1: GOD BECOMES A SERIOUS CONTENDER FOR GIVING MY LIFE A SENSE OF MEANING

"I like cat videos." I said. "In particular I like hairless cats being strangled or microwaved."

"Sorry. I don't think this is the right job for you."

"It's cute. I know [laughs laughs] it's escapism [laughs laughs] but the news today and every day is always bad [laughs laughs] so I watch cats instead [laughs laughs]."

"Oh well in that case. You have got the job. Well done."

Bang head against table.

Head makes rattling noise like an old metal toolbox.

I have recently come to the conclusion that I have never possessed any free will, and that free will is a complete illusion. I may as well be dead, but there isn't anything I can do to bring that process about. I don't have any free will, so I can't commit suicide unless I am drawn by fate to commit suicide.

That doesn't make me feel bad. But there's always a trick being played on us. Existence - the fact that we exist - tries to convince us that we actually do have free will. That is all done for a laugh or something. It's a sick joke by God. Or a terrible, terrible accident.

Free will is the only reason why God refuses to prove he exists. Because if Oh Great Beardy Bastard One just turned up and said "Yeah. I'm omnipotent, omniscient all that. What you gonna do about it motherfucker?" we'd be like: "Oh well that means I don't need to bother thinking about shit any more. Because, you know, God does everything and therefore I don't need morals or shit."

According to his interlocutors, that is God's kindness. But I think it's just a case of God fucking around with us.

"Exist, motherfucker!" I said.

I wasn't expecting much, but thought it was worth a shot.

"Nah sorry mate." God said. "You'll have to try harder than that."

Mortality is a courtroom. You aren't sure whether God is judging you or whether you are judging yourself. Society also judges you. Other people, who maybe contain the spirit of God, because God is life and is the embodiment of the paradoxes of life.

But the trick is, we'll never know. God will, however, use all of that to determine whether your soul gets condemned to an eternity in hell or a living paradise.

"That is a nice picture." God said.

"Thanks God. I nicked it from somewhere. The crowd watching is the best part. Because, with the still photograph, you aren't sure whether it's a crowd gathered to watch two dead people hanging from a tree, or whether they know it's a tongue-in-cheek performance art thing."

"That's what makes it subtly more disturbing than your average snuff pic."

"Indeed it does."

Amen.

2: SOCRATIC CONCEIT UP MY ARSE MATE FUCK YOU FAGGOT LIBTARD GENERAL KITCHENER ASSHOLE SHIT BRAIN MY LIEGE.

I am roughly seven emails away from 'monetising my talent'. I have cultivated a talent for the written word. If I 'monetised my talent', like all those demonic hordes say I should, I could make steps toward becoming 'a normal'.

Becoming 'a normal' is generally seen as a good thing. It prevents depression and anxiety and it prevents positive revolutionary change from taking place.

CLOSES FRIDGE DOOR ON HEAD SEVERAL TIMES.

"But you would have to abandon your Christ-like commitment to the idea you've got. That the human subject is somehow capable of snapping out of an addiction more powerful and more destructive than that of any drug..."

NB: in today's world, the crack / methamphetamine addict is actually moderate compared to those willing to bankrupt themselves buying shoes, handbags, kitchens, UPVC windows, cars, more cars, holidays, and prostitutes. A trillion dollar public relations industry has developed to keep the wheels on capitalism as it leads us ever-closer to the cliff-edge, and sucks out the souls of those who still, in spite of all the propaganda, have the curiosity to drop out and observe from afar.

"...you would have to abandon that and, like the rest of them, you would have to sign a pact with Satan and his dastardly minions."

NB: in cult capitalism, which is the state of capitalism today, it has become increasingly easy to see the cosmopolitan elites as Satanic, Pagan forces, believing themselves to be "cultural omnivores", when in fact they are savages and cannibals living in the forests that cities now are. In a cult, everything becomes its opposite. Lies are truths. Good is evil. The urban centre becomes a rural enclave. And those who drop out of the cult, who cannot sign up their souls to it, are condemned by the cult. Yet, where is God in this cult capitalism? Where is truth? What mechanism is there to insulate humankind from expressing a darkness that, in desperate times, only God can provide? Today, cultural exile is humanity's only option for salvation.

"...you would have to stop pissing these truths into the wind. Speaking not to an 'audience' or a 'market', but to 'God'.

Yet the odds are long that God will listen, given the recursive nature of your prayer, your own flimsy mortal condition that limits its passion, the limits of your language to convey a meaning at all, and the inability to see God in the eyes of your fellow humans, who are unable, like yourself, to stare directly into the sun. Which is what you are, in spite of all distance and irony to place between yourself and what you write, is what you are trying to achieve."

"All I ever wanted was to be alone. To be alone, but not to feel lonely."

"In thinking that, you are not alone. It is common for those born and conditioned to never want to join any club. You, my friend, are an outsider. Come the upheaval, outsiders are always the first against the wall, or the first to be liquidated in the camps."

"I am not worried about that. In spite of its looming reality - civilisation has never lasted without a systematic purge from time to time. I have never particularly rated freedom.

Freedom is choice, and choice is anxiety."

"I couldn't have said it better myself."

"You just did. This is not a dialogue or a conversation. It is a monologue with a God who barely exists to you. If you look around, you will see that you are alone."

"But... but... it's a conceit! A Socratic conceit."

"Socratic conceit my arse mate. You're talking to yourself. I'm not really here and neither are you. I caught you out there, you reading cunt."