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“You can’t tell me who to be with!” Ciara cried!

Kirk looked at her sardonically. “Oh, but I can, my dear. Though I could not make you choose me, I now want you to find the worst of the worst, to have exactly what you want, since you don’t learn. You see, all I have to do is be honest. All I have to do is note what they, themselves, plaster all over for all to see, what’s right out in the open. And the more I out them for what they surely are … the more assured it is that you will choose them...

As I presume the marketers never actually read the material, I leave this here. I can be reached through encrypted, anonymous mail at the following address.

thegrendel@tutamail.com

This is for personal use, not marketing.

For marketing, I am at uilleam.whitedale@outlook.com. and you pitch will likely be ignored.

You owe me. And no amount of denial will ever make that fact go away. You owe me for the time you stole from me. You owe me for the attention you took under false pretenses. If I had known what you were, if you had been honest, I would never have given it to you. You owe me for my compassion, which you used. And you owe me for what you’ve made me into, which you did by being melodramatic for no reason. And you will owe me forever, no matter how much you ignore it, no matter the excuses you...

As you sit in church,

As you feign piety, act as if you’ve live up to your chosen obligations,

Those chosen for you, the faith given to you in name,

And you grieve for your loss,

Know that your grief is justified.

He is all you knew.

I too lost mine right after yours, as I was trapped in the turmoil you helped create.

He was never there, and that was not a loss, and no that does not confirm your invented theories.

Did you tell yours what you did, all of it?

No, you did not, could not have.

Would...

You mock sincerity because you have no truth.

You act like an infantile man because you mimic the losers you made yourself subservient to.

What did they give you? Why do you strive to be like them, or is it just reflexive now?

You’ve made yourself crude and ridiculous, like a female cat who grew up with wild dogs and pisses everywhere and bites.

Knock of the bullshit bravado and feel something real, not what you invented.

Stop acting like a frat boy, a mindless trust fund baby who mocks...

Telling is not teaching.

Seeking your opinion from others is not existing

Those who know you will just repeat their opinions and let you

Do not love you

They are content with controlling you

Those who expect you to accept their opinions

Do not want to love you

They want to control you

And you who simply repeat their opinions as if you came to the conclusion yourself

You do not love them

You let them control you because you are using them

Love is never subservience to another person

It is a shared...

“You can’t tell me who to be with!” Ciara cried!

Kirk looked at her sardonically. “Oh, but I can, my dear. Though I could not make you choose me, I now want you to find the worst of the worst, to have exactly what you want, since you don’t learn. You see, all I have to do is be honest. All I have to do is note what they, themselves, plaster all over for all to see, what’s right out in the open. And the more I out them for what they surely are … the more assured it is that you will choose them...

A decade without love

And, when it finally comes, attack it with a knife

Find every excuse

You know you were wrong but ….

Double Down

Another year gone but ….

Triple Down …

Another year, but now you need a daddy

Searching for a wealthy, ugly, bigoted clown

Do everyone a favor and when you go out

Put your price on your forehead

One year down payment, rent to own

Burn yourself down

Like you burned him down

Down … Down … Down

They tell us we can forgive someone, and yet never have them in our lives again.

Never acknowledge any forgiveness in word or deed.

That is the basest sort of lie, the most cruel of selfish delusions.

For the ostracism itself is not forgiveness, but a cold killing of one who mattered in our hearts.

The silence is the death sentence, not forgiveness,

And it is a stain on our own souls when they did not deserve it.

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He'd loved her, but he'd messed up royally.

And he was sorry.

But she knew she had not been honest, and she'd pushed him.

But that didn't matter to her, none of it.

She wasn't sorry.

She chose to treat what she knew wasn't real as a death sentence.

All that mattered to her was her phony bullshit.

That made her bullshit incarnate.

And she would always be bullshit, with her bullshit values and...

If the truth had been told, she would have been righteous,

Would have been justified,

And nothing would have come of it,

As nothing more would have been instigated.

But she did not.

And that made her as guilty, if not more so,

As his later, condemnable transgressions were in response to that.

Otherwise, out of love, he would have readily accepted the blame,

Taken the rap for having misinterpreted her actions,

As she claimed he did, though there was nothing that could have been misinterpreted....

It was interesting how she had no interest in any of his stories, not his books. She wanted to know what he was saying, his deepest thoughts, whatever she could use against him, but she eschewed his stories, which contained his life in metaphor, conjured into grand allegories. That's why horror was his trade. If she had looked hard there, she may have found her likeness, or, as she was prone, forced it into where it did not exist. But she did not read anymore. The written world held no magic...

In fact, the original conception of hell, before the adoption of Manichaeism, was a falling away from God, falling away from the warmth of love. That is why Dante depicted the Devil frozen in ice.

And, per that conception, she was already there, as there was nothing in her but a cold heart, surrounded by devils she thought were angels.

It would have been borderline hilarious to him, if it were not so saddening. That he had been labeled "psychotic" by someone who invented 95% of her world in her mind, and 98% of what she thought of him, and led her life believing he was after her, or something even more delusional, was a trip he had never wanted to take and was beyond tired of. She knew it wasn't real, but she wanted the never-ending pity from her friends, as all she wanted all the time was attention, negative or positive. A...

A heart that cannot be touched by sincerity, is a heart that has no use,

Other than to pump the blood that provides a mechanical life,

A life that has no meaning, missing even a semblance of what is important.

It is a dead heart, though it may beat, as it beats for nothing but the mind’s entertainment,

Making empty gestures and base desires into love that does not exist.

It beats for nothing.

A heart that cannot reach another, is a heart that has no use,

Though it pumps the blood through...

You’ve never told the truth, and you have decided to keep your dishonesty for all time, believing that what you drove him to somehow absolves you of your sins. Never having acknowledged that you did want his attention, after he was nice to you, seeking him out, calling his name, standing near him as if you wanted to be closer. Never admitting the hugs and the innuendos, which, of course, have left your dysfunctional memory. But, the whole while, speaking badly of him to others and spinning...

The wind and rain beat against the window, mirroring the emotional storm within him.

But, unlike the weather, his turmoil did not expend itself. It did not disperse, and leave the sky open for the sun.

In every moment lurked the darkness inflicted upon his mind — the rage, the sorrow, the disbelief,

Always there, raining in the back of his mind.

It was not depression, nor any form of diagnosable disorder, and it had never dwelt in him before, not even as a seed of despair.

But it would not...

“Who are you to judge me?” she would cry, “Who are you to say anything?”

And he responded, I am the heart you stabbed to death, calling yourself a friend.

“Before you, I was not joyous, but I was content,

Before your duplicity, I was honest and loyal and never harbored ill intent.

Before your treachery, your cold-hearted lies, I was not a monster,

Just a person living in the world,

Before your icy daggers, I had a heart that worked and loved you true to word.

So, yes, I will judge you. I will...

You once said you’re a good person, but he can prove to you you’re not,

Just a follower of hateful people, their doctrines full of rot.

Besides the things you did to him, the lies you know you told,

The betrayal you undertook on the command of the haters in your fold,

He knows exactly what you’re doing now, because it’s the same as you always did,

As you have no mind of your own, my dear, just a parrot of heinous shit.

You know damn well that you’ve allowed straight up using perverts into...

Constantly dodging your soul in a mirror,

Because you cannot face yourself,

Knowing what you do is not admirable nor real.

Faking it, a constant need to pose as someone else,

Always “on” but never true.

Looking for something that can never be found in that way,

But fearing letting go of the cultivated image.

Afraid to be labeled a loser.

But what is a loser, if not you who gives up yourself to “win,”

You who sell yourself out,

Sell yourself to others,

Mock those with self-respect as you’ve...