Hello.
I am me. Are you?
(I doubt it, there can only be one me)
And I've already taken on that responsibility.
~~~~~~(*)~~~~~~
Sorry. You are a stupid fucking retarded dumbass asshole freak. Well at least there is a good chance. Most people are.
So you've decided to venture into the frightening depths of Sremsarodnn's psyche? Unfortunately, you have come to the wrong place. Sremsarodnn's psyche cannot be contained in electronic form, to be displayed on a two-dimensional surface. That is ridiculous.
Exploring this page and all it's portals to related pages will provide you with a great deal of what appears to be essentially useless information, and if you are a dumbass, stupid dumbass, stupid retarded dumbass or a loser, you might regret wasting your time here.
Conversely, in the lucky event that you are not in fact suffering from any of the unfortunate conditions listed above, you will find many answers here and perhaps even come to understand the meaning of life.
However, only those who are highly trained in the art of tri-lobal thinking and sychronious understanding of parallel meanings will be able to grasp the true depth and genuine complexity of the content, and thereby might come to understand the fundamental constructs that define the mysterious realm of human behavior, both at its most horrifying and appalling, as well as at its most hopeful and touching.
So it is that without any regret, we will proceed with a close up look at the face of mental illness:
Eheu, vita est.
Does this look like a deathtrap?
So peaceful... so serene... the last place you'd expect a grisly murder to be attempted.
But alas, appearances can be deceiving.
They still keep asking me questions, as if I'm suddenly going to provide them with a name... but I can't, and I won't. Why don't they understand? Going to them was hard enough in the first place. Hell, I never even told my family... the only reason I went to the cops was because I couldn't live with myself otherwise. It's simple really. To stay silent and never tell anyone would have been so much easier, but that would almost be another crime against me, by myself. I couldn't just curl up and hide forever like he wanted, because that would be admitting that he was right, that I deserved to die like a cowardly animal, with no rights, no respect, no dignity. I couldn't live my life that way, ever. The thought of living like that, hating myself for my fear and utter lack of self-respect, letting fear and hatred rule my life... that would be a fate worse than death. I would rather he'd succeeded and murdered me. So I went to the police. I went, and I told them enough. I told them enough that they would know what kind of monster was out there, enough that they'd be on the lookout. Enough to prevent him from killing again. But I can't give them a name. I just can't. He's a cowarldy fool, but he's clever enough to know they'll catch him if he ever attacks someone else. Now that they know what I told them, he knows that even the smallest move will land him in jail for the rest of his life. He values his freedom too much to risk that. So i've done my duty, he won't hurt anyone else. Not that he would have, I was the target. For reasons I cannot reveal, I was the one and only target... and his only reason for living is to destroy me. Have you ever felt the sting of a razor sharp blade being pressed against your neck? Felt the warm trickle of your own blood dripping down your neck? Or maybe the cold steel of the gun pressed against your temple, the ropes tearing the flesh of your wrists... If you have, then maybe you can understand why I can't turn him in. He tried to kill me once already, and failed. He won't fail a second time. I was lucky to get away the first time, and that sort of luck doesn't last. If I tell them who he is, he'll know right away and he'll kill me. Oh, he'd be caught, and put away for the rest of his life. Thats the only reason I'm still alive today. He knows they'd find him if he attacked a second time, so he won't for sake of self preservation. But if I were to talk, really talk, he'd have nothing left to lose, and he'd make sure I didn't escape a second time. I know it. They'd find him, arrest him, and convict him. But he'd kill me first. There's no doubt about that, and I refuse to give him my life. So the price I pay for my life is his freedom, and the price he pays for his freedom is that I did not die, and I will not let him kill me.
No bullet can hurt me. No gun can kill me. Even a bomb would probably fail. But he discovered my weakness, and knows the secret to my demise.
I cannot not let him win.
So I remain silent, and protect the hideous truth.
I return to the site of the attack, and stand triumphant, for I have conquered the irational life of the unattainable righteousness.
Behold the wonder of an inanimate grassy knoll.
So it is with that in mind that we proclaim once more, as is always suitable following (but preferably preceding) criminal activity:
Salve, salvete. Nomen mihi Valeria et sremsarodnn est. Te moneo, cave canem, quod cum iratus est hominem mordere amat.
(False) Translation = I am a tree.
Editor's Note: Despite the fictional appearance of the preceeding excerpt, the story is based on an actual attack that took place on April 23rd, 2005, close to the location pictured above. The actual details of the crime cannot be released for legal reasons, as the case is still open and being actively investigated.
However, when the risk of compromising the ongoing investigation is minimal and the investigators give their approval, Valerie will provide a detailed account of the actual events, disturbing and frightening as they may be.
The following image is not actual documentation of the attack, but only a poor recreation of the event for your curiosity.
News from a less dangerous and violent world:
Yet another publisher has expresed interest in Sremsarodnn's stories, particularly Sremsarodnn, Feurokadeon and the Foundations of NRC, Sremsarodnn and the Legend of the Ghost, Grrrrrrrrrrrrr, and even the satirical tale of Faedwonirilus and the Wise Duck of Tuisaedo... but of course, they are most anxious to publish Sremsarodnn and Aideus, the true tale of how the Tuisaedo cult came into being, it's precursors, and the religion behind it. What is disturbing about their interest in these particular stories is that we have no idea how they came to posess these transcripts. Several are not even finished being written, and only a very small number of people have had access to them.
Although publishing the stories might be interesting, not to mention financially rewarding, Valerie continues to decline the offers due to the very nature of the writings, and the fact that hidden within the stories is an very disturbing account of real events and the hideous reality of human nature. Valerie will personally explain this matter on this website at a later date.
Only that one particular phenomenon continues to evade Valerie, the one that for the last two weeks she and her brother valiantly fought to witness. Though the phenomenon has continued to remain unattainable and basically invisible to the physical senses, the guardians came upon the beginnings of an even more rare and wondrous natural occurance, deep within the folds of NRC. Unfortunately, they also came upon an illegal drug operation, and Valerie and the guardians narrowly avoided being seen.
Canada Rules!
Coming soon:
Rants - Sremsarodnnized morality - 8 topics
the magic of 32
photographic documentation of NRC...
...and the photojournals of the expeditions
The alleged death of Sremsarodnn
S.F.D.R.A. club
what cannot be known
how to interpret hidden meanings
The moral code of Tuisaedeans
Yest, or
Nost.
Arboretum Photos
(this is a very long paper...proceed with caution)
And
finally....
12 ways to make your family hate
you (and probably everyone else too)
semi-new pages:
The New Comprehensive English Dictionary
(still under construction)
'egose-s-sybose'
MAD LIBS!
'you were pretty close'
Animal Learning and Cognition: Spatial Learning
(warning...homework)
Psychological Test...YAY!
Ever wonder what
distinguishes
Plato's Theory of Forms from Aristotle's Theory of Forms?
The Battle of the
Philosophers!!
WARNING: May lead to excessive boredom. Proceed with caution.
Chris's
Basketball Poetry
