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WARNING: DESCRIPTIONS OF HYPERSEXUALITY, SELF HARM, RELIGION, OTHER NONSENSE BORN FROM DELUSION PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE

Machinery and Rustling

It moves, you move, It controls you, It makes you pay.

That is your existance right now. A machine, you can hear your own cogs and springs and motors and switches and the metal rusting and breaking and joining and deforming inside your head. Everything is dead or empty to you, there is only the machine. The machine which is a parasite and it is also you. It makes you breathe it makes you blink it makes you think. The machine is controlling, and you aren't.

The machine thinks for you, the machine emotes for you, it produces it causes it exaggerates. A dial here which is overtly sensitized. Touch the machine the slightest bit and it will react violenty. You are the machine. The Machine is you.

Spiteful and Hateful Existence in the 5th Circle

The machine has been broken, smashed into piecess, the machine is you, you are the machine. The sound has not disappeared, the rustling remains. Looking inside yourself may be a fruitless, for there is hatred. Hatred to them, hatred to all. Hatred built from the pieces of dissapointment and rejection, hatred built from jealosy and contempt, an entire monument for your sins. There are people that have built entire sections by themselves, although it resides solely in your mind. The same people who only remain, for the good ones have been driven away by you and the machine. Push and act and hide and mask and now there is nothing left except hatred.

Hatred and the wish for rebelliousness drives the needle in the vein. Stabilized hand for it has practice. Under your tongue, under her tongue, under the machines tongue. Hatred is your fuel now, hatred is the devil's fuel, your fuel. Your name is Beelzebub. mistress of flies, of lies, of putrid smells and death cadavers.

Jesus was an Architect, Previous to his Career as a Prophet

Restart, Renact, Recycle, Reproduce. The sound goes on, there is only rustling, the machine prevails. The hatred is the fuel for the machine. The hatred cultivated by the machine feeds it, the produce into the fuel. and there is nothing left to do but laugh and laugh at it until it goes away. So far away from destruction, destruction against capitalism and psychiatry for controlling you and bringing you down to your knees, making you beg for the bare scratches of affection. The affection which is never reached. The wood that drives the nail mad. The capitalistic capital that makes you bite god's fingernails. The slave you are and the slave you will be are the only things left, in hatred and rustling. Medicine that drives you mad, medicine that increases the machine, medicine that increases the heat. The machine keeps producing and keeps breaking down, the more it produces the more it breaks down. You are now a car engine at capital, the capital that gives you what you need, what you deserve, bare byproducts.

The car moves and stops, the car jiggles in place, you can smash the car and break it apart. The machine can rebuild it. Jesus is there and he is your friend, jesus is the hand of capital driving you. There's no way to stop him unless it's at the hand of the kerosene kept in the engine, stop the car stop the car. Jesus can die but there is only hatred inside his heart, keeping him alive. He screams loud enough so his eyeballs pop out. The machine keeps running, the arms fall you. You have no eyes, there is only sound and heat. Heat from fire and the machine has kept jesus alive, the hatred he has is enough fuel for an entire season. Run and fall before the machine, after it. There is no machine, only you and the car. Jesus built my car, it's a love affair, mainly Jesus and his hotrod

Congregation, reunite and worship the blood of our savior

You are the will of Gehenna. The curse of the world is upon your blood and desire can smell it. The stench you produce. Will you are and will you are not. There is no will except the one you produce which has ran out of. Will is Will and Will is Sadness and Will is Power and Will is Hatred. Desire to act based on hatred. Desire is Will, and only that. The soul you sold years ago leaves a void in your chest. Filled by pain. You have created the machine at the hands of Thelema. Your own will is your self-destruction. Thelema is only for the willing ones, for there are left none. Dead religions and myths and figures aside. It is time to pray, the rosary beads which you have used to strangle death itself, leaving a mark upon your throat. Will Jesus forgive you for burning him with kerosene? That is of his own will.

Fire can cleanse the soul of the sins you have committed, fire can cleanse you from the sins of Satan. You will return to gods rightful place since you are an angel, the most handsome angel! Satan has left your place and so has the feminine. Swim in the ocean and hatred of manhood like the good little boy you are. You are a failure. You are no one. You are feminine and god hates women as much as you hate him. Bite god's hand and make him bleed. Make him expell you from reality, let him burn you and you will reject the flame. The machine is back and god has been absorbed into the machine. The hatred for god and capital are now one and the same.

Do me harder with that Chainsaw

Pleasure and pain are correlated in the flesh. Healthy pleasure does not exist. Let her harm you, let capital consume her and use her desire against you. Let her exploit you, let her be god's hand that scratches your back. Fleeting pleasure in cycles. Come and go, with pills and psychiatry. People are fuel for hatred, for the machine. One more coil, one more dosage, one more fix, let the machine be completed. Please let the machine be completed the sounds don't stop. She has no desire, only numbness and hatred towards you. Use tools for yourself, to replace the impression of her, she has left and you have left. She has been absorbed into the machine and she is dead. Only creations of the machine remain, chainsaws, handsaws, needles and knives for your pleasure. to control the remains of Satan, to control the machine. Only pleasure and hatred drive the machine and it feels so good to be hateful. Press the chainsaw right into your hand for better control, she uses the chainsaw, you want her to use the chainsaw, you want your hand to come right off, the right hand is a traitor. It comes and goes and up and down, but there is no rhythm, only pleasure, the needle in the vein and the mother you never had, the metal in your hand and the libido you once denounced. Psychiatry can't help, it is part of it too. Psychology and pleasure and pain are the same. The machine uses the hatred of pain and absorbs the pleasure unto itself. The machine is completed. Beelzebub returns to her rightful place as queen of hell, daughter and sister of satan.

You are Beelzebub, I am Beelzebub, We all have machines of Doomsday. We all have the remains of Nietzsche, Marx and Freud inside our hearts, in hatred, in collaboration. The sound has finally stopped, the rustling replaced by the screaming of all the victims of the machine, Satan, Hatred, Jesus, Pleasure, Pain, Her. One and the same constant scream. Never ending, nevermore.