We’re in this century where people could write any metaphorical senses about wars and hell without having to believe in the concept of hell itself; without having to get into a real war; without having to encounter the real hell. But in the end it’s us trying to redefine the concept of war and hell. For hell comes ahead of us when we’re swallowing wounds inside the places where we don’t belong. For war approaches when inside our head there are too much distortions and screams we can’t hold. People said wars these days occur more in safer places than real battleground; but in the end it’s us trying to redefine the concept of battleground for every place could be a battleground when existing feels like fighting everytime we’re in that place. I don’t know about you but to me hell isn’t about the afterlife and it isn’t only for the dead. Hell applies to everyone who feels as if flames incinerate them everytime they’re trying to keep breathing; as if chains suffocate them everytime they’re trying to maintain their existence.
When I was younger I used to picture myself as some kind of a god-tier fighter whose walls are hard to be broken; who is hard to defeat. I used to picture myself in a Varg Vikernes-like attire, storing diverse kinds of firearms and explosives in my headquarter. Not that I would want to commit an arson nor to stab my mate 23 times to death just like what he did to Euronymous, but I have always been captivated in the idea of a discrepant, deadpan misfit who sets fire to societal norms and standards just like him. I would imagine myself as being drop dead good at both barehanded fights and using firearms, while forming a one-man black metal project and leading a cult that massacres fascists at a same time. But because I have always been physically weak and I could not afford real firearms, I didn’t get the chance to practice shooting a lot and thus I could only fight with my heart.
The least thing I could do was to keep myself safe in the wars that don’t require weapons but our hearts. Nevertheless I still kept on waiting for that day to happen though; the day where my real aspiration to fight with real weapons and hands comes true. The day where it won’t just be the daydreams in my head whenever I’m on the road. I was vulnerable but I clearly wasn’t weak — and that was why my works of art became a weapon.
Hell is wherever you feel like you’re in hell. Wars occur whenever you feel like you’re fighting in a war. Warriors are everyone who’s fighting in that hell.