The Rebel Within

The Rebel is an idea.

The Rebel is what’s emerging beneath the surface. It’s a being, a character you create to replace the old you, the one mired by layers of conditioning and untruth by the world and its media and technology and its ignorant people.

You slowly rebel against the world until you begin to uncover the REAL YOU beneath it all.

It’s the heart of what I made this site about.

 

Beneath it all…beneath all beliefs and systems of thinking that you subscribe to.

You read things on the net and they make sense. They seem to be true. But do not actually know and they provide comfort where you have none.

When you follow a system to think for you, then you have rules and righteous purpose. You have concepts and ideals, such as “saving the world” or changing it to your own vision of utopia, or being too honest, when honesty is not always a virtue. You become consumed with ego or “respect.”

 

These things are all only illusions, designed to distract you from trusting your own intuition and true self.

 

Beneath all the awkward, casual social interactions. Beneath the light, airy, surface world that everyone pretends is real.

Beneath it is the underworld.

It is a red river, a current of distaste.

You are not satisfied with the status quo. You are uncomfortable with your place in it. You want to push the limits.

 

But to be an effective rebel, you must have a REASON. It can’t just be for guts and glory.

Those things will never build your soul.

You’ve got to have a selfish reason to push yourself through the barriers of the System. Your goals, the things you really desire, those are enough at first. You take ahold of them and then you FIGHT.

 

But fighting wears you down after a while, and you run the risk of turning into the enemy.

Deep down, despite all you’ve been told, despite the hard knocks you’ve taken, you are something special.

There’s a power in the background, awaiting your total surrender. It calls to you. It tugs at you like a nightmare every damn day and every time you fail to do what you want to do. What you set out to do.

This thing is NOT the thing that you fight.

This thing is the Rebel.

The Rebel is your emerging soul.

 

Beneath it all, beneath this human shell, you have a heart of rebellion.

You rebel in order to find your soul, the origin of yourself. And then you hold onto that power and don’t let anybody take it from you. And you don’t let imposters like your old self take it either.

You are a rebel to the core.

Cost of Love

You cannot save the one you love when
she is no longer the one you love.
How can you overcome your fickle human mind?
You pursue unending pain and you long so strongly
for the person buried there underneath that
you punch the wall in frustration and
swear upon your life that you wish
you had never seen it, never had that
which now continually eludes you,
what was lost but seems so unendingly close.

You want to destroy her for not being what
she hoodwinked you into seeing. You want
to kill the one you love for refusing to be
what she swore. What you carefully cultivated
and expected and saw hope for, but now
she has turned away, and you cannot force
a change.

You wish you could love her for what she is now,
but the frustration will tear you apart. Your eyes
have been opened and there is no going back.

In some distant empathy you recognize she
is going her own way, as destructive as it appears
to you, and she is resisting her meds for her own
stubborn and adolescent resistance.

As much as you hate the multiple people you must
now deal with in her mind, you can’t help but wonder
if your need for control is not in her best interest,
and that perhaps her defiant and lonely path is
the sane and sensible one.

How much of a program are you?

You do to what you love
the very same as those talons you chose to flee
long ago.

In this dark and seemingly hopeless tunnel toward
loss and grief, you imagine that it is time to go
your own way–again. Her one final lesson as
an act of rebellion is to teach you to do the same.

And on your lonely road you will defy many
who profess to love you.

And you will endlessly long for what you had and lost,
pining for what does not seem to exist any longer,
and you are insane for trying to create it again.

Insane and driven,
you carry out your own defiance to all.

…but the greatest pain is knowing you are just like
her, both mad and wanting the same thing. You
walk away, feeling as though you have lost not
just a woman, but a part of yourself.

A peculiar form of torture – Part 1

Watching the perverse presentation was thoughtless by now.

Dr. Gregoras lay back in his plush leather seat, confounded by the pointlessness of his coworkers’ desire. The futility of the human lives projected in the dome beneath him, constantly bantering and pretending to be sheep going their own way bored him silly.

Without question, then, the demon sat forward in his Hellish black suit, elbows on the table, and with a snap of his fingers the word “Approved” blazed across the contract before him in a tiny spit of flame.

The document he had just passed was another petition for some bizarre spirituo-scientific experiment that the Tormentor department was doing. They were really just a grassroots organization, and didn’t necessarily have the proper permissions to do what they were doing, but Gregoras had little patience for bureaucracy these days and decided to let the matter slide until his higher-ups discovered it.

The contract stated that yet another lowly human was to be put through a more miserable life than was intended. This would be in the form of a new type of demonic intervention that the Tormentor scientists dubbed “Partial Achievement.” This form of torture would cause the individual to always be attempting to succeed and always believing that he was, only to realize that he only ever got halfway and would never actually be able to unlock his potential.

The Tormentor department had always worked around the clock to implement their new forms of torture, but never before had he seen them work to their current extent, using all sorts of lesser demons and pixies and imps along with a projected plan and life blueprint to ensure that the individual had just the right amount of emotional ups and downs and turmoil that he would always be hopeful and repeatedly working hard and trying to deny his failures, but secretly always be absolutely miserable.

Gregoras sneered, but silently deferred. Torture was torture, and it had to be done by someone, somewhere. He just wished that the science team didn’t waste so much of his time.

“Dr. Gregoras, don’t you wish to review the Fire and Brimstone Amendment Subsection Exception 4C that we have included in this latest experiment?”

Smoke began to curl out of his nostrils. “No. Get out of my office. Or you’re fired.”

“But, Dr.,” pleaded the female team member, backing up her male colleague, “it is absolutely necessary that the Fringe Clauses are not disregar—“

“ENOUGH!” bellowed Gregoras, launching over the table and instantly transforming into his hulking, terrifyingly beautiful Arch-Demon form, his great naked body trembling and pectorals rippling, seemingly twice as terrifying as before, a tongue of fire snaking its way out of his mouth and around his throat. A moment passed where his colleagues were rendered petrified before his form slowly shrunk back, giving way once more to his normal, professional and clothed appearance.

“It is time for you to all leave. Now.” The scientists stared, but left without another word. They did not wish to be punished by an Arch-Demon today.

Leaning back in his seat, puffing the smoke out of his lungs and rubbing his meaty red forearms, he wondered when everything had all gone to Hell.