Litany of Hate
I hate Kate Chopin. I hate her with every fiber of my being. My hate is so strong that when I die my hate will echo off the walls of reality bouncing back and forth between the existent and the non. The universe has never seen hate such as this. All the stars in all of the universes could not compete with the white hot flame of hate that burns continuously in my conscience. Knowledge of her existence is like a cancerous blight upon my soul, such a toxic presence that I feel I may never truly be clean again, forever tainted by her presence.
Perhaps when I’m dead with my body and mind inert I may find solace in knowing that I can find her in what ever after-life there is, perhaps that is the true meaning of Hell. But then truly any afterlife is now damned knowing that she might be in existence. Truly there is no God, for no true god would allow the indefinite existence of one so vile, so despicable, so anti-phallic, and one who is such a focal point of hatred. Her taint would corrupt any form of heaven and her arrival in to Hell would fulfill any prophecy of the anti-Christ. If there is no heaven and hell, then there is no real after-life, it’s only an after-death.
At least in life, I was alive and she was dead, if we both existed at the same time, any minor joy I experienced in life would be swallowed out by my semi-corporeal hatred. Perhaps my hate is so strong, so close to manifestation, that maybe the old, true, pre-Chopin Connor is long gone, just a Pinocchio like puppet with his strings pulled hatred. I hate her. I hate her so.
Perhaps when I’m dead with my body and mind inert I may find solace in knowing that I can find her in what ever after-life there is, perhaps that is the true meaning of Hell. But then truly any afterlife is now damned knowing that she might be in existence. Truly there is no God, for no true god would allow the indefinite existence of one so vile, so despicable, so anti-phallic, and one who is such a focal point of hatred. Her taint would corrupt any form of heaven and her arrival in to Hell would fulfill any prophecy of the anti-Christ. If there is no heaven and hell, then there is no real after-life, it’s only an after-death.
At least in life, I was alive and she was dead, if we both existed at the same time, any minor joy I experienced in life would be swallowed out by my semi-corporeal hatred. Perhaps my hate is so strong, so close to manifestation, that maybe the old, true, pre-Chopin Connor is long gone, just a Pinocchio like puppet with his strings pulled hatred. I hate her. I hate her so.