The Lords of Evil look down on me from on high. They are staring down at me, glaring down at me. They’re glowering at me, poisoning me with their baneful regard. Nothing can ever be any good ever again and that pleases them. That pleases them mightily – that pleases them like nothing else can. Our despair is their joy and that has always been the way. The sky above is full of their supernatural malice.
The joy is quickly gone and all that remains is soulless drudgery. All that remains is the dreary rigmarole of a meaningless social-adapted existence, a life gone astray, a path that has long since petered out into the crags and gullies of the Badlands. A life – shall we say – that has long since lost its way in the foetid and poisonous marshlands of post-industrial living. The horror that you cannot yet perceive, the nightmare which you have yet to awaken to. We’ve gone wrong but we won’t admit it, we’d do anything rather than admit it. Never admit that the joy is gone, you see. That’s the trick, that’s the ticket. Never admit that your life is a meaningless post-industrial rigmarole. That’s the essential point, wouldn’t you say?
The joy is quickly gone but it was never ours in the first place, you see. Never ours, never ours. We stole it. It was never ours and yet in our surpassing arrogance, we appropriated it – we are the thieves that come in the night, taking what was never ours. We won’t give it back, either; we will do anything rather than give it back. We’ll die first. And if you listen carefully you’ll hear our angry petulant voices screaming out faintly with toxic indignation. We stole it and we won’t give it back. We’ll fight against giving it back to the very last…
We are the thieves who come in the night, scurrying around furtively, greedy for the prize. Our angry voices raised, squabbling amongst ourselves over the pickings. Squabbling viciously amongst ourselves over the spoils. There is no honour amongst thieves – that’s a lie. We don’t know the meaning of the word. And all the while the Lords of Evil look down on us, laughing without the slightest trace of humour, their dreadful faces wreathed with smiles of the purist mendacity.
You embarked upon a love affair with mechanical society, determined to avail of all it can offer you, but it didn’t work out for you. Life reached out to you in your sleep, but you didn’t care – you weren’t interested. Your parents wouldn’t have been approved, in any event. The crows of sorrow come to roost in the trees in your backyard. They will annoy you with their raucous and uncouth cries. They will raise their families there and shit on your lawn. They will keep you awake at night; life reached out again to you but you were looking the other way…
We are the thieves who come in the night, are we not? Let us not forget that. That’s a point that’s worth bearing in mind, I feel. I’m a bit of a choice villain myself, some would say, and I would be the first to admit it. One of the first, at least. I’ll be right up there in the top ten. “Where did you get that?” asks the policeman suspiciously. ‘Does it belong to you?” “I found it officer”, says I, “I just happened to come across it in my travels”. Thankfully he believes me and waves me on. He has other fish to fry and I have survived to rob another day. To rob and to steal. Free to pursue my criminal career in peace..
People always want to know your secret, don’t they? If you look even halfwaycheerful they’ll come up to you and they’ll ask you what your secret is. They’ll demand to know. “Come on buddy”, they’ll say, “spill the goddamn beans, will you.” They won’t rest until they prize your secrets away from you. Then they’ll abandon you. They’ll walk away. Of course, if you look miserable enough then they won’t ever bother you. They’ll never even give you a second look. Why would they, after all? No one wants to know your secret then…
I was on the lookout for an opportunity to achieve. I’m always on the lookout for the opportunity to achieve, and it’s a dark and lonely place to be in, if I were to be honest. It is by no means as glamorous as you might think. “Why does it have to be so very difficult?” I rage impotently – “Why is it always so hard to achieve?” The Dark Gods look down on me and laugh amongst themselves unpleasantly. Well at least they’re having a good time, I think to myself.
