My life is a total mess. A mess that I simply don't know how to deal with. I feel like a rope that is being pulled in all directions. I am hounded by the people in one direction. Somehow everyone thinks I'm holding the key to locking hell back in it's pandora box. The only key that I hold is to time travel. Which is another arm that has been pulling me in another direction. I can feel the freaks trying to erase me through time.
They are growing desperate by every passing day. They have nothing to live for. They are worse than the paparazzi. They will make up all sorts of lies about you. Lies that are called slander. Some of my friends have taken the liberty of finding every single forum board and website that I have been slandered on and kicking the living shit out of the wolves that run those boards.
In the midst of it all, I am trying to get myself together in deciding where to go next in my life. I am seeing red big time with one of my enemies in particular, after reading some things that were bellowed on the forum board that is run by the berserkeley asses of the blasphemous SETI institute. The same enemy that somehow is connected to someone who has the capability of padding pockets with money and invent new ways of making my life a living hell.
What is life anyway? Take the letters in "life" to form:
Lief [as happily; as gladly]
File
I, elf [elf means short]
So that is the meaning of life. Life is short. As short as a nail file.
My life seems to be nothing but a file lately. A file of repeated facts. I have distrusted people from a very young age. Even my own family. When I started unraveling the lies about my own family and the things that they were hiding over the years, it was the straw that broke the camels back. Nothing would be normal for me again. Or real. What the hell is the meaning of real anyway these days?
Looking at the letters in "real" to:
Lear [a legendary early king of Britain, the central figure in Shakespeare's tragedy King Lear]
Earl [a British nobleman ranking above a viscount and below a marquess]
Rale [an abnormal rattling sound heard when examining unhealthy lungs with a stethoscope]
That is the meaning of real. Having to deal with things that you don't want to deal with. That is what the cross roads are for. Learning to sit at the cross roads until you learn to deal with them.
I don't know what I want in life, and yet I do know what I want to do. I want to hang all of my enemies asses out to dry in the pit of hell.
I don't need to leave the cross roads to do it either, as I have discovered.
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