Chapter One

I have no truths. I never had any truth. Well, there was moments, where I had. But life destroyed any truth that I may have had. Today I have no truth.

Life is truth less. I trust you get it. Do you get it?

Naah, I don’t think that you do. ‘Cause few people get it when I ask them. And I do. Ask them. Hardly anyone gets it.

I Ask: Why are you here? You don't know. I know.

Almost nobody can even answer the question. I have the answer to that question, and I don’t get why you’ve even not asked yourself by now:

WHY ARE YOU HERE?

So, come on. Apply your self. Why are you here? Really, why are you? At all? Why?

I know, and you should do too.

I know why I'm here. You don't? Well most of you never fucking asked the fucking question: Why are you here?

So, ask your self, Why are you, at all?

And people, most of you don't even get then question; Why are you?

Chapter Next

No one ever dies

I know him. I know what He will do. So I lift my gun. I shoot Him. Then 10 seconds later.

It’s like it never happened. He’s standing right there. Right in front of me. Again. I still know what He’ll do. He should not do that. No one deserves what He will bring to them. So, I lift my gun. I shoot Him. 10 seconds later reality is wiped clean of my sin. And He’s there again. I still know what He’ll do. So, I raise my gun and I shoot the motherfucker.

man onto existence

Love, I shot him again and again. Reality just doesn’t care and wipes that moment from existence and time after time, reality rewrites itself. He’s there again. And I kill Him again. For every kill, it gets easier. He’s still a monster and the fact that somehow reality will not let me kill Him, makes me want to kill Him even more. Every time he goes down, He rises back up. I can not have Him do that thing to you again. So love, I kill Him.

I don’t know what he is, except he’s evil. He will do onto us what we have done to Him…-ish. But worse.  And I killed Him a thousand times over. I remember those kills. It doesn’t change anything. He rises again every time. Every death is just a new birth. Every moment can be rewritten. Every moment is rewritten. All the time. For all of us. Somehow, I am the only one that sees it. I see all the rewrites. I see all the righteous kills. And I see them made undone.

Can you not see it? Don’t you know that the only ones dying in this world, are the other ones? You will live for ever and suffer for it. This is not Gods world. This is some other dudes’ reality, some other entity’s world. You are in it to win it. And you will. But you must loose so many times. You, me, we must learn.

Only other people die. You will never. But you will live in fear of a death that will never happen to you. It will only happen to the people that you love. You’re just a prisoner. And you will never die!

At some point you will be reset. As will I, shortly. I remember all the times I’ve killed Him and I always just repeated the killing. Again and again. I didn’t learn. So, He will reset me. As He have done before.

I stop the killing. I look in His eyes. But He’s not really a man. He may be a woman. Or both. Or something else entirely. I stop killing Him, and He lets me be born again.

My brain is too simple at first. I can’t remember things. I only have emotions. I cry. I laugh. I’m only the moment. And then something happens: I wake up. I get conscious.

I’m not even two years old. I’m sitting in the kitchen. Holding on to my mom’s pants. I look up, and I remember beforehand: This is my mom. The next 40 years flashes before my eyes. I will live this life again, I know. And I did live this already and more than once… I do nothing wrong for the next 40 years. In forty years, I will take the wrong path, again. For a good reason, I know, although I don’t recall what that reason is.

I’m here again. In the beginning of a life. Starting over. Fucking 40 years of repetition ahead of me. 40 years before my war will start. We’ve all got it in ourselves: A war. The only war. We will never die, not until we’ve won the war.

I can’t find my binky. I am forgetting all that I just remembered. The last thing I realize, is that I will remember all this again. In 40 years.

I’m hungry. So, I cry. I get fed. I sleep.

Chapter 2

Do I know this to be true? I do not. I have this memory. Of that moment. I remember reaching op, grabbing my moms pants, realizing she was my mom and that I was her son. I remember this, vividly. As I remember this really psychotic moment, and it must have been, right?, of seeing into a future I couldn’t possibly perceive. Nor even comprehend.

But I did. In that moment I knew the next 40 years of my life. And then I forgot, and everything started all over.

I went to school. Wondering. What the heck were you all doing. You were all like the toddlers you were, and like the toddler I should have been. But I wasn’t. Being a kid, I was watching all of you. And I didn’t get you. I didn’t get me. I didn’t get anything. I was hyper-sensitive but still able to be brutal. I know. Brutal isn’t usually a good word. For me it is. You betray me, I will end you.

I'm really able to be brutal. And I have been.

So, I was hiding behind the plate with needles in different colors. While I was looking at you, trying to anticipate you. Trying to figure out who you were. I saw Stan. He sat in a car, it was a children’s car. Like, no  motor, just wheels on wheels. And Stan drove it. All the way around the sandbox. One time. And I thought: This kid gets it.

But then he took one more turn. And I know, I’ve would have figured it out by now. But he took one more turn. I thought: Ok, he figured it out, now he wants to figure out how fast he can do it. But he took a third turn. And a fourth turn. And a fifth.

I just didn’t get it. I still don’t get it. Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he get it on the first turn? I did. And I was only watching. I wasn’t even trying. I was just looking, observing. Trying to find out what life is. It seemed like no one else did. It seemed like you’ all was just doing. I wasn’t.

Chapter 3.

I have no truths. I never had any truth. Well, there was moments, where I had. But life destroyed any truth that I may have had. Today I have no truth.

Life is truth less. I trust you get it. Do you get it?

Naah, I don’t think that you do. ‘Cause few people get it when I ask them. And I do. Ask them. Hardly anyone gets it.

I Ask: Why are you here?

Almost nobody can even answer the question. I have the answer to that question, and I don’t get why you’ve even not asked yourself by now:

WHY ARE YOU HERE?

So, come on. Apply your self. Why are you here? Really, why are you? At all? Why?

I know, and you should do too.