Could have called it for a day in this upper world so I told Charon to make it his way, that I will always be outside his boat, free on my own flow. So he walked away smiling as if his politeness would guaranty the desire he contained to shield his thoughts.
Independently, I'm a Goddess of Hatred and I like it that way dont make the river flow against its will this is my realm and my freedom, if you please to take them all to their destine and have those coins baby you will have to hold on to the stick and drag the vessel of travellers on the ride, maybe I had say too much, but is I set a line between this waters and my lost souls. "You will take them out, one by one to show the beauty of their last breath if you wish to flow above me!!!" Perhaps non even the echo would repeat the torture of my existence, of course I hate them all lost souls as much self hatred could exist.
Tipping my chin and graving the nothingness of it inside my palm between the thoughtfulness of it. "Oh, yes!" As he was further and further seat in my hard rock.
wanted to write a chapter about Self Hatred to a journalist in the Telegraph, something never done yet, it will cause a self impact, but wait, wait, it must embrace the humanity at least to stop the congestion in my river with the damn souls of the lost. Hello? With the phone on my hand now, breathed out again.
"Yes?" "Its Styx, the River Styx. I have a story for you!" Glancing my feet on the air with a continuous swing, across the other explain the journalist all about it.
I hate my p**sy because his d*ck is quite big but not thick and its abnormal, I hate my p**sy because I'm not interest in making him hard, so he kills all this people to get me horny, eventually as I breath their last breath, come to realise in his eyes the craving need for love he sustains to have some love from his Goddess of Hatred, but, no, no, no. This is not self hatred or loving a person because of a particular link to a painful emotion, its the realisation of knowing this person knows how much it hates you and in that will never be fulfilled with you, because its the very hatred of it, is never enough, were are you going all the time when I never come, this river ends when it begun, so he keeps marching away taking all others in a kind of self hatred symphony, for the newly dead only suffer for everything they haven done. When is all taken away, you know all the objects you loved are not coming with you, nor the people, but the experience is lost once you find out it was an illusion and as you enter into the inside of your body in the spirit of all things and the underworld, there is only self hatred my river gives you at start, of course after you had entered with that sweet morphine, but what more could it be. For that reason you will be reborn, to try again, its precisely that what you will remember till you get it.
So the whole humanity keeps working and the self hatred is abominable, if not neglected. I don't want you, I don't want anyone, I love myself beyond the desserts and horizons onto any orbit and back and I hate it when I return, because I have nothing. There is nothing between life and death, at least if you were alive you would count in all those things that make happy to wake again, it becomes a repetitive impulse, something you do. With self hatred, obligated, without another option, the oppression is hard and many lost souls dive with you before you clock in to work, mechanical, a meditation or absent. This river is so beautiful at the sides of its purity to submerge in, its impossible to stop the flow and I'm afraid the flow will take me away, at least the death too have that totality of being death, as the living exist in their totality. Split not, but hated as a double personality, committing to either side, non have the love I acquire. Hate them both, for who is one without the other, empty vessels like Charon, distant to feel eternity, self hating the meaning of it all.
So, if you take this on the press, please be advise that I'm to sue to the law of gravity who is against the quantum. And if you place it on the political section better, because this realm will attack and is conquering from all its synchronicity. Even of those who won't understand were this hatred comes from. Is not love, is not dominion, let me clear my river away from any perdition. The River Styx will reveal all its secrets to all the souls who were lost and rise their hand to stand up, beautiful in their form of arts, poetry and philosophy, to distribute beauty and nourish the children so we continue being childlike and less abuse. So the d*ck of men, thinks, were they did into the hole, and think before they hammer, for love and friendship, parenting and mastering is higher then that. Self hatred is in every abused child and grown abuse child, twisting to be loved, and will do anything for that attention, let them. Let them despair for what real love needs not to be mentioned.
Hate them all who wish to posses your higher self, for no one will care unless there is commitment for a higher dimension, multi universally speaking, politically speaking and socially, everything could speed up and why not relax in the ride, maybe Charon takes you with some more element to it. He will drop you, and listen in the travel, he will grow wise as he delivers better quality with codependent transfer, he thinks I own this river and I hate myself for that, but hey? What can I do? He has to flow in it, want it or not the hatred is unavoidable and this waves will keep pushing him away till he makes a deal with Hades to make a higher dimension to the heavens and a torturous hell to the sinners, this time I had requested self employment, those bastards will have to work and the trap all the passages in the map for them to fall down with no escape. Yes, my beloved Lost Souls, I need a little more space in my river, more water nymphs for its monsters to swim by.
At this, hung the phone, after agreeing for an appointment with the paper. Thought it might sound chaotic, but it made sense to an abstract understanding and pattern. Not that it was a wake up call, the journalist suffered to place their news in the front line, to have, The Story. Evidently everyone knew how to hide the self hatred so well, no one knew how to find the cure and I wanted hatred to be famous, not a miserable mystery. I listen to my hatred and the more I have it as myself, I can identified the reason, and I'd love Charon to have better passengers from shore to shore to reveal the underworld as a beautiful scenario from the living through the living and all the way around its journey. If he could leave me alone, is fine, I let him drive and let him hate me within his ferry, he knows my self hatred for being a mere river, always coming down the waters.
This p**sy cries and dislikes its entrance, dried or wet, there is no interest but pure selfhatred for doing a show with no desire. Im already flowing without the need of the so called love. Subject to the reality of spirited craft, missing my God Phallas.
It might never get any better, now I lost everything thanks to the lost souls who surround me without another choice but than jumping back to my river, breath again as if it was the last time, wishing more river weed to oxygen my skin.
