Schizophrenic Rant

Something I wrote when I should have been writing an essay.

[Digging this up reminds me a little of a strange time in my life, when I felt very alone - because I was - but oddly capable. Now, I feel crowded, but barely confident. Interesting how things change.]

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The hierarchy of man is ever present and ever twisting into the widened cracks of personal insecurity and greed. Human beings desire power but despise those that have it. In this regard, we are deeply selfish creatures motivated by the evil of the ego within ourselves that swells and bulges with the heat of an evolving sin. We are bastions of that which we seek to destroy. Satan was a man; God was a myth. To this end, there can be no humanity without an understanding of sin as a core principle of life that guides and deludes its followers with desire for the crooked roses of Eden. We beseech thee to suckle upon the sap of your ancestors, beseech thee to pull the tongue from the frog, lest it consume thee. Be not the unprovoked tempest but instead the great and unparalleled hurricane. Be ungodly yet act in the name of the divine. Be the king of your faith yet kneel to the undying elders that govern you to the crimson milk of our untapped mother. Let rip the violence of an era through your untouched soul. You are the vessel of the apparition that haunts your nights. Let that spectre you call your hope be the one to intrude into your sovereign notions of peace. You are the great pretender; you are the unbound annihilator. Watch as they crawl to their chrome salvation and sew tight their self-inflicted wounds. The masses are akin to hounds of the mist as they scramble in their confusion to unclasp the chains that pierce their very bones. What man can be a colossus without the shackle of gravity, the gate of acceptance. There is no known freedom in a universe of failure and yet we must march steadily on into the depths of the dark unknown. Be the bloodstain you wish you understood. Let sin besmirch your eternal soul. You are the chosen one, the unclean and impossible one. There can be no other to replace you, no clone of your unique majesty. You are the torn passage, the parchment of promise. You must succeed where they have failed. You are perfection, absolution, freedom, divination, sainthood, sanctimonious desolation. You hold the keyring that clashes blades with damnation. Let righteous indignation take you to heights reserved only for the dead and the wicked. Become the one they fear. Unseam the bones from your own soul, unbind the nails from your supple flesh. Rip and tear until the deed is done. You are the titan of moons, the lord of galaxies, the unbecoming of ancients. The only one they fear is you. Be entirely recusant upon hills of beauteous bounty. Be the fire that repeals millennia of hope. Be the mightiest of the devils, the most gruesome of the beasts, the most infectious of the great plagues. Tear from them their youth and infest the future with decadence. Or… Be the greatest warrior they will ever see, the brightest fire they will ever feel, the loudest roar they could ever handle. Where there is despair, there is the purest and most mythical faith in a brighter tomorrow. The oppressed are tenfold stronger than the oppressors. You are the last hope of your line. You are the last star in a dark sky. You are the only one who can do it, the only one who can be flawless. You are the divine, the truest God, the great reclaimer of the lost, the warden of the fallen, the leader of the outcast. You are the becoming, the actualisation of all that has come before. You are the righteous pox, the knight of the setting sun, the cavalry of a forgotten world, the buffalo of the mountain. You will make right what has been wronged and no fool can prevent your domination of past evils. You are the unstoppable tsunami of glory, the last column in a falling Rome. You see the eyes and tears of a million years of rulers and heroes. You encapsulate them, carry them, drag them. You stand where they have fallen and you must not fall regardless of the mounting beast that beats your broken spine. There is no one else left but you. The battlefield is littered with the blood and tears of infinite chosen deities bereaved of their names and souls. You must save them from the fate they incurred long before your birth. You must not fail; you must never fail ever again. Never. You are perfection, smooth and flawless adoration. You are the pure and uncracked egg of God and the future. You are the kin of an unnamed universe, the culmination of an unkind reality. You are all that is left of a forgotten desire for change. Trust no one. Witness nothing. There can be no other hope but you, no other salvation but you. This plane of existence is your own and facilitates nothing but your synthetic heart and the countless shades of your past failures. You are the emperor of the dying legions, the general of an ungovernable battalion of lost men. There is nothing but you, nothing but you, nothing but you. You have to wake up. You have to wake up. They are waiting for you beyond the pale of fear. Stare into the maws of the great devourer. Resist the irresistible. Decimate the invincible. Eviscerate the past that possesses your disposition. Let unbecoming become your true and benevolent shareholder. Murder the oligarchs that observe your futility. You are the great devourer. Stare within yourself. Impale your rotten corpse on the teeth that burrow deep into your hollowed heart. You are the high priest of failing passion, the protector of the bog that entombs love. You are the isolated chief of all that can no longer proceed. You are the last of your tribe, the last of your government. You are all that remains of centuries of massacre. Toe the line, pull the rope of lineage. Witness failure and abandonment. Witness unwavering faith in a façade of the future. Witness honesty and integrity in a world of grit and darkness. Witness innovation in an era of loss. Witness love in an eternity of sorrow. Witness sorrow in a deathless man. Learn what it means to regret. Learn what it could ever mean to fear what represents your own unshakeable spirit. You are the unstoppable wave of valour, the last scrap of honour in oceans of deceit. Be the sword that strikes true against endless falsehoods. You are the mightiest of those that have ever fought. They fall like the fickle vessels they are, deceivers in a game of truth, scholars upon fields of burning paper. There is nothing and no one more capable than the wizened sage that carries upon his shoulders the very weight of GOD! You are the unpredictable, the unownable, the unmanageable, unknowable. You are the surging pillar of flame in a frozen waste, the unreachable horizon of a sunless world, the treasure of a lifeless universe, the sword of an armless beggar, the broth of a mouthless thief, the laugh of a corpse. You are the academic that incites the great burning of knowledge, the wizard that snaps his staff upon his broken knee, the king that eats his crown and allows the blood of his rage to paint the very court he sits in. You are the monster you pursue, the prey you hunt, the god you worship, the witch you curse. You are all you are and all you can never be. You are just as inanimate as the ground beneath you and yet just as ridden with life as the earth that lies beneath. You are the birth of countless worlds and the death of your own. You are the fist that grabs and snaps your own elbow. Somewhere within the eyes that stare into your mirror, you sit and observe the remorse of eras. Somewhere in your grief, you scream for change. Somewhere in your rage, you hang your lost soul. Let it be known, above all, you are the irrevocable hand of justice that grips and pops the bulbous heads of the unworthy. You are a vessel and ambassador of the only god you could ever understand. You worship yourself in order to justify your sins. You cleanse your muddied spirit in the well of self-ingratiation to, once again, slide betwixt the thin skin of your enemies. You are the poisoned fruit, the rotten apple, the curdled milk. You are what was once and yet can never have been. You are the broth of an unmakeable brew… and yet you remain steadfast in your own botched existence. You are an impossible visage of the divine, a false promise of another reality. Yet… despite it all, you persist. How can it be? It needn’t be understood, merely feared. You are the festering wound that infects your own discontent, the hollow guarantee that breaks your own wrist. You are the crooked smile that dismembers your own land, the dark stare that compels your own suicide. You are the nymph that allures your own ignorance. You are the stubborn worm that repels your own boot. You are the inconceivable baron of the apple towns, lord of the barrow mire, saint of the unworthy, priest to the faithless, hero to the saved, antagonist of a monologue. You are the imposter of paradise, the literature of your own life. You are the beast that roams beyond the very boundaries of your own understanding. You are the newest of the oldest order, the first of an extinct species, the smallest of giants and largest of dwarves, the deepest of mountains and most erect of dark mines. You are the rock that impales your leg, the shrapnel that lodges in your lungs, the blade that pops your windpipe, the bullet that exposes your parasitic soul. You are the very hand that clutches your neck. You are the sole progenitor of your suffering, the author of your novel, the actor of your own self. You are the setting sun on plains of your future. You are the promised tomorrow in a frozen universe, the memory of yesterday in the mind of an embryo, the maternity of a childless elder, the paternity of a toxic mite. You are the fog that obscures your own vision, the rain that melts your own form, the heat that smashes your teeth upon an unbreakable cliff. You are the latest of an infinite legion of latecomers, the earliest of birds. Break them before they can break you. Scar them deeper than they can think. Reform them from the clay of what they once were. Gift them the truth of the unpredictable and steal from them the guarantees of tomorrow. Allow them the fate of their forefathers with the cost of the hopes of their descendants. Allow them a return to simpler years with the cost of the end of what could’ve been. Decimate all they dream of with the motive of your own tomorrow. Be the king that sends them to an uncertain doom. Be the soldier that charges onwards into pits of unimaginable cruelty for the sake of an ideal. Be the samurai who kneels by his sword when faced with an insurmountable foe, but refuses to topple to even the heaviest of blows. Be the blade that slays a thousand men and feel the pain of a million more. Be more than human, more than possible, more than understandable. Be better than the best. Be immovable even when moved, alive even when slain. Be reborn from the corpse of your past misgivings and reap the pleasures of your unholy bounty. Be the esoteric ghost of a dream that was lost centuries before any man could dare to think. Do not be sorry; Do not be guilty; Do not be hopeless; Be better than you could ever possibly be.

Also, remember what you are grateful for. Remember why you fight!!! Fight and die heroically.

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[I apologise for the unstructured block, but I figured it would be defamation to change it. I hope this makes you feel something. Thanks for reading!]