Chapter Six: Journal of the Gods (Submission Mix)
“Pinch this tiny heart of mine
Wrap it up in soiled twine
You never read what you’ve written
I’ll be your lover, I’ll be forever
I’ll be tomorrow, I am anything when I’m high…”
Marilyn Manson . Dried up, Tied and Dead to the World
The night is dark, but the shadows are darker. Shadows in the heart. Shadows of intention. Shadows of man. Shadows of God. I’ve seen them all, and none of them make any sense to me. There’s no way around it, is there? What I have to do. It’s so incredibly simple. So dastardly simple. The church was a joke, but it needs to be done. We need the signatures. I’ve seen the Right’s intentions for our world – Bush Version Two point Oh. There’s no option. To remove the problem at hand, we need to remove their structure. Their censorship, their lies, their condemnation of everything that is fun and right with the world. They allow us to drink endless amounts of booze, which is so chemically altered it’s obscene, but mushrooms or opium or pot is illegal – something that grows naturally on the earth, with the minimal amount of tampering to get a buzz. It’s bullshit. Literally, but that’s a wholly different story altogether. They want to control our minds and our souls. They want us to live in fear of something that’ll never exist. Something that’ll send us to a place of fire, pain and brimstone, but will still love us.
I’ve seen the lies in the truth of divinity.
The world is falling apart and I can see it.
I’ve seen the truth in the lies of divinity.
The world is falling apart and I can help it.
Sometimes I just have to wonder if I’m absolutely fucking losing it. I see and hear things that aren’t there, I feel things that don’t exist. Maybe it’s the excessive drug use, maybe I’m doing too much. Maybe. Who knows? Is there really a limit? Agh! To hell with it, why worry? Makes no sense. What’s done is done, and cannot be undone. But, c’mon… there has to be a limit to what your body can handle. Christ, Josh ~ shut the fuck up.
So yeah… anyways… uhm… David and Kathryn are doing well. I knew they would. She’s a good kid, and she’s getting well into the swing of things. Hell, we get along great. She’s read and found things I’ve only heard about. She’s just a good kid, what more can I say? Exactly, nada. And on an irrelevant side note, me and Beth are doing well. We’re both having more fun, now that everyone around us is content. Tehe. So to speak, anyways. Bruce and Jami are happy, Dave and Kat are good, and that makes us happy. Hell, one of us had a hand in each of the relationships, so to see them into fruition is good. Hey, I’ve said weirder shit in my time.
But whatever, this process called writing is getting so tiring. So annoying. So boring. So dated. Let us speak in colours, and give words a rest. They’ve been used for far too long, they’re getting tired. They’re getting worn out. There’s nothing we can do to save them, only give them a break from such extraneous work. Day in and day out, all we use are words to communicate thoughts and ideas. That isn’t right, that’s so presumptuous of us. Let us find other ways to communicate. Let us open our minds, broaden our scope and speak without tongues or written script. Hell, maybe words aren’t even the best devices for communication, maybe we should find an alternative, something that is more fluid, more concrete, something definitive. Maybe we should speak in colours, using blends and shadows and every other aspects to get our point across without misinterpretation. Maybe. Who knows. I don’t. That’s for sure. I can’t think of any bright ideas. I can’t think of a way to communicate to anyone what I want to say here. Let me use a spackle of blue, mixed with a little green and just a smidge of black. Could that do it? Could that help you understand? If you knew the scheme, I bet it would.
Or here’s a thought on words, maybe they’re not even what we’re supposed to be using to communicate. Maybe letters are the wrong route, too definite. Numbers are infinite, and wonderful. So, maybe we should be talking in numbers. They go on for eternity, and everything could be assigned a number, and yeah. No. that wouldn’t work, I don’t think. Our conscious associates numbers too closely with statistics or placement. Too much jealously and petty nonsense would ensue. So colours, that’s the only way to go, I think. Yes. The only way.
“Lay back and let me show you another way…”
…So, let’s question reality for a second… If only tangibility is reality, then does that make everyone online, people you solely talk to online imaginary? If you can't touch and feel and all that, does that negate their reality and then put them into a category of pseudo-imaginary? Or does it really matter? Are we real in the first place, or are we the thoughts of some omniscient being, some creature, and we're just here, until the thought is forgotten. Then the thought is dispersed and separated, fragments floating around looking for new fragments to create a new thought, to create a new person. But if the lives of the dispersed thoughts are left in tact, in the memory. Or at least the fragment of knowledge that is assigned to that fragment of thought, could that explain protégé’s? the thought is retained to know how to play a guitar, a twelve year old thought picks up a guitar, having never touched one before, and can automatically play like a god. It happens… So, could that be an explanation? Past-life experience imposing itself onto current-life patrons…
When we were born, we were born without any ideas. There were no thoughts, other than 'Hey! You motherfucker! That was fucking comfy! Why'd you fucking pull me out of there!" or maybe... "Hey! Thanks, I'm fucking scared of tight, constrictive spaces, and that rod poking me in the head fucking SUCKED! I've had a migraine for nine fucking months! Where is he? I want to bitch slap 'im!" one of those two things, are all that we could have thought, and then begins the conditioning.
We are taught to be scared of cigarettes, but to drink endless amounts of alcohol. To be scared of words, (natural) nudity, sex, and anything that we do not comprehend, but violence and hatred of another colour is perfectly acceptable. We are taught to fear an invisible figure that'll send us to a fiery place full of pain, but he still loves us. we are forced to swallow that everything is interpreted the same, that nothing can be argued, that everything the teachers, clergymen, and politics say are undeniable facts, and that if we question anything that is "set in stone" we are going to go to that fiery place full of pain, where our invisible father-figure will still love us. We are led by noses, we are drug through the lies, and we are force-fed endless amounts of bullshit. Because nothing is open for debate or discussion. It is a closed case, and what the powers-that-be say, goes.
The sick part is; most of the population does just that. They bend over, pull down their pants, and are willingly fucked in a very uncomfortable place. (Like the back of a Volkswagen? No…) They question nothing, not even if eating tons and tons of fast food is okay, as long as it fits with their Atkins diet. Which, guess what? No carbs is a bad thing. Low carbs is fine, but none could do some irreparable damage.
Fact of the matter, boys and girls… If something doesn't set right with you, question it. Do your own research. Even if the question is, "Is what we understand to be the colour blue, actually the colour One? Is our understanding of numbers and letters totally fucked? Or maybe, blue is actually pink, and black is orange and green isn't even a colour, it's a letter?" go ahead. Question anything that steps in your way. Someone wants to start shit, being all rowdy at a party or something, just go up to them and ask why. Tell them not to answer right away, but to give it some thought. And y'know what you'll see? A grown-man break down sobbing.
But, if you don't get an answer to your questions, realize this… nothing is set in stone. It is all left for interpretation.
Okay, I’m done now. I think Beth is watching K-Pax out in the living room. Off I go, to conquer new lands.
“Excuse me, I have a beam of light to catch.”