ForEverAfter
Ex-Bluelighter
Outside, the Crawling Clocks.
Inside, a Mysterious Goose.
Inside, a Mysterious Goose.
All the good in me, long gone.
Every night, I lay down to die in my sleep.
And every morning, I wake disappointed.
I spend my life, anticipating its cessation.
Feels like I’ve been waiting forever, already.
Thirty years can be a lifetime, if you don’t want it to be.
Time tends to crawl, when you’re watching the clocks.
I keep myself sheltered.
A safe distance from happy endings.
Incarcerated for crimes I cannot recall.
I am a self-made prisoner, deemed incapable of rehabilitation.
Emotionally hybernating.
I sweat and eat, I piss and shit.
Excreting the months and leaking the years.
Nobody told me, as a baby, that I’d fail.
Now, it’s one of the only things I know.
The inevitability of an impending defeat.
I haven’t evolved, during my hermitage.
Because all roads must come to an end.
And, you can’t run for ever.
So I don’t bother.
I neglected my conscience until it died.
Indulging sin and manipulating morality.
Reconstructing God as I saw fit, to justify misdeeds.
Lying to myself, until I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
I departed long ago from everything once familiar.
This godless tangent my life has taken: it is empty.
I didn’t become someone else, I became nobody.
Regret is pointless.
I was a failed experiment, abandoned by my creator.
My soul, disfigured beyond repair.
My empty life, a prelude to nothing.
Fate having delivered me here.
Far from the embrace of God.
And, a safe distance away from myself.
Jealousy doesn’t exist, after embracing defeat.
The faithful and the righteous, are also utterly oblivious.
And, if ignorance is bliss, as they say, then the truth is a threat.
You can either be happy or enlightened, but they do not overlap.
I don’t envy happy people.
Happiness is an illusion.
I envy peopl e who were never born.
What has been done cannot be undone.
Our capacity for change is limited by linearity, among other factors.
Memories can be repressed, for example, but they cannot deleted.
The truth, unfortunately, does not have a return policy.
If you opt for the pursuit of knowledge, you have two options.
Either accept the truth, no matter how disturbing it may be.
Or go utterly mad trying to deny it.
I don’t encourage happy people to dig too deep, despite being alone down here.
Infecting others with the truth, so they can be with me, will achieve nothing.
Joy can’t exist out here anyway, and misery makes poor company.
Pursuing happiness is a wild goose chase, but it’s better than nothing.
If you tell everyone that there’s nothing at the end, they won’t bother.
It is their faith, in the existence of the goose, that motivates their journey.
Doesn’t matter what we believe in, specifically, as long as we have faith.
The truth is, potentially, a very dangerous thing.
God warned Eve to avoid the tree of knowledge for a good reason.
Intelligence threatens our functionality both as individuals and as a species.
As we become increasingly industrious and technologically advanced, the planet withers.
Great minds, throughout history, have sacrificed their lives for the betterment of mankind.
But their contributions to society don’t bring more joy to the happy people of the world.
Technology has flooded the world with distractions for idolators and temptations for sinners.
The modern world is a product of sacrifice and misery.
Millenias ago, when the Eden story was first told, we knew we needed limitations.
The goose works in mysterious ways, after all, and it is not our place to know why.
Life is less complicated if you limit your knowledge, to what you need-to-know only.
Predators – for example – don’t sympathize with prey, because it serves no function.
Similarly, I don’t need to know every time there’s a natural disaster or a terrorist attack.
Nor do I need to know that the meat industry tortures animals, that are capable of feeling pain.
I don’t want to hear about it every time a child is raped, either.
My head is crammed full of unwanted facts and violent images.
In high-school and in university, people envied my intellect.
Sometimes I think about what life is like for the idiots.
How great it must be, to know so very little.
All the imbeciles, they are God’s children.
This joyless tangent world, it is hell.
And I am working for Satan.
Dogs are quite happy, chasing their tails.
Realizing that it’s actually part of them, would ruin it.
And then they’d have one less activity to alleviate boredom.
People chase tails, too, in all sorts of ways, though it’s commonly refered to as killing time.
My time – unfortunately – cannot die, because I chose to know rather than to believe.
Magic shows are only entertaining if you can don’t know how the trick works.
And, I had a good long peek behind the curtain.
All the good in me, if there ever was any, is gone.
I lay down to die and wake disappointed.
I exist, so one day I can cease to exist.
Feels like forever, already.
Like a thousand lifetimes, all sewn together.
Time slows to a crawl, when you’re watching the clock.
That’s why Satan invented them, to torture the damned.
I sank, deeper and deeper, into my misty swamp of depression.
Lacking the motivation to embrace life or commit suicide, I turned to drugs.
Consuming large enough quantities to, hopefully, rattle something loose in my head.
I figured, if I became a permanently psychotic, I might be able to believe in something again.
Or, alternatively, if I accumulate enough cell death and brain-damage, then I might forget.
I didn’t think I could get any more miserable than I was when I was sober.
But, I was wrong.
Psychological problems and recreational drugs do not compliment each other.
Habits contribute towards mental illness, in the long run, rather than providing relief.
My little remaining motivation to look after myself vanished, imediately after becoming a junky.
I started urinating in bottles, or out open windows, rather than having to walk to the bathroom.
My appetite, which was dwindling before I became an addict, totally disappeared.
When I felt physically sick, and only then, would I force myself to eat something.
Typically something raw and uncooked, so I didn’t have to prepare anything.
Masturbation increased in frequency, until it occupied most of the day.
Getting high and masturbating, that was my entire waking life for over a year.
My dick got really sore from chaffing, because I’d hardly ever be bothered using lube.
The head, and shaft, started bleeding over a hundred times.
I developed erectile problems, from playing with it too much.
After cumming six or seven times in a day, I’d struggled to stay hard.
I’d always get there in the end, though.
Chronic masturbation and recreational drug use do not compliment each other.
That post-ejaculatory state, when your hormones return to normal, is not a happy moment.
Especially when you’re in a filthy house, surrounded by bottles of urine and used syringes.
I never used tissues to clean up, either, so my carpet resembled a Jackson Pollock painting.
The air was thick with the musty smell of dried up semen, mixed with wet mouldy cigarettes.
Every time I cum, my depression hits rock bottom, so – naturally – I start jerking off again.
I’m plagued with shame constantly for my perversions, which adds to my depression.
God delivered you to me, in my time of need.
But I couldn’t allow you to get close, for your own safety.
It couldn’t do any harm to think about you though, I decided.
But I became overwhelmed with guilt, just fantasizing about us.
It was a slippery slope – I knew that – sexualizing you in my mind.
I became increasingly obsessed with the fantasy.
And, in turn, increasingly guilty.
A moment of drunken weakness is all it would’ve required for me to slip up.
And even if the guilt was unbearable, I wouldn’t be able to resist.
It’d be easier to justify, the second time around.
Then, before you know it, we’d move in together.
And I’d have to watch as your spark slowly faded.
Continuing, day in, day out, to fuck the joy out of you.
Until there’s nothing left to feed on.
You’d become an addict, too, and we’d watch clocks crawl together.
Both of us, severely depressed, munching on unbuttered bread slices.
Fucking all day, joylessly, mechanically, grinding against each other.
Lacking the motivation to do anything but get high and have sex.
Both of us, miserable and perverted, waiting for the end.
This was Satan’s plan all along, for me to convert the joyous.
Spreading my curse, like a sexually transmitted disease.
Somehow, you still ended up on my couch.
Catching me off guard with a magical kiss.
First I felt it, radiating around us.
Something I thought I’d lost forever.
Then, when we opened our eyes, I could see it everywhere.
I wasn’t stuck outside of my life, in an evil tangent universe.
Tears of joy were gently rolling down my cheeks.
Something occurred to me.
I’ve always been one of God’s children.
All living things are part of the same big family.
Nobody was left outside to fend for themselves.
And the truth, as I’d interpreted it, was completely wrong.
Doesn’t matter, though, because I don’t need to know.
From now on, I’m just going to have faith.
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