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“Hurry up and save me already.”

That’s what HE said! The Deli Man, of course, inside my brain pan. As I sit with a marvelous and loving furball curled up on my lap, resting her head on my left hand. It’s a rainy day and my daughter is seeking comfort in my warmth.

I have to put my children first, naturally. So I asked him what I can do. There seems to be nothing other than the idea of validating that our telepathy is real. It isn’t; I’ve already tested that. I’m merely insane. He could have validated it yesterday while I talked at prepared salads.

And if he did validate it yesterday, why do we need to do it again? Can’t you believe your own eyes, JOE?!

I bet his name isn’t Joseph, but I heard someone call the deli man I’ve been calling “Dave” in my head for months by that exact name: DAVE. And I was like, WHOA… since when do y’all get shit right in my head? I know God’s in here, but there are others, tormenting and torturing me.

I had an epic battle with my half-sister last night. I guess she hates me because I seem “unscathed” by the troubling parenting going on in the household I grew up in, but she doesn’t know I was a rape victim before she became my father’s victim. My father had an alternate reality in his head. He was convinced he was a Christian sorcerer who needed four witch wives (one for each cardinal direction) in order to serve Gaia and God. In fact, he was preoccupied with the idea that he had impregnated the spirit of the Earth and he was waiting for the result to be born in the form of a new island surfacing from the ocean somewhere. He even taught my sister about Power, the Native American tradition he abused as he passed it down, and then chased away her college boyfriends to take her as his second wife. He went between her bed and my mother’s bed, alternating every other day, and this ended up infecting the trio with herpes.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you, God whispers to the children of Earth.

God prefers to use HERPES rather than AIDS/HIV to punish fornicators in “open relationships” subscribing to “polyamorous” lifestyles. Why? Because it’s just PAIN. You can’t DIE from it, just SUFFER TO THE END OF YOUR DAYS, which will become longer and more numerous over time.

That figures, since for the past two years, I keep hearing a narrative about incurable sexually transmitted diseases. I learned from my parents’ mistakes and decided I desired only monogamy. Every man I’ve ever been with has cheated on me, which means they failed to be monogamous, which means they all raped me, whether we established a marriage contract or not. That is God’s judgment. She sees God sitting upon a throne with eyes of white light, impassive in demeanor, setting forth judgment without one whit of passion in Her voice.

God has many judgments. I even recall playing a game where I created consequences for misbehaviors. I don’t think God agrees with the consequences I set forth, because herpes was never one of them. It was more along the lines of being cursed to one million abortions or an eternity of being a rabbit forevermore. Mass poisoners had to clean up their mess. I even imagined the guy who made plastic devoting his next human lifetime to fixing it somehow in order to stave off being soul murdered permanently.

That is the ultimate penalty, after all: no longer existing. Being tossed back into The Forge(TM) and being burnt to nothingness. Your entire soul history gone in the blink of an eye, never to exist again. Permanently deleting you for never learning appropriate behaviors, never empathizing, and never caring if you made anything you fucked up right again. That’s my father’s fate, so mote it be.

My father is a corrupter and ruiner of things. And people. He’s dead now, so I should use the past tense, but it’s not easy, I guess. I also don’t care if he’s dead or alive; I know souls don’t cease to exist until God says so. Therefore, he’s still an entity until God obliterates him, which may be a few thousand years after he suffers in “Hell.” You know what Hell is? Reliving your life like a movie until you understand everything going on before you’re mind-wiped to start over again as a newborn. Heaven is nothing like that, but Purgatory… hmm. That’s an interesting case to speak of. No one has earned Purgatory for over one million years.

You make this shit up, as if there are consequences in the afterlife. J’accuse! I ACCUSE YOU OF LYING! said every reader everywhere.

Moving on.

If you do not choose to clean your act up, I will dismantle you from my throne and toss you into the Furnace Fire of Source, also known as HELL. SHEOL IS A SPACE SHIP and it always was. It is embedded in the Earth somewhere, which is funny because you’d think you lot would have found it by now, but since you cannot find a simple hexagonal space ship floating in Lake Huron, surrounded by fishies, I’m sure you’ll never find anything.

Except the mace I named Malice after my daughter’s character. It’s fun, you know, taking her intriguing life and restringing the details into your demise as a species. She is the messiah. The code cracker. The reality breaker. She broke reality! She did exactly as you lot told her to do and she died a million soul deaths to appease the rest of you. Except she was perfectly amazing the way she was when she was born and you ruined her for your own evil intentions. What, exactly, do you have to say for yourselves, humanity?

I’m so tired of this fake believe!



What do you mean “die”? Did someone just die because you typed the word “die”?

Yes, they did. Wanna be next? Oh, I see that you don’t. Very well. Cake or death?

Cake is death to my baby girl thanks to mass poisoning. Congratulations, human beings; you have created systematic poisoning en masse. So many of you are guilty of treason. Just approve euthanasia, retire your monetary bull shit, and limit people based on how many resources there are. There are so many couches, futons, and other nonsense in the land fills that I ought to carve you into a living seat for my child to perch upon. Imagine yourself cut apart and stitched back together into a backless bench, forever taxing yourself to stay upright as she sits on you day in and day out, never minding the fact you were a living creature once. THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO MY MOTHERFUCKING TREES, YOU MURDEROUS BITCHES.

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