There are, I believe, only two matters in life that have any import, and in essence these two matters are one, both sides of the same coin, the one not existing without the other, though their gazes never meet each other unless somewhere out there in the ethereal collective unconsciousness of the universe. I speak of love and of death. There are no other subjects. Those who think otherwise are either fools or turtles, hiding their heads to avoid the burning light of truth. Of course, great complexities underlie these two matters, and only a select few can ever venture into the foggy realm of being in which love and death overlap, the realm of existence. Those in danger of not existing are the only ones who can peer into the depths of this shadow world, a world much more terrifying than Hell itself because it is unknowable. It is easy to think about God’s immortality if you say that He exists today, and He existed yesterday, and take this logic ever backward in time, but to try to comprehend God’s immortality itself is untenable. The same is true of life, to a degree. I exist today, and thus it is easy to buy into the notion that I existed yesterday, and probably I will exist tomorrow. The crucial point that one must ponder, though, is not the timeline element of existence but the basic essence of existence—what exactly constitutes existence? Love and death require existence; it is possible to avoid death by failing to exist. But do not think of this as avoiding death; there is no hope for an after-existence as there is an afterlife. Who is to say if nonexistence is worse than death? Perhaps Silenus was right when he told Kind Midas that the most desirable thing for a man is to never have been born; perhaps he was even more right when he followed this up by saying that the second greatest thing for a man is to die soon. Death, you see, has nothing to do with existence. Death, despite what the masses may think, is oftentimes an incredible engine for the promotion of existence. There are scores of people who exist more noticeably today than they did while their earthly bodies roamed the landscape. Aristotle, Socrates, Hannibal, Alexander, Abraham Lincoln—the list is almost unending. Was death so tragic for these souls? I will go a step further. Existence—listen closely, my friends—does not even require or depend upon living. I give you Homer as an example. Was there a real, living Homer? History cannot say for sure; perhaps there were many Homers travelling throughout Greece telling stories, etc. While we cannot say that Homer ever lived, there is no doubt that Homer exists and has existed for centuries.

The reader may think I speak with the lips of a madman; I will not contest this. I see the things that all but a few eyes see. Solitude and loneliness bring upon such thoughts. I am not writing this because I want to proclaim my existence over hill and dale; I write this because I have long seen a dark-cloaked figure in my path who goes by the name of Nothingness; he waits for me, ready to steal away my chance at immortality. I write this, my friends, because I fear I may soon no longer exist. It is a sobering thought to realize that, after a sizeable number of years residing on this earth, no one cares about you, no one thinks about you. How grievously ironic is it that my own existence is wholly dependent on the masses of people (who will live and die and cease to exist without even caring or knowing) thinking of and about me? You must be in the thoughts of others in order to exist—do not ask me how long because I do not know; perhaps you can go days without someone else thinking of you or about you, but not too many such days can pass without nonexistence becoming a real danger. This is not something normal people have to worry about. Not a day goes by when your normal person isn’t in contact with hundreds of other drones like himself going about the business of life. Things are not so easy for the lonesome heart, whom no one engages in mindless chatter on the street. Do you not now see why so many people—great people, at that—become "evil?" What better way for the lonely, unknown soul to imprint clearly his existence into the minds of others? None can deny Adolf Hitler his immortality. Have you ever forgotten completely about someone for an extended period of time? That person fails to exist for you. When the quirk of human consciousness causes some neuron to fire a thought about that person to your brain a great length of time later, why do you wonder when—quite out of the blue—that person you had forgotten for so long somehow makes an almost immediate appearance in your life? One individual alone can determine whether someone else exists or not. Existence only requires one person.

Being alone is a horrible thing. Two things may happen when you truly face solitude and the fact that others do not care about you at all. The easiest response is resignation; the loss of the will to exist is often soon followed by the loss of the will to live. While existence is somewhat stimulated as others feel the temporary pangs of guilt caused by a suicide, this existence is fleeting, and the person is soon banished to the realm of nothingness. The better response, the response of a true being worthy of existence, is struggle. One becomes obsessed with securing existence by coercing others to think constantly of him—most often, this is achieved through the instillation of fear and hatred, since love has already been forfeited the victim to put him in this quagmire. One can understand suicide and evil in this way, and by far and away evil is the more positive response. I tell you that true evil is a glorious thing because it is the sign of a champion heart intent on everlasting survival; this is the real superman who is willing to overcome. Existence and love come easily to some; this is a quirk of nature, really, and evidence of the Chaos that controls the ebb and flow of life. To live this charmed life of love and happiness and unbounding existence is enviable, certainly, but it is not necessarily something to inspire pride and respect. Those of you who are happy and loved, respect the truly evil man, the diabolical genius who is unrelenting in his quest for being, for you are his creator.