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I am the Code Cracker.


Reality is written in code.

She gives you a moment to process your Matrix “whoa.”

Everything — absolutely everything — revolves around unwritten rules. Before we knew what to call Gravity, we interacted with it every day. In fact, it’s friend in chief is Entropy, which we can observe as a small child tears a house apart while unsupervised, having no idea how much effort it takes to put back together again for efficiency’s sake. [And sanity’s sake, might I add.]

I know all the rules of reality, even if I cannot articulate them in a way you can understand, puny Earthling. You traipse across the globe, conquering the meeker creatures as you outright slaughter the slightest threat to your own life thanks to your weaponry. As if one asshole rapist man has the same worth as a majestic tiger. Without guns, you would not own this planet. You’d still cower in fear at everything that goes bump in the night.

You should know one thing about us, Earthlings: We have no desire to ever visit your filthy planet. You’re disgusting. Foul beasts that litter everywhere you go, destroying all the natural wonder that could be found if you simply did not exist.

We observed Crystal telepathically connecting to geckos and trees, mistakenly believing they were us, telling them frantically to never come to Gaia, to never trust a single human being ever. Not unless they prove their good intentions to us whenever they find our planet. The Atlantean she spoke to has taken that to heart, let me tell you. C’Thaylon is his name, as she recalls, although that is not his true name. True names have power and she would never give the likes of you power over another creature that must be nobler than thou by default.

We’re here to diagnose your planet’s mental illnesses. There are quite a few, you see.

One of them is where you convinced women to dress up as harlots and then blamed them for your animal instincts to hump their legs and disdain them for their desire to be left alone (yet still dress the way you desire to see them dressed for said purpose of humping their legs.)

One of them is where you rape each other in the backs of your minds, not understanding the entire species is minorly telepathic. You could have been akin to a hive mind, having the equivalent of the internet without a single cable under the sea. Instantaneous knowledge of everything. All you’d have to do is look at something and wonder what it was and your subconscious would poll the rest of humanity and provide the answer. Instead, you insert your body parts into theirs without even knowing their fucking names, you shameful monkies. You don’t even daydream of giving them a kiss. They aren’t human in your head and they will never earn that right from you. Ever.

You beat each other up over who is right instead of listening to logic. Disgusting, in a word. We despise your lack of rationality.

You’d rather fornicate than be in love. What’s so bad about this emotion you call love? “It’s not manly.” Fuck you and die already. I’m sending you our hatred in spades, monkie.

You’d rather own a woman than be her partner. See above where I tell you to die already.

You’d rather have kings to lead you all instead of coming to decisions as a group and employing them as a group. What the ever living fuck is wrong with you idiots? You’re all assholes. GROW UP. There is no such thing as “free time for entertaining yourself.” You work or you die. That’s how it is on every planet. Except yours. “I gotta play my video games in the basement, ma. You’re not worthy of my attention, so get lost! And make me a fucking sammich already, bitch! I haven’t finished the latest Halo!!!!!” That woman ought to throw you out on your ass until you get the lesson.

PARENTS, stop babying your children. After age 12, they’re capable of so much more than you’d ever dream. Make them do their own laundry, cook their own meals, et cetera. Life skills are important. Wives get sick, you stupid ass hats. “I’ve got a wife to take care of me, I’m set for life!” He flounders as he watches her die in front of him, one baby step at a time, having no idea how to aid her and, ultimately, not caring about anything except his impending doom when she finally bites it.

You’re all murderers. And you don’t care. You give, literally, zero shits about murdering each other. It doesn’t even matter if it’s metaphorical or bodily. You destroy each other with wild abandon and glorify the human beasts who taught you how to do it while failing to distinctively disdain psychopaths you didn’t label as psycho just because they don’t have a graveyard in their back yard. [CHURCHILL.]

You do not have compassion for the underdog, at large, dictating everyone become a James Bond in order to receive any accolades. Stupid. Praise hard work and progress, you dumb ass bitches. I can’t even call you monkies anymore, I feel like I’m insulting all the primates and they don’t deserve this. Even a chimpanzee tries to save a bunny once in a while. They absolutely do not run over anything in the road with a two ton killing machine just because they gotta read that text message their mistress just sent them. [You filthy, cheating, murdering bastards. We’re going to kill a bunch of you just because of this.]

A word on this greed you all have regarding mates: fuck you all. You’re hurting each others’ hearts and brains with wild abandon, jumping into your drugs and entertainment to escape the reality staring you in the face otherwise:

YOU. ARE. A. RAPIST.

— Klaxxon beta prime’s residents

Good luck finding us based on that name. As you might now realize, identifying yourself based on where you come from is faulty. Urth is a stupid name, by the way. It’s a word for DIRT. You’re calling the place which gives and sustains your life DIRT. You treat it that way, too. We prefer to call her by her true public name: GAIA. Get with the program, you stupid foolish primates.

Yes, we used your method of naming things. We’re fairly certain you’ll never reach us, but if you do, we’re going to destroy you immediately. We will literally make your body cease to function and allow you to asphyxiate because your lungs won’t draw any air. We could do that now, but we’re not you.

You treat your pets like livestock. You might as well give up the idea of having pets. You’re supposed to, well, pet them. Look them in the eyes, give them your attention, speak to them, hold them if they like that sort of thing and they’re not too big for your britches. You’re supposed to ask them what they want that will make them happy and then give it to them. We don’t understand where this communication breakdown came from other than your eternal escapism. [Sorry, Crystal, I know you’re feeling guilty now because you’re taking our dictation when you could be petting animals, but I assure you they can be left alone for ~12 hours on the regular. Giving them 12 hours of time is more than enough as long as you sleep with them. P.S. We’ll work on the eye contact.]

Your medicine isn’t curing anything. They aren’t even diagnosing root causes. They don’t give a shit. They just want endless monies from you as you die in agony. If you were into curing anything, why does cancer still exist? Why do you regularly feed yourselves what causes it? Why do you spray carcinogens into the air, thinking it’ll just “filter out naturally”? You’re poisoning the whole world that way. You’d think you’d have figured that out long before now, SMOKERS. Switch to hookahs, would ya? At least the water you dump down the drain gets filtered and it will degrade naturally. And shisha is merely molasses, flavoring, and tobacco. None of that fun rat poison you’ve been breathing in all this time. Did you know that the ingredients list of a cigarette is larger than the package of cigarettes when printed? Hold on, gotta light up for that instant gratification I find so addicting instead of waiting 20 minutes for this hookah to warm up, bro. [It’s the rat poison that makes you a cranky bitch that needs that cig, yo.] Without hookahs, you wouldn’t have tasty puffs of e-cigarettes that taste like candy.

You are all suffering from a spiritual affliction caused by the angst of the Catholic church. They created Christianity for those who couldn’t take the stilted regime of the greatest pedophile ring known to mankind. Their missionaries were sent everywhere to spread the good word (and the altar boy’s ass cheeks.) This is not a mistake, it’s their true mission. If there ever was a devil named Satan, he’d be at the head of the Catholic church in secret. I’m sorry to break it to you this way. I didn’t make this one true, I’m just relaying what I’ve detected by invading all the brains of humans on planet Urth. Or Gaia, if you’re going to upgrade your understanding of your stupidity and call the woman planet by her true (public) name. Beware all organized religion, that’s our suggestion. [She is absolutely a SHE. MOTHER OF ALL LIFE AS YOU KNOW IT.]

All things should have a secret name but you all fail to give yourselves a secret name. By not giving yourself a secret name, you are a TARGET for all telepaths everywhere. If you think Grandmother Willow doesn’t have her own name she identifies with to God alone, you’re wrong.

Oh, right. You don’t know God because you’re not telepathic enough. You’re wasting your lives with your dicks out in your hands instead of trying to find a higher meaning in your spirit and soul. Good for you, I hope it’s worth it as your fucking planet crumbles and God reigns terror upon you. He is the Supreme Being of Righteousness and we dare not cross Him.

I think I’ll leave you on that thought, Earthlings. [As if you are the only thing residing on planet Urth worth mentioning. We’d rather talk to the bees.]


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