Staring at the abyss for so long the sound of entropy began to take on rhythmic characteristics. The void, contrary to the view of those who might imagine it as a vast nothing, was just the opposite. It was a bubbling swirling everything, a space both vast and pathetically small, containing everything but lacking any meaning at all. Any meaning to be found the viewer took with them, it was a reflecting pool whose color and sound over time seemed to take the shapes and textures which elicited the most from those exposed to it. That was what had begun to happen. The sleepless nights had taken on a miserable quality, no longer edged in sparkling starlight, and mania. Instead they became fitful terrors, grown mundane by repetition. It was easy to brush aside the brutalities of war when exposed to them over and over and over again. Similarly the targeted harassment and nagging by demons over the same old and tired points had too become another dull and muddy flavor of din. A new brownish frequency added to the already earsplitting cacophony. So what, a street cleaner hit by a passing vehicle? The feeling of the bones twisting and cracking, the pressure in the torso building until it ruptures from the mouth. Just another Tuesday. So what, kneeling in a dirt hovel the screams of children in another room, just get it over with, the thought as a sharp instrument impacts the neck and pain shoots from the spot and all grows dark. Maybe I can get some rest now? Instead I wake up in my room. Still sleeping. Again so what, semen on fingers, I can't seem to clean off. "I have no heart" says a man I have no recollection of. "Do you need one?" I hold out for him a small heart-shaped object and he consumes it directly from my hand as I cringe, why didn't he just take it from my hand? A twisted smile as he takes special effort to lick my fingers, the semen still there. His eyes flash and I know somehow, somewhen, that he is my child and I have somehow just been party to the committing of a taboo against nature. His body twists and contorts into himself and the creases burst with light and the mass of flesh and light then surges with power and turns into a vortex of energies beyond reckoning. ETERNITY lvl. 88888888 A screen shows it's status. My child's status, as if it were some kind of video game boss, and the profane ritual had somehow unlocked the event to trigger it. "You are transparent, father." Sexual attraction is a manufactured quality. Someone can be made to find the filigree painted on the edge of a plate sexy. This thought pervades as I stare into the chaotic bubbling swirling vortex of pure everything, the deafening roar of it reminds me of a melody I used to listen to. .