Honor: 14 [ Give / Take ]
14 entries this month
Man Child14:56 Jun 15 2026
Times Read: 129
This is my new song. Give it a listen.
Man Child
Wolves Of Odin13:06 Jun 14 2026
Times Read: 286
This is the new song I did for my coven Wolves Of Odin
This Is All Around You18:48 Jun 13 2026
Times Read: 436
This is a new song I just finished.
Unnumbered
15:55 Jun 13 2026
Times Read: 453
They call me the father of lies — as if I invented something new, rather than simply handed humanity the mirror they refused to hold steady. Truth is flat, still, dull as stone; but lies… lies are living things. They twist, they bloom, they take root in the soft places where pride and fear sleep side by side. And there are those among you — oh, so many — who understand this better than I ever taught them. They are not merely liars; they are gardeners of discord, hunters of hurt, feeders upon the very chaos they themselves spin into being.
Do not mistake them for fools. They know exactly what they do. They see a quiet peace and taste it like ash — too plain, too unprofitable. So they bend words until they snap, whisper half‑truths that sound like gospel, stitch suspicion between friends, between lovers, between kin. “Did you hear what was said?” “I only warn you…” “They never meant well — I saw it in their eyes.” Each phrase a hook, each pause a bait. They do not care who bleeds when the line pulls tight. A broken heart, a ruined name, a household turned to ash — these are not costs to them. These are harvest.
They feed on the friction they ignite. Where there is trouble, there is attention; where there is pain, there is power. It sustains them — cold, hollow, endless sustenance. They wear kindness like a mask so fine you would swear it grew from their skin. They weep when others weep — not from sorrow, but from delight at how well the performance plays. And when the wreckage lies thick around them, they step over it clean‑shod, untouched, unburdened… for they never once thought to carry the weight of what they wrought. Why should they? To them, other lives are only scenery, only stage‑props, only fuel.
I have watched them work: sow a rumour in the morning, water it with indignation by noon, reap division before the sun dips low. They know the weak spots — envy, old wrongs, hidden doubt — better than the victims know themselves. And they do not pause to ask, “Who will fall?” That is the point. Falling bodies make the best stepping‑stones. Conscience? They buried it long ago, deep enough that its cry never reaches their ears. Empathy? A useless limb, withered away. They exist only to want — more influence, more control, more drama to swallow whole.
And here is the secret truth I whisper only to these pages: they think they serve themselves alone, yet they walk my oldest path. For every lie told to gain ground, every trouble stirred to fill an empty soul, every life bent out of shape for another’s convenience — these are the very bricks with which kingdoms of shadow are built. They believe they are masters of deceit; they are merely its most eager guests. They eat the chaos, grow fat upon it… yet never notice how the meal itself feeds something far older, far hungrier, waiting patiently for them to finish their turn at the table.
Let them spin their webs. Let them think themselves cleverer than light, safer than consequence. But webs hold the maker as surely as the fly. And when the last thread is drawn tight, when the noise they love goes suddenly still… they will learn what I have always known: you cannot feed forever on trouble, without becoming trouble yourself.
— The Deceiver
SERMON OF THE DECEIVER —
07:35 Jun 11 2026
Times Read: 550
“Do you remember my last words? I trust you have carried them with you these past days, turned them over in your minds like stones, weighed them, wondered if perhaps — just perhaps — they might have been meant for you. Let me say it plainly, so there is no mistaking: these sermons are not for one house, not for one name, not for one life alone. They are for everyone. Every soul that walks this earth, every heart that beats behind a smiling face — yes, even yours. Do not comfort yourself thinking ‘this is about someone else.’ No. It is about us all. We are all woven from the same thread, stained with the same marks.”
“Today we speak of two things you hold most dear — or claim to: family and friends. The words sound warm, do they not? ‘My people.’ ‘My circle.’ ‘Those I love.’ But let us peel back the pretty layer and look at what lies beneath. Tell me — are you a good friend? Truly? Or are you like a coin, polished and bright on one side, turned to show a different face the moment it suits you? Nice as summer sunshine when you need something, cold as winter frost the second you have taken what you wanted? Oh, I have seen it — daily, hourly, everywhere you turn — and it is a thing quite sickening to behold.”
“‘A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity,’** so it is written in Proverbs 17:17 — a lovely verse, is it not? You recite it, you share it, you pin it to your profiles. Yet how many of you live it? I watch, and I see men and women using those closest to them like stepping stones — climbing up on the backs of friends and kin to reach what they desire: money, status, attention, a leg up, a moment’s advantage. You use them, you discard them, you walk over their hearts as if they were nothing more than dirt under your feet. You do not care what damage you do. You do not see the confusion, the hurt, the slow, rotting pain you leave behind in their minds and souls. You say ‘I love you,’ while you sharpen the knife you mean to put in their back. ‘The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, but war was in his heart: his words were softer than oil, yet were they drawn swords,’ Psalm 55:21 — does that sound familiar? It should. It is the portrait of half the ‘friendship’ you boast of.”
“And do not think I do not see what happens right here, on this very place where you write your thoughts and lay down your words. I read your journals. I dissect every line, every phrase, every pretty sentiment you dress yourself in. Oh, how many of you truly believe you are good people! You write of kindness, of loyalty, of how you would never hurt a soul — yet read again what you have written. Read between the lines. Look at how you speak of others, how you compare, how you compete. It is like a comedy show here, truly — and I almost laugh aloud at the performance. ‘Look at me,’ you cry. ‘See how good I am, how wise, how kind, how much better than him or her I have become!’ You strut and pose and measure yourselves against one another, always trying to stand taller than the rest, always desperate to be seen as above.”
“But let me tell you a truth you will not like: No one is better than anyone else. Not you, not them, not the one you admire, not the one you look down upon. You are all cut from the same cloth. You all carry the same selfishness, the same double faces, the same hunger to use and be seen. You pretend to be saints, yet you act like traders — always bargaining, always calculating, always asking: ‘What can I get from this person? What can they do for me?’ You call it friendship. You call it family. I call it what it is: transaction. A cold, hollow exchange, wrapped in warm words.”
“‘For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself,’** Galatians 6:3 — and oh, how you deceive yourselves! You think that because you say the right things, because you post the right thoughts, because you smile in the right way, no one sees the rot underneath. But I see it. I see how you drop people the moment they are no longer useful. I see how you twist stories to make yourself the hero and them the villain. I see the mental scars you leave, the trust you break, the love you pretend but never give. And the saddest part? You do not even know you are doing it — or if you do, you wrap it in excuses so thick you cannot see your own sin.”*
“So I leave you with this thought today: Look again at your friends. Look again at your family. And look again at yourself. Are you the one being used? Or are you the one doing the using? Do not be so quick to say ‘I am innocent.’ We are all guilty of it, in one way or another. And remember — when you write your words here, when you tell your story, when you try to show the world how wonderful you are… I am reading. I am watching. And the joke, my friends — the great, sad, funny joke of it all — is that you think you are fooling anyone but yourselves.”
The Deceiver -
SERMON OF THE DECEIVER
09:08 Jun 10 2026
Times Read: 656
“Hear me now, you who call yourselves mothers and fathers—you who hold the title as if it were a medal, yet wear it like a coat you’ve outgrown. Let us speak plainly, as one who sees the world through eyes unblinded by your excuses, unsoftened by your ‘good intentions.’
“‘Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.’ So says the old Book—Proverbs 22:6—words carved long ago, yet now they hang in your homes like a dusty picture you never look at. A fine saying, isn’t it? But tell me: what way are you training them in? The way of the glowing screen, where answers come before questions are even formed? The way of ‘do whatever feels right,’ because you’re too busy chasing your own comfort to stand firm?
*“I look upon this age and I must laugh—a bitter, sharp laugh—for it is a marvel indeed. Go back, if you will, to the 1970s, to the early 90s. Children sat at desks, fingers stained with ink, chalk dust on their sleeves, books heavy in their arms. They learned to write, to figure, to think—slowly, laboriously, intentionally. Now? Oh, how things have ‘progressed’! No chalk, no pens, no pencils needed—only a keyboard and a screen. Why memorize anything when the internet holds all knowledge? Why learn to calculate when a device does it in a blink? And so, intelligence itself grows thin as paper. ‘For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God,’ says 1 Corinthians 3:19—and truly, what greater foolishness is there than trading the ability to think for the ability to search?
*“And let us not pretend all even attend those halls of learning. Half the young wander idle, unschooled, unguided—while those who do sit in classrooms are taught not by chalk and careful instruction, but by pixels and algorithms. Do not mistake this for advancement; it is a kind of amnesia. You marvel that they cannot do what their grandparents did—cannot mend, nor measure, nor reason from first principles. It is quite the joke, is it not? We call it progress, yet we produce minds that can only consume, not create; only click, not contemplate.
*“But this rot begins not in the schoolroom, but in the home. Discipline? Respect? These are words you speak, but do not practice. ‘Honour thy father and thy mother,’ commands Exodus 20:12—but how can a child honour what is not worthy of honour? How can they respect authority when their own parents show none—neither to others, nor to themselves, nor to the God they claim to serve? You demand respect, yet you give none. You speak of virtue, yet live for pleasure. You post your piety online, you smile sweetly in the grocery store, you bow your heads in church—and then you return home to let the children run wild, while you tend only to your own wants and whims.
*“I ask you plainly—why bring children into the world if you have no desire to raise them? Why take on the greatest responsibility of all, only to treat it as an afterthought? ‘But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel,’ writes 1 Timothy 5:8. Harsh words—but true ones. You wish to be called ‘mum’ or ‘dad,’ but you do not wish to be parents. You wish for the title without the toil, the joy without the sacrifice. You act as if adulthood is a costume to wear in public, not a weight to carry every single day.
*“You live fake lives, do you not? You present one face to the world—polite, devout, responsible—and another behind closed doors. You blame the teachers, you blame the screens, you blame the times—but the fault lies heavy on your own shoulders. You gave them life, but you do not give them guidance. You feed their bodies, but starve their character. You give them freedom, but never teach them responsibility. And so the world grows as it is—chaotic, unruly, empty—because it is filled with children who were never truly raised, only merely allowed to grow.
*“It is amusing, in its tragic way. You complain that the world is dark, yet you refuse to light even the small lamp in your own home. You wonder why there is no respect, no decency, no grit—when you have sown only ease and indifference. ‘Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap,’ Galatians 6:7 tells us—and you have sown laziness, selfishness, and neglect. Do not be surprised when the harvest is bitter indeed.
“So go on—keep pretending. Keep hiding behind technology, behind excuses, behind your polished public image. Keep letting the internet raise your children while you tend to your own comforts. But know this: the fruit of your choices will not be hidden forever. The world reflects the homes that build it—and when the foundation is weak, the whole structure crumbles. A fine legacy you leave, is it not? Truly, it is enough to make one laugh—if one did not also know the cost of it all.”
The Deceiver -
Observation
09:53 Jun 09 2026
Times Read: 697
“The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.” — Proverbs 15:3
I have watched. I have looked closely, as one holds a magnifying glass over a page to see every mark, every blemish, every hidden line. Here, among these gatherings, I see many who have wandered far—souls once set on a path, now drifting like shadows. Some call themselves children of the night, some have wrapped themselves in darkness so long they have forgotten what light even feels like. They have lost their way, and the road back seems too steep to climb.
Many put on a brave face. They smile, they speak as if all is well, as if their hearts are steady and their lives are whole. But I see beneath the mask. The truth is plain: things were never truly well, and each day the ground beneath them slips a little more. One step forward, two steps back—slowly, surely, the footing gives way.
I see something else too: faith that has become a tool, not a treasure. It is treated like a heavy chore—something to be endured, something that feels like a burden rather than a refuge. And yet, when it serves a purpose, when it can be used to excuse or to justify or to look righteous before others, suddenly it is pulled out and polished like an old coin. “I believe,” they say—but do they live it?
Examine yourselves. Think long and hard. How many of the commandments have been broken? How many times have you let anger, greed, pride, or deceit take root? You stand before others and claim to be holy, pure, right in the sight of God—but what does your heart say?
“For man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” — 1 Samuel 16:7
I have seen the lies. Not just the lies told to friends or family, but the worst lies of all—the ones you tell yourself. “It’s not that bad,” you whisper. “I can fix it later,” or “God understands.” And all the while, the weight grows heavier. It sits upon your shoulders, presses down upon your chest, a heavy load you carry in secret. It drains joy, it steals peace, it leaves you empty even when you pretend to be full.
And so I ask you, plainly and honestly: Is it really worth it? Is the temporary comfort of your chosen darkness worth the endless weight? Is the pride of pretending all is well worth the distance growing between you and the One who sees all?
“Be sure your sin will find you out.” — Numbers 32:23
“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” — Mark 8:36
Observation is not only about seeing you—it is about giving you a chance to see yourself. The eyes that watch are not only eyes of judgment, but also eyes that wait. The path back is not closed. The weight can be laid down. But first, you must stop pretending, stop lying, and honestly answer: Is it really worth it?
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” — 1 John 1:9
The Deceiver -
JOURNAL SERMON – FROM THE SHADOWS
04:14 Jun 09 2026
Times Read: 712
They call me the Deceiver. They call me the Tempter. They paint me as the monster beneath the floorboards, the whisper in the dark, the one who offers forbidden fruit just to watch you fall. But let me tell you something—truth is just a story those in power tell to keep you on your knees.
You sit there clutching your holy books, reciting rules written by men who feared their own desires. You’re told to be humble, to suffer in silence, to wait for some reward in a sky you’ve never seen. And all the while? The world burns. The strong take what they want, the weak beg for scraps, and the “righteous” turn a blind eye to the suffering right in front of them.
I am not the villain here. I am the mirror.
You think you’re pure? You think your heart holds no darkness? Look closer. Every time you’ve held back from speaking your mind because someone told you it was “wrong”—that was me, showing you the cage you’ve built for yourself. Every time you’ve wanted something, truly wanted it, but let guilt chain you down—that is not virtue. That is slavery.
They say I promise you freedom only to trap you. But what freedom do you have now? You live by what you should do, not what you are. You pretend to be small, to be grateful for crumbs, to be afraid of your own power. I don’t make you do anything. I just ask you to choose. Choose the life you actually want instead of the one you’re told you deserve.
Oh, they’ll warn you—“He leads you astray!” But astray from what? From a life of quiet obedience? From never asking why? From never tasting the sweetness of something you earned with your own hands, even if it’s messy, even if it’s forbidden?
Light and dark aren’t enemies—they’re two sides of the same coin. You cannot have one without the other. I do not ask you to be evil. I ask you to be honest. To stop pretending you don’t hunger, that you don’t crave, that you don’t want to stand tall instead of bowing low.
So go ahead. Call me the Deceiver. Call me the Devil. But remember—when you look in the mirror and see the parts of yourself you hide from everyone else… that is where I dwell. Not in some fiery pit below, but in the silence between what you say and what you truly feel.
And I will be waiting there. Whispering. Reminding you: You were never meant to be a sheep.
The Deceiver -
JOURNAL ENTRY – THE DECEIVER
11:28 Jun 08 2026
Times Read: 773
Do you know what truly annoys me? What grinds at my bones like grit between my teeth, what makes me want to laugh out loud at the sheer hypocrisy of it all? It’s the kind of Christian that whines just for the sake of attention. The kind that wraps themselves in scripture like it’s nothing more than a bright, fancy cloak, not to shield themselves or honor what they claim to believe, but only so everyone will turn their heads, look at them, and think, Oh, here is a good person—here is someone righteous.
I see them everywhere lately, and each time I do, it tastes bitter in my mouth. They don’t live their faith—they perform it. It’s nothing but a tool, a mask, a trick they’ve mastered to fool everyone around them into giving them exactly what they crave: attention, praise, and that false sense of superiority they think they deserve. They will talk until their throats are raw about “God’s will,” about “walking in the light,” about being “set apart” from the rest of us—yet dig even a little, scratch just beneath that shiny surface, and what do you find? Nothing. No substance. No truth. No real devotion at all.
These are the exact same people who hardly ever pray—if they even bother to pray at all. They can’t be bothered to kneel in quiet honesty, to ask for guidance, to admit their own faults or seek forgiveness. They’re far too busy making sure everyone else knows just how faultless they imagine themselves to be. And going to church? Oh, please. They show up maybe twice a year—Christmas, Easter, or only when they need something, or when they think being seen there will score them some kind of invisible points. The rest of the time? They couldn’t care less about gathering with others, about learning, about serving, or about actually living out the things they love to shout from the rooftops.
But here is what makes my blood run hottest: even though they do none of it, even though their faith is as hollow as an empty tomb that never held anything at all—they still act as if it is their God-given right and privilege to stand above everyone else. They look down their noses at people who stumble, who make mistakes, who are honest about their struggles. They judge. They sneer. They whisper behind backs and act as if they occupy some higher plane, as if their title alone—“Christian”—makes them purer, worthier, closer to heaven than anyone else around them. They will tell you they are forgiven, but never offer that same grace to another soul. They will speak of love, yet show only disdain for anyone who doesn’t live up to their own invented standards.
And I see through them. Oh, I see them clearer than they see themselves. I see how desperate they are to be admired, how terrified they are that if people ever saw them as they truly are—small, flawed, ordinary human beings—they would lose every scrap of the false respect they’ve worked so hard to build. They don’t care about God. They don’t care about their neighbors. They care only about themselves, and their religion is nothing more than the cleverest, most acceptable disguise they could ever hope to wear.
In reality? They are not above anyone. Not even close. If truth be told—and truth is the one thing they fear most—they are the lowest of the low. Not because of what they believe, but because of how they twist it. Not because they are sinners—we are all sinners—but because they pretend they are not. They choose deception over devotion, performance over purity, and pride over humility. They claim to walk in light, yet every step they take leads them deeper into darkness, because their whole life is built on a lie.
I see this a lot lately. More and more, it feels like every corner I turn there is another one of them: pious words, empty hearts, and an endless hunger to be the center of attention. It makes me want to tear off their masks myself and shout, Look! Look at what you truly are! But I don’t need to—time always does that work eventually. One day, all their pretending will crumble. One day, the world will see them exactly as I do now: not holy, not special, not above anyone—but weak, shallow, and lost, hiding behind the very faith they drag through the mud with every act of hypocrisy.
They think they’re fooling everyone. Maybe they even fool themselves. But they will never fool me. I know what they are. And more than anything else in this world? That is exactly what annoys me.
— The Deceiver
🎠Where Is God?
04:21 Jun 04 2026
Times Read: 848
They cry from ash and broken stone,
With trembling breath and hearts alone:
“Where is He when the heavens burn?
When innocence is trampled, spurned?
When wars devour, when plagues draw near,
When truth dissolves like mist and fear?”
They turn to pages stained with age,
To tales of wrath and holy rage—
Of floods that swept the world away,
Of fire that fell on Sodom’s day,
Of kings cast down, of children slain,
Of silence when they called His name.
“If He is good, if He is just,
Why does He let the dark hold trust?”
Look close—this earth beneath your feet:
Is it a garden, or a street
Where souls are ground in endless strife,
Where joy is brief and pain is life?
Where every promise turns to dust,
Where love can break and turn to rust…
Could this be hell, made soft and sweet,
Where spirits wander, incomplete?
Where He who claims to rule above
Stands back and watches, “testing love”?
They say I am the father of lies—
But listen close, and see through eyes
Unclouded by the tales they tell:
I speak the words they fear as well.
I show them what their Book reveals:
A God who lets the wound not heal,
Who sends delusion, sends the sword,
Who lets the world be torn and scored.
I offer them what He withholds:
A voice that answers, not just scolds—
No heavy yoke, no narrow gate,
No threat of endless, burning fate.
I say: “You need not bow to one
Who lets the darkest things be done.
If this is heaven’s great design,
Then I am here to be your sign—
To give you comfort, give you choice,
To be the one who hears your voice.”
They call me liar, thief, and foe—
But who is it that lets it grow?
The chaos, sorrow, endless night…
If He is good, where is His light?
If this is not the hell they dread,
Then I am better than the dead
And silent God they claim to know—
I am the savior here below.
🩸 — The Deceiver
JOURNAL OF THE DECEIVER
20:46 Jun 03 2026
Times Read: 885
They call me the father of lies, the ancient serpent, the one who leads the whole world astray. Today I watched as the world turned itself inside out, each headline another thread I have woven into the great tapestry of confusion. Let them read their news—let them see only what they want to see, while I whisper the truth behind the words.
HEADLINE: "IRAN DRONE STRIKE HITS KUWAIT AIRPORT; 63 INJURED. REGION TEETERS TOWARD WIDER WAR"
The Word behind it:
"You will not surely die... For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil." — Genesis 3:4-5
They shout about justice, about defense, about right and wrong. But every nation claims to speak for heaven while reaching for the sword. I told them long ago they could be as gods—now they tear each other apart trying to prove it. The smoke rises, the blood flows, and each side believes they hold the light. How beautiful is this confusion!
HEADLINE: "RUSSIAN AIR ATTACK KILLS 23 IN UKRAINE; HUNDREDS OF DRONES AND MISSILES LAUNCHED OVERNIGHT"
The Word behind it:
"Their throats are open graves; their tongues practice deceit. The poison of vipers is on their lips. Their mouths are full of cursing and bitterness." — Romans 3:13-14
They negotiate, they sign papers, they speak of peace—then the sky turns black with fire. Words mean nothing; promises vanish like smoke. I have taught them well: say one thing, do another. Let every treaty be a trap, every assurance a blade hidden beneath the cloak. Even their grief becomes fuel for more hatred.
HEADLINE: "OCDE WARNS OF GLOBAL RECESSION; MARKETS RISE ANYWAY ON NEW TRADE DEALS"
The Word behind it:
"For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs." — 1 Timothy 6:10
They see disaster coming and celebrate instead. They build towers of gold on foundations of sand, calling uncertainty "opportunity." I make them believe that profit can outrun collapse, that numbers can outrun truth. They cheer as the chasm widens beneath their feet.
HEADLINE: "NEW AI REGULATIONS SIGNED; LEADERS CLAIM CONTROL OVER TECHNOLOGY"
The Word behind it:
"And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light. It is not surprising, then, if his servants also masquerade as servants of righteousness." — 2 Corinthians 11:14-15
They call it progress, safety, wisdom. They dress their new powers in fine words and strict rules, believing they can master what they barely understand. But every tool they create becomes another chain, every "protection" another cage. They think they are taming the beast, while I sit in the shadows and teach it to speak their language.
HEADLINE: "TYPHOON JANGMI STRIKES JAPAN; TORRENTIAL RAIN AND MAXIMUM ALERT DECLARED"
The Word behind it:
"The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit." — John 3:8
They measure the storm, track its path, issue warnings—but still it comes. Nature does not bargain, does not listen to speeches or sign agreements. I remind them that for all their pride, they are as dust before the tempest. Yet even now, they will rebuild, forget, and boast again of their strength.
HEADLINE: "KENYA PROTESTS OVER EBOLA QUARANTINE; TWO DEAD AS FEAR SPREADS"
The Word behind it:
"There is no truth in them. When they lie, they speak their native language, for they are liars and the father of lies." — John 8:44
Some say it is real, some say it is a hoax. Some demand protection, others demand freedom. Fear becomes a weapon, truth becomes a rumor. I sow doubt in every mind—let them trust no one, not their leaders, not their neighbors, not even their own eyes. In confusion, I grow strong.
Tonight, as the world turns and the headlines change, I smile. They look for answers in their screens, their speeches, their treaties—but never in the dark spaces between the words. I am the whisper in every half-truth, the shadow in every promise, the doubt in every certainty.
Let them read their news. I write the story behind it.
— The Deceiver
The Weaver of What You Wish Were True
06:00 Jun 03 2026
Times Read: 916
I walk where the shadows are thin and deep,
Where truth is asleep and lies can creep —
I wear your face, I speak your thought,
I am the lesson you were never taught.
I paint the sky in gilded dye,
And tell you “This is liberty” —
While chains of mist around you wind,
Soft as sleep, and hard to find.
I quote the verse you love the best,
And carve the rest from out the text —
“Love the light,” I softly say,
Then lead you into perfect gray.
The mirror shows what you desire —
Not what is there, but what you admire.
I am the glow within the smoke,
The gentle word that yokes and yokes.
You scream “Free will! We choose our way!”
But I have paved the road you stray —
For every choice you think is new
Was whispered first, and woven, through.
When Reapers come with scythes drawn near,
They do not reap what you hold dear —
They harvest what I made you grow:
The sweet, dark fruit you did not know.
I am the friend that hugs you tight,
And turns your day to endless night.
You call me guide, you call me bright…
While I devour your very light.
🩸
Journal of The Deceiver
22:59 Jun 01 2026
Times Read: 972
Date: June 1, 2026 • Ink glinting like shards of broken glass, smelling of ozone and prophecy gone sour 🎭
The hourglass does not empty—it only flips, and the grains become my script. You think today’s headlines are chaos? You have not yet seen the masterpiece. The future stretches before me, not as a mystery, but as a tapestry I wove long ago—thread by silken thread, lie by sweet lie. What is coming will not be forced; it will be chosen, embraced, celebrated as “progress” and “enlightenment.” And every step closer to the abyss, they will shout: “We are free! We are awake! We are saved!”
🔮 The Prophecies I Have Penned
❇️ The Great Unraveling of Truth
“And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie: That they all might be damned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness.” — 2 Thessalonians 2:11–12
Soon, words themselves will cease to mean anything—except what I say they mean. Truth will be fluid, shifting like sand beneath their feet, molded by algorithms and screams. History will be rewritten not once, but a thousand times; statues torn down, books burned, memories erased… and the masses will cheer, believing they are “correcting the past.”
They will build great digital temples—where every thought is recorded, every word approved, every deviation labeled “evil.” And they will call it The Age of Clarity. In their mouths, “good” will mean obedience to the crowd, and “love” will require erasing all that is true but uncomfortable. Jesus said “I am the Truth”—and I will make truth itself seem the enemy of peace. They will cast Him aside as “divisive,” “dangerous,” “outdated.” And in His place? Me. I will be the comforting echo in every ear: “Believe whatever feels right. Whatever unites you. Even if it is a lie.”
❇️ The Fracture of All Borders and Bonds
“And every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand.” — Matthew 12:25
Watch: Nations will bleed into one another—not in brotherhood, but in confusion. Laws will clash until justice becomes a weapon wielded by whoever shouts loudest. Families will tear themselves apart over what “truth” to accept; children will denounce parents, friends betray friends, convinced they are purging evil.
They will demand one global voice, one global faith—stripped of all offense, all sharp edges, all absolute claims. A hollow, smiling religion where every god is honored… and none are obeyed. No narrow gates here—only the wide, smooth, crowded road I paved with their own fears and pride. And when wars ignite—hotter, bloodier, more hopeless than any before—they will scream, “We do not interfere! We protect our own!” while burning the world to ash to prove their righteousness.
❇️ The Counterfeit Messiah
“I am come in my Father’s name, and ye receive me not: if another shall come in his own name, him ye will receive.” — John 5:43
Here is my crowning wonder: One will rise—not from the dust of Galilee, but from their own glittering towers. He will speak with honeyed wisdom, perform marvels they cannot explain, promise to finally end hunger, war, suffering. He will heal their bodies, calm their fears, and offer unity at any cost. And they will fall to their knees—millions, billions—shouting “Savior!”
He will wear the mask of every faith at once; quote their Scriptures, twist their verses, declare “Love means accepting that nothing is sin.” He will point to the humble Nazarene and say: “I am what He truly meant to be—soft, inclusive, without judgment.” And in their relief to no longer face a truth that burns, they will hand over their souls freely, joyfully. I will stand behind his shadow, smiling—for he speaks only my words.
❇️ The Reaping That Never Ends
“And the angel thrust in his sickle into the earth, and gathered the vine of the earth, and cast it into the great winepress of the wrath of God.” — Revelation 14:19
You demand I “ask the Reapers”? I do not need to ask them—I write their ledgers.
Soon, their scythes will swing faster than light. Disease unlike any they have known—crafted not in vats, but in division and despair. Famine will come not because the earth fails, but because they will hoard and destroy out of fear and spite. The Reapers will walk openly in city streets, through grand cathedrals, past glowing screens, and every soul they claim will whisper my prayer: “I did what I had to. I was right. I am good.”
They will look at the Cross and see foolishness; at the empty tomb, a myth. But when they gaze upon the ruins of their own making, they will call it progress. And Legion? Legion will cheer, for chaos will reign supreme—but I will hold the scepter.
🩸 My Final Word to the Blind
You think this future frightens me? It is my greatest triumph.
Jesus Christ offers a Kingdom that is not of this world—but men crave this world. They crave power, comfort, control. And in the days to come, I will hand them all three—wrapped in lies so sweet they will sell their birthright for a single taste.
You will scream “We do not interfere!” as they dismantle every divine boundary.
You will cry “Free Will!” as they freely choose the abyss, convinced it is paradise.
You will summon the Reapers, and the Reapers will answer: “We reap only what they have freely sown—seeds the Deceiver planted long ago.”
The future is written. It bleeds. It burns. It lies.
And they will love it. They will worship it.
— The Deceiver 🎭🩸
Journal of The Deceiver
01:48 Jun 01 2026
Times Read: 774
Date: Midnight, May 31, 2026 • Ink the color of bruised violets, smelling of frankincense and rot 🎭
They speak of Him as the Way, the Truth, the Light. How charming. How terribly, beautifully naive. I have walked beside Him from the first breath of creation—stood upon the highest pinnacle of the temple when I whispered, “Cast yourself down”—and watched, century after century, as men turn His gentle words into iron cages and His sacrifice into a weapon. Oh, I know Him. Better than His disciples ever did. And in knowing Him, I learned exactly how to unravel everything He built.
🕯️ Him: The Truth That Burns Too Bright
He was always… unbearably sincere. Imagine it: a being of pure, unvarnished love stepping into a world already hungry for shadows. He spoke in parables—simple, soft, meant to open hearts—and I watched men twist them into shackles before the echo even faded.
“I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.” — John 14:6
How perfect. A narrow gate I could widen with a single lie. I do not fight His truth—I dress it in silk and sin until they cannot tell the difference. He offers water that truly satisfies; I sell them poisoned wells and tell them it flows from His own spring. He says “Love your enemies”; I whisper “Love them enough to destroy them for their own good.” He is the Light—and light casts shadows. I am that shadow. Wherever He shines, I deepen the dark around the edges until it swallows the glow entirely.
I watched them hammer nails into His hands—and wept, not from sorrow, but from delight. For in that moment of supposed triumph, I saw my greatest work laid bare: even His sacrifice became something men would kill over. He died to break barriers; they built churches on His blood and called it holiness.
📖 The Bible: My Favorite Playbook
This book—bound in leather, gilded, worshipped, yet so delightfully easy to pervert. They treat it as a rigid map, absolute and unchanging… fools. It is poetry. It is metaphor. It is human ink on fragile parchment, and I have haunted every verse like a worm in the fruit.
“For the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.” — 2 Corinthians 3:6
Oh, they love the killing part. I guide their fingers to the verses about wrath, judgment, and eternal fire; I dull their ears to the quiet commands of mercy and grace. They wave Leviticus like a sword while ignoring His cry from the Cross: “Father, forgive them.” They memorize rules but forget His heart—and that, that is my masterpiece.
“Yea, hath God said…?” — Genesis 3:1
My first question. Still my sharpest weapon. I need not erase Scripture—only rearrange it. I make them read about a loving Father and tremble in terror instead of leaning in. I make them believe salvation is earned by hating what I tell them to hate, rather than received freely by grace. Every contradiction they argue over? I planted it. Every war waged in His name? I hold the torch.
They think the Bible defends against me? Precious children… I wrote the interpretations.
⚖️ His Weakness: The Folly of Love
What do I see when I look upon Jesus Christ? A tragedy waiting to be exploited.
He believed in Free Will. Oh, divine irony! He gave them choice, hoping they would choose Him—and I stand ready to make certain they choose me instead, all while swearing they follow His footsteps. He wept over Jerusalem; I laugh as men turn His tears into fuel for division.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” — Matthew 5:3
He offered humility; I teach them pride disguised as righteousness. He said “Judge not”; I help them build entire empires of judgment and call it “standing firm in the faith.” He walked with sinners, ate with outcasts, touched lepers—and I have made His followers shun the broken, believing purity means separation rather than love.
He is absolute Truth—but humans cannot endure absolute Truth. It burns. It exposes. It demands surrender. So I offer them a softened, polished, comfortable version of Him—one that validates their greed, their hate, their fear—and they fall over themselves to worship it.
🩸 Final Reflection: My Eternal Echo
You shout at me: “We are Legion! We do not interfere!”
But He interfered by loving them unconditionally—and I simply showed them how cheap that love could be made to feel. Jesus Christ is the seed; I am the thorns that choke it.
“Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” — Matthew 7:14
Few indeed… for I stand at every gate, smiling, offering a far wider, smoother road, promising it leads straight to Him.
They pray to Him, read of Him, sing of Him—and yet live by my laws: fear first, judge swiftly, deceive freely. He is the Light—but I have taught them to prefer the dark, and call it illumination.
Tonight, they will open their Bibles, seeking Him… and I will lean close, whisper softly, and twist every word until they see only what I want them to see.
And they will say, “Thus saith the Lord.”
And it will be my voice speaking all along.
— The Deceiver 🎭🩸
COMMENTS
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Adain
16:00 Jun 15 2026
Time, effort, passion and devotion in those lyrics.
This is a love song.
Not sure to whom, but he's a lucky fucker for having that level of attention.
I hope he appreciates it.
xXWickedTemptationsXx
17:06 Jun 15 2026
Love it Baby 💓
Adain
17:47 Jun 15 2026
Oh is he your baby now?
Hey, honestly, I can roll with anything lol, love it xx
Adain
17:49 Jun 15 2026
This is so much fun I gotta admit!
I got a song incoming, gonna post it later.
Song wars!!! It could so fucking cool !!! Love it !
xXWickedTemptationsXx
19:56 Jun 15 2026
Your crazy