Principia Discordia > Or Kill Me

There are dreadful things.

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Wrote a part 3.

Annihilation is around every corner.

Lights hovering in dark waters are framed with jagged teeth, watched by eyes like dead planets. Even a snail has teeth, and some of them can kill you at a distance. In the desert, you will never be found when you sprain an ankle, break a leg, throw out your back. Arctic explorers ate their faithful huskies. Computers crash, and your brain is so very delicate. Even your soul is not safe. Have you ever left a bargain open-ended? No one can say how many devils might stalk your day-to-day.

There are sages that eat ghosts, and there are a million ways to die. There are worse fates than death, and there are still worse fates that await you on the other side.

Placate fickle gods, avoid disturbed graves, and watch the shadows for signs. There are lidless eyes in their uncounted legions, and only inattention and madness distracts: you will be remembered, and you will wish you hadn't. A smile is a warning. We have fangs whose extent could crack the sun.

What you fear, you fear with good reason. Never forget it.


And now, that's all.

I LIED, I just kept fucking writing these! I don't know how to stop! This is just how it works now! Have two more!

Understand my name: it is a killing word. I am openly draped in lies, and my eyes are empty gates to a writhing void. I have eaten their weapons, and am now crowned with spears and razors.

My voice is a maiming whisper. My laugh will loosen your teeth in their gums, taking days from your lives and adding them to those of my kin.

My touch vomits causality. I press my palm to the scene of future accidents, transmuting potential to prophecy.

My feet are siblings to entropy. When I stalk along your paths, my footprints will outline the shape of your tombs.

My teeth are neutron razors, and my jaw is unhinged to swallow the sky. What I gnaw becomes venom to the earth.

Do not meet my gaze. I am the basilisk, and your locked eyes will never be freed.

I am an occult weapon. What animates me knows a time before division, and loves desperately, like a carrion crow.

Every day, I feel the weight of the hatred that surrounds me bearing down.

It sharpens my talons into spears, calcifies my skin into armor, and tempers my thoughts into howitzer shells.

With enemies like these, I can only afford to be a weapon. There is no other option.

I like this.

I don't know where I fit in. I'm asexual and straight.

I don't bring up that I'm asexual because it has never come up. I could be a pat on the head type, never admitting I'm different. I think it is more that there has never been a reason to talk about it. Nothing made me think, "Now would be a good time to talk about being asexual."

Pulled from a twitter post I decided against sending because the insignificant creature it was for didn't deserve to read something that good.


When, inevitably, you arrive in hell, it will not be hot enough for you.

That's okay, they have thermostats now. But those won't go high enough either.

Your afterlife will be spent as a guinea pig for experimental temperature increasing schemes by perplexed demons.

They will try to exceed the Planck temperature. And then to force your entire being to exceed the Planck voltage.

They will succeed. But it still won't be enough. Not for you.

New branches of particle physics will need to be developed for the torment you deserve. They will throw down the walls between worlds. They will learn the truth behind the mass-energy equation. They will understand the name of God and become reformed as his perfect servants.

All to hurt you as much as you deserve.

You should feel special, really. Because except for the millions of people exactly like you in every meaningful way, no one else will have so hot a fire made for them. That's something to be proud of.

[ 3 ]
My partner asked, "how are we supposed to be okay?"

327 names. Sure to be many others with none we know of, who died unremarked upon.

This is just one year. How many more names in years past? How many before the tradition began?

"How the fuck are we meant to process this?"

[ 2 ]
My work speaks for itself. Disproportionate retribution, at all times. Justice is a tool of the oppressor. Fairness always benefits those who are furthest from the pain. It must be a conquering beyond question. No answer can be possible.

Blood is power. Carelessly spilt, it casts its own spells. There is always a reckoning, though some may be fortunate enough to fall before lesser evils before the blood-curse reaches them. The more blood spilt, the faster it comes.

How many names? How many names can they say before the end rolls over them? How many names to reach the bottom of the trench filled with our blood?

[ 1 ]
I am an alien nightmare. I am the adversary. I bring evil to the lands. I corrupt the simple folk. I suborn and destroy the righteous. I am what they made me.

A smith does not forge a sword destined for her throat. An ammunition engineer does not engrave his own name upon .50 caliber bullets on their way to the cartridge press. In their hubris, they have built themselves devils.

[ 0 ]
My name will not be on that list.


Edited to add section numbers. I realized how important they were after I reposted to Twitter.


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