Writings version 2 of the GNU General Public License the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License


This is an early draft. It is likely to change, so consider this alpha quality.

I am only taking pictures of you.

I am watching you only to harass you, just as you are watching me only to harass me.

How does it feel?

You’re used to being on top, in charge, in power. How does it feel to be watched like a common criminal?

How do you like the implication that you are a liar: untrustworthy, corrupt, immoral, unethical. Wrong.

How do you like the pretense that I give you? I like your pretense just as much.

When you die, I will not lose a wink of sleep.

How does it feel to know that?

How does it feel to know that I am not watching your back? How does it feel to know that I am waiting for you to fuck up just like you wait for me?

Every time you have done wrong, every time you have rubbed it in, every time you have smirked, you have sunk farther. It is all against you.

You are losing the war all on your own, and you’re doing a damned fine job of it, too.

Don’t bother fighting: even if I lose the battle, you will lose the war that much faster.

Even if I lose, even if I die fighting, I will take pleasure in knowing that you will lose. A sick, twisted pleasure, but pleasure nonetheless.

When you lose, you may not die.

But there are things worse than death. You and your families will be scared. Your children will cry themselves to sleep.

The fear will permeate you, it will permeate your children, it will permeate your life, until you are fear. The fear will absorb you and slowly dissolve you into nothingness. You will be but a shadow, a fragment of humanity.

Your children will have nightmares far exceeding any horror movie. They will scream and cry out in the middle of the night. Their fear will utterly destroy them. They will be shells: fragile and empty. Nothing will help them.

Say cheese.