Emo_190 has a minion!

Jack the Huesabe

"God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... Our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."

Warning. If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned.

Cold eyes pierce my pupils and I stare indifferently at the figure frozen in the mirror. I reach out and press a finger to the icy surface, appreciate it for a moment, rake my nail downwards and snap away from the celestial gateway and focus again on the things that really matter: the homemade soap and potassium permanganate and jars and wires. My tools of the trade. I single-handedly plan on making a difference; humanity wants to be blind. Wishes it. But I will drag them kicking and screaming along with me, force them to see the world for what it is and then -- they will thank me in the end. We are God's unwanted children - so be it!

..Because only after we've lost everything are we free to do anything. And I have already lost, or destroyed, everything I ever had or loved. And then I found freedom; salvation. Losing all hope is freedom. And now I will make others see things the way they really are - their fairytale fantasies need to be trashed; torn down. They will thank me in the end. I pick up the bottle of lye but my fingers are shaking and the bottle wobbles and falls and spills over the back of my hand. The solution instantly begins melting away the flesh there and I hiss and close my eyes, appreciating the moment. Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing. I find the vinegar and neutralise the corrosive acid; my flesh shifts and cries.

Explosives created and secured in a box stamped with 'special delivery', I throw it into the back of my minivan and jump into the driver's seat. It doesn't take long to drive the groaning, whirring van to my target - a corporate monster of a company. They supply people with the means of their destruction - a credit card company. Violence doesn't worry me. Neither does murder. What truly scares me is the gripping influence of the media. The clothes they tell me to like. The cologne they tell me to buy. The models they tell me I should look like. Some guy's name on my underwear. We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. I hack the van into parking mode and slide out of the seat, throwing open the back double doors. I reach forwards into the darkness and my eyes adjust, catching the briefest glance of eight identical boxes before grabbing the nearest one, heaving it onto a shoulder, slamming the doors shut and strolling to the front door of the building. I push open their £5,000 crystalline, double-glazed, newly-polished glass doors and leave an ugly handprint. The desk I dump the box on is new and marble and flawless. The receptionist says something but I ignore her, instead choosing to light a cigarette and breath a cloud of smoke in her face. "Delivery. For Jack.". I turn and stroll out of the building.

As I climb back into the van I can practically hear the digitial ticking of the timer in that box. I smirk to myself and slam the door shut, toss the butt of my cigarette out of the window and screech out of the parking lot. A moment later, there is a massive explosion and the street shakes as I bring the global economy to its knees. The ephemeralness of it all; I don't pause. I have seven more to hit tonight.

profile by damian.
overlay by aska.