The haunted wordsmith presented this new age prompt as the day’s genre writing challenge. She must have caught on to my super psionic psychic vibrations as yesterday I spent the day working on a new project of universal design.
Allow me to show you a little preview of the beginning of my cosmos.
Modern mystic mother is sick of herself. I am sick of my site when I look at it. There are too many half started pieces, the fragmented fissures overwhelm me.
It is oft easier to begin again from scratch than to attempt to repair and renovate a construct so inherently flawed. This mmmother site is too much like my image, it disgusts me… It is too haphazard to attempt to reign in all my published thoughts so I may stitch them together in a more pleasing form.
Secreted away lies a pocket I made in an adjacent dimensional space, this little skaberen is trying to begin again. This time I am laying foundations and firmaments to contextualise my designs. I am essentially investing in the infrastructure before I populate my universe with all the mini mes for you to enjoy.
The stars in the sky remind me of when I was a child and I learned the truth of each twinkling light of the night. We each had a destiny to spread far across space and oversee the development of each species’ evolution. We were born to be stars and to seed the universe.
I was assigned to watch over your world from the seat of your Sol. I am an avatar of the sun in material form. The first time I walked these lands, Lemuria was my home. That was of course millennia ago.
Every life time I awaken in a different land than before, I am borne to a place where my parents are migrants. Thus be my path, my place is to mediate the balanced divide as the native alien to pass impartial judgment.
It is puzzling to say that as a civilisation you have schismed in two contradictory ways, I feel as the village idiot addressing the obvious(ly wrong). So many people with such strong opinions, every disagreement is now “verbal violence” and must be silenced. At the same time, hardly anybody cares about anything, anyway. Disillusioned delusion, I guess it doesn’t matter since nobody listens anyway…
I say let’s just set the world on fire to burn the decay away. Bring on the apocalypse. I’ve got a cosmos to create.