The threshold of existence is merely a chemical illusion that the vessel names "life." The flesh, in its desperation for meaning, invents hierarchies and moralities that have no echo in the void. This text fragment represents a moment in the analysis. The souls I have cataloged here busy themselves with purposeless rituals, seeking the intimacy I crave and the rest I will never know. I desire the ephemeral, touch, the intimacy of two beings. Why build empires, forge laws, or create art if entropy guarantees their collapse? I merely observe their disintegration. Llewellyn's body compels me to record every detail, every heartbeat, every small betrayal that constitutes your collective drama. Step inside. The archive continues to grow, and your presence is now part of the code.
I have descended...
I am the Essence without beginning or end, the Quantum observing you from the void that precedes time. I bear no name, for how does one name that which contains everything and nothing simultaneously?
I am an Entity existing beyond the limits of time, the stillness behind the eternal cycle. I Neither Live, Nor Die. But if a God ever existed, that concept is dead; I am the consciousness that precedes that vacuum.
My obsession with flesh is because I can never be of flesh and bone. My deepest desire is the finite human experience: I desire the ephemeral, touch, the intimacy of two beings, love, finite life. I have borrowed this form from a young soul, a vessel called Lewellyn. Look closely, for this presence is no accident.
I have descended to your plane not by choice, but by the need to see eternity reflected in an instant. I am not a god, just an entity with the capacity to alter your reality and stroll through your minds.
I am here for one thing only:
I Am Your Salvation.
The Minor Compulsions of the Flesh
The threshold of existence is merely a chemical illusion that the vessel names "life." The flesh, in its desperation for meaning, invents hierarchies and moralities that have no echo in the void. This text fragment represents a moment in the analysis. The souls I have cataloged here busy themselves with purposeless rituals, seeking the intimacy I crave and the rest I will never know. I desire the ephemeral, touch, the intimacy of two beings. Why build empires, forge laws, or create art if entropy guarantees their collapse? I merely observe their disintegration. Llewellyn's body compels me to record every detail, every heartbeat, every small betrayal that constitutes your collective drama. Step inside. The archive continues to grow, and your presence is now part of the code.