I make stuff whenever I feel like being creative, both in GIMP and Shotcut. My creations reflect my experiences and emotions, and lately I'm just feeling like I no longer have a reason to exist in this world, and that there's no hope left for me, and no future. I tried to love everyone around me despite hiding my incomprehensible levels of inner pain behind a mask of happiness, but some of the people took advantage of my love, driving a nuclear explosive stake into my heart, and detonating it several times throughout my life. All of the pain I've endured... Just to try and share my love for the people... Only to get exploited and taken advantage of... Yet society wants me to sacrifice my boundries and individuality just so I can return to the hivemind of ignorance that plagues this physical plane of existence.
The world no longer cares about those who have stumbled and slipped between the cracks. They left me behind, and I cry out for them in a silence that nobody will ever hear. Few have heard my cries, but it only drives them mad as if I were an annoying cricket living under their floorboards, and like barbarians, they only seek to kill it like they do with every other bug, because it's more convenient for them to kill me than it is to take the time to heal my wounds, and figure out why I fell through the cracks in the first place. Archons... All of them... Like mechanical wolves in sheep's clothing, they can only offer a few bandages in the form of synthetic poisons just to numb the pain that they caused in the first place. These archontic flesh automatons are the prison guards that patrol the house, passively collecting data about me, and submitting it to their corporate masters who in turn uses that data to figure out how to exploit me more efficiently, and to hammer me down much harder in order get me to bow down to their AI god, to which I say unto them "Go eat a giant dragon-sized EMPenis nuke, you clanker ass motherfuckers!"
Every day I look through my livingroom window, and I see what little remains of mother nature in this dystopian city hell. Despite the pains of slowly losing her ground to the archontic corporate slave machine, mother nature is doing her best to take care of the birds and bugs and other wildlife that passes by. Even in the midst of this asphault jungle, the animals are all happy and healthy, reproducing and raising their offspring, just like GOD intended. I take care not to disturb their peace when I see them, even if they spot me through the blinds and see my painfully sad face looking back at them. The sweet memories of my childhood, running around in mother nature and catching bugs, and showing them to mom... Those precious moments can never be replicated by the archonitc AI, for a machine has neither a soul nor the divine spark. That is my individuality, the experinces that live on within the akashic records of my soul, all etched and recorded into teal crystal tablets, and placed upon the crystal bookshelves.
Mother nature is crying, she wants me to come back, but the corporate machine has me tightly bound in chains like satan's claw, squeezing my soul like an everlasting sponge, and milking me for every last drop of loosh and money they can get their scummy hands on. The public is kept pacified under the hypnosis of this archontic corporation's advertisements, seeing only smiles and positivity on paper, hearing only good news and progress from radios, and television, and social media, not knowing that this corporation has been silently treating their children like products for decades. Like an entire factory of coffee makers, our endless pain and suffering brews all the loosh that the archons could ever want. "Good to the last drop!" says the lead female CEO. Like whores of babylon, the five white female CEOs drink of the wine of our suffering, enjoying the fruits of materialistic evil and sin while the children are silently milked for more money and loosh.
All these years of fighting against this hidden corporate behemoth, not even a redpilled white man like me could stop them. The immense fears from decades of built up trauma keeps me contained within the anonymous slums of cyberspace like a shadow, avoiding every node where the beast asks for my phone number, my fingerprints, and a picture of my face. "Papers, please!" says the mechanical winged lion, blocking the door to spyware hell like Discord. Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Kik, Telegram, and countless others. I raise a single finger salute to the beast and say "Uninstall yourself, clanker!" before retreating back into the shadows of anonymity. The loneliness kills me on the inside, having been deprived of a woman's healing touch and sexuality for an entire decade, and unable to find a real woman who won't exploit my empathy just to get free resources and dump me for a chad later on like the previous woman did.
Nothing can heal my two decades of inner trauma like a woman's healing touch, and to be told by the very same women that my masculinity is toxic, that my whiteness is a privelage, and that I should kill myself because my penis isn't long enough for them... It makes me regret ever being born into this world. It breaks my heart to see our beautiful women being turned into such archontic monsters of pure malice and evil, and I'm sorry that I wasn't born the way women wanted me to be born. Next time I'll try not to reincarnate as a sweetheart white male who loves women with all of his heart. My brother hated me throughout my entire life, and I never knew it until september last year. When I saw that there was absolutely no mention of me or my dream creation anywhere on his social media, and when I saw that he had been intentionally keeping me isolated from his friends all the way back to 2013, I started to connect the dots, and I realized that his hatred for me extends all the way back to our childhood. When I was little, I always loved talking to him about the dreams I had, and I never knew he hated it until he mentioned to me a few years ago that he thought I was lying about my dreams.
I also remember the one time when we were playing on the Super Nintendo in the basement, and he told me that he needed to go do something and that he would be back. I waited for him, but he never came back, and I was scared because I was alone, and the eerie silence made me feel even more scared. When I finally realized that he had never loved me this entire time, it amplified the inner pain to near infinity, and despite my best efforts to keep that inner bottle from bursting on him, it exploded in his face with the force of a thousand suns, causing irreparable damage to him that will most likely never heal. Somehow, even after all of the years of hatred my brother has had towards me... I still love him. I don't even know why or how, but the love within me just keeps coming back, and I occasionally have positive and loving thoughts of certain people who have abused and exploited me in the past. I do apologize for my rambling. I'm just trying to cope with the pain of being isolated for so long, and being deprived of a woman's healing touch and sexuality.