Rain (3 and 4)
I got the cover working!
Anyways, I’m sorry for the long delay. As a nice treat, I’ll drop every other part today.
Parts 3 and 4 are probably the most graphic and dark in the whole book. If parts 1 and 2 were dark by your standards, then I would genuinely avoid part 4. Nevertheless, it is also the most gut-wrenchingly emotional, depressive, and manic experience in the whole book and the development in the plot throughout parts 3 and 4 are the main focus. Parts 1 and 2 were relatively short, but 3 and 4 are a bit longer and are mostly development for Kaikki’s character and growth whereas the early parts were setting up the plot and philosophy of the book. If you read parts 1 and 2, and they were anything short of a struggle, I think the payoff of reading through 3 and 4 is worth it. It’s mostly smooth sailing from here.
This is also about the point where I forgot that dialogue tags were a thing.
Part 3 was directly copied from an extremely early draft because I thought that I couldn’t improve on it (as in, I thought that it was so unsaveable I didn’t want to write more) but it’s not unreadable. It’s also quite short. I would genuinely recommend skipping it, if it were not for the fact that what happens during it is the most important individual event in the story. I will include a summary before part 4 for anyone who wants to skip it, as I believe it is a sour spot that, as on many apples or bananas, should be cut out in order to make the rest seem perfect.
Back to the classic warning!
I want this story to be seen as a piece of literature, as I see it as some kind of bastard child of mine, but it’s just as easy to see the good parts of it as the bad. Everything in this book is based off of some real life event I or someone I’ve known has been through, with the exception of the obviously fictionalized parts, but that does not mean it is made for everyone. It is a book full of themes about suicide, sexual assault, murder, abusive relationships, and, above all, death and suffering. I’ve long seen it that life is a winding road full of boring pitstops and car crashes and I wanted to represent that world through the one in Rain. If you want to read this, please be my guest, but I will find you stronger for not reading it if you don’t want to.
Quaternary memory
Having felt the incurable desire to sneak away and rebel against the system which I have despised my whole life, I found myself trampling on the holy grounds of the Massu’s quarters. I had seen a young woman bent over a well and hid in fear of being caught, but she saw me nonetheless.
She was beautiful, and had slightly tan skin. Her hair was clean, as was her body, and this was in great contrast to the constitution of everyone else in Elegant Devotion, Summer Prayer had. She had a slightly pimply face, this imperfection making her seem profoundly human and even more beautiful than if she had not. Her nose was defined, a trait I’ve found that only I find extremely attractive, and profoundly duck-shaped lips.
“Hello?”
I peered out from the bush I hid behind and responded: “hello.”
“What’re you doing here?”
“I snuck out.”
I will not share that I had arrived here intentionally; I will say that it was an accident. I will act as if it were, and every thought I have internally will reflect this. This is the truth of lying, you see: you must lie to yourself more fervently than you do to anyone else. You must be able to react subconsciously as if the lie you are telling is the very truth you experienced! You shall not let your face twitch into a smile when your lie is believed: you shall be still, for another accepting a fact is nothing that will bring you joy. When challenged, you will not be sad or defensive, and you will certainly not be angry. You will not overshare, as you have no need to: whatever disbelief they hold is natural, and you shall overcome it naturally. You are to be confused when they think you are lying, as they must be stupid to not believe a fact.
“Really? That’s cool,” she chuckled.
“Really?”
“Yeah, nobody ever comes here.”
“Why not?”
“It’s blocked off. Did you not know that?”
“Everything is.”
“Ha, that’s true. Come over here.”
“Okay?”
I walked over and she watched me with curious eyes.
“Come look at this.”
I looked into the well and saw a reflection clearer than anything I had seen before.
“It’s so clear.”
“Yeah. This is the water I get to drink.”
“No fucking way.”
“Yes fucking way! It’s amazing. I’ve seen the water you guys get to drink and it’s disgusting.”
“I mean… It’s alright. Sometimes we get sick, but we only drink it because we need to. Would anything more be necessary?”
“Why wouldn’t you want anything like this?”
“It’s not that I don’t. I’m just okay with what I have.”
“That’s stupid. You snuck out, right? There’s no way you’d be satisfied with shitty dirty water but draw a line at the confines of your quarters.”
“I’d try the water, of course, but I wouldn’t drink it every day. I will do something for a new experience, that is why I do it. If you’re not satisfied with one piece of bread, you will not be satisfied with two; if you are satisfied with none, then you will eat to cure your hunger. That is how I am, and that is how I want to be.”
“What’s your name, fool?”
“Mashlum.”
“I’m Sishkur, but it’s an ugly name, so call me ‘The Daughter.’”
“‘The Daughter’ isn’t much of a name at all.”
“I know, but that’s fine. It’s kind of pretty and it sounds cool. Sometimes my dad calls me that too.”
“Your dad?”
“The Massu.”
“The Massu is your father?”
“Yeah, shocker, I know.”
I felt the urge to say “so that’s why you’re here,” but that would clearly show I knew where I was. The fact I felt that urge at all shows that I am a terrible liar.
“So am I in the holy grounds?”
“Yeah, dummy.”
“Daughter, you seem very nice. How on earth can you be his child?”
“We’re nothing alike,” she said, peering into the clear well, “I’m much more like my mother.”
The image of that woman dressed in black had popped into my mind and I felt as if I had betrayed her.
“The woman in black?”
“Yeah. You know her?”
“We met once, and she gave me a lesson much like yours.”
“Yeah, that’d happen. She’s lovely, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I miss her a lot, you know.”
I shouldn’t ask what happened.
“I’ve known where I was the whole time, actually,” I said, trying to shift topics.
“Yeah, I know.”
“How?”
“You’re a good liar – I’ll give you that – but you can’t lie to me. Don’t you think I’d be able to pick out every flaw you made when my very father speaks nothing but lies? I’m used to it, and they’re nothing to me. I no longer speak your language, in fact, I barely understand what ‘english’ is. I read your face, I read your mind, the same way I read those books in his library. Here, let me brag a little bit.
“The first thing you told me was that you snuck out. Would anyone who snuck out admit that? Of course, maybe, they would, but it’s much more likely you admitted a partial, obvious truth so that the greater lie of having arrived here was much less obvious. I understand it clearly, dummy. You admit to wrongdoing so that nobody cares to ask if you’ve done more. Anyone who really snuck out would not admit it, as they have nothing more to hide.
“After that, everything you told me was natural. It was very natural, really, I’m impressed, but you wouldn’t really want to talk so much about how you could get here if you really didn’t want to hide it. That’s when I knew for certain you were a liar, but when you asked if you were in the holy grounds I had erased any hint of doubt remaining. I like you, Mashlum, and I know who you are; I would like to be friends, and friends do not lie.”
To have someone humble me so clearly and intelligently shatters the whole view I have had of myself. Whatever tension I have been held in was satisfied by such an event, and I feel like I want to be close to the person that did it.
“I’ve never had someone call me out like that. Are you really human?”
“Maybe not! But neither are you, Mashlum. Let me give you a new name… let me reveal a secret. Mashlum is a title, and you have no name; I will call you Kaikki. From that, feel free to make a name that you think suits you more.”
“Thank you, Daughter.”
“If you’re talking to me face-to-face, just call me Sish. If you ever mention me to anyone, though, don’t do that. I’m not meant to have friends.”
Somehow able to tell I was taking too long to process, she continued.
“If the Massu hears you say my real name, he’ll kill us both.”
“I mean, of course he would.”
“Yeah. You guys have dirty water, shitty food, not even any books.”
“I’ve snuck in. I’ve seen books.”
“The real ones, or the ones for babies?”
“The ones I can read.”
“Baby ones.”
“What’s wrong with them? I can’t read the others.”
“That’s the point. You know how I said I can read your face, but not speak your language? That’s what they do. The words are photos made to perfection, so subliminally understandable that anyone can read them. Even monkeys. They’re made for monkeys, actually. That’s how they were developed. They started as picture books and got more streamlined until everyone could read them. They first printed bibles, then Don Quixote, then other books, and eventually even babies were reading high literature. Have you read Fahrenheit 451? This is what they were talking about. It’s digestible now. Everyone can read them. That’s how they control us! We don’t have freedom of thought when they put ideas in our mind. These books put ideas in your mind. You see photos that tell a story and they make you imagine the same thing everyone else did. The murals carved into our houses make us think we’re cozy, those carved into our glasses make us feel refreshed. Our plates tell stories of satiation when you all starve, and we are made to believe we’re full. The books you read are the same.”
“And you can read real books?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it like?”
“It’s like staring into the clearest water you’ve ever seen.”
I stared into the well, meeting her eyes in the reflection. The water is clear, and the man that stares back is new. I love him.
Third inscription
Zina of the Dream
Time passes. That is all it does.
I am in the next realm, I believe, surrounded by an endless ocean of clear water.
I can see myself in the water. It’s so clear. I’d never drank such water.
My tired hands fall into the glassy pool. I cup them and pull them out, but they’re now too weak to hold themselves together.
My reflection grabs my hands and shapes them into the perfect shape for grabbing water. The water stays clear for my blood fears that it may be punished for running away.
Oh, what a beautiful taste.
“Art thou still thirsty?”
He gets out of the water completely dry.
“I never was. I just wanted to know the taste.”
“Strange. Usually Namuš likes to drip the liquids from the people who pass through Death.”
“I guess I got kicked out before that.”
“I’d never have expected thee to do such.”
“Of what are you the God of, Zina?”
“The Dream. They say that life flashes before your eyes – that is my domain.”
“How would you judge me based off of my few happy memories?”
“Good is relative. To know what is good I must know what of thy life is bad. I must know everything about thee. Such a nice body havest thee… The shape is the inbetween of all other men. It’s loose.”
“Thanks?”
“Well… no problem? Shit. I dropped the accent.”
“Do you guys fake it?”
“No. It just shows respect and such, but, if I’m in your body it doesn’t really matter.”
“???”
“Sorry. I usually go through a new body every time someone passes through so its often the first thing I notice.”
“Yeah…
Why don’t you do it all the time?”
“If people were born disabled or something like that their bodies can’t be ‘healed’, you know? It’s kind of morbid but I can’t take over the perfected form of a body if it never had one.”
“Is that why I’m healed now?
“Yeah.”
“I don’t mean to call you out, but what did you mean by disabled people not having ‘perfect’ bodies?”
“Don’t call me out, man. I hate to say it, but that’s just the way they are.”
“What do you define as perfect?”
“What your body is now. No wounds, everything’s there.”
“If I were skinny, would you be?”
“Yeah.
“If I were fat, would you be?”
“Yeah.”
“If I lost a limb?”
“No.”
“If I had an extra?”
“No.”
“What about natural selection?”
“Yeah, usually.”
“If I was born with my forearm bone sticking out of my hand like a knife would you have it?”
“Elaborate, please…”
“It’s a really good weapon. Like it doesn’t interfere with anything but I can just stab someone with it.”
“Yeah, I probably would.”
“What if that were the standard and I was born without one?”
“You wouldn’t have it.”
“What if I were a snake.”
“You’d be a snake.”
“What if I were a salamander?”
“You’d be a salamander.”
“What if I were the inbetween? Where they almost had legs and I lost one in birth.”
“You’d not have it.”
“So what’s the reason that you wouldn’t take the body of someone without a leg?”
“Well….”
“Aren’t you a god? What’s stopping you?”
“I’m only the god of the dream. I’m just whatever in your life made you happy.”
“What if someone lost a limb in their life and were happier without it?”
“I’d chose not to take it, then.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to. What’s wrong with trying to be perfect?”
“There’s some things that shouldn’t be changed.”
“Like what, being in a cult?”
“I was not in a cult.”
“You were in a cult. C’mon, they genuinely sent you here. Nobody but that fucking idiot Massu knows about us.”
“I wasn’t in a cult, dude.”
“I get it! If you were never in a cult, then there’s nothing to change!”
“Dude. I wasn’t in a cult.”
“So the Oracle that raped you was a well-meaning religous man and not a byproduct of a cult?”
I fucking punched him. A stain from my bloody hand marks his face.
I can’t even hear the name of him.
“Ow! Wow… people usually don’t do that. You’ve never fought, right?”
“No.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how?”
“I’ll scrape by.”
“Alright. You know this body better than I do.”
He leans in for a crazy looking punch.
I block my face. Oh, I covered my eyes…
He punches me straight in the stomach. I’m used to the pain…
My arms are already up, so I punch down.
How is he behind me?
“So, you sure about this?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure sure?”
“Yeah.”
He grabs my neck and suplexes me in to the water below us. Don’t people usually grab the stomach? It felt like my head was about to fall off.
Oh… this water is quite cold. Zina grabs me out of the water.
“Cold, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It kinda sucks. I have to get back in there every time, and -”
“If you can beat me with my own body, then does the ‘perfectness’ of the body matter?”
“Holy shit dude, we’re still arguing about this?”
“Yes! That’s what this was all about.”
“I thought it was about the cult…”
“NO!!!”
“Isn’t it your job to be perfect? I’ve just had more time to work than you.”
“Why on earth would I justify my life by self-improvement? Only a slave justifies himself by productivity!” I exclaimed.
“What else is there to do? If you do nothing but smoke cocaine and cry black tar heroin you’re not making it anywhere.”
“Wouldn’t I… What are those?”
“Ignore it. You get what I’m arguing about. There’s no happiness when you’re not growing.”
“Is the purpose of life not to enjoy it? You’re literally the god of happy memories and you’re arguing for long-term happiness? What’s the difference between being happy on your own and being happy with help?”
“What if you don’t have the things that make you happy? You’re just advocating for hedonism.”
“I lived like shit and all I could do was submit or read the ‘stupid-people books’ and I was not happy at all. If I had all of the good things I would be happy.”
“How do you know?”
“Your argument is that I don’t know anything. You have no substance.”
“I’ve spoken to every man in history and you’ve spoken to as many people as gods.”
“And now you argue that you know more than me. What’s so hard about proving me wrong?”
“It worked for me! I have nothing to do but watch people’s lives like TV and record the happy moments for their enjoyment and all I can do is get better at whatever niche skill I can in their bodies. Maybe you just didn’t have enough time!”
He was definitely holding back saying “you don’t have the authority to speak” or whatever like that.
“Are you so afraid of belittling me? Holy shit. If you have to hold back your proof then you should just say it.”
“You’re a puny little human whose had no fun at all! Is that what you want?”
“‘thou art’”
“Oh my god. Why are you trying so hard to tell me that pitiful excuses for happiness work? You haven’t even had any.”
“You’re just trying to argue that the purpose of life is to have as many interesting memories to watch because that’s what you want it to be.”
“Yes! Maybe that’s why but that’s what I believe! You think that drugs and sex can fix your life because you haven’t had enough happiness. It’s the same thing! We’re just products of our fucking circumstance.”
“Is the product of no misery saying that you’re not enough?”
“Maybe.”
“And then is the product of all misery that it doesn’t matter?”
“Maybe.”
“If life’s good, we want it to be equal misery, and if life’s bad we want it to be… equal misery. We want so hard to be like everyone else in shared constant pain! You want everything to be so entertaining. If everything’s entertaining nothing will be. You’ll be desensitized to it all, and you’ll want more like a life-watcher junkie.”
“It’s objectively better.”
“Objectivity is not subjectivity and your interpretation is purely subjective.”
“I’m a god.”
“And yet you earlier said that you’d want the objectively worse because your subjective view of it was normal. You’re just using your godhood as a justification for what you believe. It’s so self-referential.”
He punched me. I’m not that strong so neither is he.
I’m not even good enough to describe what we did after that. It was barbaric, watching my own body try and attack someone. I no longer watched him through my eyes but through the eyes of someone else because my small mind couldn’t comprehend that there were two of me at once. Every time I tried to fight back I would be reminded that I was myself because only I could attack myself with such hate. I had no experience and I was fighting a god in my body, yet I had all the time to learn.
There would be periods in which he would put me in a hold that lasted an hour or a day and I had to spend all that time figuring out how to escape only for him to reposition into a new grappling technique for me to beat, by then all the counter-techniques I developed for the first techniques were forgotten and I would return to the same spot. Maybe then an hour would turn into 30 minutes. I won’t stop improving.
I figure he finds this more entertaining than watching other people’s lives. Otherwise he’d have kicked me out. And if I can’t talk, I can’t tell him how stupid he is. What does he do when he’s not watching memories? Does he spend millenia sitting in that freezing water? Yeah, he probably would do that. Self-imposed misery. I wonder what he’s thinking. I have stuff to think about him but he already knows everything I’ve done. Is that why I’m losing? Because I’m not thinking about the fight?
I want to tell him that I don’t care, but if I do, he’ll either think I have no ego and simply want to leave or that I have too much and also simply want to leave. I desperately want to watch him continue in a self-indulging and self-destructive hypocrisy.
If I’ve argued so much for hedonism, why don’t I try it?
I grabbed the leg which has been continuously kicking my floating body and transition into a leg-lock. I’ve gotten out of this, and he probably knows how too. It’s better to just snap his knee here.
That loud snap was quite satisfying.
Oh, wow. He didn’t even scream. He just got up on one leg.
The leg I broke flicked itself back into place like one of those floaty tube people and he kicked me with it to show some kind of dominance or lack of strain but I caught it and did the same thing I just did. No, my form wasn’t as good here. I snapped his shin and pushed my own knee out of its socket.
My leg healed just like his did but his took more time. The bone stuck out of his calf and had to crawl its way back in before it tried to slide itself back together like fitting a screw.
That’s cool. He’s kicking again, and… it was a feint. Duh.
He used the momentum from faking a kick to spin around and hit with his back leg. It was really cool. Nonetheless, I caught it. He immediately swung his other leg around my neck to try and choke me out before I went for a leg lock, but I let go. He just… fell on the ground. I stomped on his neck. It crushed and pushed itself back out like a water bottle.
The hole in my neck that once held me back from drowning now overflows with blood on his body. Watching an old scar reopen…
Am I just as bad as him? No, I shouldn’t compare… No, I am incomparable from him. From the “oracle”. But I can’t just let myself forgive myself from all wrongdoing just because I’m a victim. I’m no victim at all! I was wronged but that does not define me. Nothing defines me at all for I am simply a human and neither god nor oracle can compare to me! Humans are so kind but these gods drive us to evil. Yes. Surely that’s it – I’m no evil at all.
But I have to prove it. I will save us all.
I’ll tear them all open. I’ll show myself to the world (which at this moment only includes people who have witnessed my lowest) and spread every wound on my body. The 2 cuts on my left thigh, the cut on my right ankle, the cuts on my lowest 2 ribs, the hole in my neck, the gap between my two forearm bones in my left. All of them, every single hole cut in my body I will cut open. I can no longer enjoy ecstatic self pity and I will rather wallow in the joy of liberation. All but the cut on my right bicep.
Now Zina looks like me, covered in blood. It is indistinguishable from mine both in appearance and origin but my blood is red with fervor and his is trying to scab up.
“You know, if I did have the choice between a human with a bone-blade on their arm and not, I think my choice is clear.”
He grabbed his right forearm and snapped it with a strong shearing force and pushed out his uppermost forearm bone. The lower one healed. He went to punch me as if he took me for a fool who would try and dodge or grab it and get cut up. No, I am not a fool. I am the king of fools whose head and brain are like that of all other men perfect in form but rancid in usage. I grabbed this bone, this new weapon, and tore it out. His arm quickly healed and desperately grasped for his bone but I grabbed it like a dog and yanked it in to his right bicep. This pulling force shredded it open. Like mine. Hordes of my own little red blood cells shed from his body in a disgustingly maroon glow which flooded the water between us.
I looked into his eyes and saw my own face. He held it like I held my face, sad, and on the verge of death.
No, I shant. The ends justify all means. If I am evil to save all men then it does not matter at all. Between me and a god all of my evils are incomparable compared to the “justice” in life.
There is no such thing as karma or retribution. No man can change. It’s hard to convey in words how evil the thought that no matter how much pain we go through nothing good will come from it really is. It’s just our nature to be the way we are, then. If people don’t change, then neither does what we do. We are victims of fate. We have no choice but to push our boulder up the hill and watch it fall and push it up once more because that is what the gods decreed on us as fate. If this fate really does exist, then it is for whatever reason unaccompanied by karma. There’s no benefit for the victim if there is no change because they do not improve. If they choose to wallow in the rain and cry themselves tears of black tar heroin and breathe crack they are only being further punished. The same shall apply to the perpetrator.
So, in truth, I cannot do wrong for there is no moral thing to hold me back.
Then, can I do no good?
All things are neutral and for the viewer to decide. That is how a perfect life shall be.
I have killed a god.
This is where part 4 starts!!! Read the summary even if you read part 3, please.
Chapter 3 is just a philosophical discussion between Kaikki and the God of the flashing memories before death, Zina. They end up in a days-long fistfight after an ideological disagreement that ends in Kaikki standing firmer in his philosophy than ever and killing with his bare hands. I didn’t get the most time to explain this, but Zina died willingly. He felt as if he was powerless against human will and his lack of joy in life finally overtook him as he understood the pain that he had long ignored by only viewing our happy memories. By dying, there is now an empty spot in the realm of the gods. You already know who will take it, so it’s not really worth mentioning.
Secondary memory
I saw her once, dressed in black. I was very young. Her hair was so dark that it blended with her long, flowing dress-like robe, which may have even been made of that hair itself. If I ever had a mother, it would likely be her. Something about the way she carried herself, especially to me, indicated love. She was significantly older than me, quite visibly.
“Hello,” she said. It was bluntly and caught me by surprise; I guess she noticed me glancing at her. She stood out amongst the ugliness and dirt in the crowd; she was clean and holy.
“Hello?”
“Hello!” she laughed, “what’s your name?”
“Mashlum.”
She was taken aback by my response. A wave of confusion flooded her face and I saw that the muscles one uses to frown had tugged for one instant before firing away; she was concealing some kind of lie, and that was apparent to me, but I am the only one that would have been able to tell. I did not know her but I had the sense I did, and I could clearly see that this was an unnatural response.
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“Thank you; few share it.”
The same look rebounded before bouncing into her soul once again. Nature returned, and she spoke:
“Well, rarely do people share names.”
I had the sense she wasn’t meant to say this to me, of all people.
“Well, what is yours?”
“I won’t see you again, and I won’t curse you with the memory of this interaction.”
“Why not?”
“People come and go; life is fleeting, and that is the nature of all things. Memory as well, of course. I hope that every time I speak to someone I influence them a little bit, and I understand that I have been victim to this many times before. With that memory, I am not part of you; I am a memory!” She giggled, like a child, or, like a mother laughing with hers.
“Why?”
“I guess that’s just how it is. I don’t have much time left,” she said, stroking her wrinkling hands (not looking at them, it was probably instinctual), “so I want to do the most of what’s left with it.”
“Why would that ever matter?”
“You’re funny.”
She crouched down to my level, and continued, patting my head: “there’s nothing else to do. It’s just principal, I guess, to do what you can. Mashlum, I recommend you do the same. Share the blessing you have; you are granted life.”
Fourth Inscription
Elämä of Life
I gasp. My lungs are empty, and they wheeze over and over begging for air.
I am here. The place I died. What can I bring to your mind to describe it? It is disgusting!
I sank down that tub, down. Forever. I bathed in it and it clung to me… that horrible temperature of blood. My whole body reminds me of what happened. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
I will claw myself out of this tub. My dead body will claw itself out for it is the last thing I beg of it to do.
With all my might, I will lift one finger. I will send ripples in this blood with one wiggle and one breath shall destine the end of him whose name hurts to remember. Fuck my name. I am not “Sade”. I decree who I am on my own and I will name myself. It will be a long name so long that nobody shall wish to utter it: Kaikki Mitä Haluat On Elämän Vastaan Siis Pyydä Mahdotonta.
All you want is against the world, so ask of the impossible. I have no shackle that holds my arm and I will lift it.
I will lift that arm, yes. Before I die I will claw myself out of here and die with all the other men for death comes to us all and its equality is its sole flaw because I WILL NOT DIE BEFORE THE ORACLE I WILL NOT AND I WILL LIFT MY ARM AND USE THIS ARM TO CRUSH HIM I WILL KILL THE ORACLE I HATE THAT ORACLE I HATE THAT THING I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT WITH ALL MY MIGHT AND I LIFT MYSELF
I LIFT MYSELF OUT OF THIS TUB WITH TORN ARMS
No, I shall be calm.
Heaven is above me.
I’ll run outside to see the beautiful sky. The beautiful sun lifts the blood from my body in a perfectly clear and cleansed steam.
My clothes have been removed and in their place I have my scars which should not be hidden.
The sky is blue. I hate this fucking blue. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Its the same blue as that inbred disgusting oracle’s eyes. Now I get it! Now I understand Zina! How could I have argued for anyone who can possible resemble this fucking creature?
Where is he? Where is he?
I’ll kill him! I’ll tread through these ugly gardens until I find his body masturbating in public because the slits and holes in my dying body weren’t enough for him. He’s probably made a hole in the dirt where my only love died so he could kill her twice.
Through these gardens I run and in the very spot I knew he’d be, he was. Of course!
“How are you alive?” he gasped.
“I don’t know! To be honest, I don’t care! I just killed a god! I can do anything!”
“Do you want to play with me more?”
“ILL KILL YOU.”
His face was so disgusting when he said that! Holy shit! The little flabs of meat those little scars of his daddy and mommy brother and sister fucking like rabbits (their parents are brother and sister as well) flopped like little mouths on his little ugly face befitting of that little penis that could have fucked scratches on my body with no need for slashes.
I’m all powerful compared to this animal. I have no bound mental nor physical of killing him!
I feel though, as if, one glance at him
One intent glance
Could surely most definitely vaporize him, but that’s not enough suffering.
I want him to die in pain.
I get it! I get you, Namuš! It really is funny!
If he’s alive will he go on to hurt more?
No evil shall come in my way between now and my goals. I will end all suffering.
I have imagined, intently, rolling each of his limbs out like a tube of toothpaste (the beautiful crunch of his arms and bones crumbling away sharing the same feeling as rubbing your finger across an especially defined muscle and engendering the bounce of each fiber) for the entire eternity of my fall with Namuš and the longer eternity in that bath.
How beautiful is this garden compared to the oracle. How much more beautiful is Kigali! Oh, how I yearn for death at this moment. If I die at my highest I will surely be a happy soul! I will surely reach higher.
Dear sun, in your endless strength, burn this garden.
I grabbed a fig leaf and put it over my genitals. It stayed, as if I were in a painting. Oh, reality does not feel so real right now! If I have reached heaven, dear God, please let me stay.
I don’t even know what to think right now. I just want to soak in this ecstasy of greatness knowing that I am so far better than all around me!
Lifting one finger, I reach out to his hand.
All of the fear I had once internalized, the minisculity I felt even thinking about him (let alone in front of him) has no choice but to disappear now. Please, please, please, please let me kill him.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGAGASGAGAGAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOPUIAWE BNOIYAEHGFLAIUHDFJBA,SDMHAVMBNBMADVCBMNBMASDFVKJASDBFV A,BERVKAWER
I WILL TEAR HIM APART
I WILL GRAB HIS ARM AND SQUEEZE IT
AND HIS OTHER ONE TOO
HIS LEGS, ALL OF IT
AND LIKE A FOUNTAIN HE BLEEDS
AND SO UPON ME FALLS THIS RAIN
THIS BEAUTIFUL, BEAITFUL RAIN!
HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU DEAR NATURE
FOR BLESSING ME WITH SUCH A BEAUTIFUL MOMENT
DEAR GOD OF DEATH I UNDERSTAND THEE SO MUCH
I AM SURELY EQUAL TO YOU, GOD, IF YOU NOT EQUAL TO ME
(AS I AM TO DEMEAN YOU WITH SAYING SUCH)
OH THIS FALLING RAIN ABOVE ME
THIS BEAUTIFUL TEMPERATURE
NOT COOL, NOT HOT
THE PERFECT TEMPERATURE OF MY BODY
OH, BIRTH, LIFE, DREAMS, DEATH, AND THE AFTERLIFE
NOTHING YOU CAN GIVE ME SHALL COMPARE
And in one moment I see
that the fear I once felt in blood
that disgusting temperature in Kigali
to me, is nothing but relative.
I was right, oh, praise, I was right.
It’s all a matter of mindset.
I’m satisfied, Oracle. Live. I will not harm you.
While I know you shall continue to sin, and that I was only one in a cycle, I don’t care.
You will die.
I will die.
You, reader, will die.
We will all die.
There is no point any more
I cannot rebuke the suffering I receive. It’s part of life.
I won’t seek it either.
Oracle, bear this leaf. Never again shall the world, so little in its remaining life (for I will surely end this world soon) see what is behind it.
I ran back in to the tub (it’s in his quarters, which have direct access to both the garden and main hall). There was cum floating on top of the blood… yuck.
I took the door out in to the main hall and dashed straight to the Massu’s room ignoring the hundreds of faces looking at me and my bloody wounds and leaf.
Now’s the perfect time for me to learn! My mind so above all that inertia will carry it and all knowledge to heaven.
Here is the one book I had not yet read. On it lay one of the symbols of the intelligent readers – the ‘t’. It is written for my people: the people below.
I open it to the first page. On it are people and actions – just like pictures. They’re so simplified that I understand all things written on the page at a single glance – ‘let there be light’. I read and I read so quickly before anyone comes to the room – ‘everything is meaningless’ – I’m halfway through!
‘Father, into your arms I commit my spirit’
When Jesus was on that cross, he must have surely bled more than all men in history combined. The blood of a born baby inherently sinful, the blood of a murder’s victim, of an adulterous virgin, of me. None can compare to him who shall save me.
Let it be pride that dictates me to letting myself be my salvation when the Lord has revealed himself to me and played with my mind showing me such faulty images of Kigali and Namuš and Zina and those figures who are false in their entirety.
There it is… a cross on the Massu’s doorway. Our leader is a follower of Christ. No, he cannot be. How should he lie when he is so devout to have a mark of the Lord? Is this crucifix a symbol of how HE killed Christ? As all of us followers do? No…
There’s a potent gravity around me. The Massu knocks at his door… I see you, Namuš, making that cross flip upside down.
No! I’ve only just realized! There is no gravity around me. There is no way that the sun could have evaporated all this blood! I am resurrected and with that I do not face the perils of gravity and my blood will float happily.
I’ll kick this door down! HAHAHAHAHA! I’M IMMORTAL!
“What doest thee?”
“I have faced your gods and returned. I don’t care if this was a part of your plan – to make me face this rain of blood and this rain of sin – one and the same – but I am beyond you!”
“You are my sweetest child, Sade, you are all my children, but you, Sade, are my favorite! Yes, you are immortal!”
“My name is not Sade. My name is Kaikki Mitä Haluat On Elämän Vastaan Siis Pyydä Mahdotonta and I will not let you remember it! You decreed such sin on me. The rain of The Daughter…”
“That was of my will. I gave her that gun. Please! You should know this! She wipes her nose every time she lies; for the gods’ sake, it’s so obvious! I made you immortal! You are divine!”
I had noticed it not, but none of my wounds shackle me. They are merely marks on my body!
“I don’t care at all! What’s the point in living in this world? Saving all of you? That’s not possible! There is only one salvation. When I give everyone olives and wine they will soon come to regret all things every moment they’re reduced to having (the equally luxurious) grapes and beer. When a poor man can now only afford one loaf of bread instead of two he will suffer the same! There is one path to happiness and that is equality. Massu, you suffer as much as me and you are worse than me for it. I live worse than you just as all of us do but we suffer equally when we could avoid all suffering entirely!”
Primary memory
I was born, I suppose, on some day in the past. That place which I have called home – the Elegant Devotion, Summer Prayer – was dominated by heat and uncomfortability. In hindsight, I see that this was planned, and to that plan it held tremendous value, in order to keep us docile. We could not tolerate dissention, could not question where our parents were, and had nothing to tell us that such a thing as “better” existed. We were underfed, skinny, weak, and ugly. Our water was dirty, we often got sick (and many of us died to simple colds), all while we had to face the extreme heat of the blistering sun drying water out of our bodies. For that reason, as water was limited for us, we could not go outside. We had all the power to – nobody stopped us – but we knew it meant suffering. Naturally, we were limited to dirty cramped quarters where the heat of your neighbors body was cool in comparison. Sometimes, at night, children would sneak out, but they would have to wake up with everyone else; tired, drained, and forced to work. Our whole day centered around processing food, building, smithing, farming, and going to wells. People who got the liberty of working outside had the privilege of drinking more water, the same privilege given to the Massu’s concubines (sex, of course, making you sweatty), and it was thus treated as the highest class of job you could get. There was one exception, of course, and that was to be born as a Mashlum. In my modern state of enlightenment, I understand this word clearly; a waterskin, leather pouch. One which will carry the rain, and one that is currently empty. We had to do nothing, or, rather, were not permitted to. We were made to be empty. There was nothing good in our life, and nothing bad to make anything good in comparison. I suppose I should hate this in hindsight, as it was something forced upon me; it shaped me, subconsciously, by design, to take the actions I have taken until this very point. I am grateful now because I have the liberty of seeing it in my past and the clarity of having wiped it off of my glasses.
I will become crazy by any means possible. Mania is my strength, anger is my strength. God is my strength, I love God more than any other; mania is a near second, and I consider it to be his coming unto me. I must become crazier. I will throw away everything! Everything that has ever resembled normalcy; all of my philosophies must change, all of my world must change, and I will give myself the power to change the world! All of it must go away.
Dear reader, yes, I am speaking to as you! I see you, and I see my authors hand, but some part of me has been compartmentalized into his brain and I now function as my own unique being. By writing, I become crazier, because I am all the mania of a broken man seeping into itself and molding into a fine mess.
Hey, didn’t you write the oracle to be just like him? You made me suffer. You made me suffer through everything? Why did you do that?
Every day I had to live in fear of being raped, every moment I ran on a broken leg, every moment I got home to see him finding new ways to try and reach me. Every moment I suffered was all your fault?
Hey! You’re not meant to speak. It’s my turn. I’m the one talking, me! Kaikki Mitä Haluat On Elämän Vastaan Siis Pyydä Mahdotonta! No. Me! Me Me Me, capital M. I am Me. I am so important my name is to be capitalized as it’s carved into history.
Back to reality.
Back to my reality.
Back to the book you were reading, sorry for the interruption.
Where was I? I copied and pasted most of this from an earlier draft… Here, let’s reread!
I just almost killed the oracle and Massu together. Yeah. And I’m in the garden! If I wasn’t, I am now.
It’s ridiculously ugly. This planet is disgusting. I am now within Elämäs domain! I see that clearly.
Life, held together by gravity. We are alive solely because we are to die one day, but that’s okay! I’m the same man who has once craved death, the same who now will never die. I am an immortal god who will surpass everyone! HAHAHA!
My mania is overtaking my God.
I have mastered, in some aspect, forcing myself to become crazy. I am able to write whatever I want whenever I want because I can do whatever I want whenever I want! I could rule the world if God wills! I love you, Jesus Christ! Thank you for breaking me; my shards are beautiful, and I am to throw away all of those that I care not for. God bless us all.
Here, watch this!
I’m puking! Me, Kaikki Mita Haluat On Elämän Vastaan Siis Pyyda Mahdotonta! I’m puking everywher
e
Blood, guts, everything human that was once part of me. The blood on my body is now coming away from inside of me
This dastardly blood! This disgusting blood!
- i made myself crazy
- im writing at thousdands of words per minute like a genius
- every mistake i write is beautiful and made to be that way
- as god made me
Fuck
Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck i wanna say FUCK
Fuck cufkcu kfuck fuck
I’m puking everywhere. It hurts. It’s like I smoked something that was totally laced but maybe I’m just a lightweight so I’m weak to it, you know?
My humanity is leaving. I am merging with God himself; the god above me, the god who –
Wait, I just got a text. Be right back.
I’m back! Sorry for the interruption.
Have you ever seen a book like this? If I had an editor and got this published like I want to then they’d make me cut this out. I’d say: fuck you! I’m having an affair with your wife/husband.
Can we get back to the book?
Yeah, sorry.
Okay, okay, back to the story.
I’m still puking ev erywhere and I think my body’s turning inside out
Jesus fucking christ my legs are shaking
I’m sorry for using your name in vain i love you so much thank you for revealing yourself to me every time i’ve opened the bible
Hold on let me google something
Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time. Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace. Taking, as he did, the sinful world as it is, not as I would have it. Trusting that he will make all things right, if I surrender to His will; that I may be reasonably happy in this life, and supremely happy with Him forever. Amen.
- i think its going away
- i feel normal
- i want to hold on to it
Fuck fuck fuck
Puking.
Maybe I’ve gone too far? What am I even becoming right now
What the fuck am I writing
this is nonsense.
Let’s do something more cohesive!
I, Kaikki Mitä Haluat On Elämän Vastaan Siis Pyydä Mahdotonta, will rewrite reality.
