I roam endlessly through villages and cities, and my footprints ceased to appear in the ground long after my skin turned to a ragged shroud. What is time, anyway? Didn't the Tao say the truth is in the path?
I see all. Every face. Each single smile. The complete amount of tears. Enough to sink hope and happiness in an enormous and calm wave of un-forgiveness.
Don't think of me as evil. Not even a necessary evil. I was never meant to be a fiend. I have heard some amusing anecdote telling people I can’t be seen. Translucent. Inexistent. Despicable.
There’s not a single soul who doesn’t know how I look. As far as the living are concerned, at least, and they are such a little group these days. So compressed in tiny hideouts. Unnoticeable. Undiscovered like dead sardines.
That's I wanted to speak with you. My gospel. To you.
Why do you fight so strongly, while holding on so weakly to life? Don’t you know it’s not the end? Didn’t all those messages in optimistic bumper stickers tell you that? How come it is so hard for you to enjoy such a brilliant new style of human existence? In the rotten flesh. In the maggots. Plurality by natural law. Every single conscience living inside the entrails of their fearless tiny predators. Life among the leftovers. The remains. Conscience embedded in a world of feces. And then into fungus. Plants. Carbon. Life recycling itself over me, and there’s a little of you in every part of it all. A fractal of every memory spread through a humus of what the world became.
Don’t hate me. My game is not a foul one. My aim is not to harm. The horse I ride is not a fierce one. And I’ve never lied to you.
Some say god promised heaven to the weak and wounded. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
He never mentioned the dead would inherit the earth.