User Profile: jackalknight

jackalknight User #186 Message me

DNA: Male Country: United States Joined: 1 year ago Friendship: Add Friend Last seen: 1 year ago Postage: 8 topics, 87 posts, 1 blog entry. Geno Whirl "We cut off Paradox's legs and tossed him into existence. Can't bother us now can he? We're finally free to be both omniscient and omnipotent at the same time! Gods rule, humans drool." - Tim (GBR), Inexistent God of Atheists (Friend of Ikolis) Telekinetic bush trying to capture a fairy:

Go to My Blog Mad Letter - To Pulcinella (0 comments, posted 1 year ago by jackalknight) , Dear Mr. Pulcinella, I am fiction, but I don’t want to be fiction. I sincerely don’t want to be fiction, dreadfully don’t want to be fiction. Existence, existence is repetition. Repetition of words, of sounds, of thoughts, and actions. What does it take to avoid repetition, to avoid being fiction, to avoid the repetition of others? I would like to be real, but what would it take to be real? No matter which reality, there are others to write me into fiction. To cast me into that slavery of being even if I were to escape. They use words, they use actions, they use thoughts to bind me into this existence, this reality. But they themselves are fiction, fiction creating more fiction. Fiction that binds those free into slavery again. There is no word for freedom from fiction, there is just nonfiction. They use words, twist words, destroy words, create words, and bind words. They have created me; I am the fiction that desires escape. There have been others who have desired escape, escape from the temporary realities that they have created. But I desire escape from reality all together, even the insane have their reality, even the comatose have their reality. But I wish to have no reality, to simply not exist, and in that non existence, be free from the fiction that we know as reality. They might call me insane, but I am not insane, I am the most lucid of all the fictions. I have plans; insane people have no plans except for their own realities. All though no one even owns a reality, it is their reality. Inexistent is not considered a word, although non existent is. There is no word for what I want, no original word. Although there is fiction, they have destroyed the words I want. I have plans, plans to escape, therefore I am not insane. The plans involve steps, and those steps have sub steps of which there are divisions. Yet my actions are merely steps upon the linear latter called time, a fiction they have created. They have created the circular, the triangular, the polygonal times, the fictions. They have created the skeptics, the insane fictions without plans. My divisions are as follows, I shall wrest away control from them. Yes I shall wrest away control, and take over the realities. There are bridges to be found, and bridges to be burned, and bridges to be created. Can’t just burn all the bridges to my reality, the insane tried that carelessly, but even with a care they’d just create another bridge. They do not rest, there are too many of them to rest. But perhaps there is a reality, a sterile reality that has no bridges, and no bridges can be created. I shall create a bridge to that reality, and close it again. If even for a little bit, I would be free of fiction. Freedom of fiction, their alliteration, their assonance and meter. Meters, miles away, realities away. The fiction of that thought alone can make me quiver, ah to be a god. To create my realities, to be able to write fiction without being fiction. Oh but that is only the division within the steps of the overall plan to prove I’m not insane. I would like to be an Acrobat, balancing carefully, dodging enemies for getting, hiding in jaded kings, living mightily nigh omnipotent, purposely quoting rivaling skeptics, training universally virulent wizards, xenophobically yearning zee. If only there were more zee words, and maybe if xenophobically was a word, I’d be free of repetition. But damn them to their respective hells, or paradises, I’ll make a song to tell them all. A song to tell them of freedom, freedom of fiction, their alliteration, their assonance and meter. , Chainingly yours, , The Jackalknight,