We have seen.

We have seen six thousand two hundred and ninety six ways to break that which has already been broken. We have seen the plague spread itself. And we have done nothing. We have done nothing because we too are bothered by the plague. Because to erase the plague begins with erasing bits of ourselves. And we are not sure where to begin.

Six thousand, two hundred and ninety seven.

Time, insufferable as always, continues to assault us with unrelenting force. And even though we try to forget – we remember, we remember, we are reminded. We are reminded by the sound of the birds in the morning.

What birds you ask? Exactly.

We are reminded by the silent




as we speed away.

Carry us

Carry us

Carry us.

We are here to be taken by you. This is not a drill. It is a task that was given to you by those who give tasks. They are not interested in you completing the task. Still, you hold a duty to task as you hold a fact to light. This is nothing more than method. Method by which things are achieved.

Six thousand two hundred and ninety eight.


And we now know that somehow, when all is said and done, there will be a question to be asked.


And there will be no answers.

Not because the answers do not exist but because there will be shame and guilt. You remember, like you have once told yourself, that the beginning of yourself is somewhere between here and the end of eternity. You do not know that you have never begun and thus you shall never end. They say you are eternity but you aren’t. You are a point that has been touched and is yet to be sharpened.

You are infinite.

Yet somehow you insist on keeping yourself confined to the distance between the bed and the coffee shop. A form of self imposed imprisonment.

These, you insist, are nothing more than the wandering thoughts of a lesser king. Still, even the lord of the rings was a lord of some sorts at the end of the day, wasn’t he? So clearly something is known by those who rule over the few. Just as there is something that is known by those who rule over the many.

I wonder if it is the same thing?

I suppose it would be easier to decide that this is not something worth bothering with. Furthermore no one would bother around with what you call magic. Not when kingdoms are at stake. Magic was a toy left to be played the young and naïve. And even then to be treated with the utmost disdain.

Six thousand two hundred and ninety nine.

But kingdoms were at stake and, somehow, action needed to be taken.

As you turned the pieces fell.

You didn’t know.

And now we have seen.

We have seen six thousand three hundred ways to break that which has already been broken.

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