September 27th, 2019, 7:04 AM
I had another dream again. Not the kind that shows what I do in my mundane reality, or the kind that doesn’t make sense no matter how you approach them. It didn’t have me in it, either.
It was one of the Hell dreams again.
I have to assume that’s what it is. The fire fighting back the shadows surrounding all of them, the loneliness, the anger… everything about it makes it feel like Hell. It’s a forsaken place, with monsters and ghosts and all kinds of terrors, but they aren’t fighting each other. It’s not the place filled with torture and brimstone and everything that the Bible says it is, that the shepherds use to scare their flocks.
It’s just a… place.
It really just does feel like a cavern underneath the world, hidden away to keep its prisoners in line. That’s what it feels like, prison; not some place to atone for your sins. The atmosphere doesn’t really lend itself to that, I don’t feel guilty while I’m there; I don’t feel like it’s an appropriate place to kneel down and pray and do my penance. It just feels like… a home that takes me in and accepts me, once the others have thrown me away.
I know, it’s odd to feel that way about Hell, but with the way my life is going, it almost seems like a sanctuary in comparison. And I’m not even there in the dreams; I’m just a spectator watching demonic brothers and sisters arguing and trying to live with each other. What violence I see is the result of tensions boiling over, not outright malice. What animosity I experience is from years and decades and millennia of friction and annoyance, not because of any sort of evil or wrong-doing.
How odd, to sympathize with demons. This is my life now; watching immortal, forsaken souls through my dreams. I had thought it was always going to be the future I experienced once I fell asleep, but it seems that time has no real meaning to my astral self. At least, that’s what it feels like; some sort of astral exploration. I may feel like I belong—like I’m supposed to be there to observe—but I am not there. I’m a watcher and recorder, it seems, and part of that is being impartial.
Though it’s hard not to side with some of the demons more than others. Even though I still don’t understand them—I can only pick out a few words that I look up after the dreams are gone and I’m still clinging to what little memory hasn’t been washed away—I feel like I do understand them. Within the context of the conversations and confrontations I see how these people are interacting with each other, watching how their relationships change. A few of the older, senior members of the group seem to lead them on, while others rotate in and out of the interactions.
There is a man that I can only assume is the Devil. He doesn’t show up often, but when he does, he’s surrounded by light. Lucifer—if you don’t know—means “light-bearer,” so it only makes sense that he’s going to look substantially less-evil than the rest of his demonic brethren. This man is a beacon of light, dressed simply, and no hint of evil comes from him. Whenever I see him in the dreams, I feel comfort, warmth, acceptance—plenty of the things I’ve never really received from my friends and family. Not like when he shows up.
Is this all some sort of grand temptation? Is the Devil showing up in my dreams just to sway me to the side of evil? This doesn’t seem like the snake in the garden, the adversary, an evil son who rose up against his heavenly father. It’s a man who wields grace millennia after his defeat and fall.
At least… if I’m right. If he’s not the Devil, then all of this supposition means nothing. He’s just another nonsensical addition to dreams that never should have come back. When this counter-intuitive demon speaks with his brothers, outlines his plans and provides guidance, it could all just be some shattered part of my psyche. A trick by my mind to either give in fully to my madness, or to somehow bring me back from the edge.
I don’t know which one it is, I’m afraid.
But I’m always afraid now. Not because of these dreams, but what they’re doing to me. Already, I’ve lost what people would consider everything. I just don’t seem to care. I’m losing more and more of my connection to this world, especially with the more confidence I gain about 616. I know I’m not wrong about the number—I saw it twelve times yesterday—but it just seems to provide me with all the justification I need to fully dive into my depravity. It gives me the option to give up on my life, to pursue… something.
The question is: why? Why am I getting these visions? Why am I becoming acquainted with demons and why am I in the mindset that they were right? Because that’s what it feels like. The more I dream and see them living in Hell, the more I feel like they were on the right side of the war. That God has much more to answer for than the biblical scholars would claim.
And what kind of sense does that make? Why would it even matter to me? I’m human and it shouldn’t matter to me what happens to demons buried under the Earth’s crust. When I really started to believe, when I really started to care about the number, that was when I found all the connections between the House of Orphans, Catalytics, Escape and 616. Between all of them was this conspiracy—which is still very much working in the background of my internal thoughts—and that’s what this blog should be about. It should be about exposing the truth behind all of it, seeing beyond the veil, but it’s starting to matter less and less.
I’m starting to not give a shit if Catalytics is responsible for a batch of designer hallucinogens. I’m starting to throw away all of that passion for revealing the insidious nature of a pharmaceutical company because… why? Because I care more about demons I can’t understand?
Who am I kidding? It’s not “starting;” it just “is.” I care more about trying to understand what happens in these dreams than I care about trivial, human matters. I think of them as different, out-of-place, unimportant, because they just affect humanity.
And if I don’t care what happens to humanity, what does that make me?
I try not to think about that too often. If I’m so far removed from humanity that demonic dreams are my new passion, it’s almost pointless to even fight it. Everyone was right, I think. I think I’m going insane, but I think it’s for a reason. I think that the closer I get to outright lunacy, the more the dreams will make sense, the more obvious all the connections will become. In order to figure all of this out, I may have to fully give in.
And while I’m scared, there’s no real reason not to. I have no one in my life to stop me, to get in my way, and I have no job to hold me back. In a way, by losing everything, I’ve gained complete freedom. Yeah, eventually I’ll run out of money, but I’m comfortable for now, and, well, I’m not sure I’ll make it to the end of my funds. To say that I still want to keep living is only a half-truth. I want to live long enough to see the truth of 616, to accomplish my record-keeping and to… I don’t know, help out if there’s anything I can do once I know what’s going on.
If… if I can make it that far, I’m not sure I’m going to need money. It just feels like once I know the truth, that’s the end of the road. All of this sacrifice is for that one purpose, my life is for this purpose, so… I don’t know. Maybe it will be a blessing to not have to go on without it. At this point, I really just don’t know.
I’ll tell you what really scares me. It’s that if I do find out that I’m not destined to go on past that revelation, I think I’d be okay with it. I think I’d be okay with that being the end of my journey.
And I think I’d be alright if it was sooner rather than later.
END OF ENTRY
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