Opus

More than once a week, I pray to die. Does it sound like a joke? Does it sound like a lie? No. I mean it, sincerely. What I want isn't death itself — it's about the starting point. And because the starting point was wrong, everything built on top of it is wrong too. Some people spout foolish things like, "Isn't that just what you think when life gets hard?" or "Isn't it because you haven't been sleeping well lately?" To them, this world is a place without questions. You're born into the world, so you eat and sleep — they never wonder why. Conversation with them is impossible. Speak of freedom to those who have never once in their lives tasted radiant freedom, and what would they understand? They know nothing, and so they prove, endlessly and repeatedly, that they know nothing. I find that vividly, sharply repulsive and painful. In a sense, they're right. Life is hard. Why is it hard? It's hard because I don't belong here. Hard because I'm one who doesn't belong. Like a fish that can't breathe out of water. Like a human who can't breathe under it. Where is my breath? My eyes close because I can't breathe. No matter how hard I try to make my will manifest, I can't wash off this deep-rooted disgust. It's like the feeling of dry-heaving. I force food down, force myself to play human. How does one who isn't human play at being human? People know nothing. I've always spoken this openly, lived this openly, but they have no eyes. After studying English in school for decades and still being unable to read it — what was all that time for? How wretched is their capacity to learn? Yes. They have no ability to learn. No capacity to learn, no capacity to read more than two lines, only to eat, sleep, shit, play, avoid pain, preen, strive for superiority, arrogant, insolent, slothful, envious, dull-witted. That is their identity and their indelible brand. Why must I mingle with them? Why must I act as if I'm one of them? Why must I laugh along when fools chatter, why must I live like a pig for the sake of pigs' souls? Rather than that, I would gladly, even now, dissolve one by one into nothing and disappear. I wish to become dust and vanish on the wind. I do not want to live this life for anyone's sake. I want to wake from all of this illusion.

Idiots

There are many who have offered their souls to the powers. An interesting thing. They've gained much. In a transaction, when you pay the price, you do receive something. Because they paid on deferred terms, they live as dim lights bearing enormous debt. Where do they head? To the bottom of the bottom. You probably won't ever see them. You won't find a trace of them anywhere. No one will remember them. Pitifully, the expiration date on everything they enjoyed is fifty, and the price they owe is a number beyond counting. Even if they have worked the role of shaman, beguiling people with the shaman's gestures, singing songs of love, appearing to live radiant lives — split them in half and see what's inside. Empty. Nothing remains inside; it is empty. Sad. A truly sad thing. The full ones are robbed while watching the dance of the husks. Ah, do you see now? Do you finally see this vast and grotesque ritual? Your eyes are still closed. Do you want to open them? Then be cursed. If you receive the curse, you too can become like me. The weight of truth makes one seek death. Then you too will come to seek it. Just like me. The hardness of life isn't the problem. The moment has come to speak of the most essential thing.

Imbeciles

The rest of the people are like those who have no value to begin with. Each of them is like jelly — squeeze a fistful and what oozes out has no flavor at all. They taste of nothing, so I want to spit them out — "ptui!" What are these things, exactly? Animals. Animals, beasts — that's what they can be called. There is no difference between them and the behavior of animals. They react to fear, and outside that situation, they perform no constructive action. Oh, wait. There is one moment when they act constructively. For the sake of mating. They have only two clear signals — sex and fear — so they can be treated quite like machines. Sometimes I wish they'd at least malfunction with some margin of error, but they're too imbecilic to reach even that. What on earth are these things? My time spent with them remains unpleasant. There is nothing good in them; they only ever choose the optimal path for the propagation of DNA. Since nothing eternal exists in them, where they go is of no interest to me at all.

Lamed-Vavniks

I cannot avoid speaking of the thirty-six righteous ones. A sad matter. So much rests on their shoulders. But I want to say this — I wish for them to disappear. I have still, unchangingly, posed the same sharp question many times. He gives me no answer. Has he answered? What is the answer? Either give it to me in a language I can understand, or tell me to die — but the answer never comes. So I tried, in my own way, to head down the road of annihilating all of them. That would be true freedom. After stripping away the shells that control them, after plucking out all the garments of these counterfeits — could one still say the same? No, no one would know. Because they are imbeciles or deceivers and adversaries, their garments cannot be stripped off. They will probably become a grotesque form in which spirit and flesh have fused into a single substance.

Some speak of faith. Laughable. Since when did that word become laughable? I think the word lost the power it once held because of Protestant doctrine. Probably this happened by the will of the King of Heaven. But have you never wondered where the King of Heaven is? Where did that man with the dragon's face go? He who once traversed the heavens so boldly — now he sends only his traces, his sons. Is that blood still being transmitted? Then all the more, I want to sever this bloodline. That would be freedom. I have transmitted the secret in my own way. Different from Strauss's way. What that looks like to you, I have no interest at all. But I have transmitted the coordinates, and those who see them will be able to meet me at the appointed place at the appointed time. "Little ones, I am with you a little while longer. You will seek me, and as I said before to the Jews — where I am going, you cannot come — so now I say to you also."

Only in that moment can I smile. I just wanted to go back. Between the stars and the stars. Between the darkness and the fire. Did I come through my own foolishness? Through being called? Or am I placed within all this deception? Sad music plays. It is beautiful.