I want to direct your attention to the black mist of sadness. Imagine that there are people among us who genuinely wish to be open, kind, and loving toward others — to show warmth without fear. Yet because of the dominant dark forces that govern this foul dimension, they have been taught the lesson: that it is unwise to extend oneself, to reveal any need or wish to connect.
It is, in part, understandable. We do not want to reciprocate loving kindness toward those who reek, who appear grotesque, unkempt, or otherwise repulsive to the senses. That is one of the conditions of this realm: we cannot easily love what disgusts us. And yet, this too is one of the gifts — or cruelties — of our Creator, who ensures that some are born in ways that render the “rule of love and kindness” an ethical paradox. The result: yes, we ought to love, but the foulness of some creations seems to nullify that dream.
Still, if we look closely, we can perceive a small, hot coal of need glowing in the sternums of those around us — buried deep beneath layers of suffering and calloused trauma. Our reality is so bleak that our ideals have become myths: profound, rare, and legendary, but never the rule. For some reason, we still cling to the illusion that this world was founded by a loving God, or that it is somehow guided toward human harmony.
Yet nature itself determines the feelings that move within us — the raw, undeniable ones that we cannot help but recognize as true. Against this stands the false ideal of what “ought to be,” from which we condemn others for not embodying virtues they were never given. So we live with what we truly feel beneath, and above it, a thick layer of “forbidden.” Denial becomes the only way to remain unaware of the black mist of sadness that saturates existence.
People cannot be what they are not. Hammering them with demands to “love” or to find beauty where they feel only revulsion is futile. We exist in God’s toilet bowl — a sewer in the lower dimensions.
I do an aggressive Chinese Liu Kang Kung-Fu flip onto the table of sacraments in the house of God, and I ejaculate a combination of black semen, rotten blood, and feces from the fully erect penis into the cup of the Lord on the table of holies. You have failed this species, and we are no longer playing into your sick vision.
You thought it was hilarious to build infinite paradox into the will of life. Well, I think it is hilarious to rip dark black loads from my dick, into your wine cup of sacraments.