Fear The Stranger And His Alien Ways

Fear the stranger and his alien ways, for he has no respect for the sacred traditions of our forefathers – those sacred, sacred traditions that we love and honour so much. Fear the stranger and his ways, for his ways are not our ways. His ways are the ways of the demon folk who wish to destroy everything we hold so dear. They wish to spit on all our special things and snigger nastily. ‘Fear the alien and his strange ways’, I tell myself. ‘Fear him for all you’re worth…’

 

‘Am I really here?’ I ask myself glumly, ‘Am I alive? Is any of this actually real?’ No answer came, but – then again – I wasn’t expecting any. The question was purely rhetorical. The question is always rhetorical – that’s what it’s like when you’re living in your own super-insulated bubble of pseudo-reality. That’s what it’s like when the only world you know is the world of your own stupid half-baked ideas. Questions are always rhetorical here because there’s no point in asking them. Everything’s quite meaningless in this stagnant private world of mine, you see. The only reason you say anything is just to break the uncomfortable silence. Because that uncomfortable silence isn’t very nice.

 

So brittle, so quick to be stung to the quick by even by the mildest of criticisms, so extraordinarily vulnerable to the exquisitely unbearable embarrassment of being seen for the fool I really am, it’s always a wonder to me how I make it through the day. There’s so much potential for things to go wrong, for events to gang up on me and force me down dark and treacherous paths. So much potential for pain. ‘Do something useful’, people say to me, ‘don’t just sit there! Make a new universe, or something…’

 

I have tried that already of course and it still makes me wince to recollect it. It traumatizes me to remember it. What a terrible disaster that was. What an utter horror story. That little experiment didn’t turn out too well at all, as I’m sure you will remember if you happen to be one of the Ancient Ones, as I am. Reality itself had been injured. The authorities had to be called in to deal with it. There had been an inquiry.

 

I have always taken things far too too much to heart, you see. I have a very thin skin and as a result I brood for a long time over insults, both real and imagined. I had brooded for many long aeons and out of my prolonged toxic brooding (over insults real or imagined) monsters were spawned. Some become politicians, some lawyers, and others became the CEOs of large, successful corporations. Possibly I was misguided in my youth – I am prepared to admit that now.

 

Perhaps I could have done things differently. Perhaps I could have caused marginally less damage to the cosmos as a whole if I had had therapy, for example. Young blood is hot blood, however. It is both hot and exceedingly heedless. I was The One, no doubt about that, no doubt about that at all, but there were also others. Others who mocked and laughed at me, creatures of great and terrible evil. These were my children you see – they were my children and they had come back to torment me.

 

Image – peakpx.com

 

 

 

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