Everything is so disjointed. Things fly into my head and then fly out again – I don’t know whether I’m telling the story or the story is telling me. It’s not much of a story anyway, nothing to get too excited about. It’s a broken lattice, a world full of shards.
A world of shards, world of shards. Drifting in and out of focus, coming closer and then moving away again. Sometimes colliding, shattering as they do so, shattering into thousands of lesser shards. Shattering, shattering. It was a shattered world to start off with but it’s getting worse all the time. Broken ideas grating painfully against each other amidst the most horrible grinding noises and flying bits of debris. Flying bits of debris that can lodge in your eye and cause no end of problems later on. Perceptual diseases, for example. Illnesses of perception.
We see things that aren’t there in other words, and not only things that aren’t there but things that never could be there. We base our lives on these things, we swear solemn oaths of allegiance to them. All of this we consider perfectly normal and we never pass remark on it. Normality is so important to us – it’s a big thing for us. Don’t mess with normality, we say – whatever else you might do out of the depths of your incorrigible foolishness, never mess with normality!
Adepts of the esoteric path, initiates of the Great Mysteries, being very careful not to ever say anything that isn’t total bullshit. We are extraordinarily diligent in avoiding any mention of the truth and credit is due to us for that. It isn’t easy but we manage it. No one can say we aren’t scrupulous. Sometimes we get very angry for no reason at all – it explodes out of us, taking everyone by surprise. Such terrible, terrible anger – you’re shocked as anyone else everyone else but you manage to explain it away all the same. You always manage to explain it away.
You decided – the same as we all did – to make something of yourself in this fragmented universe, in this world of shards. You became an angry god – one of the angriest. You became the God of Wrath making the ground tremble with your incomprehensible bellowings. Fissures open in the ground and whole buildings fall down them. The world has to be destroyed, you say, it’s time to start again. It’s always time to start again. Nothing ever pleases you after all – you’re not called the God of Wrath and Hellfire for nothing! You create a billion billion universes only to grind them into dust shortly afterwards in a fit of pique. You always end up being betrayed, betrayed by the very people you’re trying to help. You go to the trouble of creating them and then straightaway they insult you and fail to accord you the respect that you desire, the respect you demand. ‘I created them so I’m entitled to destroy them too’, you cry out.
The other gods look on dubiously – they’re not comfortable with your unashamedly psychopathic ways. They aren’t comfortable with your style of doing things but they stay quiet all this same. They say nothing. They’re frightened of you and your appalling rage attacks and so they keep quiet. You create a billion billion universes only to destroy them again almost immediately. Nothing’s ever good enough, nothing ever satisfies.