layers of HELL, and expedited delivery to Wyoming

well, stevie knows, and i thank her so for telling me. she told me that dying souls hate life, and that haters love to hate because of your hatred of others, and that you kill for fun, LP, and you steal for fun, TS, and you are not a real person even, let alone an artist, so do know you are fooled already by your sins, and you are not to hurt others, it's unnatural, and you are not scary, you are just ugly inside!

People who tear the mouth of others, these are voice-snatchers. Each is tormented, earthly. Such fools, you will be truly hurt, so stupidly you acted, so you will be talking forever, in a manic state, as you are. Your mania will remain, while others will be reticent. Saints are quiet, not boisterous. Killers hide their abuses, by resembling imagined saints here. Do not abuse. Do not harm. You are not "sick" mentally, you are "sick" spiritually, until. You may not. You will not and you mustn't act. Your acts are just those, plays for attention. You are not to act, but your stupidity is evinced every time you do, and that's funny. You are stupid, dumb, and violent, murderous, quixotic, violent, reckless, destitute emotionally truly, fully fantastical, furtive for strange reason, destructive to world peace, scarily frightening, into temporal joys, extremely unsatisfied, dark not light, devoted to institutions of various kinds, like breweries, lawyers' alliances, and resemble school shooters, an insult to your upbringing. It's sad that you've been likened to the worst. It's helpful, though, to help evangelize.

Your abuses are severe, and have been noted, and will be dealt with accordingly. For every torture, every atrocity, every brain damaged, every dick sucked, every clitoris destroyed, everyone's attention-spotlight, you will be crassly derided, which is perhaps is better than earthly traps, but do know that your spiritual violence can kill you, too, as if you live by the gun, you will die by it. But I will live for the Word of God, His Treatments and savings, his graces, not yours, his trust, not anyone else's, and I'll mock you if I wish, stupid. Do not judge. Do not harass. Do not abuse. Do not kill. But you indulge. You are an abusive person, so stop. You need to be guided off life's train, and into sorrow, and that's the only possible remedy against your stupidity, your odd commitment. You will need to learn forgiveness, as that's an absent emotion to you as a psychopathic narcissist, and, more, you will need treatment to abuse yourself, as you're someone who hates. Hatred is not a good emotion, and it's just one of your tactics to avenge. You are so evil, that you've become a walking shitshow, who no one wants to truly befriend, but who we'll loot. You are being used. And it must stay that way, as the devil is dead. Not God, who is alive and well.

Destruction of souls lands you in no hot water here sometimes, but your violence foretells the violence you'll endure. Your abuse of purity is putrid, but more than that, it's cowardly, you are cowards, so fearful, so timid, so anxious, so violently-feral, so dark, so scary, so much cowardice, so irregular you are, so vain, so violent, so stupid, so ugly, so abusive, so abuser? So dumb, so ugly, so dark, so stupid, so evil, so feral, so ugly, so much too-muchness, so intimidating\dark /people are not animals, but you've become less than animals, so your soul is crumbled, not crumbling:

You have two options.

Hurry it up, and go to HELL, and you'll land in a lesser circle, because your evils are weighed on a justice scale.
Wait, and burn in a DEEPER HELL, which won't have your friends, heartful sorts, nope, you'll be tortured in a way that you can only guess now, it will be bad, yes I know, but I can only conjure and imagine.
You are not going to be forgiven. You chose the path of ultimate betrayal. So, guess what? God made you, so you're not smarter, and you'll end up looking even more dumb on Earth, and will be punished more severely. No amount of good deeds, self-mockery, religious delusion, will forgive you, and you are to be tortured, truly, in ways that you've only hinted yourself capable of; so, I will not offer you good luck, I will tell you what to do, what's best for you, what's best for others, and what's best now.
you are unsuccesful and historically insignifcant
your counterparts have achieved a lot, you are dead inside
you walk like a vampire
and your career as a vampire is over, and raw meat is your only option to have,
but cannibalism is ugly and gory, but you're basically that:
We're out of red meat today here in the Carniceria, do look elsewhere, the meat market is closed, but your heart cannot be opened; you are closed. Sorry, but once you kill, you're pretty much bound to HELL, and not life. So, see you at brunch at Joann's on Third? Sounds tasty,
let's make a date. i'll meet you, you can dress up in that chanel pantsuit, and I'll wear my JMM's, it's your ideal meetup, and you look like a fool for another, the one you've killed: he smiles in a high-end suit, and you in your smirk, so sad it didn't work out between you and your first, he turned you down? She didn't love you, don't worry. You weren't raised well enough to be loved, you've hated because you abandoned your soul, your parents, you fools. You hate. You are over. You are so squirmish, so stupid, so peevish, so aggressive, so human, so dumb. You are so silly. You look like a peevish child molester, not like a celebrity, but just a regular Tonya Harding gone mad, and you are so cute, though, like you think you're important in that pantsuit from Chanel Rodeo, but it looks ugly, and you think vintage means money, it means I used it before you, babez. Child, listen to your elder; you are fucking ugly inside, and it shows outside. No one passes you by, without thinking of your odor. It is noxious. Just ask your hubby, who I contacted on the low, he told me to tell you this; you are odious, scary, abusive, and he's scared of you; he is a girl inside, so he wants to transition with my country's blessing, not mine, because you broke his toe, and he wants the latest TV Guides, because he can't turn on the tube to watch Dancing With The Former Stars, and he wants to see Michael Buble with you, someone he's a fan of, whose son he adores, a fawner for fame, a miserable soul, a torn-down soul, a burned-down heart, you are so stupid, you aren't even worthy of, say it with me, the intellectual superior, the moral superior, the arbiter of the right Spirituality, you are ugly, and yet you keep on pining for gold, bitchy, you are, witchy, you wish to be, stupid, moping child, angry Tom Cruise-dreamer, a walking falsity, a convoluted thing, an animal abuser, an uninteresting mess, who lives by your history, isn't that sad? You are his role model. You are her role model. They are ugly. If anyone knows you, they'd laugh at them. And they do, and you are to be avoided for that reason, what a dumb mother. You failed so miserably, that your kids are now broken robots, who kill like you. Your little thing, your precious little guys and their associates, are not cute at all, and they act so smart, because they aren't; they'll be rejected from Harvard, like you were, and, unlike you, they'll be rejected from Yale's Divinity School. Too bad, dummy! You are so dumb that you look like a version of Hulk Hogan that never got to TV, but that's who they were, too. You are so stupid that your kids will think high end fashion means Versace, because Mohamed likes that brand, superficially. He will wear DKNY, not Sport, but Calvin Klein boxers, not briefs, U.S. Polo Association, because Trump Ties were made in China, not in Italy, and your son and daughters will love haberdashery, for sure, and dress like the people in the fashion catwalks, like vintage stars, like you screamed to be growing up. You will lose all sartorial credibility, as you dress like you can't afford to walk into a Barney's Co-Op. Instead, the shopping is done at convenience stores, searching for local souvenir stores, that are scared of Alternative Apparel. In fact, your ideas about fashion will make you gay, and you will verge on transvestic fetishism. You will wear longer dresses, shorter skirts, and sweater polos forever, and you'll learn that fashion is life. From Kanye. From Yeezy. CEO of Donda, you are gone, because you don't know who that was to him, whom she was to us, so Virgil Abloh will not allow you to look at Louis Vuitton's Pharrell shit, and any attempt to listen to music will be over. You are already tone-deaf, so Lisztomania will affect you, as it did, in your feverish rush for pictures of John Denver. You are stupid, ugly, and look perplexing, stupid, odd, and chilly all-the-time. Why so clammy, murderers?