It's not nice to run over cripples
Thursday, Jun. 12, 2003
11:56 a.m.
I feel like: I feel pretty.... oh so pretty...
Stuck in my head: Sunshine...on the window...makes me happy...like I should be...
Thinking about: No I am no high... unfortunetly.
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I�m colorblind. My left eye sucks. I�m a mathematical genius. Nobody is sure of the color of my eyes. I get electrocuted an average of 2-10 times a month. Computers freeze when my emotions are tense. My memory is photographic. I�m ambidextrous. I scar really easily. Some how, I learned Latin. I�m asthmatic. I hallucinate. My mental chemical make up grows increasingly fragile by the day. I get tremors. I can almost instantly play on the piano any song I hear on the radio. I can comprehend almost anything EXCEPT - -
Okay, everybody has a few things that make them different, but why the hell do I have so frickin many?!?!?
Come on! Somebody has had to notice this before me! Look at all of that! Which brings me to my next question�
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME!?
Per me si va la citta dolente,
Per me si va ne l� entterno dolore,
Per si va tra la perduta gente.
Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore;
Fecemi la divina podestate,
La soma sapienza e �l primo amore.
Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create se non etterne,
E io etterno duro.
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch�intrate.
That�s the inscription on the gates of hell. I found out I�m going to level 8 (out of 9) today. How lovely. See my �tests & B.S.� page. From the descriptions I read, 8 seems even worse than 9.
How pathetic. I don�t even get to go to Purgatory.
THE EIGHTH LEVEL OF HELL - The Malebolge
Many and varied sinners suffer eternally in the multi-leveled Malebolge, an ampitheatre-shapped pit of despair Wholly of stone and of an iron color: Those guilty of fraudulence and malice; the seducers and pimps, who are whipped by horned demons; the hypocrites, who struggle to walk in lead-lined cloaks; the barraters, who are ducked in boiling pitch by demons known as the Malebranche. The simonists, wedged into stone holes, and whose feet are licked by flames, kick and writhe desperately. The magicians, diviners, fortune tellers, and panderers are all here, as are the thieves. Some wallow in human excrement. (Oh how lovely� shit and pimps�) Serpents writhe and wrap around men, sometimes fusing into each other. Bodies are torn apart. When you arrive, you will want to put your hands over your ears because of the lamentations of the sinners here, who are afflicted with scabs like leprosy, and lay sick on the ground, furiously scratching their skin off with their nails. Indeed, justice divine doth smite them with its hammer.
Let�s just say it�s a damn good thing I don�t believe in hell.
Oh yeah, just for shits and giggles, here�s the inscriptions to hell in English:
Through me the way into the suffering city,
Through me the way to eternal pain,
Through me the way that runs smong the lost.
Justice urged on my high artificer;
My maker was divine authority,
The highest wisdome, and the primal love.
Before me nothing but eternal things were made,
And I endure eternally.
Abandon all hope, ye who ever here.
And with that happy thought, I am off!
- Mo -
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