Musings of the Mad - Volume 4

  I didn’t mean to do it.  Did I?  I suppose maybe I did, in an existential sort of way. 

  Bullshit, I did it, I meant to do it, and I enjoyed it.  I would do it again.  And will.  How could I not?  How could I think of her huge round eyes and not cry?  How could I hear her angel’s scream and not wish for more?  How could I feel her milky skin and even consider my own anything more than the coarsest leather?

  She haunts me.  They all haunt me.  How so many women, so different in so many ways, can blend into one perfect creature is beyond comprehension.  Or nearly perfect.  She gets more perfect with every new addition, with every new angel added to her.  I know them all by name, and they each have added something to the whole.  Marissa’s eyes.  Julie’s lips.  Brenda’s nose.  Naomi’s breasts.  All building toward the perfect creation, the perfect Goddess.

  Yes, I meant to do it, though sometimes there is a tiny part of me that wishes I didn’t.  I know the Goddess will silence that whining speck of me with her heel when she is complete.  And she will love me.  How she will love me. 

  Even now I am planning the next addition, a fine young woman by the name of Abigail, with hands to make Da Vinci and Michelangelo drool.  Hers will be an honest and true addition, given this very night.  I have searched long and hard for those hands.  Hands are so very important, you see.  Eyes pierce you and show you the world.  Lips and breasts and legs and hair all have power of their own.  But hands, hands are our primary form of interaction with our world.  Nothing but perfection will do.  Abigail was born for this, I know it.  Her purpose in life is about to be fulfilled, and she is even now unaware. 

  How many more will it take?  How many stars are in the night sky?  Each adds a part of the whole, and without them all it would be less.  The Goddess must be perfect, and she will show me when she is complete.  Then, then at last I may rest.