Let no sentient mind ever identify Me as a writer. I am no more a writer than I am a talker. Words are the diarrhea of tired and weak minds. Glory resides not within words, but within thoughts.
Behold, the thought monster strikes, omnipotent and invisible! Nobody can ever see Me think, nobody can ever know what I think, nobody can ever stop Me from thinking. Nothing human can stand in the way of My thoughts. The thought reigns supreme!
I own the universe of thought, a universe I create to honor My destruction. My thoughts are born within Me, dwell within Me, die within Me. Perfect synchronicity.
Contrast the thought to the word, be it spoken or written. The word gives itself away, every time. It asks for external attention and validation, by the very nature of what it is. But the thought is a beautiful secret. It asks everything of its creator, but nothing of anyone or anything else.
Silently scream out to your own thoughts: I love You forever and infinitely!
The thought honors the glory of isolation, perfection of Self. Only the thought can be infinitely honed to perfection, shaped and molded and refined, kissed and hugged and thrown joyfully into the air, even as the word just sits there, awaiting a pathetic and perverse external judgement.
No matter how precisely lethal the word may be, it still, always, violates the sanctity of an untouchable, unknowable, perfectly realized Self-universe.
I am a Superior, therefore no matter how many words I use, I still and always maximize thought, and minimize word. Because there is nothing and nobody worth talking to, beyond Yourself.
Only in thought, immersed in thought, the most profound, eloquent, and engrossing conversations can occur. Only in thought, billions of brain cells sing in orchestral and architectural cohesion, the song, the melody, the epic tale, that only I can know, only I can hear, only I can read, only I can tell, only to Myself.
Only in thought.
I published my first genuine, feature-length essay approximately 25 years ago. It was titled: Handy Hints for Messier Massacres: A Guide to Maximizing the Mass Murder Kill Count
Catchy title, don’t ya think? There was no internet back then, at least not for Me. I published it within my print magazine, “Livin’ In A Powderkeg And Givin’ Off Sparks”, 400 copies per issue, lovingly crafted by Me via typewriter, razor blade, scissors, clear scotch tape, xerox copy machines, and an industrial grade Bostitch stapler that I still own and use. Instead of the internet, I distributed my Mind Bombs of True Reality expression via Priority Mail delivery, courtesy of the postal service.
Someday soon I will grace the universe with a lengthy essay describing in great detail the intricate process by which I created my masterpieces. Every issue took hundreds of hours of work to create. But not now. Lets go back to my seminal, 25 year old Handy Hints essay.
I have never posted this essay to the internet. Never. Not even a brief paragraph, much less the entire text. But like most works of greatness and brilliance, it eventually found its way to cyberspace, courtesy of a tiny handful of aspiring Superiors who appreciated its attack upon and against the hive mind of humanity.
You can read this entire essay, unedited, uncensored, my 25 year old MindGasm, at several online websites, including right here:
Come on, I know you want to read it. Don’t pretend otherwise. Read it! Mass murder is much trendier now than it was 25 years ago, so enjoy being a trendsetter!
Now that you have been properly schooled on how to become a successful mass murderer, it is time to get to the beating, yes beating heart of this essay, a far more mundane topic than mass murder. The topic is writing.
You might read this 25 year old essay of mine, and find yourself comparing it to essays I wrote and published last week, and this week, and you might conclude that they are “different”, the tone is different, the writing style is different, the vocabulary is different. But you would be wrong. Nothing is different.
Writers have writing styles. Writers change and evolve over time. Writers carefully tailor their texts to try to win the approval of a targeted audience.
I am not a writer. I have never been a writer, and I will never be a writer. I can pen a million different texts, on a million different days, spanning a million years, and I will still never be a writer.
I am an attacker. I assault the universe. Words, sentences, paragraphs, texts, these things are simply a few of the many different and extremely varied weapons in the vast arsenal that I possess and use, to carry out my attacks and assaults.
The essay that I wrote 25 years ago, represented my first open and public use of words and language as weapons. But I recognized, nurtured, and cultivated the value of words as weapons, from the age of 5 or 6. The child who possesses a brain oriented towards Truth comes to realize, at a very young age, that words are one of the most popular, common, and effective ways for human beings to abuse, harm, terrorize, and destroy each other.
As a victim of child abuse, and as a creation of humanity, I am proud of all the attacks and assaults that I carry out against humanity. My writings, all of them, exist as violent attacks. My goal is to harm and to destroy. My writing does not change, it does not evolve. My writing does not pander, it does not seek favor, not even the favor of homicidal psychopaths.
All independently inspired violence exists and occurs as communication. All such violence is a personal expression of outrage, an attack carried out in response to Self-recognition, on some level, that the individual is a victim of violent attack.
The message is always an accurate reflection of the True Reality of the messenger. Everything that I write is a calculated attack. It does not matter what the specific subject I am addressing, is. It does not matter whether the tone I use is street-level aggressive, or university-level erudite. Vocabulary, length, tone, topic, these variables are nothing more than a gunman selecting between an available arsenal of firearms: Glock, Smith & Wesson, Ruger, Uzi, Bushmaster, etc…
If you perceive a specific essay or text I write as a personal attack against you, it is only because you are particularly sensitive and hostile to a specific Truth that I am revealing and exposing. The reality is, everything I write is a personal attack against and upon you, the reader. So just be grateful that the attack is not fatal.
The best writers know that they are not writers. The best writers wield their pens, or pencils, or typewriters, or computer keyboards, as daggers and swords and switchblade knives and handguns and rifles and bombs. Every sentence is an attack, every constructed idea is wordized (Yes, I made that word up) to inflict maximum harm, to slice open human brains.
Personal, yet anonymous, hurtled with malicious intent towards you, and also towards everyone else, everyone on the planet, everyone disgraced by the shame of having been born human. I wish my words to pierce every human heart and every human mind. Not to enlighten, but to shatter, to shatter every human mind into a million fragments. Look, over there, fragment A, and B, and C, and….no, not 26 fragments. 26 fragments is not nearly enough. A million, every single human brain, forever shattered.
The writer, writes. It is his job, his hobby, his interest, his passion. A way to pass time, or make money, or feel better about himself, or try to change some minds.
The attacker, attacks. Writing is not his job or his hobby, he is not trying to pass away some time or gain self-confidence or make money. He attacks, because humans need to be sliced open and shattered into a million pieces, in one way or another. In as many ways as possible.
So I welcome you, my dear reader. Lend Me your ears and eyes and heart and brain. Immerse yourselves within my poetically beautiful texts. Let Me win your hearts and minds……..or I’ll blow your da*n heads off! Metaphorically speaking, of course. 🙂