Deep in the forest, on the banks of the weeds near the lake, a mud-buried monster lives. She enjoys being away from people, can't even stand to see them from afar. She has to deal with a bias independent of faces. All that stands before her are living things consisting of only talking holes making noises and words crossing thoughtlessly from wall to wall. She doesn't want to see where they were born, doesn't want to know whatever they believe. Their minds are rotten and their minds rotten with the curse of the gods she doubt they know anyway, their ideas lie like a pile of waste. If she is not afraid of getting its hands dirty, she can remove this pile and throw she in the trash so it won't stink anymore. But she has had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder for a long time and as a side effect her obsession with cleanliness has increased. She liken them to animals that live underground, chewing roots, swallowing mud, and moving their shiny bodies in thin lines.
The monster doesn't want to use adjectives where they describe her or other ugly people to describe them. They are the ones who attribute these meanings to adjectives and words, and in fact we are. She is not one of those people who define everything that has an extraordinary appearance as scary, ugly, absurd and take shelter behind it and see themselves as superior. When she realized this, she were surprised and laughing at herself that she had done this for years. Whereas the monster itself can't be as funny as the habit of turning relative definitions like ugly and beautiful into general truths. Even gods are not perfect, neither are the belief systems that are said to have created for believers. Aren't they all created by people to cover up their "ugliness", to beautify themselves? Which person is perfect or what is perfection? A giant sweater is knitted, in which another unsolved knot is tied with each word. It is nothing but a futile effort not to be careful not to spill unstained things on the sweater.
April, 2023 paper collage // by Demon Ego