. It will only rot your teeth, after all. It will give you diabetes. Those that have ears to hear let them hear, isn’t that what Jesus said? Those that have eyes to see let them see. There is none with ears here however. There is none with eyes. Am I perhaps the one-eyed man you might ask? I fear that that would be overstating the matter somewhat. That would be overstating things. I have a single rudimentary light-sensitive cell on my forehead capable only of discerning light from dark. At times I can see the light; at other times I am aware of the shadow falling upon me. I grow cold in that shadow – my very life starts to leave my body.
I had taken the Hero Dose, and my mind was full of chaos. Too much chaos for one man. One could lose oneself forever in all this chaos. Multicoloured motes of light float before my eyes. They must be floaters, I tell myself. They must be floaters. Strange hieroglyphics unravel in my head, but my attention is too thinly stretched for me to understand anything of them. The information is too much for my poor capacity. My attention is stretched very thinly indeed and I am barely able to make sense of anything anymore. I move my hand in front of my face and I have a million hands. I walk and my legs are like a millipede’s legs. I turn my head and there are thousand million worlds all around me. Barking like a sea lion I make my way on unsteady legs down the concrete stairwell. The smell of stale urine hangs in the air. My fate awaits me, and I am in dread of it.
So I became the Vile Creator, the most Loathely and Abhorrent Creator, and what I crafted I crafted out of the Undying Purity of the Malice that I feel towards all things. I tell the story now as I have told it a million times before and as I tell it I laugh. I laugh as I tell it because I’m still as full of malice as I ever was. Still as full. When I fashioned people I made a cruel lopsided gash for the mouth and then two bleak notches for their eyes and that was it. I let them off then, cruelly unfinished as they were. I let them off then to do as they please to do what came naturally to them only it wasn’t naturally really and I’m the first to admit it. It wasn’t natural at all! The Evil Empires that man has created beggars all description – what horrors has man not committed in the name of the lies that he holds so dear? Those dirty, filthy abysmal lies that he clutches so close to his breast. Those obnoxious pestilential lies. And if the powerful are cruel and deficient in spirit and abuse their privileges at every opportunity then the weak and the powerless are just as bad turning on each other at the drop of a hat. Just watch them turn, just watch them turn! Filthy conformity rules in this my empire no one truly believes what they say not even a word of it no one believes what they publicly hold to be true and yet no one will ever admit it. Not in a million years will they admit it. Men and women will turn like a pack of wild dogs on anyone who dares to speak even a word of truth. No crime can be greater in this craven hellhole of corruption and deceit than saying what you actually think no action is considered more shockingly scandalous and reprehensible than the action of uttering a true word. Just watch them turn on you, just watch them turn! No contempt is greater than the contempt that is held for one who actually speaks his heart and this is the way things are in this my world which is the kingdom of lies and Corruption. Demons are given the place of honour to sit on thrones of glory while good men and women are driven from the city with hoots of derision and howls of bottomless malice. It’s just another day my friend just another day in this my Kingdom just another day in this The Empire of Lies of which I am Father. Of which I am the Father. Of which I am the Father. It’s just another day the same as any other. Just another day. You set the alarm clock and crawl into bed and then the next day you’ll do the very same thing all over again and you’ll keep on doing it. Don’t tell me that you won’t. You’ll keep on doing it until one day your strength will fail you and you won’t be able to do it any more. It’s just another day, it’s just another day just another day in this my Kingdom this world of my construction where unfinished men and women hop and skip and devour each other daily in my name
Did you ever consider the fact that to exist in this world at all is to lie? One way or another we’re all caught up in a lie – the only question being how much we choose to embellish it.
To exist is to be complicit in a lie and there’s no other way to put this. Most of us – and I doubt if anyone with any actual intelligence is going to contradict me in this – go down the road of ‘compounding this Original Error’. We deny that the original lie is a lie and we go out of our way to prove otherwise. We will move heaven and earth to prove otherwise! We will spend our entire lives trying to ‘prove otherwise’…
Who in all honesty can deny that this is true – that we spend our entire lives tying ourselves up in ever-more convoluted knots trying to prove that ‘the lie isn’t a lie’? That’s a joke by the way. That’s just my little joke. Just my little joke. Why would anyone ever come out with that phrase ‘in all honesty’? The best we can never for hope for is to somehow limit our lie so it doesn’t run away with us too much, so it doesn’t get too dangerously out of hand. And even that sounds rather doubtful to me now that I come to think of it! It sounds very doubtful indeed. Do we really have the power to stop the lie running away with itself? Do we really have the power to stop the lie multiplying itself exponentially and running amok in the world?
This always brings me back to the question of Satan. The question we are always asking ourselves is of course ‘Who is Satan and what is His Purpose?’ Who is Satan? And what is His Plan for us? This is the question that is always on our lips for sure but I doubt very much if we will ever get any closer to finding out the answer! We are far too deluded for that – we are far too deluded to ever find our way out of the thicket that we are lost in.
Some things are just too obvious. Some things are just too obvious to see. Every time we say what something IS then that is Satan’s lie. Every time we say what something IS then we are doing Satan’s will. Satan’s Plan is for us to be forever trapped in our own constructs, our own pestilential ideas…
Do we ever stop doing Satan’s will? That’s what I wonder. Do we ever take a break? Do we ever take a break from fulfilling Satan’s Purpose? We are always in such a terrible hurry to say what everything IS. We are in a perpetualhurry…
‘What’s it like to be in a Perpetual Hurry To Do Satan’s Will’, you might ask me? Full of innocent curiosity as you are. ‘What’s it like to be in that most unfortunate situation?’ ‘Well, you ought to know’, I always reply to this question. ‘That’s your situation exactly that we talking about here, after all! Who should know better than you?’
Two exist is to be complicit in a lie, and we are all expert liars. We are all extraordinarily gifted in the Art of Lying. We’ll deny it for all we’re worth of course. But then again – what else would you expect?
I’m on a roll!’ I said. I’m on a roll. I’m on a roll. It felt great, it felt exhilarating – everything was going my way! I hate when people say this, don’t you? As if I should care that everything is going your way? What possible good is that to me? That’s just rubbing my face in it. Do you perhaps want me to clap and cheer? Is that it? I’m full of darkness… Did you ever feel that your head was a great big rotten sponge? That it was corrupt to the very core? That it was corruption itself? Or did you ever feel that your head was like some vast sprawling haunted house, full of spooky rooms that no one has been in for a long, long time? Do you ever feel that? ‘I’m on a roll,’ I said to myself delightedly. ‘Everything is A1, everything is working out just great!’ I rubbed my hands together delightedly (metaphorically speaking that is) and congratulated myself on my fantastic good luck. Even as I did so however I could feel the black tide of despair and self-loathing bubbling up inexorably within me, contaminating everything it touched. We have these words don’t we? Words like ‘despair’, words like ‘self-loathing’. They’re so pathetically inadequate though, aren’t they? They’re no good for anything other than polite dinner table conversation. That’s all words are good for. They are vile little insincerities that we throw at each other. Not for the first time, it occurs to me that words are no good for anything but grotesquely empty-headed superficial banter. How do you really communicate anything of any genuine importance? The word ‘communicate’ as a joke as far as I’m concerned. It’s the biggest joke going. Do people ever really communicate? Is there really such a thing as communication’? ‘Everything is perfect, everything is working out just fine’. I told myself automatically as I watched the world go black all around me. ‘Everything’s great, everything’s marvellous,’ I said. ‘I’m not really evil,’ I added, after a moment’s sombre reflection… Sometimes it’s hard to stop the habit of self-affirmation, isn’t it? I sometimes wonder if people really are interesting or if that isn’t just some sort of veneer that they put on, like their clothes, like their make-up, like their social airs and graces. It’s so very easy to be fooled. It’s so very easy for us to fool ourselves, particularly when we want so badly to be fooled… I look around at all the people around me drinking tea, drinking coffee, talking and gesticulating with such animation, and I wonder if it’s not all just an act. I can’t help thinking that. It’s at times like this that I have a very strong feeling that there’s nothing at all behind it. That’s it’s all just a dreadfully grotesque façade that none of us have the courage to question. Am I wrong to be so cynical? Is there really such a thing as ‘communication’? Are people really interesting or is it just a sham?