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The Voices

No matter what I do, I am accompanied by a peanut gallery. Today, I put Manic Panic! purple in my hair. Electric Amethyst. Voices talking about how I’m vain floated through my head, voices about how I’m wasteful. Voices nay saying everything I was doing. This happens most of the time, no matter what I do.

I thought it was schizophrenia for a while, but schizophrenia does not cease just because one’s head is being banged against the wall in an attempt to self-harm simply because they never stop.

They do stop, then.

This tells me that I’m not simply insane. Something that responds to immense anguish is to blame. Or many somethings, perhaps.

I’ve had one hell of a lifetime since my reboot, I must say… thinking about it all. I remember near the beginning, I was fooled into the idea that I would raise a species of being unlike myself, that had four eyes and two arms and, I think, they were purple all over. A baby was born and I could choose to raise it for three hundred years.

I think this is not me, honestly. I’ve never been so wildly creative in my life until my near death experience. I wonder if something in outer space is out there, tasked with raising human beings, teaching them how to be conscientious and caring. Some of them seem to fail at it… maybe there are too many human beings to mind them all nowadays.

I remember being told a story that there are two rocks that watch over me. Well, beings that are like rocks. They started mucking around during my developmental stages and left me to my own devices too long, which is how I lost my way and nearly died. I was told that I taught them how to love. They had no idea what compassion was until after meeting me.

I remember witnessing God yelling at them for failing me in my hour of need. At least, I’m pretty sure it was God.

When I first woke up, I was shaken awake. Wake up! It came through my head several times. Wake up! Just like the Toejam & Earl game. I felt like a sleeper agent coming aware of one’s self somehow. God told me that I could somehow bring about a safer, kinder, happier world. That he needed me for a mission. That I am the messiah you’ve all been waiting for, even though I’m a woman.

He didn’t tell me he was God yet. I called him The Universe(TM), which isn’t the same thing… apparently The Universe is also an entity. I always believed in the universe, quite honestly, as I stumbled through life rather blindly, following my intuition and trying to assimilate into normalcy like the rest of you miserable creatures on planet EUrth. I still feel like I come from outer space, despite being born here.

If there was ever a child dropped by stork, surely I am she.

I have always wondered how I wasn’t born with the manual to life unlike everyone else, but now I know: I’m asexual. I was tricked into thinking I was a sexual creature via rape while I was still in diapers, while I was still a young frivolous thing. It created a cycle of need in my system, being raped. My body desired sex, but my brain denied the body its needs, refusing to share with anyone who could not be trusted.

It turns out humanity cannot be trusted.

Since I have no desire independent of this rape leading me to want to procreate, I am able to take my thoughts to outer space. I am able to daydream about moon bases and cleaning up Venus to colonize that planet instead of Mars, which, according to my sources, should be saved until the sun goes red giant. I trust God in this. I also trust him to kill a bunch of unworthy human beings, but that has yet to happen, it would seem.

I assume a natural disaster is coming.

On the other hand, I was told that I screamed along the telepathic network so hard that every other sentient race knows exactly where we are and what we’re doing to each other and they’re on their way to kill many, many human beings. They knew this was going to be their call to duty the whole time and are completely prepared to do whatever God asks. They even call them (for God is neither truly male nor female) Captain God.

Again, I am not this creative alone. Someone is telling me very intricate stories and I am still confused because it’s been almost two years since all these things entered my head.

The one thing that stays consistent is that I’m the messiah. Simply because I can hear God clear as a bell. That’s it. That’s all it was ever going to take. S/He knew it was going to happen all along — that we were going to rape ourselves to death with crash diets that strip us of our nutrients and our will to live.

The diet isn’t what makes me want to kill myself, though. God won’t let me do it… Every time I try, I end up stopping “myself.” I cannot force my hand to draw the knife across my throat, no matter how much I intend to do so. I only want to do so because humanity, at large, sucks, and daydreams about raping me constantly. They always did… but nobody has the balls to approach me in a way I can understand, I guess.

And that’s just it. I’m autistic. I’m asexual. It’s all stacked against me. I need a mate, a real mate. Someone who will love me even when I’m in auterspace. Someone who will wait for the space cadet to come back into her body before trying to go to the moon and back. (Too soon on so many space metaphors? I doubt it.)

I do not consent to anyone except my future husband to think of me sexually. My future husband is the man who I have been staring at for months. I hope, anyway. I’m told it means something. I bet it means nothing and I am set up for another failure, to fall flat on my face. Again. Because I tried to woo a man like this once before. I know it’s the same: he doesn’t give a shit about who I am, he’s just staring back at me.

I thought that until he walked in front of my cart, anyway. Now I’m willing to believe he is becoming bolder. Especially since he followed me in the store shortly after that.

I have never been pursued by a man once in my life. Not in the real world. I was convinced from the youngest age that I am despicable, ugly, and worthless, thanks to my sister. She delighted in telling me day in and day out that I was a waste of space, especially when I sat around bleeding on the inside due to being poisoned by her shitty cooking. She increased the amount of tomato in my food a thousand fold, taking it from once or twice monthly to once or twice weekly. Then, I was to blame for not wanting to move around much after being routinely poisoned. If I acted too sick, I was told to suck it up and do the chores anyway. I was taught to rape myself, to have zero compassion for myself, to ignore myself and my body’s needs. I was told I was lazy. I was told I was too fat, that nobody loves anyone who is fat. I was told so many stories that nobody told me before… I was bullied to tears regularly at school and then it began at home, too.

Then, later, the bitch came back. She told me she thought about how bad off I was when she ran away from my father, her rapist. She told me it didn’t sit well with her. She let me pacify her unrest and disappeared again, never to speak to me like a human being despite having so many chances. Thanks, Facebook, for making her a new problem in my mind again.

It wasn’t enough that I slayed her once, now I have to do it again.

Now my suicide attempts look like a slice of pizza.

Boy, did that hurt.

But let’s not think too much about all that. Let’s remember I’m the messiah and move on. I have to do my job, after all. I negotiated for true love by telling God I would do whatever He wanted. It’s the same God as the Old Testament. The New Testament is somehow actually about me, written by visionaries who mistook me for a man due to failing to dress like a modern whore, wearing no makeup, and having short hair. That’s what I was told, anyway. I still don’t find it credible, but why would He lie to me about that?

He wouldn’t… but she would. Someone trying to destroy my immortal soul out of jealousy and discontent. My very own flesh and blood.

What does she have to do with anything? She is the poison apple. I took a bite and now I am sleeping beauty. I am Aurora, waiting to be awoken by my prince. He looks like any other man, honestly; there is nothing to set him apart from anyone else in most cases.

He has no facial scars for me to admire for hours. He has no outstanding features to fixate on. He has no obvious flaws to ruminate over. He has, instead, a very full beard despite it being very short. A dark one, at that. Eyes that are both brown and green. Plenty of hair in the same color as the beard — which you might take for granted until you see men with naturally tri-colored beards, expressing blonde, red, and brown all at once. He’s almost the same height as I am so no craning my neck to look at him.

I sit around, watching television or reading a book or writing, hearing random noise about our bodies being intertwined. It arouses me despite my asexuality. One would think that it would be impossible; doesn’t asexuality mean zero desire in sex? It turns out, that’s not the case. Also, we are all born asexual. That’s why we don’t care about it until the hormones are raging. If we were born sexual, we’d be having sex as children before our organs were even viable.

The point is, we are taught about sex and develop misconceptions about it, which we then force on other people. What we’re supposed to be doing is learning about it after finding someone we both like and fall in love with, ending up sleeping side by side once we are committed. [To God, the simple act of a kiss is to be married. Therefore, all that you know about marriage is false.]

To force misconceptions on other people is to rape them.

I really wish we both actually could telepathically knock on each other’s doors and have a conversation, he and I. The fabulous deli man who is apparently shy… or he’s about had it with me eyeballing him, he’s crazy, and he’s going to kill me. But, if he was going to do that, he’d have followed me home after I drove past him for sure, so it cannot be murder on his mind that makes him stare at me.

Not that God allows anyone to follow me home.

“Turn left,” he said one night on the way home. There was an SUV or truck right behind me on the way. I did turn left and I stopped at the stop sign, watching that other vehicle as it turned back my way from the next street over. It passed me as I sat at the stop sign, going back to the main road it followed me from.

Crisis averted.

I don’t know what’s real anymore, but I know I care about the deli man because when I think about dying, I object and use him as an excuse. Of course, God or something in my head has convinced me he cares about my existence. I don’t know why or how. Nobody cares, least of all my own family. They might now that I’ve kept them alive for the past year, but I doubt it.

You’d think doing all the chores would take me further into their hearts.

They’re sick, you see. They need help. I’m sick, too, but that doesn’t matter. I must keep all of us alive somehow. I do… barely.

I’m the sickest one of all of us and yet they sit around on their asses watching television and movies all day, stuck in a habit of not moving much at all. They don’t even unload the dishwasher anymore, which is the one thing I asked my mother to do. It doesn’t matter that much, anyway, because now we’re all getting better with me unloading it instead. That one little change, along with using the heated sani-rinse cycle has changed… everything. Somehow.

It’s stupid, if you ask me. It shouldn’t be that way… the dishwasher should automatically sanitize everything. It’s old and decrepit, like my parents. And it smells, so now I have to run a cycle with vinegar in it and see if that will deodorize the contraption. An unpleasant odor means bad bacteria is harbored in that machine and I know that.

I wanted to replace it last year, but the problem is that the kitchen is not up to code. To get it up to code, I also need the electric rewired. This house hasn’t been up to code in 30 years now. This is the problem with buying one house and never leaving it, even if it’s to down size so you can actually take care of it all.


And I’m supposed to bring a love interest home to this shit show? I mean, sure, he has a place, undoubtedly. It’d be nice if I could be proud of where I live. If my roommates weren’t base animals. Animals only eat, shit, fuck, and sleep, by the way. If that’s all you do on a daily basis, you are an animal. In fact, you are a lower life form than an animal… at least they have the sense to spend time outdoors in nature.

All the advice for living in the modern age is to basically rewind five hundred years (aside from keeping our quite civilized lavatories, of course.) We should only be inside to do the chores, to make food, and to sleep. The rest of our time should be spent outdoors doing something constructive, like farming food to eat, painting the scenery, writing poetry, or even fucking. Feeding birds with food we don’t eat. Feeding bees with flowers. Keeping a garden of some sort to feed something. Anything!

Instead, we kill it.

Oooh, a pest. I’ll go get a pesticide. That’ll teach nature for coming right up to my door step! I’ll show you a thing or two about how I’m a psychopathic homicidal maniac!

I choose not to be one of you. I will never be one of you. I feed my ant colony, I don’t even trap the mice that invaded my home and subsequently steal the ant colony’s apple cores. I just pray that my kids catch the mice as a delightful Christmas gift. (My kids are cats, if you haven’t been following along.) The cycle of life will then be complete! Except my cats likely won’t eat the mouse’s body. They’re too well-fed.

Still, they will have done their job and destroyed a pest that managed to get into the house… unless, of course, the unseasonably warm weather took them right back outside again. I hope so. That would be the happiest scenario for me, anyway.

I routinely save prey from my cats normally.

I’ve blocked them from assassinating squirrels, birds, and a bunch of other things… though I couldn’t quite keep them from retrieving bird eggs when they found a nest in our apple tree back in Missouri.

I’ve been feeding them TummyWorks probiotic powder in their wet food. They are looking five years younger suddenly because of this. Their fur is much softer, they are much more content in general, and some bathroom problems have been diminishing. All in all, a total win.

I feed myself probiotics, too, occasionally, but it does nothing for the lesions in my guts. God fixes those when he feels the need arise. The first time it happened, he felt so bad for me because I whimpered in agony for hours over it. He’d cured the two shallowest ones when I was in the most opportune position: bending over to pick something up while laughing. Suddenly, I felt like my innards were alive. Like a muscle spasm was going through my intestines. Like a rock was in my intestines, actually, and my digestive tract became restricted around it rather randomly.

He took pity and waited until about a month ago to get the other four lesions.

How you human beings missed this tragedy, he’ll never say. He knows, of course, because he knows everything. He is omniscient because he is the original telepath. Duh. He is all-knowing and all-powerful because he can move around chess pieces on the chess board and his opponent will never see what’s coming until the queen is lost in a daring dash to the other side of the board.

I didn’t know God plays chess like I do.

I do that… I try to get pawns across to the opposite side of the board. I want two queens, what can I say?

Sometimes, I even get up to four queens, if I’m in luck.

I don’t play much chess and when I do, I have no plan. Chaos and confusion mixed with a tiny bit of distraction and before you know it, I’ve caused a draw or won the game on accident.

God is not doing it on accident, though. He knows exactly what to do and when to get the result he wants. And in t-minus 4, 3, 2, 1… reality has changed. Elon Musk just died. He predicted that a while ago. He gave the man 60 days of life at the most… I remember it being early November when we wrote it the first time because I remember thinking that it mean around New Year’s Day at the end of those 60 days.

I have no idea if it’s actually true or not, but you could do with taking a minute to listen to his message:

You are all fools, entrusting your souls to vanity and whimsy. You are destroying yourselves and the planet just to try to attract a mate. You have intellect far superior to any other being on planet Earth and you use it to fuck more. You could just fuck more. You do not have to do this elaborate song and dance of putting yourself out there in your Whore’s Day best to try to get Brad Pitt to look at you long enough to put it up your ass and pretend you are his neighbor, Todd, because he’s gay. If you require a man or woman to look like a Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie to fuck ’em, you are gay. Real men and women don’t give a shit what their partner looks like because they know it’s what’s on the inside that counts. FIVE BILLION HUMANS ON EARTH ARE GAY.

Secondly, you fucking suck for overpopulating the planet to this extreme. You suck for poisoning everything around you with plastic. You suck for keeping people who are in extreme pain alive for decades past their natural expiry. You suck for making them sit around alone as they die. You suck. Humans suck.

So I have dispatched The Destroyers(TM). They are already all around you. You cannot see them but you already feel them. They are here. And you will all die. You will all die if you do not dig through this blog and read every word and take notes on how to live. And I am not sorry in the least. You deserve this now that you’ve raped the entire planet in your misguided attempts to build a higher civilization, which, at the end of the day, is merely about fucking and procreating in order to create more of the same problem.

I have never been against homosexuality once in my entire existence, you fucktards. Sodom and Gomorrah were full of rapists. I raped them for raping everyone else. The End. You are now full of rapists, especially young America. I rape you now. The End. Homosexuality is a means to population control, which you’ve totally told everyone on Earth is wrong, Catholic Church. Your pedophile ring couldn’t operate without it. The End.

And now I am taking my beloved child to see her True Love(TM). THE END.

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