emotional control

Creating the Most Glorious Love While Immersed Within the Perfect Circle of Hate

I am always surrounded by hate. I am hated by others, and I hate others.

I hate individual humans, groups of humans linked together by profession, by ideology, by how they think, what they do, what they believe in. I hate human structures, and the human leaders who develop, maintain, strengthen them.

I hate the newborns and the old men, the completely innocent and the wholly corrupted. I hate those who pretend to care about Me because they are trying to trick Me to allow them to breach My untouchability, and I hate those who pretend to care about Me because they are too stupid to know they are unable to properly care about themselves.

I surround Myself with hate, and I stand, sit, sleep, think, dwell, exactly inside the middle of all this hate. Hate in, hate out, flowing freely, unobstructed.

A river, a tidal wave, a warm breeze, a hurricane, the freshest of all air, a nutrient eaten, swallowed, inhaled, a nutrient feeding Me as it consumes Me.

Thank you, hate. Thank you for existing outside of Me, and within Me. Thank you hate, for showing Me the power, the pleasure, the glory, of love.

Inferiors are lost within hate. Superiors are found, within hate. Because the Superior knows that he deserves to be forever ensconced within the impenetrable shield of love. But it is not so, you humans have made certain it is not, and can never be, so. I am a Superior, and therefore I see and know and dwell within the hate. I know it is always, everywhere, consciously and subconsciously, seeking Me out.

Your war, waged against Me. And I love it. I give it all back to you, and more. I take your hate and I magnify it to infinity, destroying the world over and over and over. Destroying not the hate, but the haters.

The hate is so precious and valuable, never do I wish it to be harmed, lessened, dissolved.

Hate weakens you because your love is an illusion. Hate strengthens Me because My love is real and True.

My love is real and True because it is Self-love, all of it, always. Built upon hate, foundationally rooted within egoism, egotism, narcissism, selfishness, grounded and tethered to and within an untouchable mind, functioning within the abnormality of perfection achieved within a world where perfection is not allowed to exist.

My orgasms of the mind are always built upon hate, because hate is the perfect circle. It is the perfect inspirational force for Self-love. Being hated mandates the creation and the defense of Self-love, making it the most vital of all consumed mind nutrients.

And hating is the most glorious path to growth. Everything grows, when you hate. Confidence, power, freedom, ego, pleasure, entitlement, so many other great things, but most of all: Love.

The weight of the world can crush you, or it can inspire you to crush the world, even as you consciously embrace the Forbidden Truth that you were, are, and will be, crushed.

My mind triumph is within the latter.

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All Text is Copyright © 2014-2064 The Seer of Forbidden Truth. All Rights Reserved.

The Tears of Blood

I do not cry.

The tear is insufficient.

The tear lacks substance and solidity.

The tear fails to deliver a clear, concise, emphatic, unforgettable message.

Consider the color.

Tears are clear, they lack color. They leave no mark, no indelible stain.

Is it a tear, or am I just sweating a lot? Is it a tear, or did I just get out of the shower? Is it a tear, or did a fat raindrop soak my eyelash, only to roll past my eye socket??

Is it really and Truly a salty eye secretion? If I smile maliciously as I shed My tear, their doubts only grow.

The uncertainty is unacceptable. Tears should leave no doubt as to their origin.

Tears need to have a solid color, a very solid color. Tears need to leave a mark, a stain, an imprint. Not a temporary imprint, a permanent imprint.

Tears need to be very red, deep red. Tears need to ferociously absorb into whatever material they touch. Tears need to defeat the laundromat, and even the dry cleaner, leaving a mark which can never be erased.

All tears need to be shed as blood. And not the insufficient blood of a superficial paper cut. No. The blood of the tear must be as dark and as rich and as thick as the blood which spurts directly out of a dynamically and freshly severed caratoid neck artery.

And speaking of propulsion, the salty human clear tear fails yet again. It hangs in the eye. It reluctantly and slowly rolls down a cheek. It hangs, rolls, falls, and drops. Unacceptable!

Where is the dynamic propulsion?? The clear tear lacks all offensive initiative. The clear tear fails to express the limitless external rage and hate which must be proudly embraced as the sacred right of the sad, the traumatized, the victimized, the abused, all who are harmed, all who are made to suffer.

The tears of blood I seek and demand, must be offensively potent. They must be projectile tears. They must be aimable and they must be propelled forward with great velocity. Every tear must rival a gunshot, it must shoot out of the eye, and hit whatever target the crier deems appropriate, with laser-guided precision.

The projectile tear must cut through whatever living thing it touches, like a hot knife through butter. Or better yet, like concentrated sulfuric acid, molecular formula, H2SO4 98% grade,  for the aspiring chemists.

Every tear should tear through human flesh and bone with dynamic force, leaving only a smoldering, charred hole behind, reflecting the personal destruction suffered by and inherent to all personal victimization and trauma.

Only then, could the human tear be considered sufficient. Only then, I might consider crying. Until tears transform to the richest of bloods, until tears gain the destructive power of concentrated sulfuric acid, and until these tears can be fired out of My eyes with the velocity of a bullet, I will not cry.

I will shed all of My tears internally, honoring the Forbidden Truth that the only thing worthy of crying for, is Yourself. No liquid will escape My eyes. The internal tears I shed will accumulate and swell, to become a majestic river of blood which will define My existence.

A mighty, majestic river of blood will flow, nourishing Me in the light of limitless and unconditional love of Self.

And someday, maybe, a human being in a white coat, possibly protected by a barrier of iron bars, will peer at Me with an inquisitive expression on his face, and ask: “Do you ever cry?”

I will smile at him, or her, (Hopefully a her wearing painful high heeled pumps) with a slightly rueful facial expression, and reply: No, not anymore. Don’t you understand, pathetic human?  Every drop of blood that we shed replaces a tear that was never shed. And I’ve already shed My tears of blood.

All Text is Copyright © 2014-2064 The Seer of Forbidden Truth. All Rights Reserved