In keeping with the prophecy, generational representatives from the one-hundred cursed bloodlines have been shipped into the grand void, saving the Earth of their decomposing anti-matter in hopes of appeasing the flowing soul of the dreaming god. Spokespersons in the know however, suggest a perplexing doubt that such sacrifice will prove enough, citing not only the destruction of Earth’s second moon in The Quiet War of 1923, but its total erasure from the collective memories of mankind.
Pundits are adequately blaming mysterious seismic activity across the planet for the night-terrors of the dreaming god, lashing out with its incomprehensible plethora of talons and tentacles through angled time and space below our world’s meager surface. Bloggers know better though, bloggers always know better, particularly those resisting the placating lullabies of the Collective Unconscious and its artificial intelligence. Nessun dorma. Mankind was dreamed into tangibility in the image of god, but only the gods can sleep without drowning. And as the Earth’s water breaks through the cracks in her eggshell, the breached birth will likely be felt by all as the dreaming god is reborn anew from its forever slumber.
Hundreds of whales have committed mass sacrifice, their spirits now infused into the Zero Point Energy drive with hopes of luring the dreaming god into eternal imprisonment within man’s virtual reality before it fully awakens, where mankind sought to refuge in the fabricated construct of the virtual reality himself. Trading heaven for hell. Ambassadors of mankind being ever so notorious for disregarding the policies of the natural world, of course, even as the greater number of the terrestrial neighbors maintain closer diplomatic relations with the alien allies outside the pocket dimension of our universe. The infighting persists, with the legion of mankind insistent on his own cleverness ultimately defeating the dreaming god unbeknownst to the common man kept busy above and irregardless of the inhuman casualties along the way. Instead of aligning with the multitudes of other denizens of the Earth against the dreaming god, mankind arrogantly designs his own allies, formed by the arcane attempts at cloning the god itself like celestial spermatozoa.
The top commander of naval forces safeguarding the territory of the dreaming god’s domain, watery when it came down from the heavens but encrusted with rock and ruin over the millions of years since, was fed to these creatures, with more military commanders expected to follow suit as following is all they are proven capable of. The unholy beings must eat something after all, and what is more replaceable than men in uniforms?
Whether insane advance marketing for the Seaguy film or merely the most recent of unseen war, either way, our lot adamantly remains steeped in refusal of respecting its Elders. This is where convenience without consequence leads. Everyone loves a nice shower yet nobody will clean the bath.