There are so many kinds of rape in this world, I don’t even know where to begin. To violate any living creature in any way is to rape. We are all guilty, no matter what, because we have all either driven into a bug (splat!) or we have operated a lawn mower (ka-ching!) or we have all walked in the grass (gross?), with or without shoes. All these actions kill things, whether we like it or not.
The bigger the animal, the more we care about it. That’s the general rule of thumb. The more space it takes up by existing, the more important it is. That must mean whales and elephants are kings. I cohabitate with ants, myself. I named the ant colony George. I can’t really tell one from the next, so the whole colony is George. Sometimes, God will tell me that this one is a Georgette or Georgina, but generally speaking, they’re George. I love George and I give offerings, especially in winter, so that they may live and happily so.
I don’t really need to feed the ants, they’re supposed to hibernate during the winter. But, being the little opportunists they are (and my parents being the slobs they are), they’ve set up a permanent encampment. I have been careful to try to encourage them in one spot only, really. I’ve been toying with the idea of a popsicle stick picnic table for them to eat from. Something to lay the brussel sprout ends on or the apple cores on. I really want to get my shit together and get a compost bin to compost all the food waste I generate in eating up to 12 cups of vegetables a day.
I’m a hungry girl, leave me alone! Vegetables are basically free, when speaking of calories, as long as they aren’t starchy. I rarely eat starch, though God’s been challenging my body with faux bread products the past two days. Today, I made… well, it’s almost a Le Croque Monsieur except I used chicken from the Wegmans’ deli instead of ham. And faux cheese, too. I can’t eat anything a typical American (USA) eats anymore. I delineate that I’m from the USA, but you should know Canadians eat the same crap we do. Bread, pasta, sketti sauce, tomato sauce, cheese in their poutine, and so on.
Poutine is amazing. If you don’t like poutine, I posit you’re not American. You take some potatoes and you cut them julienne style, fry ’em up (aka French fries). That’s the base of this dish called poutine — fried potato. Doesn’t everyone love fried potato? (I don’t, anymore.) Then, you top these babies in gravy and cheese. That’s probably where I lost you: the gravy.
How many of you eat chili cheese fries instead? Talk about gross. Tomato is killing your intestinal lining, my friend. Don’t believe me? I challenge you to go without for 60 days, then add it back into your diet. See how you feel then. I ate some last night and I can tell you that I feel awful for it. We forgot that a Daiya pizza would still have one thing on it I cannot eat. Tomato sauce. [Hey, Daiya, can you hear me from over here? Can you make a pizza that uses olive oil + Italian seasonings (minus the marjoram) for a heathen such as myself, pretty please?!]
Anyway, what if I told you the reason you don’t like that gravy is that it’s got corn starch in it? The poutine gravy, you goof ball. It could be that it uses ketchup, as well. Who knows for sure unless you click the link and peruse the ingredients yourself. If I were to try to make this for myself, I’d have to substitute over half the ingredients with something else because I’m 33% Native American and I can’t eat that shit.
[Record scratch.] What?
I can’t eat potato. Tomato. Chicken stock. Apple cider vinegar. Peppercorns. Worcestershire sauce. Flour. Cheese curds. No Native American can eat any of these things; these are all European things that are now the status quo here. Unfortunately, anyone who is 3-4 generations post-immigration to the United States of America (and Canada) is now at least one quarter Native American, oddly enough. The genes change on American soil. You don’t even have to be bred with another Native American to become native yourself.
Hmmmm… is that why everyone is getting so fat in America, do you think? “If it’s believable, Sir God, yes. That’s the reason.” Be skeptical if you wish, but I’ll explain further. America is Eden. You are eating from the Garden of Eden and the Garden is changing you subtly over time. The Children of Eden cannot eat those things from Europe, especially not that fancy alcamahol. Oh. Right. Alcohol for people outside of America. The Americans all know this one.
So why? Why is that happening? It just is. It’s just how it be. Use your science to investigate, but don’t hurt anyone, please. There’s bigger fish to fry, like that PLASTIC ISLAND IN MY FUCKING OCEAN, JACKASS. It’s a great big mold haven. Congratulations! You found the one thing plastic won’t kill: MOLD! Do you remember a few entries ago, I told you that you’re going to die from mold toxicity? Welcome to the new world order, where mold reigns supreme.
It’s in everything, you guys! If you are going to keep eating what your body doesn’t like, you’re going to die of mold poisoning. Period, the End. You don’t get another chance. You don’t get to re-roll and try again. I will judge you for your crimes and bring you back as a non-human for the rest of eternity. About two billion of you are worth keeping alive and that’s it. My figure might be optimistic, I must say. Make that 1.9 billion. Oh. 1.8… Ah, you stopped being ass hats. Good job.
Next.
I want you to understand one thing, Earthlings: you are not the biggest, baddest thing in The Universe(TM). The Black Hole is. Try as you might, you will never escape the event horizon. Even if you lived for all eternity, one day, Earth will have an event horizon issue. The sun (SOL) will eventually become a black hole. Your planet will die. You will all die. So, you see, death is inevitable.
So what happens when you die?(TM)
Your vessel ceases but the part of you that you cultivate called a Soul will continue on. A sort of consciousness that will join the Collective Consciousness until completely forgotten. Once that happens, you are truly dead, no matter if you exist further or not. Once you are forgotten, it gets lonely. At that point, you might think about crossing over. It takes about 100 years for a human to reach that point on average, no matter how popular they were while alive. (Sorry, Mr. Williams.)
So what happens when you’re dead for that long and you’re all forgotten about? Well, first, you should know… I never forget you. I will never forget a single soul in all of Creation. (Ooh, I can hear the hairs on the back of necks standing up now. I used that un-scientific phrase.) Understand one thing: I didn’t create this from scratch with a plan. I dropped a match and it created an explosion. (Thank you, Rachel!) That is what The Big Bang was. That’s it.
More scientifically, I split an atom. Look what happened! This is outta control!
I know. You’ve split atoms, too. Your alternate universes? That’s where they come from. (Wait, those are real?!) Yeah. They’re real. And most of them suck worse than this one. That’s why I’m trying to turn you around and make it suck less. Disarm the nuclear devices, please. The more alternate universes you create in your ignorance, the worse it gets. You’re not babysitting them, making sure they go the right way, you know.
Did you think that matter just ceases to exist, really? It had to go somewhere. Well, it’s here, where I am. And it’s a mess. A big mess. It’s disgusting and I’m trying to clean it up now. Why? Because it’s my responsibility. I created you buffoons, you created the mess, you can’t clean it up because you can’t even clean up the planet you are custodians of at this point. How could you handle an entire universe? You can’t.
You won’t. That’s more accurate, I suspect. I believe.
It’s neither here nor there. Just discontinue the weaponry that makes it possible and stop making worse bombs to kill each other with. Adopt euthanasia. It’s much more humane. If you hate this world that badly that you can’t live in it with the rest of us who are happy, just die. Stop being here. Move along to the next big adventure.
After you stop being alive in this reality, I put you in that next reality. Ah! What about Heaven! Hell! Purgatory? Do we get any of those?
You’re already there. Literally, there is nothing worse than what you do to yourselves now.
Angel-Sansara 