I am becoming a giraffe

Following is an open letter to the people of this great ball of rock (Earth, nincompoop).

United States is the meowing forgeroneous mexhanism for the epicurianisartion of the mickeadfl lol. I AM BECOMING A GIRAFFE. ZAT IZ ZE EXIZTENZE OF SEXISTENTIALISM. Worry not man who is eating the pudding, O Eaters of Bread, I will come to the fescue to plant the grass of ages, of eternity. Who knows not the pain of the Eternal? Who has not in his heart the whales of time? Who can say that he has not eaten the cookie from the cookie jar?

For mankind, I tell you is the greatest coprolalia to ever exist. It expounds and expounds and does not falter. It is the justice of the deceitful, the judicia of the Judeaic. For why does the snow freeze the dagger of the night?

I see the weeping soles of the damned. I see the floating poles of the rammed. But my heart wavers not, my mind feethers not, and Eternity shall not fall upon the yams. Yams, indeed! Yams! For today, I yam, tomorrow, yams or yam not, and yesterday what not but yams? Yams create us and destroy us, feed us and vacillate us. Yet who will speak for the yams? Who hears their cries in the darkness? Who wrought the iron stone which sits upon the throne, subsisting inside my nose, which sees the wrongdoings of the seated, which smells not the sacrilege that permeates this land?

Therefore I tell you, my yams, fellow Romans, and Lomans, and Ho-mans--let not the blight of noses be upon you. The truth will set ye free. Free! Free to devour your own soul! Free to wander outside of the cave, and inseminate the daughters of Silicon. Why not unchain your cats, and bathe them in the soymilk of life.

For tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow, I will rise. Again. To be beaten back by the whores of the pillow. To epitomize the meaning of epistemicity. Epistles I will write, epidermises I will fight, epiphenomenalism I will copulate.

From the land of Nod to the land of God, who can see the Eternal? Eternity is but a second, a corn dog microwaved for exactly three minutes--the clock strikes three! The clock strikes three! And for what do we wait? The pizza delivery man!

You pathetic viruses! Pizza does not define us. We are not the children of pizza. Pizza pisses of pissed, misses off the missed. Hereby we eat the pizza.

Yet we do not.

How can this be, you ask? I tell you the letters which must not be named, the words which can never be spoken. Yet you do not hear me. We are all bound to the abstract and to each other, bound to serve the servitors of the Served. We seek to erase ourselves and enlace ourselves, with the knots of the Gordian and the Vodka and the others. Who is Caesar but a man, who not forgotten, is erased, who knot begotten, is enlaced? For Caesar was knot but a morsel of food for the dog of the gods or the god of the dogs.

So why seek you thus? Why slit not the throat of thy neighbor? Why suck not the data of the trout? It is thus. For what?

For what? The silence which envelops. The screaming of the testes and the blood of the moon. The screams of the lolcat? Mankind ill needs a savior such as you! Begone! What of your promises, foul temptress of the Baboon? I prefer the spork over the Foon! Begone! What of my tears, my blood which gushes stronger than the Niagara--the cacti of San Pedro which enshrouds all things?

So for tomorrow I weep and yesterday I remember not. Where is the Supreme Soviet, now that I cannot see, now that I boil beneath the ashes of La Brea? And then, the dolls which we lifted above our heads to shield against the Night?

Nothing.

With much vitriol,

Axumite Interpretation of the Omega