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“Nature is cruel; therefore we are also entitled to be cruel. When I send the flower of German youth into the steel hail of the next war without feeling the slightest regret over the precious German blood that is being spilled, should I not also have the right to eliminate millions of an inferior race that multiplies like vermin?”
I am the one who had unleashed emotional blitzkrieg on this nation of a being. I have unleashed an extreme massive infantry of tears upon the terrain of my face, the tanks of emotional rampage, my words are like crashing air planes stumbling and hacked, hot and wet, firing at you with massive speeds. His hands are my hands around a pistol pointed to the head. He is my feeling of rejection as an artist, he is the feeling I have when my emotional vomit is pushed and cursed at.
Society is my long term hated foe, my hated organized relgion. I feel heat and wrath towards her, though her organization was never at fault. I was never strong enough to blame myself. My personal loss of love are my homosexuals, because of what rejection I have had to face. I reject the insane, for it is the fear of what I might become. I reject other races because difference and change are things I am afraid of. The incurably ill, the disabled. All a symbol of myself. Send all these things, send all these things to Chelmno. I demand they be stripped naked, and forced into showers of cyanide, and shortly after, burned until every molecule has died.My Aryans, so perversely labeled, are my gods. Everything for them. They are what I wish I was, what I want to be, those are my magazines, those are my populars, those pretty girls who have all those pretty boys. Aryans are the exactly opposite of what Hitler had called his perfect people, perfect is the exactly opposite of what I call these things. I am Hitler who ignored the fathers before him, I am the Hitler despite the wise words of history books, who attacked Russia and caused an explosion of death. I am Hitler who believes that violence is a god, I am the Hitler that wishes emotional genocide on every one of you.
Hitler's hands are my hands, tight around that pistol. I'm waiting for someone to come along and convince me not to pull the trigger. Until they take me off, until I write about my struggle in some shit filled image of space. Good god, I am this monster. Good god, everything he has ever done is reflected in me. I am his ignorance, I am his failure, his selfishness, his desire of freedom from the laws and the restrictions of the treaty of Versailles.
Though you know, that's just what I deserve.
I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I'm right about anything. I'm not going to sit here and pretend I'm not a monster, I'm not going to sit here and pretend to be some perfect pretty thing. Go ahead. Scold me. Go head. Move. Go head, slap me and pick, and pull. I deserve your years of hate and humiliation. My emotions are a farce.
Anyone who sees and paints a sky green and fields blue ought to be sterilized.[x]
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