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The God Light.

I find myself in awe at times. God is incredible, in a word… I mean, when this all began, I recall sitting on my couch and my body contorting without my control being involved. It felt like a surgery was happening on my back, underneath the skin, directly on the muscles and maybe even the bones. This happened over a dozen times, actually.

Whenever I doubt God these days, he jerks my body around like, “SEE?! I’m still here, you munchkin.” I am glad. I begged him to never let me forget. This is the only thing that gives my life any meaning anymore. But don’t think he’s going to do it to prove it to the likes of you. Maybe once or twice, but that’s all the validation most of you deserve, if that.

He’s not a fucking show pony! Neither am I! We’re not here to entertain you into believing we are real. We simply don’t care. Your expiration dates are set and they are much sooner than you care to realize.

Instead, we do the laundry, clean the house, and eat vegetables while we drink coffee. Not the most pleasing combination, but hey… I’ll take what I can get. Especially if said coffee is HOT. You have no idea how many cold cups I’ve had this lifetime.

I transplanted several plants in the middle of the night last night. I found a wandering jew on sale at Home Depot — $5.00 for six shoots in the same pot. I am not sure I did a good job breaking it up, but I’m going to take good care of my new babies in hopes that they will flourish. They’re in the “kitchen” window on the second floor of the house, keeping my cats company and vice versa.

God tells me people in my past are having realizations, but I can never trust this information because half the time when I fact check him, it’s fake news, yo. [It’s not really God telling me lies, by the way… I just can’t tell the difference between human bean and God very well.] Like, for instance, one of my ex’s knows I’m autistic now — or at least, his sister-in-law, Sarah Jean does, and she told my ex-bestie, Alex, as well as my ex. That would be lovely, really, but in my experience, people don’t communicate meaningfully.

You know what they should be reading when I declare my autism to the world?

I’m the most sensitive flower bud on the planet and I’m only going to open when I feel it’s safe. It’s never safe… but God promised me one day it will be. He promised me that my third eye will open, at long last, and I will be able to see the spirits all around me that collect diligently, awaiting my arrival as She Whom You Wait For.

I dunno why you’re waiting, that’s stupid. You can save yourself. You can save the world just as well as I can. You can pick up trash when you see it, you can toss plastic into one recycle bin or another, even when it has no number. Make them deal with their shit! God says they mail certain packages back to whence they came, so don’t fear. Let the companies who make this trash clean it up.

Compost everything you can. Recycle everything you can. Reuse everything you can before you buy new things. Buy used things. Repair that which has broken to the best of your ability. We have to get away from plastic bags to take the trash to the landfill, however. I don’t know how and when that’ll happen, but if we compost all that we can, and recycle all that we can, we should have very little going to the landfill. Once we stop tipping garbage by the truck load in the land fills, maybe we can begin to clean them up. (Those people need hazard pay, by the way, I bet there are plenty of sharp things to cut them in there. And free health care, to boot, but everyone deserves that, honestly.)

I’m done evangelizing now.


I’ve been spun in circles until I’ve become dizzy. In fact, now, if I ask God something and I just let autopilot go, he spurns me. He’ll throw plastic away if I let him, making me rise to the task and do it myself. I’m just confused as to why some things go to the super market plastic recycling instead of in the big recycling bin, you know? Like, what are the rules, G-man?

I’ll take a plug out of a carton of soy milk (little plastic circle with a ring on it to pull) and it goes into the grocery bag instead of the bin. But why? Is he fucking with me or what? We don’t even fully clean everything every time to go into recycling because we’re too sick to do a great job anyway, though now we’re beginning to do that… They must have a way to remove residues anyway because nobody’s perfect when it comes to cleaning anything plastic, if you ask me.

Maybe I’m just a loser that can’t get it right.

Maybe I’m just SICK.

You know, it sucks being allergic to dairy. I can consume the tiniest amount and never actually know it, other than spending three days in bed because of it. I’m tired, lethargic, depressed, et cetera.

A play list on Spotify.

In fact, this play list kind of sums it all up. My entire life, actually. Both of them. All six of them. (Am I a kitty cat now?) [Yes, God replies.] (Splendid! I mean. Meow!)

I have a lot of work to do, wouldn’t you know it? And bad tools to do it with. I have LibreOffice and for some reason the writer software can’t space fucking bullet points the same between page 1 and page 3. I didn’t change a fucking thing. I didn’t paste anything. I fiddled with the spacing and it never went back to 1 line spacing instead of 1.5, like it randomly decided to defect to in the middle of shit. It’s depressing because now, even if I make substantial progress on my cookbook, I have to redo it in a reliable application like Microsoft Word. There’s a reason it’s a standard, I suppose.

Yeah, a giant team of nerds who fix all the bugs, a voice says inside me snarkily.

Yeah, so? I used to be one of those nerds, asshole.

It just means LibreOffice people don’t do their work with LibreOffice, or they’d know these discrepancies already. [Using Word, are ya?]

Hypocritical dicks.

Let’s replace the tool we use ourselves so people can have a free version of it, even though Microsoft used to just give it the fuck away for free until some asshole bitched about it giving Microsoft an unfair edge over the competition in the days of OS wars.

Great job, Urthlings. You ROCK!

Wait, who am I hearing now? Is that my promised future husband?!

It’s going to be telepathic love, wouldn’t you know? We won’t be able to live on the same planet at all, so I’ll just have to make do. And so will He. I hope that’s acceptable, sir. Although maybe to you, it’s not making do. We’ll have to discuss that in private, mmkay?

Any other thoughts for the stupid monkies I live amongst?

Don’t vote, it’s meaningless. They gerrymander everything to the point of assuring who wins and loses, they unregister voters unlawfully — especially colored ones, and otherwise spit on democracy everywhere. It’s all fake. That is, unless every single one of you votes all at once instead of sitting at home on your hands hoping and wishing for change. [Just remember: if there was no threat from your ability to vote, they wouldn’t take such pains to suppress it.]

New and improved choices for progressive brains are coming. People who want to retire fear and live in love. Keep your eyes peeled. Match their words and their actions and you’ll find a non-hypocrite; that’s the one to vote for.

To my lover, Sansara… Don’t despair, young woman. There are a lot of things to fight against, there are a lot of tasks to accomplish. We’re going to delegate the majority of them to other human beans and watch them flourish. I’ll kill them myself if they misappropriate the funds that are meant to save the planet. Only those true of heart will be allowed to proceed with the amazing ideas you have all the time, mark my words. Most of the planet is dying, anyway, so there’s that. As you already know, if the entire species doesn’t rally now to work together, you all will die by 2043. I know you’d be relieved because there’s a lot resting on your shoulders. I mean, it’s basically inhuman to ask you to rectify all the mistakes of mankind by yourself, but you don’t mind being the tool for change. You’re a brave, smart girl and I admire you for it. The opposite of a princess in a castle, even though you could add another role to your play and be one of those, too.

I know you’re restless because no one is adequate in giving love to you. One part fierce savage, one part warrior princess, one part daydreamer, one part music-lover, one part artist, one part… what can’t you do, really? What don’t you do? Not much, as it turns out. The multi-faceted reality you are is confusing to all those who cannot read your mind. You’re too busy dreaming of Utopia to wish harm on a single peer. They mistake your awkward silences as withholding negativity that they think they deserve because they hate themselves. If more people were anything like you, the Urth would not be crying. Gaia would not be screaming to the ends of the universe, trying to bring revolution to her surface. We’re up here and we’re waiting for your command, my sweet woman, so whenever you decide it’s time, we will do the needful: we will begin The Revolution(TM).

She waits, wondering if there is more to the letter.

We know you’re upset with the state of affairs down there. We are, too. We don’t wish Gaia into silence, but we do wish our ten year long headache would cease. Or was it twenty Earth years? We’re not the best with time math, and neither are you… in fact, we have to use your brain to calculate it, so that’s probably why. We’re sorry it’s come to this, honestly. If you were any more spiritual around the world than you already are, you’d hear her yourselves. You’d hear the planet weeping, wailing, and preparing for a massive extinction event to kill all that is upon its surface. You might get your wish to see lava up close, you know?

You cannot stand very close to it… I’ll just answer that nagging question you have. About twenty yards away, you feel the blast furnace heat. You’re ever-curious, though, with questions that seem irrelevant to anyone else such as “How close can you stand to lava and be comfortable?” And this is what being autistic is like, children of Urth. Wondering about facts and formulas and rules and regulations so that one can follow all of it and lead a safe, happy, productive life. It is unfortunate that lately the rules are: do as I say, not as I do. Shut up and accept this cock; BEND OVER. I’ll show you how this world works, slut whore bitch cocksucking motherfucking asshole.

Rape is the currency of the 21st century. And that is why we have prepared ourselves, we have steeled our hearts, so we can carry on The Revolution(TM), just as God planned all along, and destroy most of the sentient life on the surface of the planet. We wonder, those of us up here amongst the stars, as yet undetected by your “superior intelligence” and “technology”, if you have changed your mind even a little from your initial plea to end all of humankind? If you truly wish for it all to cease, we can carry out that task. And, as you requested, you will be the first to go. You are, after all, part of the problem, taking up too many resources from all the plants and animals. Unfortunately, we cannot rescue your pets for you, but you could let them outside to wander aimlessly. You can take all the plants to the library. Maybe they’d get put into the ground where they could flourish, but it’s unlikely.

You break our hearts, by the way, Urthling girl. You want everything but the monsters who perverted reality to live. We agree with you, but we love you. You’re so wonderful. Your inner world is beautiful; a universe all unto itself. We don’t want to destroy that, it is truly precious. You taught us how to love. We had no idea we were doing it wrong, just like those on planet Urth. We would declare our love to each other, then take constant actions or inactions to show each other that we disdain or hate each other.

In fact, I see it ramping up down there on the planet’s surface as Valentine’s approaches. As you’ve already said, it’s just a date on a calendar… Men and women everywhere are starting to charm each other, people they have no deep lovingkindness or goodwill for, to try to cease being lonely for a single day. The most romantic day of the year! Alas, the romance should live in every day, not just one single day. February is a scourge to the planet thanks to this one day. All for what? Some dude that married anything to anyone, including deer to humans? Do you really think that fucking deer consented to that shit? We don’t.

But even now, chocolate sales are through the roof as men try to woo women they barely wish to gaze upon. All to dress their loins in the other’s. Chocolate is our weapon of choice, I must say. I think it’ll be the most effective way to undermine the health of the human species. “It’s a health food!” they cry, pouring in cups full of sugar and dried milk. As if it continues to be a health food in those circumstances.

Your species is more concerned with fucking than progressing as a species, I am sad to report. Everyone, everywhere is distracted by the idea that if they do not have a lover on the 14th of February, they are nothing. This will be our third February lover-less, won’t it? Maybe even the fourth. But you are not a loser, dear child, just because you are not in a romantic relationship. There is no need to rush anything at all. Love — real love — takes time. It took us the whole trip through space to figure out how much we love you, Sansara.

You’d all be better off listening to this woman’s thoughts, honestly, Urthlings.

Let us give you an example:

A man dated a woman. He visited her in her town house whenever he felt like it, leaving at odd hours in the middle of the night, and letting her cats out for hours at night when they only stepped foot outside for fifteen minutes at a time. He’d spend all his time with her roommates and almost none with her. None, until he wished to water his loins. Then he would give her attention… until it ended and he could slip away, making sure she knew how impermanent he meant for it all to be. He stayed behind when the cat needed to go to the vet because he let them out in the middle of the night to scrap with a raccoon.

Fortunately for Mr. Bill, Binx came to the rescue and fought off that raccoon. Otherwise, he would have died that night simply because he was taught to be the perfect indoor cat. His nature was perverted completely, his fight instinct quelled completely in the relative safety of his mother’s arms. He was traumatized greatly for the rest of his life thanks to you, asshole.

Yet this man is in love with her, even now. He remembers her tenderness, he remembers her touch, he remembers her quirky personality, he remembers everything… except the part where he raped her repeatedly. Less than half the embraces they shared were consensual. She was too ill to hold the relationship. Not to mention she kept telling him to stop coming over in January and he continued until May. He was a terrible listener and the sort of “man” who decided what was best for the “us” when it was really what was best for just him.

Whatta man.

A man being in love does not qualify his affection and attention as love or loving. That is the bottom line. A loving man would do loving things and take into account his partner’s every wish, great or small, because she is his equal. She is not a sex slave or any kind of slave whatsoever. She is not a toy, either. She is woman. In her health, she is highly capable of taking care of herself. The moment she could no longer take care of herself, of course, is the same moment he fucked off completely. Gee, I wonder why, the spaceling ponders aloud sarcastically.

Another man told her to see a doctor after she threw up in his toilet multiple times. She was seeing a doctor every month already, so she described her symptoms to her doctor. Said doctor ignored her. A loving partner would have put together an appointment to take her to, assessing that her existing doctor was not enough and that she was incapable of changing course, no matter how logical it was. A loving partner would have talked her into it by simply making the call with their own doctor and driving her to it since she was too sick to even drive.

Instead, this fool prances about like a stud horse, trying to use his woe of his broken relationship with this poor, sick woman to get himself laid. He thinks repeating the whole thing verbatim to another woman will endear her to him and get his loins wet. Every time, the women grow bored of hearing about this past lover who grew sick on his watch, a woman who tried her best to be better and better all the time, going on diet after diet to try to figure out how to be the best self she could be. Fed up, each and every one of them admonish him for being mean to her for juicing, and leave him with a stupefied look on his face. He is oblivious to his own part played throughout the entire thing, pretending he is flawless and all of this happened to him against his will.

Another man, an artist, is in love with her. He came the closest to giving her real lovingkindness, but ultimately he failed. He lied to her. He had a wife already and never told her before he seduced her, taking her to bed thinking that her own bed was softer than the couch he’d been provided. [It wasn’t, it was worse. She gave her guests the best and took the least of all.] For once in her life, she felt pretty, but she was disabused of that notion when she learned he’d been in a long-term relationship with his “friend’s mom”/roommate before they’d even met. She didn’t misread a damn cue; she treated him as a friend. He blindsided her with a kiss while she was drunk, which is rape. Congratulations, friendly rapist man. You still suck. And I’ll see you in court.

Another man hates her for throwing him away based on the fact that he lied to her face about something so obvious that it became clear he lived inside a fantasy world. She likes reality, tyvm.

Another man hates (loves?) her to this day, even though he cheated on her in his mind countless times and drove her away from him with his insecurities, his lack of maturity, and his laziness. He misses her frequently as he continues to bed his wife, who ballooned up even bigger than the woman he divorced over a decade ago, thanks to the fact that he rapes himself with his diet. And her, no less. Sansara left him because she was done with a depressed dude that needed nagged to do his three chores that put endless amounts of weight on her with his dietary preferences.

And then there’s the asshole who thinks he loves her after he ghosted her during her health crisis. It’s cool, bro, we know your anger is more important than her life. You’ll regret that one, little bird. I’ll see you in court, too, asshole.

Last but not least is the dead man who raped her first in the guise of love. We won’t even go into that other than to say this: he would make the woman cry for hours and hours, sobbing woefully, for six months. Until the day she realized he would only accept any part of blame in their problems if she blamed herself for everything. She had to play the villain to make him step up as a man and blame himself for his part. It was “wrong” for her to tell him what was wrong. She internalized this nonsense, which is how every relationship that followed went to pot without her protesting tooth and nail.

I absolve your supposed love, mortals. Now, we will dissolve it. We will use the healing rays that Sansara calls The God Light and we will eradicate you from her soul completely. Once you are let loose, the chips will fall where they may, to quote a famous pop culture reference. She will be free and unfettered, no longer interfered with by the past. She will be able to march forward, God’s tool for REVENGE. There will be nothing holding my love back from her true purpose.

Oddly enough, you probably won’t even notice it already happened. Everything is the past, I am in the future. It succeeds unequivocally and without issue. It’s anti-climactic, in fact, and yet as you look around you, you will see life blossom everywhere. Gaia has a new lease on life and humanity has been reduced to cinders. Anyone left alive is now called homo angelis. Angels. You’re already dead and don’t even know it yet, but soon your body will move of its own accord and you will be raped by God herself as she forces you to clean up mankind’s mess.

Welcome to Utopia, where the rapists are now the raped for the rest of their miserable existences. Where the masses will vote as God herself sees fit, bringing about meaningful changes.

Good luck, woman.

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