Perfect Day
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- Dołączono
- 10 Wrz 2025
Our meddling intellects
misshape the beauteous form
of things
we murder to dissect
I always thought this meant, we always get it slightly wrong, even the Mona Lisa, is botched. The fastest car, the most carefully engineered moon landing falls also slightly beside the mark. And when we look at it again in hindsight, we are nearly repulsed by the materialization of past efforts and we look at it and think, how could I have been so misguided and so wrong, and even leonardo would look at his portrait and despise this crooked smile. This is because the instructions in our head, the faint echo, was so clear. Yet we failed to follow the basic steps, which we had so carefully mapped out in our pre-conceptual brain, where the thoughts are born, where they limp so freely forward and back and left and right, the thoughts are free.
And so we stick our childlike fingers in the perfect creation of god, we eviscerate everything from frogs to rivers, sometimes this childlike fingers, even reach into what's most sacred and we witness in horror knowing that all deeds are done by necessity.
But why?
The answer is obvious to anyone who looked at the problem carefully.
We had to figure everything by ourselves.
We never had a teacher
So we must stick our dirty fingers into these things and take them apart
If god suddenly appeared and told us, "stop this, you moron", but he doesn't and we have only these vague thoughts that guide us.
And that's why I hate niggers. Because it is enough that I have to live with this knowledge, that everything must be destroyed and violated - and then rebuilt in some gross, farcical replication of its true nature. It's fucked up enough that I have to dissect every single thing and put tubes and chips into the sacred flesh, into the natural form. That I have to draw canals and trenches and penetrate the land with the same fanatical, reckless violence, that fury of a man not quite satisfied with the body already surrendered. That I have to look at myself in disgust when I helped myself to what was there, to what laid untouched, untamed, unraped. And that I approached these things under the most disingenuous pretenses, with beads, with flowers, with words carefully wrapped around a sword, carefully hidden in the folds of a coat. Do the dissected understand why I did these things? And if they did, and they looked at me with those eyes that say, "do what you must", then that would be even more terrible and I tell myself, it's better they hate me.
And it's bad enough that I have to look at that crooked smile, at that adored portrait, that I don't want to have to deal with niggers and shitskins who actually enjoy being shitty people, and enjoy raping and destroying the creation of god and never create anything in exchange, and I simply despise looking at them. To see them now in every street, everywhere I fucking go, in this fucking city, there is a fucking nigger. With his pants down, picking his nose, shoving his gross brown finger up his nose, as far as he can reach. In the public transport.
And when you have your duty done. and your hand are covered in the metaphorical blood of the creation that you defiled, his hands are covered in boogers and he will make hideous noises in your direction. And I hate them. I hate seeing them stand next to a white person, I hate seeing them move around in the way they sway like drunks, hesitantly around men and dogs (which they fear), predatorily when they spot a woman, I hate them so much. My hatred of the nigger, far exceed the hatred that hitler felt for the jew.
The fact that they have forced themselves upon this land is a blessing because had they not, I would have never realized how much I hate them, and neither would you. Billions must die. And we must kill them.
Have a merry christmas.
misshape the beauteous form
of things
we murder to dissect
I always thought this meant, we always get it slightly wrong, even the Mona Lisa, is botched. The fastest car, the most carefully engineered moon landing falls also slightly beside the mark. And when we look at it again in hindsight, we are nearly repulsed by the materialization of past efforts and we look at it and think, how could I have been so misguided and so wrong, and even leonardo would look at his portrait and despise this crooked smile. This is because the instructions in our head, the faint echo, was so clear. Yet we failed to follow the basic steps, which we had so carefully mapped out in our pre-conceptual brain, where the thoughts are born, where they limp so freely forward and back and left and right, the thoughts are free.
And so we stick our childlike fingers in the perfect creation of god, we eviscerate everything from frogs to rivers, sometimes this childlike fingers, even reach into what's most sacred and we witness in horror knowing that all deeds are done by necessity.
But why?
The answer is obvious to anyone who looked at the problem carefully.
We had to figure everything by ourselves.
We never had a teacher
So we must stick our dirty fingers into these things and take them apart
If god suddenly appeared and told us, "stop this, you moron", but he doesn't and we have only these vague thoughts that guide us.
And that's why I hate niggers. Because it is enough that I have to live with this knowledge, that everything must be destroyed and violated - and then rebuilt in some gross, farcical replication of its true nature. It's fucked up enough that I have to dissect every single thing and put tubes and chips into the sacred flesh, into the natural form. That I have to draw canals and trenches and penetrate the land with the same fanatical, reckless violence, that fury of a man not quite satisfied with the body already surrendered. That I have to look at myself in disgust when I helped myself to what was there, to what laid untouched, untamed, unraped. And that I approached these things under the most disingenuous pretenses, with beads, with flowers, with words carefully wrapped around a sword, carefully hidden in the folds of a coat. Do the dissected understand why I did these things? And if they did, and they looked at me with those eyes that say, "do what you must", then that would be even more terrible and I tell myself, it's better they hate me.
And it's bad enough that I have to look at that crooked smile, at that adored portrait, that I don't want to have to deal with niggers and shitskins who actually enjoy being shitty people, and enjoy raping and destroying the creation of god and never create anything in exchange, and I simply despise looking at them. To see them now in every street, everywhere I fucking go, in this fucking city, there is a fucking nigger. With his pants down, picking his nose, shoving his gross brown finger up his nose, as far as he can reach. In the public transport.
And when you have your duty done. and your hand are covered in the metaphorical blood of the creation that you defiled, his hands are covered in boogers and he will make hideous noises in your direction. And I hate them. I hate seeing them stand next to a white person, I hate seeing them move around in the way they sway like drunks, hesitantly around men and dogs (which they fear), predatorily when they spot a woman, I hate them so much. My hatred of the nigger, far exceed the hatred that hitler felt for the jew.
The fact that they have forced themselves upon this land is a blessing because had they not, I would have never realized how much I hate them, and neither would you. Billions must die. And we must kill them.
Have a merry christmas.
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