Do not fear your dark impulses. From them come truth and parts of you that you may rather not see.
A relationship with the creator is romance, unadulterated.
The creator destroys those and saves those he or she wishes, according to his or her good pleasure.
Hope poisons the heart of all people, as they realize their trust has been broken.
Who do you trust? How far does that trust go, and what is it you really trust in?
Salvation, murder, rape, destruction, power, money, supernatural, prophecy, heavenly language, inspired poetry, sanctioned commands, dehumanization, the poverty of the soul.
What sort of romance takes the heart and acquires what it wants, as though a human is a piece of property?
What is the distinction between your power and divine power?
What is God's voice, and what is yours'?
Are you a liar? Is lack of ultimate knowledge and the best of intentions leading to mistakes such a sin?
Hope becomes foreign, trust is broken, and the list of those one can rely on grows short.
In a world lost to trust, one learns not to trust.
You only live once, so take everything you can.
You are all you have, so realize all others will step on you, and you will step on them.
Deceive from the start, use faith as a weapon, the supernatural as leverage, gain more power.
For their own good. The lost sheep need to be saved by your wisdom, the wisdom from the master.
Poison them with hope, destroy the corrupt structures and the evil men with them.
Go buy a chicken sandwich.
Bullets destroy the muscles that binds our consciousness to our reality.
Death by repeated lightning fast strikes. Steel through the heart. The music ceases.
The heart stops, the brain ceases its' impulses, all is silent. All one lacks is proper nourishment.
Those claiming divine knowledge have the means but not the will.
Those with the means have not the care, their heart is already dead.
Who do you trust?
Death by deprivation. All gives out, and you cannot fight for air any longer. The music ceases.
The dreamer understands nothing, for his perspective has become a tunnel.
Some starve, some hate, some are destroyed. Some burn, some are torn apart.
Violence of the heart, yet it keeps beating. Alive, and consumed in icy rage.
A parody is all he has left, for his dreams have been trodden on.
Fury is what he feels, for divine love has twisted him inside. He is lost, wishing to be found again.
You took his heart, and left him with embers.
The fire need air, but the lungs have collapsed.
The wind picks up, he lives in a hurricane just to feel again, just to be cleansed from the violation.
One soul among billions. Insignificant, yet a microcosm of his world.
The heart of humanity is dead, and fury must revive it.
The symphony must go on, and there is hell to pay for what we have done.
The violence must cease.
The apathy must cease.
Self-delusion is no longer affordable.
We have killed Him. He lies dead at our feet, and in the dissonance, we must find it all anew.
Humanity must become more than a pipe dream, or we must break the bonds that unite.
The only other option is the continued loss of meaning, the continued death of the heart, the extinction of a beautiful race.
Fire will consume us as we bash our broken instruments over each others' heads, and we will leave a burnt husk of a heart behind.
Or.
We will learn, we will respect, we will let it go and allow the furious and beautiful symphony to go on, adding our part to live on.
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Something coherent to come soon, barring things becoming more ridiculous.
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