Jon assassin number forty five journal part one

evil.

death

carnage

Massacre

Disease

my brain. Ha. As if I had one that still functioned.

i never pick good

never.

you wanna know why?

cause you wouldn't do the same. Not for me anyway. And even if you would I can't guarantee you wouldn't try and take it back somehow with your random theories on existentialism. People are mean. That's what I learned. As a man. As a kidnapped child forced to become an assassin. As a human being. I learned people are mean and so am I. That's why I kill you. Not cause I have to, which I do or they'll kill me. Not cause I want to. Cause I dont really want nothin from any of you. But because I crave your suffering.

If it were liquid I would drink it. If it were food I would eat it. And if it were a woman, I would fuck it.

Thats how I feel about suffering.

should it feel real good. I just do it. No questions asked. I like things like that.

i go out for coffee. A monster in a business suit. That's what I am. A handsome kind of guy that all pretty and cute on the outside and super sickeningly ugly on the inside.

as I sit in the coffee shop sipping from my Carmel coffee shake, fat free, no whip, Carmel drizzle on top and around the cup, I think about my life as if it were a cup of coffee, fat free, no whip, Carmel drizzle on top and around the cup.

Sweet and delightful. I would describe the coffee. A pleasure to drink. Just like me. And fat free. Just like me. Not an ounce of fat on this thigh or tummy. Just pure muscle. A pleasure. I am. To myself. To women. To people in general. Something of a gift to humanity I'd like to think. Just like coffee. A present we don't deserve. Just like coffee. A kindness we never earned. just like coffee.

who are we? That society with coffee for sure. And why are we here? probably to drink the coffee which has been an arguable existentialism since day one but I'm not one to philosophize about coffee. Just enjoy and be enjoyed. Kinda like coffe. Which I do. I enjoy.

i drink from my cup. Life is sweet. Like coffee. But it can hurt. Something unlike coffee which never hurts to experience. And I think that's where the coffe analogy must end knowing that coffee will never hurt like my dead cold heart does. As life is cruel. And so I said, so am I.

dear god

what is coffee made out of really? Coffee beans yes. But what's a coffee bean? A soul? A person? A galaxy trapped in a shell.

Is it made from the blood of people? Cause that's what I'm made from. The blood of others. And I want to think coffee is something of a brother to me that can feel my pain and know what it feels like to walk a road paved from dead bodies. So forgive me if I ask.

what is coffeee made of?

i love you

i hate you god.

what is coffee made out of.

truly?

what is it really honestly made from?

what is coffee?