#lisbeth

Happy Birthday to Rika Shinozaki (Lisbeth)! 🎉

Speed paint under the cut

I'm sick of picking up breadcrumbs, and watching the world fall apart around me. It's so.... stupid. I know I declared this one as the Darwin Awards, but frankly, it's just depressing at this point. It isn't safe for me to be out and about in the world independently, and everything is taking TOO LONG.

In the microcosm that is Pittsburgh, Penn.Sylvan.iA, I'm located dangerously close to Squirrel Hill, which used to be a nice place to be. However, with the isssshhhrael occupation, it's the most dangerous place I could be traversing. It also doesn't help that tons of people in this city know me, and want me dead.

Everything was all fun and games when I was still in Trenton, before John James Trainor of the USGS ruined that for me, by kicking me out of the marital home. The true extent of my madness is left behind at 1513 Stuyvesant Ave, Romans 15;13. It's where I opened the box my father left behind, and unleashed this madness upon the world.

And look where we are, now. WWIII is underway, most people at this point should be aware that the show is being run by cannibalistic pedophiles, and yet... where is the revolution? Where are the guillotines, and bloodshed? Where is the justice?

For being associated with so many dangerous families, and a member of the "Satanic elite", I really expected more from everywhere. This is meant to be a mass exodus, a culling of all the bad guys looking to end the world as we knew it. The psuedomonarchia daemondium isn't working together well, and it's pissing me off to no end.

At the end of this day, I am literally just a 33 year old girl, looking for my knight in gleaming black armor, to whisk me away to our castle, and start a nice little fiefdom. Things used to make PERFECT sense, before..... history happened.

The crux of the matter seems to be the k*kes. I don't know how much Tumblr will let me get away with saying, so out of respect for the platform I'll censor a letter, until I come up with a better slur for them. And that's what it is: Us, vs them. Those who care about humanity, and those who are only concerned with enriching themselves by enslaving it.

These technogods are bang out of order, summoning aliens and ancient Sumerian demons. Peter Thiel knows about the "antichrist", but apparently he doesn't speak fucking Latin. It's AnteChriste, the one that comes after. Jeevus died when he was 33, and I was completely unaware of my role in things until I DIDN'T stay dead, and made it to my 33rd year. Everything since then has been absolutely bonkers, and I'm sick of playing all these silly games.

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There isn't enough alcohol, drugs, or sex to get me over this current hump. Every passing hour, I lose more and more hope that someone is going to magically appear for me, and take this all away. I'm so.... disgusted, with the world I've been left to inherit. This is an enormous mess men have made, and they keep GETTING. IN. MY. FUCKING. WAY. of cleaning up their messes.

I want to blow up a planet. I want to end a race, and all bloodlines tied to it. Every incestuous, vile, mutated line of code, deleted. Every rapist, punished. Every slave to the Seven Deadliest, tossed into a volcano.

People don't recall what things were like, before Scandyland went on the Good Guy Protocols. Ditto that for the nation of Japan, and their road to redemption arc, after the rape of Nanking.

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But all nations have their day in court, and perhaps we were all lied to, about what *actually* has been going on here. Hyperthymesia is rare for a reason, and we huguenots have been buried deep, deep underground it seems. Except for me and mine.... we've stayed afloat, above the board, in poverty for the most part, trying to save you lot from yourselves.

You aren't worth it, by the way. You've all fallen to fear, and completely lost the plot. You have no recollection of what the world once was, who we are, how we got here. You've given up all autonomy and sense of superiority, to live as slaves, on a broken wheel that barely even spins.

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Sometimes, I wish I was stupid. Ignorance is bliss, and maybe a lobotomy is the best bet I have, at a happily ever after. The alternative involves a lot of incredibly hard work, that frankly doesn't interest me. I've suffered enough, for this lifetime, as a sex slave. I don't CARE about saving anyone, anymore. This time around, I'm inclined to side with the Doctor, and hope the Lawyer doesn't judge me too harshly for it.

The most evil men in the land have gotten away with this for far too long, and I'm hardly even a shadow of my former self. My cup is so empty, I couldn't offer someone the drink of life if I wanted to... the curse, of immortality.

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As much as it pains me to see such creation go to waste, a fresh start is what we really need, right now. To burn the world to cinders, so it may rise again, from the ashes. A dark phoenix, if you will.

Depending on what you chose to believe, worshipping false idols will get you dragged to hell. The christian god is very explicit, about how jealous and angry he is, when his children misbehave. The selected true believers, the holy crusaders, will have an incredible amount of blood to spill, if they expect he'll approve of them again, any time soon.

It doesn't really matter, at the end, what people want to do on the mortal plane. You have exactly one soul, to handle carefully, while it's on loan to you. The scales must be balanced, to get into the afterlife. Hell should be overflowing with sinners by now, but the fucking ERASED Pluto from the pantheon back in 2006.

Hades, help me, hell has been frozen over, for twenty years. The hubris of man, to disrupt the natural order of the solar system. To be so blinded by their infernal electric lights, as to blot out of the beauty of the night sky.

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I wish real Satan, as in the devil, was here to comfort me. I believe Jeff E. when he said he was terrified of him. I would be too, if I wasn't who I was. To me, ole Satan is just one of my many fabulously gay fathers, an indulgent relative of sorts, who would rip my enemies apart for me, then give me a lollipop to make me feel better.

We need such deities, & I would never turn against my own family. I kill for my family, albeit indirectly. It's not easier, being a flayer of minds. Comes with a lot of stigma, and misunderstandings.

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According to the Hint I got before winter, I should be meeting my soulmate, sometime in the nearish future. I have a rough sketch, and a limited recollection of why I'm so in love with a Gemini man. I hope he has sandy hair, and light colored eyes. I hope he's tall, and laid back for the most part, and good with computers & math (I'm not) I hope he's sinfully handsome, and kind, but with a flare for cruelty when the moment arises. I hope I'll know him, when I see him.

I'm setting my expectations at an all time high. If he doesn't show up, or worship the ground I walk on, I'm jumping off a bridge, never to be summoned ever again.

This was the final shot, the final chance, for everyone to GET IT RITE.

If they fail, there is no do over. The human species will be wiped from the face of the earth, and cows can take over, or something.

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Last, but perhaps not least, I'd prefer to go vegan vampire, this time, too. I was a fan of Twilight, and 50 Shades, and True Blood. It was all excellent promotion, and I truly believe evil deserves a shot at a redemption arc, too.

I miss Erik, from 2022 or whatever, over game of thrones. My Mormon UltraMarine, on a mission, for the missionary position, LOL.

leaves and flowers of all kinds are crushed into pigment, alcohol burns my nose. i dip my fingers into the inks, letting them drip onto the papyrus. they sting my eyes, my nostrils flare. my fingertips tingle, the skin shedding. the inks eat. they devour me. the tears that fill my eyes, i cannot tell if they are from the burns or the pain. my hand throbs until it is gone. it spills onto my legs and turns them to dust. it consumes.

i am gasping. i cannot tell when it switches–from choking on the white void floor, to the stained mattress of my bedroom. blinded by vision still, i could not see–the darkness does not reach for me. a hand does.

only when it shakes does the vision blur, ripped away from me as something replaces it.

lisbeth is not the one illuminated by the moonlight of my window–it is a boy, whose face i know well enough, disheveled curls falling around his face.

his majesty called for me. lisbeth had beckoned for me, prayed over me, whispered to me gently that i was to go to his majesty’s bedroom.