Tales of a Misanthrope Part 1 And now for something completely different

I have been given many names, some so ancient in a haze of forgotten languages that even I cannot

remember my own origins. I know what you’re thinking, “Surely you remember a childhood, or at least a beginning?” No it all seems like a dream, a void that I stepped ouit of , nor can I fathom the beast with three hands that devours life, my constant and only companion…Lately the most favored names I have been bequeathed of “decent” human society is “Devils Advocate”. “The Dark Angel”.

I shrugg my shoulders, ok I’ll bite …..

See there are days I have hopes for humanity, I’m not all bad and it’s complicated… Sheesh!

If I see  a human display compassion in reaching out to the forgotten, the homeless or the abused

or go out of their way with no thought of compensation or ulterior motive to help their fellow beings,  my very being becomes light!

I literaly bliss out in such ecstasy as to transcend the physical world and want to pull humanity kicking and screaming to the higher spheres.  But then there are those days I see such cruelty, animosity, hatred spewing from the monkey race dancing in its black ichor that it debases my very essence that I wish nothing more than to burn the world  to end it

and my suffering.  The punchline which has me laughing my ass off is  the local “newspapers”  reporting a large body count has accumulated in the city morgue and there is not enough space for storage and they may have to use local grocery coolers just to keep up with the rising numbers and the “Authorities are really baffled” as  no one  can determine the cause of death!  It brings everything to the present moment.    I don’t know where it started , no date or year that comes to mind, when this moody and bellicose attitude that seems to draw every dipstick needing an ass whooping into my personal space.  If their arrogance wan’t enough to beg a physical demise, their seemingly “divine right of the chosen” would stoke my  virulent hatred to the point, that  I would dig up their corpse to give it an additional bitch slapping.  You spend half the night digging up a corpse  caught in a drenching storm by the illumination of lightening  and I bet you would be so pissed as to want to give an additional ass whooping to the jerk, which I believe has been given a light sentence.  Death is easy, it’s living that is hard. And the jerkwad that was buried is getting off scott free.  So I say smack away, and when you do wear those spike rings so as to say I did make my mark in the world.  And also set it as a warning:

“You do not want me to make my mark on you”