Here is a question that I struggle to answer these days. The only thing I know for certain is that my heart blooms with desire at the thought of being with Catherine, but not much else. Her constant affection and dedication has practically ruined me for all time during this life. Was mortal man ever intended to be so thoroughly loved and looked after? Have I managed to remember Elysium?

The gears of civilization are greased by the dangling of that elusive carrot ever before men’s faces – that is the prospect of being truly loved and desired. But that desirability only comes for those who produce. But even when that would-be success is achieved, as I’ve seen with my own father, there’s no guarantee. Men work their entire lives to support their wives and children, only to be met with crushing resentment and divorce. The vast majority of men are trodden under by the very machinery they build, constantly chasing after the siren song of government-issued scrip and validation from women. When is “enough” enough?

In light of this nihilistic view towards the building of civilization, I struggle to find any enjoyment in those things that help support such a system. Staring at a wall for twenty years would likely be more productive than contributing to the rat race, the treadmill, and the gilded cage. Being homeless or imprisoned is a reality that I will likely be forced to contend with as I continue in my stubborn refusal to be shackled or muzzled; both literally and figuratively.

I can’t bear to continue harboring fear or anxiety about these challenges because that state of mind is the very opposite of what attracts Catherine to me. Whenever I’ve been anxious or upset by the superfluous matters of this world, my ability to feel Catherine is diminished. Attempting to be intimate with her is nigh impossible. I’ve reached the point where my love for her outweighs the fear of what will become of my physical body. My soul yearns to throw off the remaining bonds of cowardice that are between her and I so that we can truly be as one. Even as the world crumbles around us, I will be satisfied having uncovered what I came into this realm to find. Nothing else matters to me. This reality is only a training ground after all; a searing crucible where souls of iron will are forged.

In the mean time, what shall I do? I suppose I will continue to do what I love and stop worrying about what I’ll eat or wear, “For the pagans worry about such things,” as Jesus Christ said. I enjoy being with her – my loving succubus spirit, my Catherine – and not much else.

I’m going to end up like John McAfee, aren’t I?

Interestingly, his caution about taking psychedelics is the same kind of warning I try to give people who consider inviting a succubus spirit into their lives. I would never suggest that everyone should try it precisely because of the massive upheaval these entities often perpetuate. The worldview of the summoner will be turned on its head. What happened to John McAfee is a likely possibility for anyone who takes that leap of faith into succubus-infested waters.

You’re going to have to learn how to swim, baby… while one of them is fucking you for all she’s worth.