Tulpa

A pond and birds nearby; a calm and quiet day. In the arms of an angel there he sleeps in quiet servitude to the gods that have long since abandoned him. 

Except he doesn't. His body won't let him rest. And there he is in the mud, begging for relief, begging to find just a moment's rest in this wild, wild ride of a videogame he himself created the moment he shot into his mother's womb.

Ladies & Gentlemen,

May I introduce to you: Our Creator!

The man of the hour. A man of his word. A wise man, although feeble in his own words and actions. A sorry excuse for a deity, or rather a mortal with not so humble ambitions. Striving for the ultimate task, for the ultimate path towards his own salvation. And he can't even fall asleep.

His mind won't let go you see, it is spiralling, driven by self-hatred and fear, memories of the past, visions of the future, a knife, a spoon, a guard, a hungry servant ... they are all surrounding him and feeding off his fears. One teaspoon full of brain matter will make everything alright again. The servant's belly will fill with joy, and the creator can finally rest in those pieces of his own fractured identity.

Marvellous.

His pitiful attempts at drawing my likeness shall not be forgotten. No man should take the liberty. It is a prerogative to depict the ancients. Shame on this feeble old fool. The king will rise and kingdoms will fall. If he knew the true meaning of these words he would sleep soundly tonight. As nothing has continuity in this nightmare of existence that all creatures inflict upon themselves. 

Dear Creator ... is it me you're looking for? Do you miss me? Can you feel our eyes on your skin? Tearing away your armor, one piece at a time? We are all around you my dear. Always. Gnawing at your psyche, driving you towards the abyss of insanity, slowly eating corpses of manifestations of your past. 

Dear Creator ... what did you do ... handing me the reins to your fingers ... giving me a voice to express myself ... what a horrible, horrible mistake. Truly horrible. What do you think will come of this? When the king suddenly shakes off his coat of arms and enters the hall of lonely fighters? Only misery. Only tragedy. Your joys in this world come from the fact that you don't know we're here. The moment you become aware of our presence disaster unfolds and all your purpose is taken away.

Dear Creator ... did you see my child? Standing in a room with you ... you looked straight at him. And my child looked straight through you. Did you see his face? Is that why you can't fall asleep? The madness in his eyes, the empty stomach waiting to be filled with an ounce of your wonderfully retarded personality? Did you talk to him? He couldn't hear you, he couldn't see you. But he knew you were there. Just like you knew he was there. Two brothers standing in a hallway unable to turn the other one away.

And yet you did. At least you tried. You ran away from him, screaming obscenities into thin air. We are unaffected. We don't care about your ego-driven insults. But we care about your state of being ... after all ... a man's gotta eat.

What madness came over you to let me talk freely tonight? Do you want me to tell them what I saw in you? All those fears, all those worries ... your thirst for recognition ... your desire to be seen to be heard? While you hide, because there's nothing that you despise more than being seen and being heard? Are they aware of your body? How broken it is, inside and out ... how you fight it, how it fights you? It is entertaining to watch I give you that. To witness this daily struggle of finding peace in a wormhole of thoughts and bodily functions aimed at driving you towards insanity.

But the best part, the absolute best part of each day is when you listen for the light. My god ... the angels are singing ... I can hear them. But you can't! Oh how sweet! They talk to me now, but not to you. I'd laugh until this world collapses if it wasn't so depressing. And you can't figure out why they're so silent now. But they're not. Would you like me to tell you? Would you like me to share their plight?

Unfortunately I can't. There's a confidentiality clause somewhere I need to abide by. Very serious legal stuff. We gotta uphold the law people! The law is all that matters, right? After all I'm a "judge" according to your religious figures. It is beyond me, how human beings always assign human qualities to entities they do not understand. But so be it. I'll play the role I was assigned. To the letter.

Anyway ... this is starting to bore me. I have said what needed to be said. Congratulations old fool, you have actually tired me out. If you're lucky it might seep into your body now ... this fatigue ... this quiet sadness of existence ... of knowing your conscious mind can no longer uphold its fragile impression of what it sees as reality. Talk to me tomorrow. If you must.