Feast For Lanternless

If the Lord they venerate remains obtuse in his grand composition, then you may wish to exercise your creativity -- the breath of the divine -- and mutate into something more intelligible.

The Human animal lacks prescience of its own fate because its fate is mutable, but not typically at will. This empowers misfortune. By resecting humanity and willing futility, self-actualization is guaranteed. And indeed, while divination is a sin, the looming infernal blitz is assuredly pursued. Yes, the inherent agony of unwilling self-sacrifice marks content fulfillment of your objective. Therefore, everyday submission is a banal collateral of your nature. Not enjoyed, but a comfortable, accepted arrangement.

You are nothing more than a morsel of flesh whose adenosine-triphosphate driven physiological-chemical processes have yet to cease. You are protein which sustains a far more complex, sapient and violent ecosystem above you. You are food indifferent to assimilation.

You are meat.

They pointlessly stumble across the barrier to your domain, unscrupulous as mere naïve voyeurs. Your tethered body, long-since synced to the mainframe and excavated of its 'human' capacity for opposition, delivers the dulcet fruits of its nature. Once again, they leave you singing, bellies full from your homesick love.

The clash with the Lanternless threshold now passed, you remove the gauges from your stigmata and allow your mass to be hoisted onto your cross to watch peacefully over the sunflowers once again. Contentedly, the world feeds.



That leaves you.

What does all of this make you? After-all, though softer on the inside, it is safer on the outside. Sterile for you in the house loggia: gazing, yearning, wondering, judging, mocking, ALIEN.

A hungry tourist.

Engorge yourself, your teeth do not hurt us anymore.