Main

Main Look into the devil’s eyes and you get a glimpse of a world so unholy that your blood will begin to curl. Look into the soul of the blackest of black and your deepest darkest desires will be fulfilled. Look into the mind of a monster and you’ll feel nothing but fear. Trapped in the mind of the desperate, and trapped in the mind of the scared. The keys you hold unlock doors so tightly bound that only the bravest of men will dare unlatch the door. You have to ask yourself a question, and you a man that will slide the key into the door or do your fears confine you to regulate your choices? Do you have what it takes to open the door, and look into what mortifies you the most? Are you enough of a man to look into the only thing that horrifies the life out of you? Are you man enough to look into the mirror?

Can you comprehend how it feels to look at the one thing that disgusts you more than you could ever imagine? Can you even begin to fathom what it’s like to look at the one thing you hate more than anything? I sat here in my self-induced haze, and I began to look at something that I hadn’t even begun to believe? I had trouble defining the word hate until there came a time that I knew exactly what hate was. Hate is that single fucking emotion that makes me feel so much angrier, so much more disgusted, and so much less understanding. Hate is the emotion that arises deep from the pit of my stomach, and hate is the only emotion that I can describe when I look into the two-way mirror that leads to my soul.

There was a time when the darkness was more than the abyss that I was willing to accept. There was a point in time where I feared what the world had in store for me, and there was a time when death was more to me than just a point in my life that symbolized the end. Now to me it means so much more to me, and now it’s a time where I can fall into a deep long awaited slumber in a time where I can finally come to terms with who I am. It is the time in life when I can finally allow myself to be freed from the grasps of society, and from the grasps of the man they call Herman. I’m a demon trapped in a man’s body, in life I’m cursed by this name of Josh, but in death I’ll be free to be whomever I see fit.

“Allow me my freedom in life, and I’ll grant you your salvation in death.” Read the single line on the hand torn piece of paper that sits on the empty table. The paper sits on the table near the wide-open window, and slowly the wind begins to blow as the paper begins to flutter wildly. The paper slowly spins down, and down until it softly lands into my wide-open palm. My palm slowly clenches crushing the paper, and crumpling it into a tiny almost miniscule piece of paper.

“Life revolves around art, and art revolve around all the bullshit in the world,” I say as I lift my eyes up to the camera, the room is only lit by the dim soft light of a candle, “it’s three in the morning, and the power is out. Not because of human error, or even because of the powers of nature. The power in my home remains off because of nothing more than human choice, and the lights will remain off until the sun comes up. The morning is only a matter of hours away, and only a few short hours from now I’ll be in the light of day with the sun shining down on me.”

I slowly reach out and I open the door of my desk and I pull out a journal. I place the journal down on the table, and I flip to a page that is filled from top to bottom with writing. The page is covered in the blue ink that was spilt from the very blue pen that rests on the inside of my drawer. I look down at the page, and one time very slowly I run my hand from the top of the page to the very bottom. In the same fashion that it appears my hand had once before, and the smudged ink is an obvious reminder of the moment I ran my hand down the page again.

November 6th, 2004
From the Pen of Joshua Payne
One Night, One Life, and One Last Chance
An Etched Reminder of Hell

I’ve seen the fire, and I know how much it burns the inside of you. The fires manages to burn me so deep, and the burns are so horrible that not even skin graphs can repair the damage I’ve done to my body. I look at my arms, and I watch the skin peal away from where the flames licked me ever so softly. Wrapping their tender lips around my skin, until they manage to fully engulf what I have. I feel nothing except for a soft pressure against my arm, and the pressure doesn’t invoke pain, and it barely invokes fear. The only thing it manages to invoke in me is a sense of wondering, and a sense of questioning.

I’ve been low, and I’ve been lower than low. I’ve been to the lowest point a man can reach before his body gives up everything that it has, and everything it will ever be. I’ve been to the pits of hell, and I’m not afraid to go back again. I’m in a place now that I can’t fight, and I’m happy where I am. I’m in a self-created type of world where nothing matters but success, where pain is again just an illusion. I live in this world with my back against the wall, and that’s how I feel most comfortable.

The wall provides me with more support than I’ve ever received in my life.

November 7th, 2004
From the Pen of Joshua Payne
Self Delusional Hell
Pity is My Pain but Your Pleasure

You’ve pushed me against the spikes, and they don’t even begin to penetrate as deep as your words can push. You try to hold me back, and there is no way for me to fight. You’re the brick wall that begins to push harder against my body, and you pin me against the wall. You look at me, and it’s almost like you laugh at my expense but there is nothing you can do.

I’m content.

You try to make me feel as if I’m the one who’s desperate, and like I’m the one that is in trouble but I’m not the desperate one. I’m not the man that asked for a match I single handedly invented. I’m the man you accuse of everything that you see in yourself. Your two-way mirror is more than you’ll ever be able to comprehend, and you’ll understand what I mean. You look at your mirror, and you can’t understand that I’m telling you the truth, and you know that I’d gladly hold it up for you to see. I can see my faults, and I see the lines that they run so deep inside of me. Yet you don’t see your flaws, but you do see the reflection of your reality. I’ve built a world that you’ll never enter, because the truths I set are so much that you’ll never understand. Your walls are paper thin, but you’ve tinted them black. You leave yourself hidden, and that’s fine with me.

The truth hurts more when it’s served cold.

“Brian,” I say softly, “the ball is in your court, and it’s your move. I set the stakes, and I even decided to raise them all at once. Your life is on the line, and this could be your final test. You call this the greatest return in Chaos Heat Zone history, and well it could be short lived and a very abrupt halt.”

Hell is only a lifetime away, but your arrival can come prematurely.