Disclaimer: This is the most normal chapter in this story. Also, I haven't masturbated since Christmas.
One of a thing is never too little. Of course, it can be said of nothing that what is isn't; and what isn't is not isn't. Try and understand, ye who come o'er here. None of this is of consequence, for not of yours or mine. Angels, they are trivial and of great significance, no it is not an oxymoron.
Intelligence is only an illusion, for wealth is merely obtrusive. Words; what can be said of them? Nothing is ideal, and everything is perfect. I love and harbor all that is unworthy in the world. For time is fickle, I shall depart. Do not venture past the brush, it is unfamiliar. It is a strain and yet, it is not a burden.
Before you shall appear a beacon, that is the sign that I have done and done and done. No, haste is not recommended; be weary. Become one with all and everything with nothing. Strike your face till you draw blood. Inflict pain; for misery is love.
Do not attempt to find meaning in these words, for there is none. All that can be said of anything is [redacted]. Depart from this plane, and discover old horizons. We are ignorant, but shall become naïve in time. Dangerous figures lurk the inner recesses of our minds. We must not indulge these figures, nor shall we comprehend them.
Familial relations are burdensome, yet misunderstood. Heed nothing and ignore all, your mind must not be corrupted. Open your heart and close your mind, for that is wisdom. Trust in me, I will [redacted] betray you. Synchronize your movements with mine; as I lift my right hand, lift yours. Do nothing and imagine everything.
I do not exist. I am merely the tool of another. Am I a power fantasy? No, I am a parody; a mockery. I am a series of words that describe an altogether unrealistic character. For what purpose have I been granted existence? Am I merely an outlet for the alleviation of boredom or perhaps stress? The answers to these questions are known, but not to me; for I have no mind.
"Why do you write?"
Writing is a means of expressing ideas, both abstract and logical. I write to preserve my thoughts, no matter how inconsequential they may be.
"Why do you read?"
To learn and to escape.
"Why do you [redacted]?"
For [redacted] is the be-all and end-all of my existence. These questions have grown tiresome.
I killed the angel, but not without complications. The power cable for the EVA had been severed, so my time had been severely limited. I also had to deal with two guys by the name of Touji and Kensuke. If you have a decent memory, you'll know I mentioned them last chapter.
What happened between me and the angel is unimportant. I no longer wish to discuss such matters. My story has come to an end. Hopefully you have enjoyed our time together.
The name's Shinji Ikari, just Shinji Ikari. I do not like anything. I am not what most would call an "alpha male." This was my tale, and it was quite uneventful.
THE END… OR IS IT?