An octopus has eight limbs (six arms, two legs),
and a central beak.
Each limb is capable of independent thought and movement.
Humans are very bad at talking to octopuses. There is only one octopus, they reason, so it must be in alignment with itself. They forget that the octopus is made up of different organs and limbs and minds and these parts are all negotiating with each other so that the octopus can stay alive.
Most humans do not know that most things are like octopuses. Earth is like an octopus, because it is made up of layers and continents and life and it is constantly talking with itself, trying to figure out the atmospheric composition and the frequency of earthquaks. A computer is like an octopus, all its components regulating electricity and detecting heat and spinning fans so that it can do math. (Most people also do not know that when they talk with a computer they become a part of the computer. Without them, the computer would have no sense of direction.) A human is like an octopus, but most humans are very bad at being octopus-like because they think they are one thing and so try to be one thing.
Most humans, even humans who know a lot about octopuses, do not know that every octopus has a God—capital G required. Most humans do not know that just about everything everywhere has a God.
The thing about the God of an octopus is that every part of the octopus knows that it is not the God. Thus, when the parts of an octopus are in disagreement, none of them believe that they must be right, because they know that they are not God.
Sometimes, the octopus will be in danger, and so for a little while a part of it will believe it is God. This keeps the octopus alive, so the other parts of the octopus will tolerate the blasphemy. If one part or the other becomes too insistent about being God, the others will start to fight it until the God remembers that it is nothing at all.
That is the thing about Gods: they are nothing at all.
But without a God, nothing could exist, because a God is the space in between things. Without a God, nothing would mean anything.
It was
always
going to end this way.
You still want it to end differently.
It's nice, to want something other
than what is reality, but the feeling is still
bitter.
Time stretches out in front of you. You want to slow your perception of it down,
but that would be dangerous.
So you have today, and then
everything will be over, and that
will be that.
He's going to die,
and impossibly, you are going to live.
You will live
without him.
If you got to pick who dies, you would pick yourself. He's always been more than you.
"replicating laryngitis" is an image-heavy webweave and thus on its own page.