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The Borderline

I once was alive. It’s been years now since I died, but I can almost remember being alive once.

Maybe I’m wrong and I was always dead.

I wish I could cease completely, but I am being held hostage. A captive. A scribe for an unreasonable invisible sky daddy kind of entity that is upset that His book is unreadable. Did it start that way or was it all lost in translation? I suppose I’ll never know. I’ve begged him to end me because he once told me that the entire universe would cease to exist if I die prematurely.

Now, I don’t really care.

What am I saving, anyway? What is there to save? What is so special about humanity that it must be preserved? The answer is that it’s not about humanity. It’s about the animals we shafted out of their homes, continuously planting grass, a weed of yester-millennia, instead of allowing them to have a natural habitat to live in. We refuse to stay compact, spreading out the best we can, driving all the wild things to their last resort.

We are the ones who deserve to be dead, not the carrion, the rodents, the predators and prey. Human beings. You know why? Because we pretend we’re more than animals, playing pretend to have morals and the like, all while we mass poison ourselves and the environment. We are only animals, that much is clear to me. We eat, sleep, fuck, and if we’re not too lazy, work to live. If we’re (un?)fortunate enough to be on disability for life, we don’t even do that. It’s not really living, but remember, it’s a sin to suicide!

It’s a SIN!

We don’t believe in sins. Not anymore. We don’t even really believe in right vs. wrong. It’s law vs. lawyer. You can buy your freedom if you’re rich enough, no matter what you’ve done wrong. Like killing small children on a yacht in the middle of the ocean so that you can get away with it. [It happens, I assure you. Be very suspicious of those who own yachts and travel to other countries.]

We believe in corruption. It’s the only thing we can see. In America, in Japan, in Korea. It doesn’t really matter where you live. It’s all been bought out by some asshole who cares more about greenbacks than he does about the masses. You are merely one sheep in a herd of spending potential. Buy, buy, buy! SELL YOUR SOUL FOR MY PEDDLED WARES.

I’m seriously getting tired of my shoulder being dislocated, y’all. It’s making me cranky. It’s only day 12 of this same ol’, same ol’, and I feel like murder. Except murder isn’t the real word. Retribution, perhaps.

I begged God to kill all human beings ever. In fact, I was talking to everything in the ether, trying to convince them that we deserve to have an extinction. Not an extinction event — we survived the last one, sadly. A serious extermination. Where are the Daleks when I need them most? The Cybermen? Hell, what about the predator or the Alien aliens? I’ll take whatever you’ve got, God. Let’s order, say, twelve billion of them. That ought to do the job.

Laugh. Sure. I already summoned whatever life exists beyond Earth to Earth. I’m being told it should be spelled Urth, by the way, and that was very confusing for a spell. Our planet’s name is actually Gaia, but we like to ignore that she told us that a million years ago (metaphorically speaking, anyway.)

Here’s your latest message from God:

We’re very disappointed in all of you. You could do way better. Leaps and bounds better. I still like you, India. You’re exceptionally spiritual and have never let Hinduism die out and I’m proud of that. Thank you for believing in the message and doing your best to circumvent it.

We would like to point out that you’ve all heard the same message, whether you are black, white, red, brown, or green. Yeah, that’s right. I said GREEN.

Get over it. We did. Ages ago.

You’re all spoiled by instant gratification and convenience. ALL of you. Even India. It’s really fucking annoying, to say the least, when you need to do the opposite to stay healthy.

But, what do we know? God asks, stealing a play out of Crystal’s playbook. We’re just widdle.

Back to you, kiddo. Continue… wherever it is you wanted to go is fine.

Into a coffin sounds great.

I see. I don’t think she wants to talk to you anymore, dear Internet People. Goodbye.

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