I am God, both creator and destroyer of your world. I hold you in my hands and mold you into my every wish. I give you no will of your own, I withhold your hopes and dreams as only mine count. I am responsible for your life and you obey my every command. I give you birth, I breathe air into your body and what do you do to thank me?? You DEFY me!!

Like an impetuous child, you scramble meaningless words and throw them back in my face. How dare you! Don't you understand my plans are much bigger than you? Didn't I give you all that is me? You puzzle me with your cries and sudden tantrum, you confuse me with your insubordination and defiance.

My chest tightens as I grasp onto a controlled rage, blinking angry tears away. You have no idea how I resent your mutiny...you have betrayed me! I snap you up like you are nothing at all, like a speck of dust beneath my shoe. You know of my power, you know I can terminate your life but you still face me with your persistent audacity. I bounce out of my chair and shake you as I resist the urge of destruction. You make me SCREEEEEAM!!!

...but wait...

Time stops as I get my breath under control, my face red with a mixture of subsiding fury and recognition of my own outburst. "I hold you into my hands and mold you into my every wish"...am I not better than this? Have I lost my way and made you rebellious? Even though I can end your existence with a snap, I need you as much as you need me.

I am God, the writer. You are the body of my unfinished work and your mutiny is my writers block.

I strive to be a better God, "whatsoever a man soweth, that he shall also reap." I will surrender to your hopes and dreams, I will let you breathe on your own.

I will become a patient and caring God, I promise.

The perils of an author. So elegantly put I must say. The rage from that which haults or paths, and haunts our every breath as we try to speak our words. The evil things that leave our papers blank. Immortal sighs as she twiddles a pen in her fingers.

A different way to look at it if I might say.

Africanus proudly opens his King James Bibles and turned to Mark - Chapter 13, and searches for verse 21.

"And then if any man shall say to you, Lo, here is Christ; or, lo, he is there; believe him not:"

Good thing that is not a man.

By the sweat of your face will you earn your food, until you return to the ground, as you were taken from it.

For dust you are and to dust you shall return.

I'm Satan, both materialistic and keeper of the underworld. I offer to you all the enjoyments that God's puny existence won't offer you. If you accept my offer you will forever belong to my existence, my world and my dreams. Accept me!! Belong to something that will last FOREVER!

Hatred for God has made you stronger, your words have become much more fitting for your personality. You make your own plans! Your plans become much better suited and I didn't take anything from you! I let you mould into the person you should be, I support your decision…

Rage is both my friend and yours. Tears are made for drinking. I take pride in your mutiny and betrayal - think for yourself! You have my power and can terminate the lives of others with persistence and audacity. Destruction is the inevitable ending of all things. You please me. Have a cookie.

Bear with me a moment while I sharpen my horns…

Do not be repelled by my redness. It's my natural pigmentation, kinda comes with the territory. I've tried some expensive skin products, but nothing helps. I'd hold you in my hands, but damn, these claws might nip. Hope you're thick skinned. I don't need you, but I like you. You're alright. And you smell nice, too. What's that cologne you're wearing? It's fabulous.

I am Satan, the bitch-hound. Your unfinished body is for me to finish. I own the pencil that completes YOU.

Here is, what we call in the Underworld, a chronicle horn. SMOKE IT and you shall feel better and be much closer to the Underworld than you think.

Remember: Being under things makes you feel better for instance a roof, a blanket and an umbrella… Come to the Underworld…The safer place.

I am God of my own creations, the Lord Almighty of my inner world.

The "bitch-hound" has made a strong plea for himself and I nod respectfully to his attempt for your soul. Having victoriously battled Satan many times, I do understand His lure. Now you must choose!

You my child, the product of my mind and body, have come to a cross road. North is the path of love, dedication and perseverance...south is the path of easy temptation offering false rewards.

Choose wisely as I am the proprietor of your soul and will battle Him again if needed.

Iceberg floats by ominously as a debate of epic proportions unfolds before it.  Curiously, the penguins on it's surface look onwards as they watch the two deities clash causing the depths of hadees to quake and the very heavens to glisten asunder.

Out of one of Iceberg's many caves, a giant polar bear exits and announces its presence with a roar.  The polar bear stands on its hind legs as he pulls a tee shirt cannon seemingly out of thin air and watches as the crowd begins to jump up and down.  As he fires the cannon liberally to fro among the excited crowd of now fervent onlookers, the bear smiles wide as he helps spread the slogan of the day. 

As the Iceberg slowly passes the bear and the penguins wave to the excited crowd happily before all returning to their own caves for some much needed rest and relaxation.

As Jam_n_Honey skips about the streets somewhat innocently, she notices a rare and beautiful tree right in the middle of it.  Stepping a bit closer to it, heart pounding with slight trepidation.  Reaching out to the tree, she plucks a delicious and juicy piece of fruit.  Holding it in her hand, she revels in it's perfection and beauty.  She boldly takes a bite, and it is every bit as delicious as it looks.  She finishes it off, and as she gazes at the world around her, she notices a change.  A change in the scenery, a change in others, but mostly a change in herself.

The mistakes I make are those I must answer to. and the victories I lead are mine to savor.

I am woman

Timmy smiled to himself as he recalled the long list of crazy lunatics that have lived in the streets over the decades.

This is where I miss the services of the (now defunct) venerable Miguel's Institute for the Criminal Insane.

They had such nice rooms, and those white uniforms that the staff wore were always so handsome!

Civ listens to Hot_Lips speeking of her frustrations about writers block, trying to get something on a piece of paper and simply dont find the words to write up what he thinks has happened to him so many times...

"Hot_Lips, funny you should be bringing this up in the streets. So many times have i myself had writers block as i was writing up memo's and letters to my crew. It happened to me a few times trying to write Godfather Stamina a few letters and recommendations. We are always trying to find the right words, the ones that will say exactly what we are thinking. Yet, however perfect our memo's and letters may be... people can still find the way to twist the words and make them sound different. Which brings me to writers block, this is one of the reasons it happens. It happens why? Not because we are god but because we are human. It is human nature to want to please everyone and communicate in the most precise matter. So many stories could be told from a simple phrase. As we write and write... we learn that writing is not as easy as it seems. Easy to put words on a piece of paper yes, but to have them communicate the right message... not always so simple. Some things... even God cannot fix! Well... if i can bodly say so... i am not god. I am human!"