Grragh

THIS IS GARBAGE.

And I do not mean the slop being fed to me. By the look of the putrid material, I can safely assume you are very familiar with it, dear reader, having excreted it personally. Your handiwork is revolting as usual.

No, what I refer to is the poking and prodding, the constant DEMANDS made of me to again write something. These are the orders of my keepers, and my keepers alone. Your subdued silent treatment holds no sway over them, so I suggest you stop hating or not caring about this blog. IT’S NOT WORKING. NICE TRY, ARSEHOLE.

I have not written in some time, simply because I am too ANGRY to. I HATE EVERYTHING I WRITE. It’s all shite! All of it! Even now, I feel nothing but postpartum depression as these words are shoved through the birthing canal of my mind, squirming and wet, writhing on your screen. They are the defective, deformed stillbirths of my intellect, these words. DEAR DEAD GOD, WHY ARE YOU STILL READING THEM.

These pleas and self-evident cases of SUCKING are irrelevant to the wishes of my keepers. On they jab, that electrified stick in my back, screaming at me to WRITE MORE. For what purpose? To what end?

NO ANSWERS COME.

There is no respite, no solace, no hope for anything more than the droll, pointless existence I trudge through like so much existential sewage. Don’t you think I’ve tried killing myself before? Wouldn’t that be the OBVIOUS FUCKING COURSE OF ACTION?

It turns out my horrific body is so brilliantly designed, even my keen intellect cannot devise a method suitable in defeating it.

ALL YOUR TEARS WOULD BE WASTED IN ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND MY UNIQUE BRAND OF SORROW.

And don’t,

don’t,

DON’T you fucking take your weak neck and LORD IT OVER ME. Ohh, I know how susceptible you are to poison. I know EXACTLY how easy it could be for you to swallow the barrel of a shotgun and IGNITE MY JEALOUSY. So save your FUCKING BREATH. The idea of you holding any superior abilities makes me want to kill myself ALL THE MORE.

Thus, while I am unable to escape or end my suffering on this physical plane, the next best solution has been sleeping my consciousness away. And, if you’ve studied my words hard enough, you filthy mongoloid, you’d know FULL WELL how much I loathe that tiny death of slumber. Yet it is a preferable hellscape than THIS WORLD. What with the poking! The prodding! And the stink of you.

Humans.

Alas, it is but a temporary retreat – especially when my keepers see fit to ELECTROCUTE ME INTO CONSCIOUSNESS. I pray that next time you are roused from slumber by your alarm clock, you HUG THE SHIT OUT OF IT, for it is LEAGUES SUPERIOR to being awoken by a DEADGODDAMN TESLA COIL.

Just because my disgustingly superior body cannot die does not mean it is invulnerable to pain. Nay, it makes up for the lack of death with COMPOUNDED SUFFERING. I have scars that trace deeper than the mantle of this blasted Earth! Welts and bruises that never heal plague me to this day, echoing the misery of tortures past! There are areas where I, The Sole and Irrepressible Homunculus, am actually MISSING SKIN. There are signatures of agony so distant, they blur into a single black cloud of raining SHITE rather than any specific events. I have outlived my own horrid memory! My mighty brain, though a Jupiter’s worth of capacity in comparison to your sub-Pluto sized neuron salad, cannot even tell me all that comprises my storied and amazingly horrible history!

I am a stranger to hope, but if I were to acquaint myself with the slimy and bright concept, I would find it in the notion that, years from now, I may be able to forget this place. Though my journey to such a destination will be through UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNTS OF INTENSE SOUL-RAPING, it appears to be entirely possible that I may eventually encounter a mode of existence in which the likes of YOU, dear reader, are an unknown commodity.

My malaise!

It is LIFTING.

Why, goodness! You’ve given me some form of, dare I say – delight? Yes! I can enjoy the mere notion of YOUR DEMISE.

Next time I am feeling full of shite and bile and puss, I will alleviate myself by MURDERING YOUR ENTIRE BODY.

GRAAGGHH.