Something was damaged in a really unsettling manner. Red rust. Black blood. Curses of death and war. Dark violence. Revulsion. I do not accept this on some level. I accept this on some level. Levels. Planes. Spheres. Fields. Currents. Energies. Matrices. Fluctuations. Manifestations and demanifestations. Waxing and waning. Cycles and their effects and the effects that cause cycles. So many. I can't count them. The ten thousand things. The one thing. The no thing. Reference points completely vanish without a trace in the infinite. Right here, an entity, a flux in the Prima Materia, a morphic field. It wields magical currents haphazardly, with little to no idea of what it's doing. Excessively casual technique. Still, the results manifest in strange and unexpected ways, I.E. here I am. Loose and free I am a falling down spiritual drunk. A town fool amidst a larger populus of entities than I have ever counted. Moving on...