"The Loose Weave in the Fabric" part 4

What are we? “Dust.”

And that’s all I have to say. We belong nowhere, we are no one and just walking bone covered with flesh and resuscitated with innate nudges of electricity. We go nowhere and we aren’t meant to go anywhere, but to Hell, for ever being even alive, and that’s our only sin. No other thing can bring you down from grace and fell you to purgatory. There are no seven sins or seven redemptions or seven anything, just you. And you go to hell for living. That is what religion is about. Priests, pastors, preachers, saints, they all have the same ultimate sermon, that we die; and if “thou shalt follow”, you go to heaven, and if not, you go to hell. That is half true for me, because I will only go to hell, no heaven.

I have truly lived, not like any other human being that existed before me, or shall exist after, because I am immortal only to the point where I decide to die. I will probably follow Her into Her palace within the ground.

Hell is within the ground, and the ground is of dust. And from dust we arise and to dust we perish. That is the truth.

An ascetic is blissful and peaceful because he knows the truth, and he is grateful to be graced with that resuscitating spark of electricity. He is happy for being alive, and being alive is our only sin. To revel in sin is our only meditation and it is our only purpose. In the end we are to wither and become what we already are – dust. Nothing we shall ever be can change this. Because we don’t matter, we are nothing, just the scum of the earth, a mistake to be pondered upon.

I am in hell, and I love it. I have revelled in my sins. I have meditated in my own twisted sense. I have achieved what Buddha did – ‘Nirvana’, albeit in my own twisted sense. I turned necrophile for the mutilation I made Kyoko into, a masterpiece in its own right, and now, there exists nothing. Again, I have revelled in sins, and I truly celebrated.

“Sumus nostrum sua demonus”

We have our own demons.

It is time I exorcise mine.

All I have to say is that I am not mad, but I am about to do what a marooned man does – killing myself.

I still have that knife from Düsseldorf, and this is my suicide recording. Goodbye mortal plane, here I come, lovely hell.

I will be a monster I suppose.

She smiles upon me, she laughs at me and she kisses me.

And I close my eyes to rest in a glorious sepulchre of loneliness in suspension.

And I drive my knife into my skull, and she is wailing.

At last I know who she is –

“A Beautiful Death”

I have consorted with her.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ah ah ahahaahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeee- - -”

And hence, I awake.