here to go

Sometimes I think God has us suffer to produce an antibody in us and make us immune when the worst times come; this is a good suffering. Like eating dirt and dirty eggs to become strong against them. Sometimes we seem to suffer just to suffer, and this is a bad suffering. It is like a black slime burst out of the void into your heart, without reason or remorse.

I read all of the poetry I wrote during one of those times today, and deleted much of it. It was like the slime, unreasoning and without purpose but to eternally twist the knife which sleeps in your soul. It was all wishing for time to stop pushing me ahead, to "go back to the time when she was still happy to be in love with me," before I was a dark curse.

But all that is over too. And it's good. The slime in me is gone, mostly, except to pop in now and then to remind me that it is unlimited and still powerful over me when I'm weak.

"There are many animals in the zoo because each of them loves God in its own way" - Khlebnikov

Or maybe it was: "...because each of them feels God in its own way."

Anyway, whichever it was, just attribute it to me. Let's try this:

"Nothing is True and Everything is Permitted"

and leave it at that.

" [...] He sprung from the cabin window, as he said this, upon the ice raft which lay close to the vessel. he was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance."

- Frankenstein