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Opiniões inescrupulosas, são elas más para ti? São más são más, más, más, más, más, más, más…

Can we die? Can we die now? This life cannot be true, I will kill the emperor of this world by killing me, but I cannot…

Wicked

Dispersão, universo trágico, quero saber porquê nasceu. I’m always wondering to know. You suck at existing.

It [the universe] doesn’t make any sense like this text. Without meaning. Do you want to know why? Do you really want to know? Due to…

We find the answer studying philosophy which does not make sense either.

What should I do in that world? My instincts claim revenge, happiness and love and etc. forever.

The world was not made but who is claiming? I am the root of the evil… com as opiniões inescrupulosas que cerceiam minha mente. Esta foi uma vez fonte de… oblivion.

The true is not made but is created. We are all wrong by judging others wrong, we are wrong first.

E quem é você para encontrar na dispersão a verdade? A dispersão só lhe conta o que você quer ouvir.

And sorry for the baffle.

But dear, you are not yourself

Distinction, corruption, creation… Do you care if the meaning is not true? I do not give a damn.

 I did something wrong. I am a liar, I am Christ and the antichrist, and I am you. You are me.

Desculpe-me se isso lhe assusta. Não é minha intenção lhe assustar, é a sua; we are breeding for the effort we are needing to do and we are crying.

Liberdade de um novo mundo sem regras: liberdade de um novo mundo com guerras.

- Lor

Your housekeeper is dead

Your aim is to speak with the dead. The poltergeist is in my house, it can be a friend or a foe, now you decide. Introducing the evil in your house is not such a bad thing. I’ll put the evil in your head.

Those words driving him insane, he knows why. Why do I mean so scare? I am not dreadful. But the house keeps talking to me. What is this? The dark side of the moon has appeared? The unknown talking in my mind, and I am nothing but battles without gods.

The housekeeper is saying: “You must go… you must go”, oh might below god, the housekeeper deserves to die because I want. I want to kill him, but I can’t. Did I kill myself? I cannot move to my place, nevertheless I can move to any place.

He is not the housekeeper, he is he and I asked him. Probably he is me. He answered: “Yes, you were right. I killed them because they deserve to die [and I hate them]” and the sentence was ended. He did it, but how? I did it before, certainly. Oh god, I hate those men with so many rules. And furthermore my memory should not lie to me, it is trustful, however…

However my sanity is not, therefore I suppose that we are the same, just one man, but we’re both claiming the deed. Who is the liar? I do not lie very often, therefore he is guilty. The day is passing quickly, too quickly for me and the life is not pleasure. This is a contradiction, I know, but a mad man can do those things, therefore I am not blame of anything. Am I right? The justice of man is madness.

The day had passed in a great peace on that Sunday. Unfortunately, the housekeeper had not worked on Sunday, and my angry grew my anguish caused the pain. The birds were flying, predicting the evil that was coming. Who died does not speak. Dead are dead and nothing more. Am I wrong? Saturday is guilty. It created those rage.

It was the diabolic day that I was searching for. I said to myself “don’t be afraid” but I did not say. It was the poltergeist pretending to be me. Now it flies away and nobody knows the place that it is looking for.

The poltergeist finally said in a shrill voice: “I am your grandma. Let me help you”. My grandma died two years before it and I suddenly understood the fact: Saints do not believe in those stories. I forgot to mention that I am a saint. The miracles that I did with these hands are the biggest treasures that I ever have had. But this is another story.

Grandma said in that night: “you have to murder the housekeeper. He is the judge who is going to punish you”. And I don’t know why but I believed.

Now I am in the jail. Here is dirty. My second self is here with me, but who are we? Did we kill? Was the housekeeper a part of me?

…


- Written by me, of course. The story reminds me the song 9, sung by King Diamond. The character reminds me the study we SHOULD do in psychology.