Hi, my name is Simone! I'm a French girl, sleek and ritzy and refined. I bring love and joy to the world because that's all I know how to do. I also ooze feline mystique in spades. You must honor my delicate sensibilities like my daddy does or I'll stay just outside of arm's length anytime you try to pet me (sometimes I do that anyway). He says I'm "an angel of the angels" - and he's right!
My daddy is very angry. He yells and screams and kicks things then doubles over clutching his stomach in pain. I don't know why he does this. Life is very horrible for him. I only want him to be happy. Family time is the best time! But he says he can't talk to anybody and he's trapped like a dog. So I looked in his diary, the stuff he says he can't share with other people because they are unfeeling monsters.
I couldn't type this in myself so I called Mrs. Michaels and she said yes this is important and I thanked her for the use of her opposable thumbs in getting this out. She told me if she had to choose between saving a Rembrandt or a cat, she'd choose the cat. I like Mrs. Michaels!
This is the stuff we picked out that seems to make him so angry:
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Missing her is killing me... Of course, I can't tell anyone this or the Flame Thrower Fuckers will roast me alive. Maybe their needs are unmet too and that's why they can't stand to hear of mine. Can someone please pull these knives out of my belly!!!
I can't stop hating her. How could should leave me like this knowing I need her? Who made up this rule of needing someone? Do I get to kill God too and make Her need someone too? Does not God understand I have to have someone I don't have to lie to? Guess not, guess God's a monster too.
I can't read those posts on OS where people talk about their lives and what they got. I have to put up a front like I'm living too. But they don't know I'm far, far away, stuck on the moon and separated from everyone on earth. They'll fucking kill me if they find out. "What they fuck are you doing there! How do you expect to live all alone like that! You're a fucking idiot!" I talk the talk while others walk the walk. Good job that.
I wish I could put God in a 6x4 metal Cell Hell and make Him horny as hell every day. God, how satisfying that would be to hear Him wailing in pain and torment, pounding on the sides of the walls in frustration, ripping out His guts with no possible hope of escape or satisfaction. "Die you motherfucker! Die! Maybe You'll think twice about inflicting screaming agony on everyone who isn't goddam perfect. You give no quarter so neither shall I. Enjoy Your daily crucifixion and know that if anyone but me hears Your wailing they'll call You a faker. HAHAHAHAHA!"
I can't forgive her for not speaking to me. My soul doesn't care why she doesn't, just that she does not. It's too late now anyway. How could I ever trust her? So hard to tell what's real when no one admits their feelings. Drives me fucking insane!
The Strong Ones must bear me. Anyone who's like me I instantly hate and repel - as they do me. We cripples always recognize each other and despise one another. Each has his Strong Friends on whom they rely and I call that pathetic to have no real friends because you can't walk on your own. I hate living on the generosity of strangers. What an obvious parasite I am. I had dreams to bring. Dreams like no one else on earth.
Who created this world that has so little understanding of who we are? I could tell them they are Love Beings but that's exactly what they are trying to hide. A person's worth is determined by how much he can lie about himself and get away with it. Whoever lives the most can tell the greatest lies. I can't compete on that scale. I'm not living at all.
How can she not be suffering? I bet she is happy after all. I can't imagine someone never having to live alone. High school, college, marriage, kids - never a broken heart or dating for years trying to find the Right One or having to make it on her own. Is she really that good? Can her husband really be a good banker? Is there no one I can vilify but me?
The street is the only place where I don't have to lie. This whole bullshit planet can fuck off die. I know it's not wrong to breathe - you just make it a crime. But it's our spiritual life that determines our fate. And what a poetic justice it is to see them dirty the air so their bodies literally cannot breathe as well. All life is self-expression. They keep hoping it's something else.
The monsters are coming, They want to fill my body full of drugs and make their lies mine, to socialize me in their own image, to play God. The greatest sin on a dying world is to be hurt. Too many guilty souls know they're to blame and they have to silence you before God finds out what they did. The madness of men.
Only Simone can love me. She does not tell me I lie - nor ask me to.
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Black Sabbath - Paranoid
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