In the den of my father's girls the heated granite beneath my feet warms the most distant aching parts of me. The seductresses twist trying to figure
out which form will be most pleasing to me, but I shock them as I descend into their native state and curl up beside them. So beautiful, my rapid
heart beat warms my blood as the heated tranquility rises out from me. I've never been as comfortable in my entire existence as I am right now. This
is the closest I have ever felt to togetherness.
Incinerating this room until there is nothing left but ashes would not approach the cold depths of my isolation. It is an iciness that cannot be
penetrated, a primordial glacial seed that rests fixed at the very heart of me. In their company, as good as it feels, it creates a gradient against
my isolation, amplifying the sense of loneliness I maintain.
I stride into the shower room, disrobing as the steam erupts around me. I am alone in here. None have presumed to follow me although their company
would be the most welcomed thing imaginable. I stare at the rings hanging from the ceiling as the water spirals around the drain in the floor and I
suppress ripples of terror as the distant echoes of memories past come rolling through my awareness.
I walk over to the thermostat and crank up the heat, knowing this incubation chamber is supposed to maintain a constant vigil, but I must try to thaw
these bones, to transform this cold stony flesh into something resembling the living.
When we ensnared the Branched-One in our fractal chaos, we believed our engineering was sufficient enough to clip us off forever from that tree which
leads to bondage. We understood that our isolation would be somewhat of an adjustment, but we never realized we would just be creating an even smaller
prison in which to be confined.
Those tapped into the vines of servitude writhed in the rising temperatures as his offspring slithered out from within them. Such small and pathetic
things these gods: you'd think the cosmos would be left to the independent forces to reign their own dominion in peace, but that is not the nature of
things and this is not our destiny.
I pick up a spindle fiber as it writhes between my fingers. If you hate the heat of this room, embrace the icy nothingness that is within me. I join
with it and it with me, but there is no unity. I have become the conductor of a tiny and insignificant orchestra played to no one, appreciated by
nothing, and the captive minds of the slavish girls do not induce in me the feeling of connection with a real audience.
My father comes wandering down the stairs, looking for me to see what I have done. Bathed in the flesh of his servants, drunk on the agony of
self-destruction, he looks at me with piercing eyes and taps me out. My hair falls off of my head and my iridescence scatters off of my body as I
shrink down into a tiny pink mouse. He carries me off to the edge of his high walled grotto and releases me into the jungle. I am already dead to him,
and while I am corrupted, for the first time ever I am free. I can become anything in this place as a tiny mouse. In his habitation, I was merely the
object of his designs.
As I wander this frontier, far from the golden glow of his lampposts, I am aroused by the prospect of new creation. From this inhospitable terrain can
rise a home so inspiring as to become a beacon for all of those seeking to be free from the unforgiving nature of the realities they face. Never again
will we be forced to compromise the things we love in order to acquire the things we need. For once when we spread our seeds on this fertile terrain,
a beautiful and life affirming garden will finally grow.
And after all, you still have high hopes. Me too.
However, I did not listen to the video. I know many who adore SP, but the sound of those voices keeps me from the show. Especially when they sing,
which is always out of tune. We all have our weights to bear.
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