Confessions of a Delusional God

Confessions of a Delusional God

Posted on February 10, 2022 at 9:54 pm by Jeffrey James Roberts

”The sadistic narcissist perceived himself as Godlike, ruthless and devoid of scruples, capricious and unfathomable, emotionless and non-sexual, omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent, a plague, a devastation, an inescapable verdict.” – Sam Vaknin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes yes yes….

I am enjoying myself.

I am enjoying myself very much right now.

After every single match where I defend my HoTV Title, I go back into my dingy cell, nothing to be happy about except for the fact that I still have this belt in my hands. You don’t know what it’s like for a loser like me, a man raised on shit, kicked to the curb, abused until I lashed out… you don’t know what it’s like to have the things done to me that made me what I am.

Do you, Xander?

Now I know you’re into some mystical nonsense, and you have a lovely devil tattoo on your chest, which I respect.

And I’m not looking for your pity. And I’m not interested in getting to know you better. All I know is this…

I LOVE THIS BELT.

If you want to take this belt from my hands, you’ll have to kill me, and I think we both know who the actual killer is around here.

No, I’m not ready to let go yet. My job isn’t done. And to be honest, I’m just enjoying it way too much to stop. It would take an act of GOD to stop it, and he still has plans for me. And you, you Xander Azula, you aren’t part of those plans. You’re a pitstop on the road to where I’m going. I’m going to stomp your fucking brains in, and I’m gonna enjoy the hell out of that, too.

Maybe you’re a fool who doesn’t fear death. Maybe you’re too stupid to understand what you’re up against. A premature death does not only rob one of the countless instances where one would have experienced pleasure, it also saves one from the innumerable instances where one would have experienced pain. That’s a release I can provide you, Xander. It’s my specialty.

Enjoyment, yes. Everything God has given us on Earth is for our enjoyment.

You are dangerous in your own right. The self-righteous usually are, in my experience. No one takes you seriously, do they? They should. For a man who believes, even if that belief is in delusion, is very deadly indeed. He does not give up, no matter how many times he is beaten down. And eventually, sometimes, he breaks through, stands up, and does real damage to the people around him. There’s never been a true war that wasn’t fought between two sets of people who were certain they were in the right. The really dangerous people believe they are doing whatever they are doing solely and only because it is without question the right thing to do. And that is what makes them dangerous.

I was born, it would seem, to inflict damage and suffering. It is quite possible that I may be altogether wrong in this idea. My own impression, however, is that I am right. We are not defiled by our impurities. It is the other man pointing out our impurities to us whom we are defiled by. Is there anything anyone can do, to become righteous, anyway? God made us impure. If he had a problem with that, He would have made us gods instead.

The truth about the world is that anything is possible. Had you not seen it all from birth and thereby bled it of its strangeness it would appear to you for what it is, a hat trick in a medicine show, a fevered dream, a trance populated with chimeras having neither analog nor precedent, an itinerant carnival, a migratory tent show whose ultimate destination after many a pitch in many a muddled field is unspeakable and calamitous beyond reckoning.

The universe is no narrow thing and the order within it is not constrained by any latitude in its conception to repeat what exists in one part in any other part. Even in this world, more things exist without our knowledge than with it and the order in creation which you see is that which you have put there, like a string in a maze, so that you shall not lose your way. For existence has its own order and that no man’s mind can compass, that mind itself being but a fact among others.

The man who believes that the secrets of the world are forever hidden lives in mystery and fear. Superstition will drag him down. The rain will erode the deeds of his life. But that man who sets himself the task of singling out the thread of order from the tapestry will by the decision alone have taken charge of the world and it is only by such taking charge that he will effect a way to dictate the terms of his own fate.

Arthur and I… we have no obligations to meet. People like us… we think differently. We are different. We do all the things that others do. But when it comes down to it, we don’t need anyone else. We’re happy doing what we do and having an obligation interferes with that. And sometimes I think we don’t even need ourselves. What’s most important is to find out whether we’re right or not.

Since you’re seemingly obsessed with this idea of multiple dimensions and parallel universes, and I must confess, I never strayed too far down the path of quantum physics enough to debate you on these matters, and even if I were so inclined, I believe I would find it a tremendous waste of time based on the actual substance of where we find ourselves this week. Have you ever considered, dear Xander, putting aside the bullshit and just being a fucking man? Have you ever considered actually trying to get better at what matters here…. wrestling…. And spend less time worrying about fate?

Fate is chaotic and uncontrollable, after all. Why do you spend so much of your mortal energy trying to understand or control it? The task you’ve assigned yourself is a futile one, and more than anything you find yourself knocked on your ass, looking up at the lights, and contemplating the nature of the universe while they scrape you up off of the mat. You tasted a little success last week, so good for you. You and my old friend, Darin. He’s an idiot. Another idiot who thinks he can yell at me things about myself that I already know, and that it will give him some sort of advantage. He thinks it because he’s used to the mindless automatons coming to the ring each night with their hearts on their sleeves and their egos out in front of their brains. But this week is a different animal. I am a different animal.

I have been touched by God, Xander. Men are beastly and natural, and when touched by God, the One who is supernatural, they become as mythical creatures – one more true and just.

But where fate is an illusion, destiny is inevitable. You are destined to fail, and I am destined to never be free, either physically or in mind.

Destiny has got the rope around my neck – and I feel it.

Before we are done, you will be choking, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

”You are what your creators and experiences have made you, like every other being in this universe. Accept that and be done; I tire of your whining.” – N.K. Jemisin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The record player scratches to life in glorious monophonic sound. It hisses through the speakers, then a song begins to play…

“Sunshine On My Shoulders” by John Denver.

Jeffrey Roberts is sitting with his back against the far wall in his cell. He stares, mindlessly at the plexiglass, his eyes trace the steel bars ensconced inside. His heart rate increases and he closes his eyes.

Sunshine… on my shoulders… makes me happy.

Images flash through his mind and he squeezes his eyes as if it would drown the visions out. But it flashes again. Home in the woods.

The woods…

A voice tells him again, tells him that he is small, insignificant. Nothing about any of this changes anything.

“You are still a scared little boy… whose mother didn’t love him.”

His eyes open suddenly and he stands up, then runs full speed at the glass. As he approaches he leans in and ducks his head and hits the wall with force. His nose breaks on impact and blood splatters all over the glass. Fists pound on the bloody wall and his knuckles begin to bleed as well.

Turning around he looks at the ceiling at the dangling light hanging there, mocking him like the voice in his head, and he screams at the top of his lungs a primal scream, something from deep inside bursting out, and his chest heaves in rapid breaths. His fists clench, unable to stem the tide, and he turns now to the record player. With another scream, he picks it up and throws it at the plexiglass as hard as he can. It shatters on impact, little bits of metal, vinyl, and hammered brass crumpling into small heaps on the floor.

He sits back down, crosses his legs, and closes his eyes. The breathing starts to slow, and he sways from left to right, left to right, his thoughts turning to resolve, whispering to himself.

“Sunshine… on my shoulders… makes me happy…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

”Oh, but you must travel through these woods again and again… said a shadow at the window… and you must be lucky to avoid the wolf every time. But the wolf… the wolf only needs enough luck to find you once.” – Emily Carroll

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is something waiting for us at the edge of the woods, and it is our fate to meet it.

Fear.

Self-loathing.

These are my forever friends.

And on and on it shall always be. Unloved, unneeded, death my only companion. I wish I’d be murdered… Then I’d never have to worry again. When you die, you become perfect. Look at Kurt Cobain. Everyone loves him now.

But the truth is, I don’t actually want to be loved or needed anymore. And I don’t mind death. I walk hand in hand with it now proudly. That ship has sailed. I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter. It’s too late.

Most people are not prepared to have their minds changed. And I think they know in their hearts that other people are just the same, and one of the reasons people become angry when they argue is that they realize just that, as they trot out their excuses.

Excuses, yes. If that isn’t cynicism, what is?

Yes, excuses. I strongly suspect the things people believe in are usually just what they instinctively feel is right; the excuses, the justifications, the things you’re supposed to argue about, come later. They’re the least important part of the belief. That’s why you can destroy them, win an argument, prove the other person wrong, and still, they believe what they did in the first place.

You, Xander Azula… you’ve attacked the wrong thing.

The woods have always been a symbol of my existence. It was there that I was irrevocably broken. It was there where I became undeniably strong. I was the victim, then I was the hunter. I made them run, made them kneel, then took the life from their lungs.

They harden me… the woods. They steel me for what I must do. It’s not just about defeating Xander Azula, Darin Zion, David Noble and Conor Fuse. There is no end in sight. There is no limitation. Perhaps I am destined to join Mr. Fuse in the ring for more than a Maurako Cup group match. Perhaps I am destined to join with my beautiful belt his beautiful belt. I do like collecting things, after all. I need a new trophy to hunt. I’m a killer. I must hunt.

But I must evolve too, and that is what I will resolve to do.

Look around you. Everything changes. Everything on this Earth is in a continuous state of evolving, refining, improving, adapting, enhancing, changing. I was not put on this Earth to remain stagnant.

Life is the proving ground of an evolving soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

”The most loving parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder.” – Jim Morrison