Puppetry

The Red Shirt Saturday

Ugh. It smelled. The period? Yeah, it smelled like--to everyone else, shit and blood. Shit and blood. But for some reason, around me, it smelled like roses and nice, not shitty things. It was fucking nuts, and I figured it was just me trying to justify the dirt and the fact I was wearing the adult version of a diaper and attempting to grasp everything going on since the mind wiping, or the fact that I've always lived a little bit dirty and my brain had finally gotten used to it and warped it into this sweet odor of deathlike sanctity that I'd read about online. 

It was like the presidency, though on a smaller, but equally as mentally fucked up scale.  

Though, I was curious as to what dreams would pop up. Something else terrific, for consistency. Last time it was Donald Trump talking to me about not wanting to be president in a children's classroom, confiding his life story to me as if he was sympathetic and then walking away without so much as a thank you. Before that was a weird clear purgatory-esque theme park with a huge line of people in front of a devil's rollercoaster ride, red painted all over it--which was strange, because the devil isn't associated with bright red, sin and redemption is. Scarlet was associated more with unforgivable sin, ala the Whore of Babylon in the Bible. If it were painted scarlet--but that isn't the point I'm trying to make here. The point I was trying to make was--what the flying hell and why? What do all these dreams mean, anyway? 

Did I need to repent for some wrongdoings? Because I wasn't attempting perfection in any way. Hell, I was the farthest thing from sanctified in any sense of the word, lying and wearing brutal honesty like a red shirt on Star Trek, even if I didn't want to wear it or the other flaws I had on my person at the moment.

Oh. They're at it again. Arguing and ping-ponging back and forth about--NO, ThEy'rE NoT EvEn TrYiNg...oh, am I this pissed? Really? Why should I be so concerned in the lives of people? Is this a side effect of being close to Him? Rapid hatred of how utterly disrespectful humans were if left on Earth too long? Like corpse flowers, they started to stink. Badly.

But the thing was, I didn't hate them. I was only 21, anyway, but in those years I was teetering between hatred and outright indifference...or something much worse. Inside I felt strangely Jesus-Revelation-angry...well, I wasn't that pissed yet, and still defenseless if I could get that mad. At most, all I could do was pray, really. Pray for the people I cared about in this decaying greenhouse of an earth. Besides, no one was supposed to know...that was the grand surprise.