Before you get all heated up because (gasp) I wrote something about Satan and Beelzebub and George 'Dubya' Bush, bare in mind I am a) completely non-religious, b) I fucking hate american politics i.e., republicanism, and c) was simply writing this for a writing course and my own enjoyment.

Oh. By the way, this is LONG. So really, don't read it unless you're at all interested.

so enjoy.



January 1st, 2008
Hell, the Underworld

My estimable Beeze,

I’m most terribly sorry to interrupt your gambols in the Antarctic, but I am having an utterly dreadful time. You are aware that it is the New Year, and that there is always a general increase of mortals being admitted into the Underworld at this time. People are sent down here because of the excess of such atrocities as pride, anger, and lust. However, I have noticed something odd. It isn’t just the New Year that is causing the increase of reprobates being sent into Hell. The past few weeks have also been unusually crowded and the majority of the people don’t appear to be excessively pernicious. For instance, there was an incident with a couple of homosexuals last week. They told me at Interrogation that they were in a boutique arguing heatedly about a certain garment, and before they knew what was happening, they were sent down here by Them. Did I tell you who ‘Them’ is? It’s this new Inquisitional Squad dreamt up by God. They’re some sort of elitist group calling themselves Christian Fundamentalists. They seem to take everything to heart, and the end result is the crowd of people thumping at my door night and day, awaiting their questioning session. Quite honestly, old man, times have changed, and not for the better. In the good old days, people who committed adultery or slept with a member of the same gender were simply burned at the stake, and my job was relatively easy. I had, on average about four new recruits a week, and the rest of the time was full of assiduous relaxation. However, now I have a great influx of homosexuals, communists, adulterers and Catholics passing through my gates and I’ve become a nervous wreck. I can’t deal with the workload, and there isn’t a day that goes by without having to slog through miles of paperwork in the Interrogation room.
I think what really put me around the bend was the man God sent down the other day. The day before, He sent me a ticker-tape saying “Vengeance is mine.” I thought very little of it; I simply thought perhaps this was just another of His usual pontifications. God tends to blow off steam (I can relate to that) so I put the matter aside and forgot about it. However, the very next day I was reading our community newspaper “The Hades Inquirer” at breakfast, when I looked over the edge of my newspaper, and saw a man ambling towards me. He looked the sordid type, not one I’d care to associate myself with, but as he was wearing the recruit uniform, I knew it was my duty to interrogate him. Rising from my chair, I examined him from out of the corner of my eye. He was looking rather blankly from side to side, inclining his head and squinting his eyes. Rather strange behaviour, wouldn’t you agree? When I greeted him in my usual eloquent manner, he didn’t acknowledge me instantly, but I was interested to watch the slow process of his eyes deglazing as he focused upon me. He didn’t say anything, but rather turned slowly around and walked out of the Great Hall.
I was astounded. Never had I witnessed such an unnerving performance. I therefore had to resort to asking God what this was about. Who was he? Why was he sent? What on earth was his problem? God sent me a very elegant letter apologising for the inconvenience, and asked if he would be permitted to come down to Hell and discuss this matter personally with me? I agreed, and he came down the next day to explain that this person he had condemned was perhaps the most dangerous man to have ever lived on Earth.
God explained to me that the Inquisitional Squad, or the Christian Fundamentalists, have started taking the Bible literally, and therefore judging all people on moral and ethical matters, no matter how petty. They are therefore usurping God’s role, and deciding who is sent to Heaven and Hell, without consulting God. He explained to me that this wouldn’t have been a colossal problem if the Fundamentalists used their judgement properly, but the truth is, they’re punishing people who are primarily good, and are simply people who do not follow the Christian religion. For example, He said Buddhists, Muslims, Hindus, and Jews would all be condemned to Hell for not following the same religion as Christians. He therefore is outraged at this injustice, and has decided to take action.
I then asked what this had to do with the queer little man who didn’t speak to me earlier that morning. God sighed heavily and answered that this man was an avid fan of the Christian Fundamentalists and used all of his influences to support them. God told me that if he had not condemned this person to Hell, the Fundamentalists would take over and start sending thousands of people to Hell and the state of my in-tray of new recruits would be barbaric and impossible to deal with.
I was aghast, I tell you. Of course I realised this man could not be sent to Heaven, but I was reluctant to accept him into Hell if he were as dangerous as God had made him out to be. However, time was up, and God was to return to his trouble-free utopia, and I was to commence Interrogation upon this frightening specimen. Before God left, I asked him one more question that had been nagging at me. Why was the gentleman so odd and silent when I had first met him? Not only that, but he had an irritating habit of looking from side to side as if in search of something. After I had finished explaining this miniature phenomenon, He smiled at me lightly and responded that the little man had an inability to speak for himself—he therefore needed a teleprompter or a scribe of some sort to assist him in speaking.
I left the Hall with a heavy heart, dreading the possible hours it would take me to interrogate this speechless man. I decided I would skip the usual Interrogation format and simply find basic statistics: his name and where he lived, and from that I’d be find a suitable niche for him to dwell in the Underworld.
He was sitting quietly in Interrogation when I strode into the room. It took him approximately three seconds to realise I had entered, and he gazed up at me amicably. He still seemed slightly uneasy, as he kept glancing to his left and then to his right, but I ignored this and sat down in front of him. I asked him his name, he stayed silent for a minute and then started babbling. “This economy of ours is steady and strong. It's steady and strong. It's steady and strong, which means people are going back to work.”
I was rather taken aback. This had never really happened to me before but I carried on diligently. I asked him where he came from, and again he responded in a deadpan monotonous voice, “We have overcome a recession. That means things are going backwards.” It was evident that Interrogation would have to be overlooked on my part. I left him babbling what I had recognised as parts of speeches of some sort, and went into my office.
I didn’t know what to do with him. He was not interesting physically, so I couldn’t categorise him into the Physical group, he had shown no outward display of intelligence, so the Intellectuals wouldn’t even consider his co-existing with them, and I didn’t even know his name to categorise him alphabetically.
His name. A streak of ingenuity caught me completely unawares. I could easily find out his name by contacting God again. I sent a ticker-tape to Him and He responded after a few hours. This was His message: “George W. Bush. Ever heard of him?”
So I had become distantly acquainted with this mysterious figure. My adamantine dilemma remained: What on earth should I do with this compromising creature? My initial desire to simply place him alphabetically among the variety of criminals and perpetrators had abated, as I severely doubt that he would be able to hold his own in violence of any sort, as violence is often apparent in that body of people. I did have another idea, however. The only recent, peaceful crowd that dwell here are the homosexuals. They prove to be no trouble at all, and very polite and mannerly. Would you agree with me that these people would be a reliable group to dump Mr. Bush into?
I wish you all the best, and I do hope you will respond with the utmost efficiency and assist me with these troubling times and tyrants in the environs of Hell.

Forever yours,
Satan.

In the ‘20’s it was called Horse. In the ‘30’s, Horse was replaced by the ‘Big H’. It’s strange how such fickle names can be a term for a substance that destroys the life of one and the lives of those around.
In school, youth is constantly warned against the throes of heroine, the dangers of needle abuse, the possibility of AIDS. Society is doing its best to protect its offspring against delinquency and a short-lived life, but it must be that youth refuses to accept society’s advice, or else drug use would be less apparent then it is today.
He was 18 years old and a thoroughly delinquent youth. The stereotypical ‘troubled’ kid, he was often labelled as the kind that no one wanted to be around. His parents turned their backs on him, his relatives denied his existence, he’d been thrown out of virtually every social services center. He didn’t even have any friends, for he was too self-indulgent to care about other people. Why did people turn a blind eye to his wrongdoings? He was heavily addicted to heroine with no intention of trying to quit. Countless times he’s been sent to rehabilitation clinics and guidance counsellors, and countless times he’d refused any helpful advances.
He was a good person. True, I don’t know him well, and people always tend to say that of a dead person even if it isn’t true. It seems like a good thing to put in a eulogy, as almost everyone wants something said about them that sheds a positive light on their personality. It’s often used as a way to redeem a person, as if although he caused hell with everyone who ever had anything to do with him, we still loved him and the like. However, in his case, he seemed like he aspired to greatness in life. He liked education and reading. He was a talented writer, a failure in mathematics, and for a while was socially flamboyant and a hell of a good conversationalist. His one drawback was this inexplicable addiction. He knew that it was destroying him but it didn’t matter to him. Maybe he was just too lazy, or too scared to endure the challenges of quitting. The withdrawal, I’ve heard, is absolutely unbeatable.
Now, 2 years later, I think about him sometimes and wonder how such a kid could get himself into such a position. It’s hard to believe something so phenomenally dreadful could advance upon a once innocent youth. A cynic would say God hadn’t done his job. A realist would question God’s mere existence, or claim that God gave the boy a choice, and he chose the wrong one. Whatever it was, we are now one less human on earth as of April 23rd, 2003. One less human who could have made a difference to the world, but one less human who apparently just didn’t care.

I miss you, Gabriel.

It’s funny how tragic things can happen on a beautiful day. I was walking down Granville St., one of my favourite Vancouver haunts. Dressed to the nines I was, complete with gothic boots and pants that some would consider punk. A leather trench coat and a bunch of sardonic friends.
The streets were singing with the busy doings of various people, the suave and the uncouth, the criminal and the innocent. In every doorway of every shop front, there was a variety of homeless youth hanging out, enjoying the sun, living life like every other being.
It wasn’t uncommon to come across a group of youths congregating outside a store, or walking down the street, but the negative aura I sensed of the situation told me they were not behaving as others usually did. My apprehensions were confirmed when I walked towards them and discovered them surrounding a man sitting on the ground. When I say man, he was probably around 18, but life on the street had aged him considerably so as he looked middle aged.
He was sitting cross legged, against a green lamp post. In his hands, he held a sign:[/b] Will take verbal abuse for spare change. We laugh when we read that, right? It sounds ironic and almost surreal, but these youths who were standing around him took his pitiful cardboard sign with writing similar to that of a 6 year old’s, for gold. They were throwing things at him. Words, dirt, spare change. He was looking straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. I guessed that he was forcing himself to meditate above the outer noise, or else he was on drugs. Whatever it was, I hoped that he wasn’t hearing the things that were being said to him, about him.
We were being video taped. While these ill-minded over-privileged fucks were hurling physical and verbal abuse towards this unfortunate individual, another small contingent of youths were recording every move, noise, word.
I felt a knot of anger in my stomach. These shit heels had no conception of those without a home, or without the means to support themselves.
To this day I still regret not intervening. In my mind, I play the scenario over again and each time, the ending is different. But always the same: I always prevail and appear as the heroine of the scene. I don’t know what I would have done, but I wish I had done it. I would have fucking punched them all out if I was smart. I would have raised holy goddamn hell at these rich-bitched kids who are so whipped by their parents money that they've turned into shadows of their parents. People who fear poverty and who despise anyone who's had to live through it. And because I didn't do anything. I feel at the same level as those youths who were being disrespectful of someone who, quite realistically, is not terribly different from their young selves. I feel that these youths have no awareness of who these people are, and indeed, don’t even see them as people. I feel awful about the overall situation.

Let me start this by stating one thing about myself: This is not meant to be propaganda. I do not mean this article to push one’s opinions to either side. I just wanted to write it. I am a serendipitous person. I write when I feel like it, and without any means to persuade anyone. This may not be a good way to approach life, and if any of the readers flame me, it will be confirmed. Please—read this with an open mind and heart.
Take a look:
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What is this? To me, these are the pictures that the left-wing anti-war people don’t want us, (or anyone) to see. The media has built up such a strong image of who these soldiers are: monsters filled with the merciless thirst to kill. But are they?
I do not like this war. I do not vouch for it. I do not support it. I do believe, however, that the minds of the media have warped us into thinking that the fighting soldiers are all monsters with veins running through their teeth. They are not. They feel remorse. They feel empathy. They feel sadness/fear/joy/sympathy/love.
One might ask, “If they feel all these emotions, why are they fighting in a stupid war?” Why? Because they, like the rest of us, have an occupation. One goes where they are told to go. Some might even think that they are defending their country and doing a good deed. This could be.
I ask you to struggle through the media. Don’t let it surpass you without mulling each and every thing over. Each and every opinion. Each and every term they use to describe something. I know many of you have at least an ounce of intelligence. I know many of you will look at this article and raise your eyes in indifference. “What is she on about? I ignore the media. I’m un-tainted. I know what’s what in the world.” The single fact is, we’ve been brainwashed. We don’t even know it. Our opinions have been cultivated by everything around us.
Time for a personal opinion (or yet another, if you will). I took one look at these pictures, figuring this was going to be a stereotypical chain letter. But instead, I spent a good while studying the pictures, shocked at the disturbed feeling I was experiencing. I pride myself on the media not having a steady influence on me. However, when I saw these pictures, and forced myself to agree that these pictures were taken in a humane manner, I surprised myself on how utterly damning the media is.
The media is not going to post these pictures. These are not pictures one wants to *see*. We don’t want to believe that these are beings, much like us, with morals and virtues. This. Is a profound. And blatant. Pity.
Please look at these pictures and tell me that these soldiers aren’t human; they are. Possibly more human than most; they are facing something that the majority of us have never faced. If you fought in the war, would you be like this? Would you take pity on the Iraqi civilians? Or would you be like the media portrays? Red eyes with green saliva dripping from the corners of your maniacal, upturned mouths?
Think carefully before you reply to this article. I don’t want replies that state ‘omfg, ur so stoopid. dont post anuther argument agen u retard.’ If you have something worthwhile to say—By all means say it. But say it in a half-wise decent, literate manner. Please and thank you

do you think this makes any sense? i don't. but i wrote it. so there you go. sink your teeth in.


Let me tell you a story of two children: one born with an essential nature, the other, without. These children are still children, they are not ‘lesser beings’, but they are completely different from each other in one particular respect, that being, one has the ability to trust and rely on others for moral and ethical support, the other has to create his own nature. The ‘Existential’ child focuses on individuality, individual freedom, and personal responsibility. The ‘Essential’ child already to some degree has his own individuality and personality. He can continue to develop these things, but already has the basics.
Gradually, these two children grow older, the ‘Essential’ child growing wiser, the ‘Existential’ child growing more self-centred. Why, may you ask, does the ‘Existential’ child become more self-centred? The answer to this lies in the fact that existentialism is based on personal experience. You have complete freedom, and make all your own decisions, thus leading to seeing the world entirely in terms of yourself.
This self-centredness and moment-to-moment effort of creating himself leads to the ‘Existentialist’ becoming increasingly anxious. The anxiety prays upon him, until he is unsure of himself. The ‘Existential’ child tries to achieve or reach the rational basis of his life, yet he is unable to. He soon becomes gloomy, and pessimistic, reaching the point that Jean-Paul Sartre, the great Existentialist, reached, thinking that human life is a ‘futile passion.’
Meanwhile, the ‘Essentialist’ continues to strive towards knowledge, testing his skills and wits, learning disappointment and joy, happiness and despair. He learns to control or openly express his emotions through his day’s experiences.
One difference between essence and existentialism is that essence is said to be eternal. Essence is supposed to exist before you are born and after you die, always to be present. An existentialist believes that the quality of who you are differs from who you were, or who you will be. Existentialism often changes.
Another way in which they vary is that essentialists believe that the ‘Soul’ is the fundamental spiritual essence of a human being, while existentialists would deny the existence of a soul. If there was such thing as a soul, everyone would have one; there would not be the separation of mere individuality. There would always be one thing in common between each and every person, something which existentialists refute.
Discussing the difference between existentialism and essence is like comparing apples and oranges. However, while apples and oranges are at least both fruit, existentialism and essence are not both philosophies. Existentialism is a school of philosophy, while essence is the fundamental nature of things. They are as such, opposites.
I have presented a biased point of view in this discussion: existentialism leads to anxiety and pessimism, and essence leads to happiness. It is clear that the former has a negative attitude towards humanity, while the latter has a more positive or optimistic view. Existentialism is limited as a philosophy because it looks at only one part of the human being; it does not take in the spiritual and emotional complexity of a person. Essence suits human nature in all its variety. I therefore think this bias is justified.

I didn't write this. I remember a site I used to go to, that had all this internet roleplaying stuff. Truth be told, it was a waste of time. In my opinion, internet families, internet fights, internet lives are a waste of cyber memory, but that is my biased opinion. Anywho, this is an article that a kid sent me, and I want to see if it struck you as agreeable, disagreeable, or a complete waste of time. I see it as a waste of time. Do we really treat cyber faces and identities with such disdain? It's a sad world...


The harsh reality of the internet can be decieving, or it can be a valuble tool for acheiving one of lifes greatest assets. Knowledge.
In the time that I've spent just within the net, getting to know people, and watching the logistics and social behavior that it contains within its constructs, it becomes very noticable who has a good understanding of the bigger picture thats going on here. What is going on here? I'm still learning and trying to figure that out. But what better way to know, than to learn obviously.


Welcome to the Internet.

No one here likes you.

We're going to offend, insult, abuse, and belittle the living hell out of you. And when you rail against us with =FUCK YOU YOU GEEK, WIMP ,SKATER, GOTH LOSER, PUNK ,BITCH ,FAG!..We smile to ourselves. We laugh at you because you don't get it. Then we turn up the heat, hoping to draw more entertainment from your irrational fuming...

We will judge you, and we will find you unworthy. It is a trial by fire, and we won't even think about turning down the flames until you finally understand.

Some of you are smart enough to realize that, when you go online, it's like entering a foreign country ... and you know better than to ignorantly fuck with the locals. You take the time to listen and think before speaking. You learn, and by learning are gladly welcomed.

For some of you, it takes a while, then one day it all dawns on you - you get it, and are welcomed into the fold.

Some of you give up, and we breathe a sigh of relief - we didn't want you here anyway. And some of you just never get it. The offensively clueless have a special place in our hearts - as objects of ridicule. We don't like you, but we do love you.

You will get mad. You will tell us to go to hell, and call us "nerds" and "geeks". Don't bother ... we already know exactly what we are. And, much like the way hardcore rap has co-opted the word ''nigger'' turning an insult around on itself to become a semiserious badge of honor, so have we done.

"How dare you! I used to beat the crap out of punks like you in high school/college!"
You may have owned the playing field because you were an athlete. You may have owned the student council because you were more popular. You may have owned the hallways and sidewalks because you were big and intimidating. Well, welcome to our world.

Things like athleticism, popularity, and physical prowess mean nothing here. We place no value on them ... or what car you drive, the size of your bank account, what you do for a living or where you went to school.

Allow us to introduce you to the concept of a "meritocracy"- the closest thing to a form of self-government we have. In The United Meritocratic nation-states of the Internet, those who can do, rule. Those who wish to rule, learn. Everyone else watches from the stands.

You may posses everything in the off-line world. We don't care. You come to the Internet penniless, lacking the only thing of real value here: knowledge.

"Who cares? The Internet isn't real anyway"
This attitude is universally unacceptable. The Internet is real. Real people live behind those handles and screen names. Real machines allow it to exist. It's real enough to change government policy, real enough to feed the world's hungry, and even, for some of us, real enough to earn us a paycheck. Using your own definition, how "real" is your job? Your stock portfolio? Your political party? What is the meaning of "real" anyway?

Do I sound arrogant? Sure ... to you. Because you probably don't get it yet.

If you insist on staying, then, at the very least, follow this advice:

1) No one, ESPECIALLY YOU, will make any law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

2) Use your brain before ever putting fingers to keys.

3) Do you want a picture of you getting anally raped by Bill Clinton while you're performing oral sex on a cow saved to hundreds of thousands of people's hard drives? No? Then don't put your fucking picture on the Internet. We can, will, and probably already HAVE altered it in awful ways. Expect it to show up on an equally offensive website.

4) Realize that you are never, EVER going to get that, or any other, offensive web page taken down. Those of us who run those sites LIVE to piss off people like you. Those of us who don't run those sites sometimes visit them just to read the hatemail from fools like you.

5) Oh, you say you're going to a lawyer? Be prepared for us to giggle with girlish delight, and for your lawyer to laugh in your face after he explains current copyright and parody law.

6) The Web is not the Internet. Stop referring to it that way.

7) We have already received the e-mail you are about to forward to us. Shut up.

8 ) Don't reply to spam. You are not going to be =unsubscribed=.

9) Don't ever use the term "cyberspace" (only William Gibson gets to say that, and even he hasn't really used it for two or three books now). Likewise, you prove yourself a marketing-hype victim if you ever use the term "surfing".

10) With one or two notable exceptions, chat rooms will not get you laid.

11) It's a hoax, not a virus warning.

12) The internet is made up of thousands of computers, all connected but owned by different people. Learn how to use *your* computer before attempting to connect it to someone else's.

13) The first person who offers to help you is really just trying to fuck with you for entertainment. So is the second. And the third. And me.

14) Never insult someone who's been active in any group longer than you have. You may as well paint a damn target on your back.

15) Never get comfortable and arrogant behind your supposed mask of anonymity. Don't be surprised when your name, address, and home phone number get thrown back in your smug face. Hell, some of us will snail-mail you a printed satellite photograph of your house to drive the point home. Realize that you are powerless if this happens ... it's all public information, and information is our stock and trade.

16) No one thinks you are as cool as you think you are.

17) You aren't going to win any argument that you start.

18) If you're on AOL, don't worry about anything I've said here. You're already a fucking laughing stock, and there's no hope for you.

19) If you can't take a joke, immediately sell your computer to someone who can. RIGHT NOW.

Pissed off? It's the TRUTH, not these words, that hurts your feelings. Don't ever even pretend like I've gone and hurt them.

We don't like you. We don't want you here. We never will. Save us all the trouble and go away.