I hate. Not because I'm spiteful at my malicious conception into this trite rotting heap of existence. Not just for the sake of lining every road with my venomous lust. No my dear friends and unknowing conspirators. I hate because it is the last option, the best path to salvation, I love and from this love my rage flows like sweet rivers of champagne. Down the valleys of less than inspirational human achievement and failure, my hate cuts through like the finest blade and dullest saw. It tears through flesh and muscle, quick and surgical while as a necessity at the same time it slaughters the fine art of damnation. I cannot express to you the deep wells of hate churning inside my ever weakening body, the pure loathing for all things that festers in my soul. I welcome it my ever traitorous brothers, because it shows me the road to madness, a place I have often visited but am looking to make my permanent residence. I walk the worst of trials, that of forsaking the pretty and well balanced, of defying this weak need of ours to find some meager portion of happiness in this wasteland. I will ride this dying son of a bitch down every slope and hill until I find what I am looking for. Perfection.

I watched him kill, steal and destroy. I looked at him with proud eyes and said "Good work boy. We might just make a honest man out of you yet." With rotting teeth and blood stained clothing he stared up at me with thos horrible eyes. He smiled.

We're all fucking tools my most blind and foolish brothers. This is an undeniable truth, manufactured and sold for purposes not our own that we rarely understand. The question you must ask yourself once you become aware of this is whether you are a stick of dynamite or a screw driver.