My father helped build heaven, Peter was his name

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, through me to smite the shite out of those who have trespassed against us. Thanks for giving me hope and fortitude – my daily bread; and the knowledge it is symbolic of nourishment since I am diabetic and really need to count my carbs.

Okie dokie. Espiritu santo, et hoc genus omne. Cheers.

My father. He was a fire sign. This year marks the 20th anniversary since his death day. Which just so happens to be the same date that would’ve been my parents wedding anniversary. Bummer.

Anyway, I don’t want to write some poor elegy and sorrowful lamentation. I want to share the reason I refuse to put my faith in any Yahweh or Allah or Jehovah or whatever any of the names of whatever false pretender… The Old Testament ‘god’ was a douche and knew nothing of really being a father.

My dad was loving and generous. He worked his butt off, and his kindness actually left him… Just… OMG it’s painful to think of sometimes. Like, one Christmas (before I was born) his gesture of good will landed him in hospital beaten and mugged. I know of this because I found a newspaper clipping of it ages ago. He was giving a lift to some people he has met at a pub who had been stranded or something like that.

He didn’t play mind games about trying to prove anyone’s love and devotion. He encouraged laughter and play, and loved music. He had this cassette tapes and we’d dance to them in the backyard. I liked to sing along to his songs, but I didn’t know who they were.

When I was growing up there was nothing like “you shalt not do any of this or any of that” strict commandments, but that’s not to say there weren’t rules. There was no pomp and ritualistic splendour to get to him, to make him notice and pay attention to you. He was a man who encouraged honesty, was upfront, and to the point. So people could find him blunt – when really he was just direct.  He wasn’t someone who pussyfooted around the bush or whatever.

He also liked to play jokes… not nasty ones. Just funny ones, to make people laugh or smile (but never at anyone’s expense. He wasn’t about offensive jokes.. even if I might be). He liked to do little magic tricks for me but then I grew up and figured them out. I wish I didn’t, I wish I had kept some sort of magic delusion alive…

I thought that the people who love you and whom you love in return, you don’t need to explain yourself… because they were the ones to know the real truth, because they know you. That’s the major lesson I got from my dad. One snippet of one’s life isn’t representative of the truth of their character. And there are too many people who would rather lie to themselves and others to protect “polite niceties.”

And thus everyone is their own deceiver.

The ones who figure it out, they’re the nasty rebels. Because the people in power want to keep their power, by gaslighting anyone who reveals they don’t need their bullshit to ignite their inner fire. And.. what happens when you add gas to an open flame?

I represent team 3 of this spiritual or metaphysical war. Because… I was never cool enough to not turn back… I care too much.

And… I get a reality check. There are those who are right, and those who are wrong. And the shit I want to do will never be profitable. Because everyone thinks I’m attacking them. That I’m referring to them.

It wouldn’t be so difficult if people were okay with their names being associated with my blog or whatever. Since I’m the only one who wants anything to do with the crap I write, I realised I have to write my… self… like I was dead. Because I will likely die soon anyway.


Why spend my last days on earth hating myself? Why can’t we just laugh and shit and pretend that there is any hope? Because that’s a lie. There is no such thing as hope. It’s an abstraction of an idea. It’s a sensation or stirring within the self, that cannot be attributed to a physical organ or… whatever.

Those things are called hallucinations or delusions, sweety. Nothing is real unless you can see it, touch it, hear it, or whatever. It has to pass the turing test. And without the use of words, because words can be twisted to deceive.

Like… what I’m even saying right now. How do you know I’m not just lying to you?

How do I know that you even exist? Or are my friend?

I am alone. I can’t pretend anything else. It’s the only truth that exists in any universe. There is no escaping the black behind one’s eyes. That’s where I will float and drown and die.

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