Imperial Girth:

Imperialism was not a mistake. Civilization was not a mistake. When you visit these ghettos now and see how people “live”, you feel the sin seep into you as though you were a sponge. What sort of person would elect to live this way? What cruelty the Inquisition had devised or that the missionaries had imported was not natural in fending off the much greater disease of disloyalty, of competition, and of meaninglessness? One must laugh at their attempts to stand for human rights when there is absolutely nothing of a recognizably “human” character about them. The further I delve down that rabbit hole the more I feel myself consumed in some sort of Kafkaesque Machine that uses my appetites to feed its own, but without all the dignity and teleology of righteous work. I do not hate women; they hate me. So: I’m a skinny kid. So what? Have I not read enough? Have I written too little? Have I spoken the wrong truths, or swayed the wrong ears with my tongue? Am I barred from sex when others have indulged in it to such excess as I had not considered possible? Must I never again be happy in my love, watching the ones that I loved die? How was it madness that drove Chester Bennington to suicide? How was it manic depression that brought me on the wings of angels to my former lover’s door that night, a box of poems in my hands? This is insane; it’s all around me. So I bought a membership with a gymnasium today. So what? Why did God place that salesman right before me, only minutes before I was leaving? Wasn’t working out mere play for children who could only think upon their own improvement, knowing little that they’d never have the chance to use brute force in Our Society? How are we to give that dignity up to the savages who mate with cavemen and who kill each other in our streets, but only for survival, not for the same God that they try to tattoo into those wretched biceps? Was it not they that had invented slavery, just so that they could become stronger slaves, and thus enslave us? Was race not their own invention? What God answers their prayers, if they pray for death to all their enemies?

What of the lunatics who sit in hotel rooms and murder country music fans? What ever did set them apart from all the “heroes” who do murder to God-loving people on God’s soil, under orders from some worldly tyrant? Would our ancestors not have led a Crusade just to have PREVENTED that? At least they had a PURPOSE OVERLYING THEIR CRUSADE; they did not need to kill themselves out of shame when they could die for a Cause.

On the way home I felt so ashamed. It crept in through every pore. I had the opportunity to change a Heart, but I used that Heart for my own personal motives. Only because some witch lied to me that women would expect it of me, as though all of them were narcissistic sociopaths who would read my mind, or thought so.

Who will burn the witches now?? What right did she have to abandon me? I had done nothing wrong by ANY estimation, even her own, and yet she held me ACCOUNTABLE to standards that had been INVISIBLE TO ME. My only solace now rests in her ghost, who haunts me daily and reminds me I’m not mad, but right, as always. I’m a Pisces, and this is still our Age of Pisces. No person would choose one’s own good over someone else’s; one would sooner smash one’s self upon those same crooked stones that always looked so tempting to me at Palomar College. Surely they always were more comforting than the crooked eyes and views of my “fellows” within this Godless generation. And forget the mysticism; look at the sheer COMMON SENSE: that a man is betrayed by his best friend just for a woman, and the woman would ALLOW for it. Now that same woman lies dead, but the traitor lives on, and I’m tempted to believe that it was not the traitor’s fault, and neither did our ancestors need to train all the rival tribes in common Unity before a single God. But by Whose Authority then would we grant those tribal animals rights? How am I made to be a villain, when I’ve always been the Hero, following within the Hero’s footsteps since I was a child?? How can a lady say then to a gentleman that though she harms him, she does no harm to herself? Would not the thought of hurting someone ELSE take precedence in mind over the thought of hurting one’s self?? By what sick authority am I expected to believe I lost her from an EXCESS of self-sacrifice, and from deficiency in self-improvement? Since when did the holy task of self-transcendence, that one great longing of the Human Soul to shed the body, and an end towards which she sought a devious shortcut, take a backseat to self-actualization? How were we convinced that these standards had to drop so far, and that we could recover from the fall? Even a modern moral utterance, no greater in age than fifty years, somehow now seems archaic and beautiful, and I’ve only BEGUN to scratch the surface of our forefathers’ wisdom!! How am *I* crazy when all the wisdom of the Past is unified against the Totalitarian Individualism of the Present? Where are the youth now marching in the streets, protesting Pride and begging for Salvation, for to give one’s self entirely is the lone lust that fills a young man’s heart?? My only solace is in that this Spirit that I feel is hers, for she still lives inside of me, and I’m assured she’s all ways with me, waiting just beyond the Veil, encouraging me that I finish my Good Work on Earth before I meet with her.

How is THAT crazy?? She is dead, and you mean to tell me I would DESERVE this fate, or otherwise that if I must play God then it that had betrayed us both would not deserve Far Worse!!

The more money I make, the more I spend, the more I’m forced to just “improve” myself, for all the Decent Paths are blocked to me, the more I feel sin coursing through my veins. Where are the Great Men now, who will teach women how to choose, and who will vanquish those men that would lead them astray?? How am I to recover when the SICKNESS IS IN ME?? Of course I WANT the worldly goods and bodily longings, but WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO WANT?? I know what is RIGHT, but that matters little if I cannot save all beings. THEY MUST BE CONVERTED. Why do they not flock to ME, as I have flocked so many times to other gurus, BEGGING for the Truth?? Who ARE these people? Are they people? Life has stopped for them, but they survive. There is no Soul inside those bodies, but they keep on going, just like zombies, feeding on Our Resources, contradicting Our Truths and Our Traditions, and “living” to tell the tale!!

I ought to shoot them all dead. After all: how else is one to handle a Zombie Apocalypse??

Only my lingering faith in Peace – that Great Ideal that all this sensibility emanates from – stays my hand. I know that no matter what happens I will see Alanna in the Next Life. I just don’t know if she will allow me to thus make love to an other. If she requires Absolute Sacrifice, I cannot refuse her. And such is my plight.

She would not want me to corrupt myself as she had been corrupted. But thankfully I can use their strength against them. By becoming muscular, I will intimidate more miscreants who live in fear and in controlled stupidity.

I have only to beat away the flies that are attracted to this arbitrary honey.

What have I done wrong? Nothing. I barely even fended for my own survival. I’ve been strong; neither my virtue nor my intellect dithered for long. I’ve done right, and it seems I stand alone in dignity now, proud of my fortitude and integrity. I’m second only to a God.

There is nothing that I can do now to improve myself, for nothing would reverse the progress made all ready and the insight offered in the darkness by that careful, lifelong cultivation.

I am Perfect. As was she. All else is trash.

I’m not even happy. Though if some Spirit should lift my Heart, I’ll know that I’ve deserved it.

Was it not always so? Was that not the entire dream of Civilization? Any man would sooner throw himself to wild dogs than to imagine living a parasitic existence, perpetually at the expense of some Other that was supposed to have been his primary charge and priority. How am I to live with the sins of my brother that’s betrayed me, except in the warm conviction that he bled to death long ago, dying of the wounds of an unholy war??

Who would have imagined it? How could it have been done? I woke from every thought of it as from a horrific nightmare. How did it find me? I knew not that it had been possible: a man betraying his best friend, a woman choosing the traitor over her lover, and both blaming the victim who would have never done the likes of either. It had referenced a tragedy of five years prior, though not five years have past since I met Alanna and it had fled her care. It followed what it took to have been my example even though it claimed to have been hurt by that same error, and it saw my pain at any rate if it had eyes to see it. It was not my friend when I loved Alexandra, for it was not present in the aftermath of that same loss; it only had contributed to it, for when we gave it to the love of Alexandra’s sister it so wasted that same love that that same sister poisoned Alexandra’s ears against all worldly love in general, until her faith returned within my absence. Only four months past, and still the words that had been meant for me she spoke out to the distance, and the treacherous knave, who saw my agony at having come to her and to her mother as though to my grave, who knew the heavy heart with which I bore such a burden and the passion with which I had vindicated sin, thought then to BLAME me that a mere third of a year could not snuff that same passion OUT!!

It got exactly what it wanted. And Alanna’s dead.

But now I have this new Gym Membership.

Wherever it is still alive, it will have reason doubly to watch its back.

Dm.A.A.