The Parable Between 6ix and 777: The Bible of the Mad God
Mar 27, 2016 15:56:27 GMT -5
Steve Orbit, Bonnie Blue, and 4 more like this
Post by Benjamin Atreyu on Mar 27, 2016 15:56:27 GMT -5
This isn't a story.
This is the slit wrist poetry
of a long-dead preacher.
This is the gun-blast-riddled
type-written letter
from angels to God;
We claim holiday, dear lord.
One from your exhaustive grasp.
Break us if you can,
smite us if you must,
but grant us,
above all,
this reprieve from the constant endeavor
of having to watch the vomiting existence
which you have placed before us.
From here on out, there is honesty, but no truths. This is the telling of two forces meeting, two sides colliding, and a war of a size bigger than the sum of their parts.
Babbling mouths sitting in non-existence spew forth rivers of stars and rocks, birthing unwarranted and unwanted life into the feed. The noise, the ungodly noise it makes leaves all known matter and anti-matter to shudder uncontrollably. What is this abomination that makes its way into mine home? What does it want?... Does it want anything? THOU! Sickly beast, why does thou clamor so much? Why is thou so monstrous looking? Is thy hearing gone? Is that why thou speakth so much? To hear thine own words? Answer devil!
These creatures hear not, love not, think not, but want all. Their hunger is unparalleled and horrified the universe which had never laid its eyes upon such a sight before. Their satisfaction seemed impossible to reach as everything burned around those tiny dots roaming the surface like so many lice. No Planck length, nor cosmic landscape seemed safe from their empty destruction.
Uninhabitable by choice, the vacuous void which this dying balls flies through laid death trap after death trap in the path of their advances, hoping to cut off the growing murmurings that interrupt the silence which had been held so dear, but so far nothing has taken, leaving the mass of shit, flesh, and psychosis to roam free.
With clenched fists, it watched through eons as the orb cut a path through the celestial giant's home.
Thou rapeth my ears with your unending utterances, as if jamming pins into the base of mine brain and drawing them along until no inch of surface is unmarked by your ignorance. It screams, spitting comets and supernovas. It slams its palms to its ears to quiet the grotesque noises emanating from the drooling mouths of billions of creatures, a wet smacking echoing forever inward as they consume everything in sight. What little thought. What little care. How monstrous these brutes are.
Downward, on the ground, countless numbers stand with blank eyes and braindead, their ghastly maws agape as they stare into the sky, asking silly questions of their own importance, trying to reconstruct reality to form a portrait where they stand as kings upon the mountain.
In the absence of a proper teacher, the aforementioned picture forces the universe, in its infinite glory, into a box, shrinking it down to where the Earth meets the sky. THERE IS ONLY MY WORLD! THERE IS ONLY MY EARTH! Stars are no longer fiery masses of gas, but instead tiny specks out of arm's reach. THIS SKY IS MY SKY! THERE ARE NO OTHERS LIKE IT AND NO OTHERS SHALL GAZE UPON IT BUT ME! The endless stream of galaxies are cut out, leaving nothing more than the blue ball and those who occupy its skin. LOOK UPON ME, ANTS! FOR I AM THE HIGHEST BEING TO HAVE DRAWN BREATH! PRAISE ME AND FEAR MY MIGHT FOR I COULD BURN THIS WORLD, THE CENTER OF CREATION, IF I SO WISHED! AND OH GOD, DO I WISH!
Oh, but how these being hate themselves, determined to smash and obliterate themselves as they continue to grow. This gives the high-onwatcher a reason to laugh, figuring the assurety for which they have confirmed their own demise. I WILL STAND TO BE CHALLENGED, EVEN BY MY BROTHER, WHO I WILL STRIKE DOWN WITHOUT HESITANCE! The eye in the sky watches as back alleyways break away to the multi-headed beast of unfortunate happenstance. HERE I SIT IN WAIT FOR FLIES TO STUMBLE IN! COME TO ME, SWEET UNSUSPECTING PREY! Men and women are shot, maimed, and left bloody, forcing children into orphanhood or at least to remain in a home which now has become broken. They rob and pillage each other's land to ensure the strength of their own. They bite, scratch, kick, punch, gouge, shoot, bomb, burn, and incinerate each other for petty squabbles. Different minds of the same body all fighting for dominance. I WILL SURVIVE ON THE BACKS OF ALL THOSE WHO OPPOSE ME! I WILL CANNIBALIZE UNTIL I AM THE ONLY ONE LEFT! AND THEN YOU WILL ALL SEE! FROM OVER YOUR GRAVES I WILL STAND VICTORIOUS! HOW SILLY YOU WILL ALL FEEL AS I AM THE LAST ONE!
But much to his dismay, their growing far outpaces their self-destruction. Swine and filth. How does thou manage to birth more than he kills?
The once healthy skies turned pale in the wake of the human-tragedy. Green patches of land are ripped out and paved over with black bandages which suffocate the ground. Even envious of the high of mountains, these bastard things construct symmetrical eye sores hundreds of stories tall to intimidate the land which tries to stand over them, and dig into the Earth to fill it with their sewage, thinking of the whole space as their landfill to do with as they see fit. Animals are number and caged, slowly fed into blades to serve the whims of their masters (more consumption, more consumption, more consumption). Roaring monsters of combustion and steel are built to turn all sensory into a blur for their lives had become not about the journey but the destination. I NEED TO GET THERE FASTER! I NEED TO SKIP THE BEAUTY AND GET WHAT I'M AFTER! CUT OUT THE WALKING! CUT OUT THE WAITING! CUT OUT THE INBETWEEN! Life becomes a series of blinks, little jagged cuts pieced together to form a life.
No longer is their own lives important enough, they create elaborate tales to tell themselves (conspiracies, books, movies, tabloids) to assure their greatness is unrivaled. They lie to themselves and their children, letting their spawn believe the lies, letting them become truth. 6ix generations will pass and what was one fiction is now in their history. 6ix men will speak rumors and by 6ix in the evening, it will become truth, because they wish to believe it. 6ix lies will become 6ix truths before the day is over. I AM MY OWN GOD! I DECIDE WHAT IS RIGHT! I DECIDE WHAT IS WRONG! I WILL MAKE MY OWN TRUTH AND BEND WHAT DOES NOT FIT IN IT!
Soon they smell the shit that covers their own planet and the become bored with the land they were given as houses become cramped with one, two, three, four, five, 6ix generations. Lifespans grow with populations and leave less room to breath and fukk. No longer happy with the ball they were born on, they wish to rip into the sky and find more worlds to kill. They defy their own stories by launching themselves past where the Earth meets the sky, into the starry facade which they had only been able to stare at up until then.
The universe fears not, for it sees how slowly it makes its way from the first rock to the second, noting how accomplished these hapless individuals seemed in their small movement. Cheer for thine small leap, for it would take countless of similar size to even make it to the other end of one' own galaxy, much less the entirety of existence. Thou will wither and die before touching the edges of this life.
Oh how time opens all wounds. With time, the unkillable pest and make anything its play thing as it begins to land and inhabit the rocks that swirl around the ironic living giving fiery globe that will eventually swallow them all as it continually expands. The begin to laugh and fukk on these no found homes as well, spewing more disgusting slime from their crevices; 6ix billion empty existences turns to seven billion to eight billion to nine billion to ten billion. These planets too fill with the spread of this virus, one that learns how to eat, drink, kill, fuck, and smoke everything that was granted to it.
The beast gives its battle cry, I AM STILL MY OWN GOD! THE SKY SHATTERED OPEN WHEN I LEAPED THROUGH IT! I HAVE MADE THESE NEW PLANETS MY BITCH AND LAID WASTE TO THEM! WHAT CAN CHALLENGE ME? NOTHING! ALL OTHER BEINGS BELONG BETWIXT MY TEETH OR UNDER MY LAW! THIS UNIVERSE BELONGS TO NO ONE BUT ME! LONG LIVE ME! LONG LIVE ME! LONG LIVE ME!
The void scowled, Fine, plow thine own galaxy if thou must, wretched bug, but what is there left as far as conquest? Thou has reached thy fingertips. Thou can not leap much farther if thou wishth not to fall.
But alas, these tiny titans launch themselves forth despite such draw backs, dipping into a realm of the unknown, all for the sake of proving their own worth in an uncaring empty span.
But what of the first blue ball? What has become of it since these...things...had expanded forth from it? Dead. Cracked. Hopeless. #WithoutBeaches. OH GOD THIS IS UNBEARABLE! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! WHAT BEAST WAS SO HATEFUL AS TO TAKE OUR PARADISE AWAY FROM US? Blasted by unruly storms of dust and wind, withered to a lifeless desert where a handful fight and bicker to survive. Man slowly slinks back to its most mindless, clubbing each other to death for scarce resources, demanding the life of another to tone for the loss of one of theirs. GIVE ME YOURS! ME WANT! ME TAKE! There is no civilization. There is no law. Even the ineffectual one they had held over their own heads for so many eons. What an empty back lot in the scheme of human expansion. As the rest of their kind drinks the dynamo that is the night sky, the unlucky few sit in the whirlwind of hate and death, ignored by their brethren so that they may rot for all eternity. WE MUST NOT LOOK BACK! TO LOOK BACK IS TO REGRESS! WE MUST PUSH FORWARD! THE WEAK WILL ALWAYS SUFFER! WE ARE GODS, REMEMBER? As far as the rest are concerned, the awful truth sits quietly in the back as they are no longer concerned with the world they had already conquered. TO THE NEXT PLANET! AS WE GROW, WE MUST KEEP MOVING! THIS WHOLE UNIVERSE BELONGS TO ME! A GOD MUST TAKE!
One galaxy becomes two. Two becomes four. Four to 6ix. The parasite blows through the veins, ravage healthy sells and living waste. The former galaxy shares the same fate as that blue dot, leaving billions to fade away until all that is left is a ghost quadrant in the kingdom of man.
The void, the high on-watcher, the universe, the grand entirety, the scope all that is and was, the forever, it looks down with its fists clench. Thou pays no attention! thou destroys my treasures! Thou art in the arc of a slow suicide, but yet refuses to die, taking all of mine with. How foolish is thou, festering sore? How far will thou go before the end is reached? Will thou go until thy collapse comes? Does thou even know, or does thou move without idea of perspective, blindly stumbling forth? Do you not here thy brethren crying or is the sound of thine chewing overpowering the screams of dying planets? Do you wish to end thy own existence and know not how? Does thou wished to be crushed by the mighty weight of his own want? Is that thou's aim?
No answer. They never reply. Too distracted by themselves and their own important, they continue to fuck, kill, rob, eat, sleep, and drink straight into the edges of their world, stretching the bounds of their being until nothing is unknown. They never reply despite asking so many questions. So many WHYs and HOWs but when the voice booms down upon them with truth, they plug their ears like petulant children to ignore the coldness of their unimportance for the message often relies on such a theme to deliver its point.
You are not created to be important.
You are not created for a purpose.
You are an accident that became too big for its own good.
Inflated by praise and want, you've created your own sense of importance.
You are no more than a blemish in the timeline, existence for a microscopic period of time comparatively to everything else.
Kill yourselves.
Rid the universe of your wasteful habits.
Do you hear me? Stop calling yourselves gods!
DO NOT IGNORE ME! You asked, I answered! You are the bastard children in my world!
Never. A. Single. Reply. Stones fill the heart of the on-watcher as he grows tired. He wishes not to have to watch these things for much longer. They are horrible and unpleasing to look at. They create inane structures based around themselves and parade around in their bright colors, fleeting fashions, and romantic ideals. their language mutates into ugly and curt syllables, racing them to the point of incoherence;
#DaBess #SeaLyfe #Fuccbois #Internet #BitchLivesMatter #WhiteGenocide @a_Mazing u r so cray cray. lyk w3rd bae, we gun smash 2nite, amirite boo? we r 2 hawt, dey jus jelly. like an unending cycle of deconstruction, because their language seemed to long and articulate to appeal to a species too focused on quick living to understand the relevance of its own culture. WE DON'T NEED THIS! WE HAVE NO USE! TOSS IT! No thought, just action. We post because we post because we post because we post. U mad bruh?
Thou will lose in the end. There is much to stop thine ascent. But nothing did. The continued to plague every inch of what they could grab hold of. They were everywhere. Unavoidable. The on-watcher remembers what it was like before them. Quiet. Nice. A crystaline representation of perfection. Nothing was disturbed. The tone was a singular hum which rang freely, unperturbed by the distortion of these howling beasties.
How the stars use to shine, collected together in a stream of light, they were like a mural stretched across a multi-dimensional painting.
Now...
Now...
It was all just a smokey room, filled with the exhaust of one too many rats. It lost its lush complexion, becoming a faded image, diffusion from the filter of useless pollution.
My former beauty... My Love... What have they done to thou's face? Where has thou's beautiful voice gone? He reaches out to caress the stars, but they throb in pain at his touch. they cough and wheeze, spitting flem and tar out into the open, spittle sputtering out and catch on its chin. The on-watcher pulls his hand back in dismay. Sing sweetly and hold on dear celestial voice of wonder and magnificence. They cannot last much longer. They will depart soon enough and leave us be. Then it'll be us once more. Thou will suffer no more by their hands.
With each breath, its love continued to wheeze. The ethereal unformed being was filled with the germs of humanity, the garbage and filth which they left indiscriminately to drift through a space they took for granted, that they took for their own.
It was not theirs to have. It was not theirs to destroy. Lost in their own addiction to importance and self-praise, they smashed everything, making themselves the king of shit.
Unable to watch any longer. Unable to wait. No longer able to just lay traps for this pest to wander into. The on-watcher began to rip himself from the mold of the universe, tearing the ligaments which attached him and it. His arm tore from it first, from there his place his hand against the wall and pushed forward, crying out with an indescribable noise as the rest of him ripped free. The colossal, billions of light years wide and tall, began his descent on the empire which had expanded much too far for his liking.
As he smiled down upon them, many looked up to the sky to see the sky rip open, bearing teeth as read as the sand on Mar, as the blood in their veins, as the fire which they started. No planet under their law was without the image of that spine chilling rictus. Through the veil of the atmosphere, they watched as an eye opened, taking out half their horizon, filling the fleshy bags of impulse with nothing but an internal sense of ever-lasting dread.
For years all their challengers had been proportionally sized creatures which had been easy to take control of, things that could stand upon their planet with ease. Never had they witnessed something so grand. For some, the grandness of such an image defied every lie they had told themselves, shattering their mind into a quivering mess, leaving a once sentient being to turn into a pile of piss, insanity, and mumbling. Those were the lucky ones. For the ones whose minds didn't break, they stood, trying to comprehend the size of such a structure. They had to understand its power and how weak they were against it.
Of course, some still attempted to defy the on-watcher, cursing at it, resenting the immediate threat it proposed. HOW DARE YOU CHALLENGE MY SPOT AS GOD! I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN! YOU ARE NOTHING! ALL BEINGS BELONG BETWIXT MY TEETH OR UNDER MY LAW! THIS UNIVERSE BELONGS TO NO ONE BUT ME! LONG LIVE ME! LONG LIVE ME! LONG LIVE ME!...
Down came the voice, booming with such intensity that the closest planets immediately went deaf, and long after the first silence came, the words still forced the worlds to reverberate in sympathy. Failures! It cried out.
Ghastly destroyers of beauty. Thou have feasted and feasted until long after thy stomachs have filled. Thou snarls at thyself and spits where ever pleases thee.
With blood diamonds in thous eyes, acid rain pours from thy teeth in bitter humor, leaving thy own churches in disrepair. As grass turned to steel against moving feet, the bloodletting of thine own run meant little to thou, claiming growth in defense of thy infinite malice. The seas heaved a last breath and raised onward into non-existence, but by then thou had stretched thy hands to new worlds, pulling the heavens down upon thyself so thou could poison that as well.
So now, as thou has pulled, so shall the heavens come crashing down upon thee. With the ripping arrows of the angelic army, thou will feel pain unlike thee has ever felt before. Cannons will sail through the eternal black and crash along side thous personal home, sending debris whirling through the mad house that thou has turned my once glorious abode.
Raise thy stigmatas, false Nazarenes. Who will save thy race at thou's own cost? Who will grasp at the end for the longevity of thy own people? Speak up, daft viewers, cry out now and save the populace of thou's kind. Where art thou's Christ's now? Where be'th the talk that made thou so loud only moments ago? Did life seize it and toss it down its own gullet? Have thou no mouths to speak with? Is thou so scared that thou is too frozen to speak, or is thou so selfish that one refuses to sacrifice thyself? I ask for only one. For one to love enough, to care enough, to think enough to embrace this sense of purpose.
No. Thou art a coward in the face of a true god. Left unchallenged, thou smiles at thy own accomplishments, pitying those below thee, but make no mistake, snake tongued devil with eyes of coal, no pity shall be found upon my person. If you wish not to save thou's own species, then I shall wipe the from upon the canvas.
How amusing that thou pretends to show strength, only the let weakness shine through. In every smile is the reflection of a downfall to come. For every step forward, you take two steps back. Surviving, but then killing. Fighting, but then brutalizing. Thou has looked towards the night sky a number of times, but it is only the feedback of his ideas that he sees, the perpetuation of the falsehoods which thou feeds thyself on a daily basis.
So, what now, former harbinger of godhood? Why not smile? Why not laugh? Why not continue to puff thy chest out in hopes that thou will scare me off? Has thou tasted enough blood to know where this'll end? Can thou feel the oceans over filling themselves and toppling even the highest of thy buildings? Can thou taste the dirt that will sit upon thy grave? Can thou feel the wind that will be ripped from thy lungs if thou were to try and best me?
Thou wishes to know so much, but thou knows nothing of true war. To know true war, thou must know what it is like to fight an enemy with hands like black holes, with teeth like meteorites, with eyes like suns, and then look at such an enemy and know that there will be no survivors. Until then, thou could never truly no war. Thou could only understand bits and pieces, but never say to have been intimate with it. It is sad, isn't it? To love something and find thou hardly knows it. To have walked with it for so long, but to wake and find it to be a stranger in thy bed.
Can you feel thy ignorance, pest? Does it scare thou to know how minuscule thy knowledge is? First thou thought thou was a god, but then a smile in the sky stole that away. Then thou thought thou knew what it was to fight, and a laugh stole that away. What is there left? Does thou think thou art still an artist? What of the creations thou has ignored or destroyed? Where was the appreciation for my love which now coughs with dying fervor? What say thou to that, rodent? What artist could smash as well as thou has? What intellectual could hate as well as thou has? What philosopher could scratch and dent as viciously as thou has? Where is thy muse? Where is thy creations? I see only thou's destructive tendencies, for it is the only work thou has brought to me.
Thou started as nothing, and thou shalt return to being as such. Do not waste thy time crying, screaming, pleading, or threatening. This is thy fate and thou should accept it, for once, with dignity, unlike any other action thou has inflicted upon my home.
Thou shalt rule no more. This shalt become my domain again, and will return to the peace rest which I had held dear for endless eons.
A cry came from below, WE ARE NOT TO BE STOPPED! THIS IS OURS! WE ARE THE TRUE GODS! As moronic as ever, the beings blast their voice back to the on-watcher as he feels his fists tighten.
Insolent diseases from the puss dripping hole of thy whorish mothers! Must thou always fill thyself with delusion upon faced with truth. Must thou continue to ignore what is so plainly put in front of thee? Fine! Cry! Let tears fill thy eyes as thou pretends to be brave. Shit thyself as thou raises thy hands to appear larger. Ignore what little reason thou has to continue the act that thou has any importance in my domain.
I will smile. I will laugh. I will smash thou down and grow bored with thy destruction. Thou will be a fine powder by the time I've brushed thou the feel of my foot. Art thou ready? Has thou no repentance? No final words that I may cherish as I recall thy downfall? Will thou not ask for forgiveness? By the stars, what strange beings have found thy way into my home. If thou had not been so destructive, thou would almost be amusing to me. Why must it have been that thou were a scab to be picked and not a hair to be groomed? Why did thou fight to be an annoyance and not a part of the stream? Why does thou hold against me that thy ambitions were to draw me from my spot and come down upon thou like swift hell fire? Thy worlds could have been sweet and savory, not the bitter mess which withers and stains the painting which I loved wholeheartedly.
Why should I expect anything else? Thou still art a child, barely knowing the difference between destruction and creation, the difference between worth and worthless. A child acts before thinking, granting thyself whatever is in reach so that thee may taste whatever sweet nectar drips from life's bare teet. Whenever though tasted the ground, thou would blame it on everything but thyself. Thou own call'th thyself a god due to the external blame which thee places upon thy surroundings. If thou were to realize the truth, it would break thy heart I would imagine...hopefully. Maybe it would have been a safe realization when thou was still upon just the single globe, but now too much time has passed, the pressure of the wire holding back such a truth strains itself, and to let thou know now would be to bash his brains in. So thy only choice, I would imagine, is defeat. To lose this war and have thou finally become intimate with the two thee played with for so long.
I wish thou no peace in thy death.
The on-watcher, the now-punisher, the void, the universe as freed from itself swung its mighty hand with an open palm, crashing it against countless galaxies, casualties in numbers too high to count, wiping it all free. He kept swinging, hoping not to leave a single survivor, to clean and leave it all as sterile as possible.
As one point, a finger caught the fragile veil of the night sky and tore it open, leaving a stream of pure white where black had once been. Enraged by the desolation of his once beautiful love, he continued to tear, ripping out the sky to reveal the unflinching purity that was the backdrop beneath. The stars disappeared, planets were crushed, supernovas were lost, black holes are disrupted, and all that had ever been known between the murk sitting between the fingers of the on watcher. Leaving nothing but
White.
Empty.
Nothing.
The on-watcher felt his hands no longer colliding with matter or anti-matter. He looked around and peered at what seemed to be an emptier void than the one he had always known. Silence. Pure silence. A silence deeper than his own. A silence which sucked words from him. This was nothing upon nothing. A concept he had not thought possible. But then he heard something, a small squealing growing, followed by intense why noise, a grinding sort of wall of sound enveloping him. Nonrhythmic, unmusical, aimless, but powerful. It deafened him, becoming the only sound, overcoming even his own voice.
The white of the new realm began to titter and distort, filling with the snow of a broken screen, an indistinguishable storm flurrying around the on-watcher. Then from it, as if being born from an ooze, came a figure equal to himself in size. It rose up from the ground; 6ix heads, 6ix arms, and 6ix eyes, with a single mouth protruding from its chest.
Who cometh? He barely heard his own voice.
No reply. The beast stared.
What unholy monstrosity is thou?
No reply. It stood in place.
Art thou the culminated mass of malice from the afore-slaughtered beings which spread their filth across my land? Speak beast.
If it spoke, the on-watcher lacked the ability to hear it, still wrapped in the noise, desperately wishing to be free.
If this is the waste thou brings, then thou art as worthless as them. There is no place to pursue a lifestyle of filth.
Its mouth opened and the only sound that could cut through the wall of noise was its beastly cry, one unlistenable sound to replace another. The on-watcher clapped his hands over his ears.
I will not listen to any more of this, thou art a contrivance and a threat. Make peace with thy existence, for it shant be much longer.
The on-watcher leaped forward and grabbed hold of the 6ix headed beast, pulling it in to bite down upon its neck, pulling back to rip a hole in its arteries if such anatomy existed on a creature. Though, instead of blood, data and binary structures flowed forth, filling the empty space, deadening the white noise and snow like appearance of the scenery as it filled the eyes and mouths of both the beast and the on-watcher, but despite this, the on-watcher clawed and scraped at the beast, wishing for nothing more but its sweet end.
When it drained away. When useless numbers, files, datas, ones and zeroes no longer strangled the throat of the on-watcher, he found himself to be the only thing left. no more beasts, no more pests...
...no more starry gaze, no more painting, no more love.
Just silence. He had won.
Is this truly the best of all possible worlds? Was I not better off letting it all fill with smoke and dust? Could I not have stood to choke on the debris? Was this truly the best of all possible options?
Was it not for beauty that I fought for? Was it not for the betterment of it all? Why did thou fight me so? Why must thou have hated me so? Have they no perspective? No what of my beauty? What of my world? How dare they take my love away from me?
I hope thou art happy with thy answers. I hope it was worth it to thou and the trillions of others who needed to know the limits of thy reach.
The on-watcher began to walk.
Thy lust made this all empty. Thy bitterness forced my hand. What a worthless act from such an uncivilized race. May whatever fires burn in the after life burn hottest on thou, to forever have burnt flesh replaces with fresh nerves so that the pain may never truly face...
A curse of thou a million times over.
This is the slit wrist poetry
of a long-dead preacher.
This is the gun-blast-riddled
type-written letter
from angels to God;
We claim holiday, dear lord.
One from your exhaustive grasp.
Break us if you can,
smite us if you must,
but grant us,
above all,
this reprieve from the constant endeavor
of having to watch the vomiting existence
which you have placed before us.
From here on out, there is honesty, but no truths. This is the telling of two forces meeting, two sides colliding, and a war of a size bigger than the sum of their parts.
Babbling mouths sitting in non-existence spew forth rivers of stars and rocks, birthing unwarranted and unwanted life into the feed. The noise, the ungodly noise it makes leaves all known matter and anti-matter to shudder uncontrollably. What is this abomination that makes its way into mine home? What does it want?... Does it want anything? THOU! Sickly beast, why does thou clamor so much? Why is thou so monstrous looking? Is thy hearing gone? Is that why thou speakth so much? To hear thine own words? Answer devil!
These creatures hear not, love not, think not, but want all. Their hunger is unparalleled and horrified the universe which had never laid its eyes upon such a sight before. Their satisfaction seemed impossible to reach as everything burned around those tiny dots roaming the surface like so many lice. No Planck length, nor cosmic landscape seemed safe from their empty destruction.
Uninhabitable by choice, the vacuous void which this dying balls flies through laid death trap after death trap in the path of their advances, hoping to cut off the growing murmurings that interrupt the silence which had been held so dear, but so far nothing has taken, leaving the mass of shit, flesh, and psychosis to roam free.
With clenched fists, it watched through eons as the orb cut a path through the celestial giant's home.
Thou rapeth my ears with your unending utterances, as if jamming pins into the base of mine brain and drawing them along until no inch of surface is unmarked by your ignorance. It screams, spitting comets and supernovas. It slams its palms to its ears to quiet the grotesque noises emanating from the drooling mouths of billions of creatures, a wet smacking echoing forever inward as they consume everything in sight. What little thought. What little care. How monstrous these brutes are.
Downward, on the ground, countless numbers stand with blank eyes and braindead, their ghastly maws agape as they stare into the sky, asking silly questions of their own importance, trying to reconstruct reality to form a portrait where they stand as kings upon the mountain.
In the absence of a proper teacher, the aforementioned picture forces the universe, in its infinite glory, into a box, shrinking it down to where the Earth meets the sky. THERE IS ONLY MY WORLD! THERE IS ONLY MY EARTH! Stars are no longer fiery masses of gas, but instead tiny specks out of arm's reach. THIS SKY IS MY SKY! THERE ARE NO OTHERS LIKE IT AND NO OTHERS SHALL GAZE UPON IT BUT ME! The endless stream of galaxies are cut out, leaving nothing more than the blue ball and those who occupy its skin. LOOK UPON ME, ANTS! FOR I AM THE HIGHEST BEING TO HAVE DRAWN BREATH! PRAISE ME AND FEAR MY MIGHT FOR I COULD BURN THIS WORLD, THE CENTER OF CREATION, IF I SO WISHED! AND OH GOD, DO I WISH!
Oh, but how these being hate themselves, determined to smash and obliterate themselves as they continue to grow. This gives the high-onwatcher a reason to laugh, figuring the assurety for which they have confirmed their own demise. I WILL STAND TO BE CHALLENGED, EVEN BY MY BROTHER, WHO I WILL STRIKE DOWN WITHOUT HESITANCE! The eye in the sky watches as back alleyways break away to the multi-headed beast of unfortunate happenstance. HERE I SIT IN WAIT FOR FLIES TO STUMBLE IN! COME TO ME, SWEET UNSUSPECTING PREY! Men and women are shot, maimed, and left bloody, forcing children into orphanhood or at least to remain in a home which now has become broken. They rob and pillage each other's land to ensure the strength of their own. They bite, scratch, kick, punch, gouge, shoot, bomb, burn, and incinerate each other for petty squabbles. Different minds of the same body all fighting for dominance. I WILL SURVIVE ON THE BACKS OF ALL THOSE WHO OPPOSE ME! I WILL CANNIBALIZE UNTIL I AM THE ONLY ONE LEFT! AND THEN YOU WILL ALL SEE! FROM OVER YOUR GRAVES I WILL STAND VICTORIOUS! HOW SILLY YOU WILL ALL FEEL AS I AM THE LAST ONE!
But much to his dismay, their growing far outpaces their self-destruction. Swine and filth. How does thou manage to birth more than he kills?
The once healthy skies turned pale in the wake of the human-tragedy. Green patches of land are ripped out and paved over with black bandages which suffocate the ground. Even envious of the high of mountains, these bastard things construct symmetrical eye sores hundreds of stories tall to intimidate the land which tries to stand over them, and dig into the Earth to fill it with their sewage, thinking of the whole space as their landfill to do with as they see fit. Animals are number and caged, slowly fed into blades to serve the whims of their masters (more consumption, more consumption, more consumption). Roaring monsters of combustion and steel are built to turn all sensory into a blur for their lives had become not about the journey but the destination. I NEED TO GET THERE FASTER! I NEED TO SKIP THE BEAUTY AND GET WHAT I'M AFTER! CUT OUT THE WALKING! CUT OUT THE WAITING! CUT OUT THE INBETWEEN! Life becomes a series of blinks, little jagged cuts pieced together to form a life.
No longer is their own lives important enough, they create elaborate tales to tell themselves (conspiracies, books, movies, tabloids) to assure their greatness is unrivaled. They lie to themselves and their children, letting their spawn believe the lies, letting them become truth. 6ix generations will pass and what was one fiction is now in their history. 6ix men will speak rumors and by 6ix in the evening, it will become truth, because they wish to believe it. 6ix lies will become 6ix truths before the day is over. I AM MY OWN GOD! I DECIDE WHAT IS RIGHT! I DECIDE WHAT IS WRONG! I WILL MAKE MY OWN TRUTH AND BEND WHAT DOES NOT FIT IN IT!
Soon they smell the shit that covers their own planet and the become bored with the land they were given as houses become cramped with one, two, three, four, five, 6ix generations. Lifespans grow with populations and leave less room to breath and fukk. No longer happy with the ball they were born on, they wish to rip into the sky and find more worlds to kill. They defy their own stories by launching themselves past where the Earth meets the sky, into the starry facade which they had only been able to stare at up until then.
The universe fears not, for it sees how slowly it makes its way from the first rock to the second, noting how accomplished these hapless individuals seemed in their small movement. Cheer for thine small leap, for it would take countless of similar size to even make it to the other end of one' own galaxy, much less the entirety of existence. Thou will wither and die before touching the edges of this life.
Oh how time opens all wounds. With time, the unkillable pest and make anything its play thing as it begins to land and inhabit the rocks that swirl around the ironic living giving fiery globe that will eventually swallow them all as it continually expands. The begin to laugh and fukk on these no found homes as well, spewing more disgusting slime from their crevices; 6ix billion empty existences turns to seven billion to eight billion to nine billion to ten billion. These planets too fill with the spread of this virus, one that learns how to eat, drink, kill, fuck, and smoke everything that was granted to it.
The beast gives its battle cry, I AM STILL MY OWN GOD! THE SKY SHATTERED OPEN WHEN I LEAPED THROUGH IT! I HAVE MADE THESE NEW PLANETS MY BITCH AND LAID WASTE TO THEM! WHAT CAN CHALLENGE ME? NOTHING! ALL OTHER BEINGS BELONG BETWIXT MY TEETH OR UNDER MY LAW! THIS UNIVERSE BELONGS TO NO ONE BUT ME! LONG LIVE ME! LONG LIVE ME! LONG LIVE ME!
The void scowled, Fine, plow thine own galaxy if thou must, wretched bug, but what is there left as far as conquest? Thou has reached thy fingertips. Thou can not leap much farther if thou wishth not to fall.
But alas, these tiny titans launch themselves forth despite such draw backs, dipping into a realm of the unknown, all for the sake of proving their own worth in an uncaring empty span.
But what of the first blue ball? What has become of it since these...things...had expanded forth from it? Dead. Cracked. Hopeless. #WithoutBeaches. OH GOD THIS IS UNBEARABLE! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! WHAT BEAST WAS SO HATEFUL AS TO TAKE OUR PARADISE AWAY FROM US? Blasted by unruly storms of dust and wind, withered to a lifeless desert where a handful fight and bicker to survive. Man slowly slinks back to its most mindless, clubbing each other to death for scarce resources, demanding the life of another to tone for the loss of one of theirs. GIVE ME YOURS! ME WANT! ME TAKE! There is no civilization. There is no law. Even the ineffectual one they had held over their own heads for so many eons. What an empty back lot in the scheme of human expansion. As the rest of their kind drinks the dynamo that is the night sky, the unlucky few sit in the whirlwind of hate and death, ignored by their brethren so that they may rot for all eternity. WE MUST NOT LOOK BACK! TO LOOK BACK IS TO REGRESS! WE MUST PUSH FORWARD! THE WEAK WILL ALWAYS SUFFER! WE ARE GODS, REMEMBER? As far as the rest are concerned, the awful truth sits quietly in the back as they are no longer concerned with the world they had already conquered. TO THE NEXT PLANET! AS WE GROW, WE MUST KEEP MOVING! THIS WHOLE UNIVERSE BELONGS TO ME! A GOD MUST TAKE!
One galaxy becomes two. Two becomes four. Four to 6ix. The parasite blows through the veins, ravage healthy sells and living waste. The former galaxy shares the same fate as that blue dot, leaving billions to fade away until all that is left is a ghost quadrant in the kingdom of man.
The void, the high on-watcher, the universe, the grand entirety, the scope all that is and was, the forever, it looks down with its fists clench. Thou pays no attention! thou destroys my treasures! Thou art in the arc of a slow suicide, but yet refuses to die, taking all of mine with. How foolish is thou, festering sore? How far will thou go before the end is reached? Will thou go until thy collapse comes? Does thou even know, or does thou move without idea of perspective, blindly stumbling forth? Do you not here thy brethren crying or is the sound of thine chewing overpowering the screams of dying planets? Do you wish to end thy own existence and know not how? Does thou wished to be crushed by the mighty weight of his own want? Is that thou's aim?
No answer. They never reply. Too distracted by themselves and their own important, they continue to fuck, kill, rob, eat, sleep, and drink straight into the edges of their world, stretching the bounds of their being until nothing is unknown. They never reply despite asking so many questions. So many WHYs and HOWs but when the voice booms down upon them with truth, they plug their ears like petulant children to ignore the coldness of their unimportance for the message often relies on such a theme to deliver its point.
You are not created to be important.
You are not created for a purpose.
You are an accident that became too big for its own good.
Inflated by praise and want, you've created your own sense of importance.
You are no more than a blemish in the timeline, existence for a microscopic period of time comparatively to everything else.
Kill yourselves.
Rid the universe of your wasteful habits.
Do you hear me? Stop calling yourselves gods!
DO NOT IGNORE ME! You asked, I answered! You are the bastard children in my world!
Never. A. Single. Reply. Stones fill the heart of the on-watcher as he grows tired. He wishes not to have to watch these things for much longer. They are horrible and unpleasing to look at. They create inane structures based around themselves and parade around in their bright colors, fleeting fashions, and romantic ideals. their language mutates into ugly and curt syllables, racing them to the point of incoherence;
#DaBess #SeaLyfe #Fuccbois #Internet #BitchLivesMatter #WhiteGenocide @a_Mazing u r so cray cray. lyk w3rd bae, we gun smash 2nite, amirite boo? we r 2 hawt, dey jus jelly. like an unending cycle of deconstruction, because their language seemed to long and articulate to appeal to a species too focused on quick living to understand the relevance of its own culture. WE DON'T NEED THIS! WE HAVE NO USE! TOSS IT! No thought, just action. We post because we post because we post because we post. U mad bruh?
Thou will lose in the end. There is much to stop thine ascent. But nothing did. The continued to plague every inch of what they could grab hold of. They were everywhere. Unavoidable. The on-watcher remembers what it was like before them. Quiet. Nice. A crystaline representation of perfection. Nothing was disturbed. The tone was a singular hum which rang freely, unperturbed by the distortion of these howling beasties.
How the stars use to shine, collected together in a stream of light, they were like a mural stretched across a multi-dimensional painting.
Now...
Now...
It was all just a smokey room, filled with the exhaust of one too many rats. It lost its lush complexion, becoming a faded image, diffusion from the filter of useless pollution.
My former beauty... My Love... What have they done to thou's face? Where has thou's beautiful voice gone? He reaches out to caress the stars, but they throb in pain at his touch. they cough and wheeze, spitting flem and tar out into the open, spittle sputtering out and catch on its chin. The on-watcher pulls his hand back in dismay. Sing sweetly and hold on dear celestial voice of wonder and magnificence. They cannot last much longer. They will depart soon enough and leave us be. Then it'll be us once more. Thou will suffer no more by their hands.
With each breath, its love continued to wheeze. The ethereal unformed being was filled with the germs of humanity, the garbage and filth which they left indiscriminately to drift through a space they took for granted, that they took for their own.
It was not theirs to have. It was not theirs to destroy. Lost in their own addiction to importance and self-praise, they smashed everything, making themselves the king of shit.
Unable to watch any longer. Unable to wait. No longer able to just lay traps for this pest to wander into. The on-watcher began to rip himself from the mold of the universe, tearing the ligaments which attached him and it. His arm tore from it first, from there his place his hand against the wall and pushed forward, crying out with an indescribable noise as the rest of him ripped free. The colossal, billions of light years wide and tall, began his descent on the empire which had expanded much too far for his liking.
As he smiled down upon them, many looked up to the sky to see the sky rip open, bearing teeth as read as the sand on Mar, as the blood in their veins, as the fire which they started. No planet under their law was without the image of that spine chilling rictus. Through the veil of the atmosphere, they watched as an eye opened, taking out half their horizon, filling the fleshy bags of impulse with nothing but an internal sense of ever-lasting dread.
For years all their challengers had been proportionally sized creatures which had been easy to take control of, things that could stand upon their planet with ease. Never had they witnessed something so grand. For some, the grandness of such an image defied every lie they had told themselves, shattering their mind into a quivering mess, leaving a once sentient being to turn into a pile of piss, insanity, and mumbling. Those were the lucky ones. For the ones whose minds didn't break, they stood, trying to comprehend the size of such a structure. They had to understand its power and how weak they were against it.
Of course, some still attempted to defy the on-watcher, cursing at it, resenting the immediate threat it proposed. HOW DARE YOU CHALLENGE MY SPOT AS GOD! I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN! YOU ARE NOTHING! ALL BEINGS BELONG BETWIXT MY TEETH OR UNDER MY LAW! THIS UNIVERSE BELONGS TO NO ONE BUT ME! LONG LIVE ME! LONG LIVE ME! LONG LIVE ME!...
Down came the voice, booming with such intensity that the closest planets immediately went deaf, and long after the first silence came, the words still forced the worlds to reverberate in sympathy. Failures! It cried out.
Ghastly destroyers of beauty. Thou have feasted and feasted until long after thy stomachs have filled. Thou snarls at thyself and spits where ever pleases thee.
With blood diamonds in thous eyes, acid rain pours from thy teeth in bitter humor, leaving thy own churches in disrepair. As grass turned to steel against moving feet, the bloodletting of thine own run meant little to thou, claiming growth in defense of thy infinite malice. The seas heaved a last breath and raised onward into non-existence, but by then thou had stretched thy hands to new worlds, pulling the heavens down upon thyself so thou could poison that as well.
So now, as thou has pulled, so shall the heavens come crashing down upon thee. With the ripping arrows of the angelic army, thou will feel pain unlike thee has ever felt before. Cannons will sail through the eternal black and crash along side thous personal home, sending debris whirling through the mad house that thou has turned my once glorious abode.
Raise thy stigmatas, false Nazarenes. Who will save thy race at thou's own cost? Who will grasp at the end for the longevity of thy own people? Speak up, daft viewers, cry out now and save the populace of thou's kind. Where art thou's Christ's now? Where be'th the talk that made thou so loud only moments ago? Did life seize it and toss it down its own gullet? Have thou no mouths to speak with? Is thou so scared that thou is too frozen to speak, or is thou so selfish that one refuses to sacrifice thyself? I ask for only one. For one to love enough, to care enough, to think enough to embrace this sense of purpose.
No. Thou art a coward in the face of a true god. Left unchallenged, thou smiles at thy own accomplishments, pitying those below thee, but make no mistake, snake tongued devil with eyes of coal, no pity shall be found upon my person. If you wish not to save thou's own species, then I shall wipe the from upon the canvas.
How amusing that thou pretends to show strength, only the let weakness shine through. In every smile is the reflection of a downfall to come. For every step forward, you take two steps back. Surviving, but then killing. Fighting, but then brutalizing. Thou has looked towards the night sky a number of times, but it is only the feedback of his ideas that he sees, the perpetuation of the falsehoods which thou feeds thyself on a daily basis.
So, what now, former harbinger of godhood? Why not smile? Why not laugh? Why not continue to puff thy chest out in hopes that thou will scare me off? Has thou tasted enough blood to know where this'll end? Can thou feel the oceans over filling themselves and toppling even the highest of thy buildings? Can thou taste the dirt that will sit upon thy grave? Can thou feel the wind that will be ripped from thy lungs if thou were to try and best me?
Thou wishes to know so much, but thou knows nothing of true war. To know true war, thou must know what it is like to fight an enemy with hands like black holes, with teeth like meteorites, with eyes like suns, and then look at such an enemy and know that there will be no survivors. Until then, thou could never truly no war. Thou could only understand bits and pieces, but never say to have been intimate with it. It is sad, isn't it? To love something and find thou hardly knows it. To have walked with it for so long, but to wake and find it to be a stranger in thy bed.
Can you feel thy ignorance, pest? Does it scare thou to know how minuscule thy knowledge is? First thou thought thou was a god, but then a smile in the sky stole that away. Then thou thought thou knew what it was to fight, and a laugh stole that away. What is there left? Does thou think thou art still an artist? What of the creations thou has ignored or destroyed? Where was the appreciation for my love which now coughs with dying fervor? What say thou to that, rodent? What artist could smash as well as thou has? What intellectual could hate as well as thou has? What philosopher could scratch and dent as viciously as thou has? Where is thy muse? Where is thy creations? I see only thou's destructive tendencies, for it is the only work thou has brought to me.
Thou started as nothing, and thou shalt return to being as such. Do not waste thy time crying, screaming, pleading, or threatening. This is thy fate and thou should accept it, for once, with dignity, unlike any other action thou has inflicted upon my home.
Thou shalt rule no more. This shalt become my domain again, and will return to the peace rest which I had held dear for endless eons.
A cry came from below, WE ARE NOT TO BE STOPPED! THIS IS OURS! WE ARE THE TRUE GODS! As moronic as ever, the beings blast their voice back to the on-watcher as he feels his fists tighten.
Insolent diseases from the puss dripping hole of thy whorish mothers! Must thou always fill thyself with delusion upon faced with truth. Must thou continue to ignore what is so plainly put in front of thee? Fine! Cry! Let tears fill thy eyes as thou pretends to be brave. Shit thyself as thou raises thy hands to appear larger. Ignore what little reason thou has to continue the act that thou has any importance in my domain.
I will smile. I will laugh. I will smash thou down and grow bored with thy destruction. Thou will be a fine powder by the time I've brushed thou the feel of my foot. Art thou ready? Has thou no repentance? No final words that I may cherish as I recall thy downfall? Will thou not ask for forgiveness? By the stars, what strange beings have found thy way into my home. If thou had not been so destructive, thou would almost be amusing to me. Why must it have been that thou were a scab to be picked and not a hair to be groomed? Why did thou fight to be an annoyance and not a part of the stream? Why does thou hold against me that thy ambitions were to draw me from my spot and come down upon thou like swift hell fire? Thy worlds could have been sweet and savory, not the bitter mess which withers and stains the painting which I loved wholeheartedly.
Why should I expect anything else? Thou still art a child, barely knowing the difference between destruction and creation, the difference between worth and worthless. A child acts before thinking, granting thyself whatever is in reach so that thee may taste whatever sweet nectar drips from life's bare teet. Whenever though tasted the ground, thou would blame it on everything but thyself. Thou own call'th thyself a god due to the external blame which thee places upon thy surroundings. If thou were to realize the truth, it would break thy heart I would imagine...hopefully. Maybe it would have been a safe realization when thou was still upon just the single globe, but now too much time has passed, the pressure of the wire holding back such a truth strains itself, and to let thou know now would be to bash his brains in. So thy only choice, I would imagine, is defeat. To lose this war and have thou finally become intimate with the two thee played with for so long.
I wish thou no peace in thy death.
The on-watcher, the now-punisher, the void, the universe as freed from itself swung its mighty hand with an open palm, crashing it against countless galaxies, casualties in numbers too high to count, wiping it all free. He kept swinging, hoping not to leave a single survivor, to clean and leave it all as sterile as possible.
As one point, a finger caught the fragile veil of the night sky and tore it open, leaving a stream of pure white where black had once been. Enraged by the desolation of his once beautiful love, he continued to tear, ripping out the sky to reveal the unflinching purity that was the backdrop beneath. The stars disappeared, planets were crushed, supernovas were lost, black holes are disrupted, and all that had ever been known between the murk sitting between the fingers of the on watcher. Leaving nothing but
White.
Empty.
Nothing.
The on-watcher felt his hands no longer colliding with matter or anti-matter. He looked around and peered at what seemed to be an emptier void than the one he had always known. Silence. Pure silence. A silence deeper than his own. A silence which sucked words from him. This was nothing upon nothing. A concept he had not thought possible. But then he heard something, a small squealing growing, followed by intense why noise, a grinding sort of wall of sound enveloping him. Nonrhythmic, unmusical, aimless, but powerful. It deafened him, becoming the only sound, overcoming even his own voice.
The white of the new realm began to titter and distort, filling with the snow of a broken screen, an indistinguishable storm flurrying around the on-watcher. Then from it, as if being born from an ooze, came a figure equal to himself in size. It rose up from the ground; 6ix heads, 6ix arms, and 6ix eyes, with a single mouth protruding from its chest.
Who cometh? He barely heard his own voice.
No reply. The beast stared.
What unholy monstrosity is thou?
No reply. It stood in place.
Art thou the culminated mass of malice from the afore-slaughtered beings which spread their filth across my land? Speak beast.
If it spoke, the on-watcher lacked the ability to hear it, still wrapped in the noise, desperately wishing to be free.
If this is the waste thou brings, then thou art as worthless as them. There is no place to pursue a lifestyle of filth.
Its mouth opened and the only sound that could cut through the wall of noise was its beastly cry, one unlistenable sound to replace another. The on-watcher clapped his hands over his ears.
I will not listen to any more of this, thou art a contrivance and a threat. Make peace with thy existence, for it shant be much longer.
The on-watcher leaped forward and grabbed hold of the 6ix headed beast, pulling it in to bite down upon its neck, pulling back to rip a hole in its arteries if such anatomy existed on a creature. Though, instead of blood, data and binary structures flowed forth, filling the empty space, deadening the white noise and snow like appearance of the scenery as it filled the eyes and mouths of both the beast and the on-watcher, but despite this, the on-watcher clawed and scraped at the beast, wishing for nothing more but its sweet end.
When it drained away. When useless numbers, files, datas, ones and zeroes no longer strangled the throat of the on-watcher, he found himself to be the only thing left. no more beasts, no more pests...
...no more starry gaze, no more painting, no more love.
Just silence. He had won.
Is this truly the best of all possible worlds? Was I not better off letting it all fill with smoke and dust? Could I not have stood to choke on the debris? Was this truly the best of all possible options?
Was it not for beauty that I fought for? Was it not for the betterment of it all? Why did thou fight me so? Why must thou have hated me so? Have they no perspective? No what of my beauty? What of my world? How dare they take my love away from me?
I hope thou art happy with thy answers. I hope it was worth it to thou and the trillions of others who needed to know the limits of thy reach.
The on-watcher began to walk.
Thy lust made this all empty. Thy bitterness forced my hand. What a worthless act from such an uncivilized race. May whatever fires burn in the after life burn hottest on thou, to forever have burnt flesh replaces with fresh nerves so that the pain may never truly face...
A curse of thou a million times over.
