I wrote this last night while I was high. Enjoy.

"Concubine guillotine, baby likes to stay up late. Always fussing, always yearning for a new way, a new wonder. Once I wondered I was brilliant, but then it dawned on me from the dawn. Straight from the depths of the dawn did I behold the true nature of the multiverse. Being, nothing, not being, not seeing or feeling. We are all starstuff, as of the nature of the prophet Carl Sagan, who was gifted to us by the Vasari. When the chocolate melts, you’ll know what to do. We were all built to spill, all from the beginning; the human race, down to the tiniest protozoa, we are all the same, we are all linked. And once we are cleansed, once we are whole, as to become the size of a pea, will from a long time come to eternity.
Out cracked the ancient mountain, slumbering since birth. Hovering now above the earth, just kissing the crust, it spoke to us. We knew what to do, knew the words in our hearts. To stop making that sound and to be perfect from now on. We could say we forgot to remember, but to remember to forget is not to forget, it is to remember. Ha ha. What a laugh. What a dreadful fate we human race have come to. Jack knew it in his heart, knew it to be true. He will one day be the prophet, the teller of the New Way, as of the era of Roosevelt and Hitler. One knows, one always knows, the way in which the great wheel of time will turn. But it was forseen by the Great Prophet Carl Sagan, the truth: Jack Bishop is the prophet of the new era. He transcends humanity to become ethereal eternal, essentially an elemental made of stardust. He fleetingly becomes the seer of all the universe, of all time, and like a switchboard on a railroad, changes the course of existence. These Vasoliai transcend not only time, and space, but God himself. These things are the oldest gods, older than Yahweh.
And then the music of the prophets played, and we knew at once what to do. At the dreadful call of Rush Vital Signs, we all took up arms in the escape pods. Prophet Geddy and Peart saw through it all from the beginning, with the interpretation of Father Lifeson. They knew about the shorted circuits, they knew about it all. The signals were signaled to be incoherent. My mind was tired, we saw the dreadful rise of the dark abyss before us. The great robots of old came back to life and ushered us in, herded like sheep, slaughtered like cattle. Beat beat, went the bass. The bass came like a soothing masseuse to my brain, holding a random sample of an event yet to come, an event imagined or created by mental friction. DRAG THE DREAM INTO EXISTENCE said the great eternal balrog.
The Great Frog bellowed forth her short story, telling of the ancient swamps of her ancestors. These too transcended the artificial construct of time, as the great decaying swamps were eternal and forever, helping forever to recycle the dead. Though unpleasant, a swamp was always the human idea of “purgatory” or “limbo.” It was these swamps in which occurred good sacred reincarnation. We are all eternal and death is but a door, as the great prophet Vigo, who turned mad and was damned to hell in a painting. Then came the soothing swampy rain, and we slept, for a while, and we dreamt.
Dreamboat Werewolf, go to Applebee’s. It was this pitched episode of Supernatural in which Dean and Sam are revealed to truly be ancient Vasoliai. What?


For that is the question, the key to all time, the key of the Nelson Bass as inserted into the lock in the door of glass. Into the chamber we slowly crept, beholding the great skeleton, the great harbinger of time and death, time and a word. For a moment we had to focus, but soon we beheld him in his once true form, the great and venerable Jon Anderson. The answer to the question “what?” was always his: Yes. The answer is Yes, that is what he says. Even his forseen ghost here now repeats it, this is the expectation.” Past the shining of the sun were the other ways as spoken of of Prophet Martsch. That after the death of the sun, not even after the final last burn of the century, he decided just what to do. Stuck in that cabin he was convinced that it was the least he could do, constantly buzzed and harassed by the watcher bots. But that wasn’t until he heard the call of the werewolf. Moonless night, thickest air. It was the werewolf hunters. They were out for revenge!
At once the bass sounded and the hunt was on. Careful they were, their faces silent and stern, told the prophet Geddy. The hunt was still calm and serious, until now! Suddenly at one the sun was upon them, exposing each and every last man exposing him as a werewolf himself! A riot righteous rose with a final method to end the solution. It was only a dream, only a vision, The hunters awoke okay but shaken."