Arius Infinitus

I have a time machine. Max was an accountant or something. Maybe a farmer or even a politician. But I can’t say anything in support of him ever being a criminally mal-adjusted sadistic, serial rapist, with deliberate episodes of schizotypal mania and chronic psychopathic tendencies. A complete masochist? Completely dangerous to the order of natural life itself? No, he obviously handled it well. Either that or this was all just a severe mis-diagnosis, which seems slightly improbable considering the firmness they applied to the decision. The decision to put him away. Perhaps his record was a little bit saturated. Sure. But whose isn’t? Who can honestly say one person had more homicidal tendencies than another? I certainly can’t. Too many times have I juggled the option of roasting some motherfucker’s severed head over a fire and eating cereal out of his skull. Or laying complete and utter waste to the people of the establishment that I was somehow forced to find myself in. That’s why I never carry weapons. I can’t trust myself. Know why? It’s because I like myself too much. I always agree with what I say because I’m thinking it, so it must be fucking true. Fucking true. Consciousness, my consciousness, the consciousness, lies on the same plane as everything else in nature. Trees, magnets and human advancement and everything that ever happens ever…is all natural and cannot be changed. Fate is not an illusion. It is planned out. The future is a thing of design. Unless you are thinking, then time is more merciful towards you, you have decisions. You could, for example run over to your neighbors house, cut the electricity, slice the throat of the husband who is now running down the stairs because of all the noise of you throwing a boulder threw their living room window, stomp up the stairs, drag the child into the mother's room where she is screaming and frantically flailing herself at you, throw the child into the corner, grab the wife and rape her, then bash her skull in with the lamp, light the drapes on fire, grab the kid and leap out the window to raise her in the wilderness with monkeys. You could do all these things, free will right?, and also we have the capability for precise execution of a systematically processed behavioral decision network, but human logistics aside, these behaviors now produce a different future than the one of you sitting in your room, sleeping and going to work the next morning. Or the one of the asteroids hitting another hunk of rock somewhere in the andromeda galaxy causing that rock to spin off of its axis, eventually colliding with another rock, et cetera, whatever. And therefore you design it. You the human. It and the future of whomever you encounter. Perhaps even the future of all of everything. This breaks nature in half. It seperates it from its design and puts it in the hands of each person alive. A new design emerges. This is called power. It is a natural human struggle to own precedence over other humans. For when this is accomplished, one can alter more things, manipulate more of the design's network. Money is the new force of nature, but this is a delicate planet. Things that are said not to be natural are in fact what ultimately eliminates the need for the word “nature” at all. Destruction is equal to creation because nothing can do either. Life, on the other hand, is different. With life, you can destroy the form of someone’s soul. Of course, the soul can also only be manipulated into different forms. But murder destroys life. All life. Not just humans. What I mean by the soul is the time a person spends living. Unlike things non-life in nature, life has a beginning and an end. That’s probably also why I would never kill someone. Its more than just a simple respect for life, it’s like I don’t want to give myself power that I’m not given first, and there is never enough authority to constitute or permit the destruction of a person’s soul. Plus, souls as we are defining them for our cause, are the energy for existence. The backbone, the 5th element behind why everything does what it does. The lobbyists for the map of reality if you will. You see, there is no God but only perfect equilibrium between white and black, with all the colors ever to exist perfectly balanced between them. The quality of balancing, the product of the the two opposing forces is Aristotle's Unmoved Mover. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. For this is not about me or God, it is about Max. Max. Max. Max. Max. Max.
Something had happened to the stereo that evening. With all the expenses and rations coming and going, one would actually expect something like this to be fixed on the fly, or at least without anybody noticing it or getting upset about it. Especially because of the importance that that device played in the lives of the people who lived in this place With all the people coming and going, somebody was bound to have fixed it at some point. At least, one would think that somebody would notice at least. The stereo would be broken for six months. People would adjust the volume, or the contrast on the television in an attempt to play some goddamn music. But slowly the music faded and whether or not it was because people forgot or because they were too 'busy' is a question of attitude. Certainly however, it was not because they were uninterested to begin with. Certainly not that. Some would claim they are still interested. But claims are attitude too. What they would be busy with is question of behavior. Behavior and attitude have traditionally been interwoven. However, circumstances might arise to allow for a complete severing of the link between them. In a materialist adaption of the financial schema of American society, I would say that their time was completely wasted. Any justification otherwise will be ultimately subject to rhetoric Armageddon. But in some twisted realm of incongruence with truth not through science but through fantastic visions, time is of some untouched category of dimension and one cannot operate meaningfully within a system if one does not know the system. So, accordingly, if time is of the most bewildering of phenomena, how can one exist within it? Fuck, and reality? Being a human relies on living behind a lucid curtain with existence on the other end, bribing us to touch it. Some seek for the answer to soon. Some wait until they die, falsely convinced of their psychological disorders. But either way, time is a continuum in every direction and subject to multiple conceptions. This is the truth, how trite it may be.
The psychology of a human is twisted. It flows through billions of intersections, checkpoints and through cerebral occupational specialization it attempts a distinct frequency. A frequency that illustrates a malleable picture of reality within the brain: an infinite canvass. The human brain is a perfect example of the amount of potential that can be stored in a containing space. It's size to body size is greater than any animal. But it is only this large because of the structure. The great amount of space that gives the energy a pathway. But this energy, the frequency of human consciousness, can be forever compressed. Throughout contingent research, Max imagined this frequency explaining the birth of the universe or something. He believed it, rather. That it had the potential. This would be one of many quests to invade the catacombs of his mind.