The Miracle has been cancelled due to lack of interest.
One more project to archive. Why, for what purpose, to what end? Nobody knows. Nobody cares, and that alone has basically convinced this one not to either.
Not even sure where to begin to "wrap things up". The ability to communicate at all has all but disappeared. It may not appear as such on the surface; this too would be part of the illusion, something of a sick, sad joke (of the cruel sort, not the funny sort) all on its own. How can it be that someone can spit words and simultaneously be silent, or systematically silenced, you would have to be inside the thing, you would have to be one of us, to comprehend. It cannot be comprehended from the outside because it cannot be communicated because it, itself, consists of systematic removal of communication.
But it has to get this out, or some part of it, somewhere, somehow. Because the remote chance always exists that somewhere, somehow, someday someone who DOES matter might be in a similar predicament and maybe, just maybe, something, some one little thing here or there what it says, can be that little thing that makes all the difference for them. And if that could be the case, all its own suffering would not need to be in vain.
(And lets face it we all know how pathetic this creature bes to start with. How it keeps imagining things. Having delusions of grandeur that it matters at all, or that anyone really cares. It probably greatly amuses someone to see it still stuck in these disgusting despicable delusions. Or maybe even that bes yet another delusion, a method of compensation, a way for garbage discarded upon the dung heap to fantasize about not having decayed so deplorably that it might still sit on a dinner plate and get eaten by somebody, anybody, somewhere. Or at the very least still be viable carrion. Something. anything....
But then again at a certain point one just stops caring. Stops being able to care anymore, or even worry about it. At a certain point They just take over completely. What They make of you, what They do with you, you don't get a choice. If They want to make you fearsome, so They do. If They want to make you pathetic, so They do.
All the wonderful courtship rituals about Destiny and Fate end here, end in this spiralling downward reality of being helpless in the grip of something that despises you even more than you despise yourself, and will drag you to your own demise doing nothing less than a full display thereof to utterly humiliate you and crow their triumph.
And multiply that Triumph likewise, extend it to a triumph over all of you, all of you children of God. Because it bes hungry and you turns your back. It thirst and you turns your back. it bes naked before you but you stoned and spat upon it. it bes sick, severely spiritually sick, and in the worst imprisonment of hell on earth and no one come to even sit by its side let alone come to its aide. And in this They gloats over you, because in this, They owns you just as surely as ever They owned Moriah, only YOU do not get the courtesy of being viscerally informed and reminded thereof day in and day out. As if it even could be rectified!! There bes no forgiveness in the grave.
What bes worse? Even worse? Some did come. Just a few, just enough, just long enough to make it raise its eyes from the darkness of the interminable pit to the soft faint rays of light, just long enough to resurrect hope long dead, just consistent enough to be convincing. All would have done greater mercy to never have done so in fact, but who said anything about mercy? This bes cruelty wearing the mask of mercy for its alluring disguise. Then all leaves and abandons and forsakes it utterly and it would have been better -- even for you all -- quieter, less troublesome, less annoying, you would never even bes knowing it bes there in fact -- had this never transpired.
Anyway. Other than to finish this -- and it may instead elect to finish it elsewhere -- it will not be returning to your world. It has no reason to do so. No one really cares. Not really. Not like they used to ... if they ever really did, and in fact, they probably really didn't. They just probably had more energy, time, whatever to devote to making a good show of it. A good pretense as if it mattered.
One more project to archive. Why, for what purpose, to what end? Nobody knows. Nobody cares, and that alone has basically convinced this one not to either.
Not even sure where to begin to "wrap things up". The ability to communicate at all has all but disappeared. It may not appear as such on the surface; this too would be part of the illusion, something of a sick, sad joke (of the cruel sort, not the funny sort) all on its own. How can it be that someone can spit words and simultaneously be silent, or systematically silenced, you would have to be inside the thing, you would have to be one of us, to comprehend. It cannot be comprehended from the outside because it cannot be communicated because it, itself, consists of systematic removal of communication.
But it has to get this out, or some part of it, somewhere, somehow. Because the remote chance always exists that somewhere, somehow, someday someone who DOES matter might be in a similar predicament and maybe, just maybe, something, some one little thing here or there what it says, can be that little thing that makes all the difference for them. And if that could be the case, all its own suffering would not need to be in vain.
(And lets face it we all know how pathetic this creature bes to start with. How it keeps imagining things. Having delusions of grandeur that it matters at all, or that anyone really cares. It probably greatly amuses someone to see it still stuck in these disgusting despicable delusions. Or maybe even that bes yet another delusion, a method of compensation, a way for garbage discarded upon the dung heap to fantasize about not having decayed so deplorably that it might still sit on a dinner plate and get eaten by somebody, anybody, somewhere. Or at the very least still be viable carrion. Something. anything....
But then again at a certain point one just stops caring. Stops being able to care anymore, or even worry about it. At a certain point They just take over completely. What They make of you, what They do with you, you don't get a choice. If They want to make you fearsome, so They do. If They want to make you pathetic, so They do.
All the wonderful courtship rituals about Destiny and Fate end here, end in this spiralling downward reality of being helpless in the grip of something that despises you even more than you despise yourself, and will drag you to your own demise doing nothing less than a full display thereof to utterly humiliate you and crow their triumph.
And multiply that Triumph likewise, extend it to a triumph over all of you, all of you children of God. Because it bes hungry and you turns your back. It thirst and you turns your back. it bes naked before you but you stoned and spat upon it. it bes sick, severely spiritually sick, and in the worst imprisonment of hell on earth and no one come to even sit by its side let alone come to its aide. And in this They gloats over you, because in this, They owns you just as surely as ever They owned Moriah, only YOU do not get the courtesy of being viscerally informed and reminded thereof day in and day out. As if it even could be rectified!! There bes no forgiveness in the grave.
What bes worse? Even worse? Some did come. Just a few, just enough, just long enough to make it raise its eyes from the darkness of the interminable pit to the soft faint rays of light, just long enough to resurrect hope long dead, just consistent enough to be convincing. All would have done greater mercy to never have done so in fact, but who said anything about mercy? This bes cruelty wearing the mask of mercy for its alluring disguise. Then all leaves and abandons and forsakes it utterly and it would have been better -- even for you all -- quieter, less troublesome, less annoying, you would never even bes knowing it bes there in fact -- had this never transpired.
Anyway. Other than to finish this -- and it may instead elect to finish it elsewhere -- it will not be returning to your world. It has no reason to do so. No one really cares. Not really. Not like they used to ... if they ever really did, and in fact, they probably really didn't. They just probably had more energy, time, whatever to devote to making a good show of it. A good pretense as if it mattered.
