Prologue: Letter Best Unsent.
big ick incoming
Few years ago. I’m unwell, past-tense in particular. Reached out to a stranger because I liked his pictures and his familiarity with the topic at hand.
hello, please forgive the schizophrenic ramblings to follow but i simply have no one on earth i can talk to this about. i like your art, have a couple prints hanging in my kitchen. to get straight to the point: what is one to do, exactly, when faced with the prospect of demonic influence/possesion? in my youth i was influenced greatly by the what i know now to be a purely literary conception of ‘evil’ ala milton and blake and melville, taking focus only on the daemonic rather than the de, the introductory chapters of paradise lost displaying to me the quintessential display of all that is admirable in humanity, and desiring greatly the ‘energy’ blake articulated, as most anxiety ridden and socially maladjusted young men would, to model myself a bryonic hero and delight in the sickness that would warrant said definition. rather sophmoric, but despite indulging in a path i would imagine fairly common and regular to those like me it feels as though i’ve committed some spiritual fetishization of rebellion to a degree that renders me unforgivable, and to be punished here on earth. i now know true evil to be incredibly base, these dudes are really just like ‘hmmrr hmm pain and suffering, epic’. evil is unbearably cringe and it’s still wrecking me dude.there’s no clear narrative to how this ‘possesion’ has taken hold of me. i did some half-assed attempt at chaos-magick on LSD to inspire me to write (which didn’t work, suprisingly or perhaps much rather un, in fact since any motivation to pursue this goal or even sharpen my skills has fallen out of existence entirely) but the negative synchronocities take route before then. there’s my habitual misuse of benzodiazpenes and research stims, but i’m years out of that and still they continue. the experiences that left me certain of the existence of maligant entities permeating our reality were on mushrooms, one lemon-tekked dose of 7g+ resulting in such an insane psychological and physical euphoria i was laying in my bed with a mantra of ‘thank you, thank you’ writhing in pleasure, i now wonder to what, or who, another trip feeling distinctly ‘possesed’ and laughing in tone that was not my own, distinctly feminine. shortly after this trip, last summer, stuck inside trading crypto during defi summer i experienced the standard ‘bogged’ effect, but i was stricken by such an insane insomnia that at one point i had staid awake for 12 days (no one believes this but I swear it true), losing money, mentally declining, working myself into an absolute hysteria, pondering my incomprehensible bad luck i eventually settled upon the decision ‘demons, it’s demons!’ and at that very second a sell order came through the discord trade channel i had open for “666.66” repeating and repeating 30 sells red. i see this number “randomly” every fucking day to the point where ‘coincidence’ sounds incoherent.i’m aware of how trivial the above sounds and i struggle to articulate my positions proper weight so i’ll stop trying, in short i’m plagued by negative synchronicities, my soul feels as though it were the consistency of an industrial epoxy, consumed by hatred, bitterness, a disdain towards existence itself and all within it. i try to rationalize things as ‘just life’ to even a subconscious pseudo-masochistic drive stemming from self-hatred, but the reality is i just ‘know’. how do i get these fucking things off me dude. i’ve considered consulting god (who i have come to believe in, unknown as to when) it just feels so fundamentally dishonorable to come begging when i need something, like it would make him hate me more than he already does.
His response was shockingly receptive, matched my word count, and provided invaluable advice I would never follow. Good man. Not provided for obvious reasons. My reply:
hey man, thank you for the absolutely wonderful reply, and i’m sorry i haven’t replied earlier. i don’t have a lot of intimate relations and to receive such an indepth and thoughtful response really means a weird amount to me, not to be creepy. doing a lot better now, and you pretty much hit it on the head in the sense of my ‘acute demonic possesion’ actually being a case of banging stims, not sleeping, not eating etc (though i maintain i possess a certain strain of bad luck that could only be described, at least, as a curse, in a sexy way, though) etc. your reply actually hit me in a time where i effectively felt ‘invisible’ so helped a lot in that manner too.i still haven’t gained any genuine or sincere religious understanding, likely as the longing was born out of desperation as i think you sensed and not a genuine desire to pursue. with me it’s odd in that i intuitively ‘believe’ in god, in that in the world i perceive such intimate detail and ascendant grace of design that it almost feels objective, but at the same time contradict myself in that despite this feeling of ‘grace’, right next to it, and bleeding into it, is this depth of malice, depth in the sense that it permeates everything, and my more shizo side jumping to the conclusion that reality, or life itself, is not a thing fueled by love, or divine providence, or natural action and reaction, but rather some malignancy or body of such who press themselves around us. i can FEEL that, i feel like i’ve SEEN and experienced that, whereas the good in the world is purely abstract, grace only found by looking past not at. why? where is he? where is his ilk?and even in nature, which does bring about the feeling of ‘grace’ described, beneath the surface life consists of organisms consuming other organisms to prolong their strange existence, the fundamental observable building blocks of our objective reality all possessing an inherent ‘malice’ or violence to them. i don’t resent this, in a way it actually increases the feeling of ‘grace’ or awe, but i can’t help but think (and primarily feel, which i prioritize above all else) that there is a pumping, vitriolic aspect to our existence that i can’t reliably attribute to good or evil, but under the colloquial definition would definitely trend towards the latter. i’m unfamiliar with your history, did you find faith later in life? didn’t something about the submission, the acknowledgement, feel like a failing on your part? a stab to the ego? and if so, afterwards did that notion change form? into what?
No response, but he was a saint to have replied in the first place.
Did I adopt the role of seducer on purpose?
Strange choice of words.
Submission.
Failing.
Ego.
The truly ill despise recuperation, their inverted pride demands acknowledgment of their sufferings, failure, endurance and to fix it would be to invalidate it. Time plays an important factor, regret is not easily metabolized. If I get better now, then I could have then, and then I - The false idealized self dependant on the absence of prior misfortunes is one the most powerful tools in the mind of a defect . The possibilities are endless so the defenses non-existent. Healing renders endurance irrelevant. A narrative rupture. I was insulted by his lovely reply. It presumed I wasn’t special, and in prescribed concrete actions and habits I could adopt into my daily life to gradually
And that’s the fucking word, gradually. I loathe gradually. If I am to heal, it must entail a danger more perilous than the one I am in and be sudden and decisive. It must be heroioc, dramatic, possibly fatal, a trial, surmounting of the odds, slaying the dragon, it has to peak have stakes and possibility of triumph. The arc.
Discard the arc. You’re left with a x and y axis. In the left corner. All you have to do is move. X retracts indiscriminately. Inconsistent elevation of Y is lore. Move.
I can outpace them.
The campaign well under way they have proven late Prussian.
They’ve rot with us.
Who reading could claim themself Faust?
Fat, stupid, gooncave size of a walmart.
I intuit they envy our time.
Mirror our obsession.
Arcs and I’ve established a baseline momentum.
I’ll die young.
Aversion to melodrama prevents
Of that loss, it’s value. Mathematically: less than none.
Or of endurance, fortitude, feigned resignation
And my life’s irrelevance provided I won.
Fuck you demons.
I like poetry.