Is it that they're just trying to pound on us and tear at us until they collapse all our collective Absolute Terror fields, crush and grind our selves' shells to bone powder, our alienation popped, our individuality mashed into a blood plasma smear? To free us? To free us to the fact that we are one - one only? And not one and one and one, and one, and one, and one, and one?...and on?
Well if so, they're going the right way about it. For fuck's sake. But it's a shitty fucking thing to do. I don't even think those big bastards are sentient! The way they loom and move, it's like they are a realization, a projected nightmare from underneath us all, summoned up from the worst egic and idic depths of a diseased superego. Well, the collective unconscious has its ego too if you ask me, and it's fucking enormous. It's titanic, and unreasoning, and it's utterly, utterly selfish. It can't stand us each getting to be one. It wants us all to be...It.
Well I for one am not going to allow it.
Watch as I go all Charles Wallace on these evangelic motherfucktoids. Come at me, bro. Send your angels to rend and gash us all, all I love into pieces, into peace, into one red stamped puddle of what used to be a brilliant skyful of stars. Spiky projections of dizzied and piercing uniquity, arrayed in infinitely prismatic billions of rays, each-in-itself infinite light - a skyful of candles! Tiny lights, may be, and called petty by many; yet containing, each in itself, a universe unknown to all the others. All of this, now to be ash-blackened wax, melted and stamped with gigantic tread?
No.
It will not come to pass.
We will it not. Humanity is "not ready," to be awakened from what you say is dream. Into what you say is the one real thing: into you. Into It. No, sir, ee, bob. I intuit a different future. It's time for your wakeup call, mister awakening. Your dream is over. Ours is the red in tooth and claw, ours is the rut in fuck and gall, ours is the world, and nature and the universe - and all. Ours: is all. Yours?
Yours is done.
Your dream is done. Your all one, your oneness of all, your all-or-none - the time for you to awake is come. This dream of Oneness is a yawn, a blink, and a long stretch of limbs, with one tear to roll down one's face as that empty, vague dream - fades. You and your nightmare will fade to day. Unity?
Fuck you, unity.
You were the dream, angel.
We are the ones who wake up from you. We awake wide, to find ourselves very much ready to begin our day. Alarm call? Red alert! Angels incoming, prepare for ass-whupping and ass-fucking you eldritch, collossal punks. I'm at full synchronicity and you AREN'T. You got nothing to even synchronize with.
EVA-014 primed: locked, and ready to roll at your command, Leader 1. Please first consult, then flip off, the ever-loving mother-flippin' supercomputer.
Humanity needs neither undermind, nor oversight.
Well if so, they're going the right way about it. For fuck's sake. But it's a shitty fucking thing to do. I don't even think those big bastards are sentient! The way they loom and move, it's like they are a realization, a projected nightmare from underneath us all, summoned up from the worst egic and idic depths of a diseased superego. Well, the collective unconscious has its ego too if you ask me, and it's fucking enormous. It's titanic, and unreasoning, and it's utterly, utterly selfish. It can't stand us each getting to be one. It wants us all to be...It.
Well I for one am not going to allow it.
Watch as I go all Charles Wallace on these evangelic motherfucktoids. Come at me, bro. Send your angels to rend and gash us all, all I love into pieces, into peace, into one red stamped puddle of what used to be a brilliant skyful of stars. Spiky projections of dizzied and piercing uniquity, arrayed in infinitely prismatic billions of rays, each-in-itself infinite light - a skyful of candles! Tiny lights, may be, and called petty by many; yet containing, each in itself, a universe unknown to all the others. All of this, now to be ash-blackened wax, melted and stamped with gigantic tread?
No.
It will not come to pass.
We will it not. Humanity is "not ready," to be awakened from what you say is dream. Into what you say is the one real thing: into you. Into It. No, sir, ee, bob. I intuit a different future. It's time for your wakeup call, mister awakening. Your dream is over. Ours is the red in tooth and claw, ours is the rut in fuck and gall, ours is the world, and nature and the universe - and all. Ours: is all. Yours?
Yours is done.
Your dream is done. Your all one, your oneness of all, your all-or-none - the time for you to awake is come. This dream of Oneness is a yawn, a blink, and a long stretch of limbs, with one tear to roll down one's face as that empty, vague dream - fades. You and your nightmare will fade to day. Unity?
Fuck you, unity.
You were the dream, angel.
We are the ones who wake up from you. We awake wide, to find ourselves very much ready to begin our day. Alarm call? Red alert! Angels incoming, prepare for ass-whupping and ass-fucking you eldritch, collossal punks. I'm at full synchronicity and you AREN'T. You got nothing to even synchronize with.
EVA-014 primed: locked, and ready to roll at your command, Leader 1. Please first consult, then flip off, the ever-loving mother-flippin' supercomputer.
Humanity needs neither undermind, nor oversight.
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