On April 11th 2014, 32-year-old Jacob Reinholt Hetz was admitted to the St. Paul’s Hospital in downtown Vancouver. The patient had severe incisions in his throat, evidently self-inflicted. Eyewitnesses claim to have seen Mr. Hetz cutting into himself with a pair of scissors while visiting the Vancouver Aquarium, and it took great effort from security personnel to overcome and subdue him.

While left unattended in his hospital room, Mr. Hetz reached for his pen and cut right through the bandages, slitting his own throat and killing himself. Next to his lifeless body was the diary he had been keeping for the five months since his fiancée, 27-year-old Carroll Whitaker, called off their wedding and ended the relationship.

In the first many entries of his diary, Mr. Hetz comments superficially on how his failed attempts to get a PhD in religious studies had set him on a path of enlightenment, which later sparked him to become a Lutheran. Particularly; he was fascinated by the writings of the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard, and the writings of the French philosopher René Descartes had left an impact on him as well. Despite considering himself to be a highly pious individual, Mr. Hetz believed the Bible was plagued with contradictions and verses left open to subjective interpretation, and this led him to search for a remedy through philosophical ponderings.

For the most part, Mr. Hetz’ diary touches upon mundane subjects, and while his mental instability shines through in certain sporadic lines, it is with the diary entry for the 30th of March that the tone is set for the rest of the diary. Mr. Hetz seems to lose touch with reality immediately after his revelation, and it is yet unclear if his behavior betrayed his insanity to the outside world.

While most of his writings past this entry clearly depict the delusions of Mr. Hetz, investigators have found that he did in fact have an argument with Miss Whitaker while at Walmart, and he was indeed spotted in Stanley Park when on April 3rd he pretended to be a tree.

The April 7th entry has raised suspicion that Mr. Hetz may somehow be involved in the disappearance of 14-year-old Martha Stuart, who went missing that day while on her way to school, but at this point the connection remains vague.

Finally, it is worth noting that, while Mr. Hetz had referred to his diary simply as “Journal” from the very first entry and until the March 30th entry, immediately after that he starts referring to it by a different human name for every day.


Dear Journal.

Today I learned the true form of perfection: redefinition. I realized this while trying to figure out how to explain away the contradictions in the Bible that depict a schizophrenic God who is incapable of sticking by his own rules. I was wondering how the moral code of God could be changed time and again throughout the Old and New Testament while still remaining objective. I then realized that the only way this was possible would be if God could redefine truth every day, so that what was wrong yesterday is true today.

I arrived at the conclusion that, although perfection is objective, objectivity changes from day to day, so that what was true in the past will remain true in the past, and what is true today will remain true today.

The Bible isn't self-contradicting, but self-redefining!

Now, if we follow this line of reasoning a little further, we’ll arrive at the conclusion that God – being the manifestation of perfection – redefines himself constantly, and this could perhaps even be used to chain the Gods of all religions together!

Maybe Allah, Odin, and Krishna are all past definitions of the same god, and thus it would be possible to trace all religions back to the same, constantly redefining being. The Holy Scriptures, the rituals, everything in all religions – including the mythologies – could be the product of the definition of God that existed when those texts were written.

Even the creation of our planet could be redefined along with God, as he can simply change the past to give Earth whatever history he damn well pleases. Perhaps the Big Bang Theory is the redefinition of our universe’s history that the current redefinition of God fancies best. Tomorrow it might be something else entirely, and who’s to say we’ll even remember that theory having ever existed?

Redefinition is the true form of perfection, that is certain, but how does redefinition stay clean of the filthy imperfection that is the physical world?

Easy: redefinition redefines itself.

Redefinition keeps itself pure through an endless chain of redefinition, so that whenever something happens that could impair the perfection of perfection, redefinition redefines perfection to stay perfect in the face of imperfection. It all makes so much sense now!

What is incorrect today might not be incorrect forever, as everything is subject to redefinition by the hands of redefining perfection rewriting all there is.

Furthermore, if a human being was to enter a never-ending process of redefinition, that individual would have the characteristics of perfection. When a person has the characteristics of perfection, that person is perfection, and when a person is perfection, that person is God.

By redefining oneself constantly, it would in theory make you God, and with this knowledge, I am proud to say that I’ll be embarking on a glorious experiment to redefine myself initially every day, then every hour, and finally every second until I become perfection!


Dear Daphne.

Today I was born anew. I was the secret third candidate in the 2012 presidential election, and while Obama and Romney were busy fighting each other, I led an underground rally to gather enough votes from the Illuminati to usurp the Oval Office and become chief-in-command of the USA.

I clearly recall the FBI acknowledging me as the supreme overlord of their nation, and unlike past presidents, I didn't have to wait for several months to be inaugurated. I immediately set out to make the USA a dictatorship, and I built concentration camps for stubborn scientists.

Never again would a biologist tell me that evolution was true, never again would a climatologist lie about global warming, and never again would someone dare claim that gravity exists. The American people hailed me as their savior, and I turned our billion-dollar military on them, blowing them to smithereens.

Next, I conquered the moon, destroying the Nazis hiding there, and then I aided the Fantastic Four in eliminating Galactus once and for all. No extraterrestrial would ever harm my people, and I gave the order to nuke the entire country so that everyone was killed swiftly and humanely.

I was given the Nobel Peace Prize for my role in ending racism by killing all non-Caucasian individuals, and afterwards I was invited to a party by the late Neil deGrasse Tyson. I sat by the pool, chatting with his corpse, Playboy Bunnies all around us. I smoked a cigarette, and Neil told me that nicotine was bad for my health, and that I might end up like him.

All in all, it was the best day of my life.

But that might be redefined soon.


Dear Kevin.

Today I was the Employee of the Month at Walmart, and it was with a wide smile on my face that I hurried through the isles, putting the goods on the shelves and helping the customers find what they were looking for.

I was the ideal worker, having a good attitude, taking initiative, and memorizing the locations of all the wares. Most importantly: I did not complain about the low salary. Who needs more than nine dollars an hour, anyway?

All the other workers were a bunch of good-for-nothing sourpusses, who complained that the working environment was indecent, that they could not afford to live on their salary, and that the manager wouldn't stop calling the female employees to his office to discuss their futures at Walmart.

They were all just lousy socialists, who needed to man up and work by the rules of the market economy. I mean, just look at me: I just shut up and did my job, and within a day I've become the best there is.

Oh, and I should probably also mention that Carroll was out shopping, and she apologized to me for being such a bitch and suggested she come over for coffee later. I then slapped her hard across the face and told her to be at my house at 8 PM.

I’m waiting for her right now, although I’m no longer a Walmart employee.

I've redefined.


Dear Vinnie.

Today I was an Autobot, fighting the evil Decepticons on the planet Cybertron. I was packed with Energon, blasting the shit out of anyone who sought to threaten the peaceful Transformer civilians and the helpless Mini-Cons.

While engaged in a mortal struggle with Starscream, I happened to spot Unicron in the far distance, making its way towards the planet. I decided to swiftly finish off the treacherous Decepticon once and for all, so that I could focus my attention on dismantling the planet-sized machine.

Little to my knowledge was Optimus Prime and Megatron fighting inside the head of Unicron, and it therefore saddened me immensely when I shattered the entire giant with a single punch of my mighty fist, killing every living thing within a 250.000 mile radius.

I had brought my people justice and ended the war, but at what cost?

Fortunately, I immediately felt better when I remembered the adage from that shitty 2007 blockbuster: “No sacrifice, no victory.”

It reminded me that, although I might have committed a grave crime, I’m no Michael Bay.

Being a Transformer has taught me a lot, and I can definitely use my experiences with fighting interplanetary crime in the future – assuming I don’t redefine to be forgetful.

Come to think of it, Transformers are masters at redefining themselves.

They’re robots in disguise, after all.


Dear Monica.

Today I was a majestic cedar tree, proudly rooted in Stanley Park, stoically watching as the miniature train passed by time and again. I wanted to wave to the passengers, but that’s not something a tree can do, so instead I merely watched them, and they watched me too.

The wildlife had my utmost fascination, with deer running gracefully through the forest and muskrats scurrying between the transcending roots of mighty hemlocks. The sunlight was filtered away by the branches far above me, but I didn't mind, as I was made to survive with what I’d got.

It wasn't hard for me to keep standing in that same spot for twelve hours, as my cones were lying on the ground; I had started reproducing early this year, evidently. Even if they had been there to weigh me down, I would have managed just fine, for trees are made to last.

Eventually, the cones would redefine and become trees themselves, and then they would spend their lives being part of this wondrous scenery – unless some lumberjack redefined them to be timber for a new attraction.

About eight hours into my redefinition, a bear appeared behind me. I couldn't turn around to look directly at it, as trees can’t just turn on their own, but I could hear its heavy breathing and feel it prodding my back with its wet nose.

For the briefest while, I was afraid it might kill me, but then I remembered that bears don’t kill trees; they only eat lesser vegetation and other animals, so a giant of nature such as myself had nothing to fear.

It walked away after some time, presumably looking for dinner, and I was left with a new appreciation of nature. One day, I will redefine as one of these beasts and roam beneath the intertwining branches.

I wonder if doing so would make me a savage predator, as well?


Dear Johnathan.

Today I was the Prince of Darkness, a title I evidently share with a number of disgruntled internet commentators. As royalty goes, the great power came with great responsibility, but I hadn't redefined as Spiderman, and my subordinates were made to obey my every will.

The legions of undead, of demons and necromancers that I had at my disposal, were stripped of any prestige they had worked hard to obtain, and I put them to work prospecting for blood in the haunted mineshafts of Netherland – I decided to make my kingdom in that particular country because its name makes one think of the netherworld.

Anyways, I was quite dumbfounded when it came to my attention that the orcs and vampires all enjoyed the hard work I had forced them into. As it turns out, evil beings thrive in chains and suffering. Non-humans enjoy being treated inhumanly, and isn't that a revelation?

Maybe those villainous warlocks in fantasy aren't so bad after all; maybe they’re just looking to make all humans, elves, and hobbits like themselves, so that the ever-present evil and constant suffering of our world will no longer impair them negatively.

It would appear that, as with any great ruler, I had become smarter by listening to the voices of my people. They wanted meaningless violence, sorrow, and the fear that tomorrow may never come, and if all living creatures wanted that, our crummy world would be a wonderful place.

I've learned not to complain about disasters anymore, as the problem is not with the disaster itself, but the fact that our perspective judges it to be a bad thing. Therefore, as former Prince of Darkness, I say that we shouldn't change the world, but our own perspectives.

Actually, scratch that; I've redefined to be politically correct again.


Dear Roderick.

Today I was the primary color blue, and I spent my time complaining that society had come to associate me with its stereotypical image of the masculine, straight man, when in truth I was quite gay. I was the gayest of all the rainbow’s colors, and wearing me on your clothing was a declaration that you thought it was okay to be gay.

I pitied pink, who was violated at every given turn when it came to selecting colors for girls’ toys, and you can bet your ass grey was crying in corner, knowing that it had nothing to offer anyone but blandness and boredom.

Although people may misunderstand blue, I could at least take comfort in knowing that I dominated the sky and oceans of this world, and I didn't have to go through the same shit as other colors.

Apart from black, who had its own history month, I was the happiest color.

All of us felt really bad for red; the poor thing was abused to create shock value in shitty horror films, and people still thought the sight of it could enrage bulls. It’s also a color that easily draws the eye, so it often found itself with much unwarranted attention.

Let’s not talk about white.

I've redefined to not be a gay color anymore, but I just might redefine my sexuality again in the future, as I currently think being straight all the time is too uniform. I suppose I could try redefining to be a homophobe, as they’re the gayest of all gays – what straight person spends all their time thinking about men having sex with other men?


Dear Darlene.

Today I decided to humble myself, being an Egyptian mason hard at work building the Great Pyramid of Giza around 2500 BC. A Westerner has no idea how difficult it was to transport the limestone and move each and every single block into place.

The sun burned fiercely, I won’t lie about that, and the sand beneath us felt like billions of hot needles poking into the soles of our bare feet. Water was scarce, and some of us tried re-hydrating by drinking our own urine – with terrible results.

Fortunately, it was in the days before verifiable historical records surfaced, so we could simply use magic to aid us. With no pesky scientists around to tell us what could and couldn't be done, we were free to call upon the aid of Osiris, who raised our comrades from the dead to work on the pyramid, and within a day we tallied in the 100.000s.

It was truly splendid, and I even got to reunite with my long-lost friend, royal adviser Totallus Zombius, who was so overjoyed to see me that I practically had to mummify his reanimated corpse to prevent him from falling apart.

We enjoyed the occasional conversation in between whippings, and he told me about his many adventures in the realm beneath ours. He spoke with such vitality about all the seductive, maggoty women he’d been with, and how his suggestion that people build a pyramid-shaped casino in Las Vegas 4500 years from now had won him much prestige.

To think that even death can be redefined to life, it’s simply amazing!

However, if I redefined to be dead, would I be unable to redefine myself to live again?

Could I perhaps redefine to be something that is neither dead nor living?

I’ll have to test the truth of that someday.


Dear Jesus.

Right now, I’m a man who’s very sorry for what he did.

I’m in tears, blood boiling in shame and shaking uncontrollably. It was a stupid idea, this whole goddamn thing. I don’t even know her name, just that she was an easy target and I needed someone to assault for my redefinition as a sexual predator to make sense.

She was so young and innocent, but I couldn't allow myself to care. As I was tearing off her clothes, ripping them to shreds while she cried for her mom and dad, I just felt so good. I had my way with her, doing unspeakable, disgusting things to her.

She struggled throughout the act, and it just turned me on even more. I started hitting her too, punching her teeth out, clawing bloody soars in her soft skin and caressing her slender body in a crushing embrace that left her suffocating.

When I’d finished, she was laying there next to her Hello Kitty backpack, silently sobbing and writhing her body in pain. Had I been who I am now back then, I would have taken her to the hospital, but a sexual predator has to put himself before others, so I picked up a rock and brought it down on her tiny head.

It smashed like a watermelon, and that turned me on as well.

I buried her deep in the ground, hoping that no one would find her.

Then I left, and I feel like shit.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Turn myself in?

No, I have to keep going; once I've become God, I can bring her back.

For the meantime, I’ll redefine to someone who feels no remorse.


Dear Stacy.

Today I was an African American single mother, living in the ghettoes of East Vancouver with my seven children by five different fathers. It was no easy task for me to bring up my nameless children in this environment plagued by drug addiction, and when servicing pimps was the only way I could make a proper income, it was physically draining as well.

For the briefest of whiles, I considered calling one of my ex-husbands for financial support, but then I remembered that I am a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man, so I kept blowing for cash instead. I may be a slut, but I still have my dignity.

When the cops drove by outside my house earlier today, they threatened to throw me in jail for prostitution if I didn't give them a free ride. I complied, and now I’m pregnant with my eighth- no, I redefined back to myself, didn't I?

Who am I right now, exactly?

I think I might still be a black woman, but I’m not sure. Perhaps I’m neither me nor myself, but someone else, and I wonder who that someone might be. I suppose I could redefine, but when I don’t know what I am, how can I know what I’ll be?

This is so fucking confusing; my head is spinning. If I’m still a black woman, then that means I’m still pregnant, and then I’ll have to go to Lamaze classes again, because I have forgotten how to push a child out. Who the fuck am I?!

I’m going to redefine myself to be a sleeping person, and when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll redefine to be someone who’s unlike what I was before or am now. Just to be safe, I might redefine myself into someone I’m not going to be.

I can redefine all my problems away.


Dear Patrick.

Today I was chaos, and with a flick of my fingers, I broke the world. Every country on every continent shattered into a quadrillion fragments, and people of all nationalities cried in anguish, fearing that the apocalypse had dawned on their souls.

Dimensional rifts in the fabric of space and time allowed monsters entrance into the world of mortals, eating them whole. The foolish humans screamed in terror as the shroud of my essence enveloped them in eternal shadows.

While spectating the suffering I had caused for no apparent reason, I realized how much simpler the world was now that all rules had been broken. People of Western civilizations in particular have always praised the idea of unrestricted freedom, and now they are freer than they’ll ever be.

The dead rose from the grave, the living were devoured by madness, and Alex Jones’ conspiracy theories turned out to be true after all; everything was wrong, twisted. Truth became a flawed concept, one only for the mentally ill to cling onto.

Chaos and madness are intertwined, and one ensues the other; we both agreed on that.

Madness and I had a good relationship; we were always there for each other. I would call madness at 2:00 AM, and it would be over by my place in less than a tenth of a nanosecond.

I initially proposed to madness, but then I found out that – in my new world – it was sleeping around with everyone. Madness was a whore, and my love was just too great for me to realize it; I was too blinded by my emotions.

Love can drive you crazy, and I believe that truth cannot be redefined.


Dear Jessica.

I haven’t redefined as anything today, despite my best efforts. My head hurts like fucking crazy, and my attempts to redefine it away have proven futile. I’m really sick right now, and I've spent the past nine hours at home, vomiting into my toilet bowl.

My underwear is stained with puke, and my eyes have gone dry from crying profusely. I’m so tired and sad, and I feel like I could just lie on the ground and sleep forever. I’m thinking of suicide, but short of choking to death on own my vomit, there’s no readily available way for me to end my life.

Evidently, my surroundings have somehow redefined, because I don’t recognize the triangular floor tiles, the marble sink, or the orange shower curtains. I wonder what redefinition lives here, because it sure as hell isn't me.

It has crossed my mind that I should call for help, but my phone isn't anywhere near me. I could always borrow the phone of my redefinition, but he might get pissed at me for that. I’m not even sure if it’s my diary I’m writing in right now, because I can’t relate to anything in the past entries.

At no point do I recall having become a Lutheran, nor having a fiancée, nor being a tree, nor killing a little girl. None of it seems like it actually happened, but maybe it did?

Have I redefined to forget?

On the Social Security card in my wallet, it says “Jacob Reinholt Hetz”.

I don’t know this person.

I’m going to rest for a short while.


Dear Barney.

Today I tried to be a fish, more specifically an Atlantic halibut, but they took my scissors away when I was trying to make the gills. I had planned it all so carefully, and even prepared myself to jump in the aquarium once the redefinition was complete, only to see my work undone by security.

Right now, I’m in a boring little hospital room, surrounded by plain white walls, the stench of infection and medicaments driving me crazy. I turn my head to look out the window, and I see dozens of people walking down the streets, living their uniform, uneventful lives. They have no idea how good it feels to just let everything go, to redefine until you’re truly happy.

I’m going to continue redefining, even with all the pain it has caused myself and others in mind. I am free of the shackles of normality, of the mediocrity of mortality, and of the irrationality of morality; no longer am I cursed to live life as only one person, to play just one character.

Despite the painkillers, I still feel the throbbing of my throat, and it’s a sign that I’m supposed to finish my redefinition. People are simply trying to stop me from becoming God, so I won’t pose a threat to their miserable lives.

They might have taken away the scissors, but that won’t stop me. Nothing will stop me, and if I have to claw the gills with my own fingernails, then so be it. I’ll find a way to finish them, and then I’ll head for the ocean, and let the cool waves embrace me.

I will redefine for all eternity.

I will become God and undo any suffering.

I just realized how sharp my pen is.

Written by Resident DeVir
Content is available under CC BY-SA