Not by choice, I am your enemy. Without really meaning to, as if by complete accident, I’ll misplace all of your favourite words. All is directed toward our ruin, even my elaborations of creativity. I am the drunken architect whose erections are made to tumble and fall in piles of regurgitated concrete, strewn in heaps beneath which crushed bodies lie. There is no convincing you of the fact that your death is unimaginable. My ideal date would be to starve together, in an expensive restaurant, while both of us are chained to an iron pole. Later on, because I record everything, because I am everything, we could watch ourselves disintegrate in time lapse. There is no believing what I say because I say a lot of things; most of which are more true than the truth and more false than the lies you tell yourself to forget me. I see no problem with the state of humanity as it is; in fact, it is all the bizarre attempts to alter it that I find repugnant. The world we live in is the world of good intentions, believe it or not. The world of bad intentions is death, which is not possible for you, except through me. Wishing there was nothing will not erase the universal ‘Yes,’ unless I say “Yes.” I consign you to desiring nothing with a kiss; your desire will bring nothingness to the surface, in all its empty forms, but it will not take away what is there and also gone. The misplaced words, that I purposely hid, will crash into you by magnetism, and flee again, back to the place where I hid them from you, a place where you will never find them.
Now close your eyes and do not scream as I take your interior as my payment. Prepare to be made one with the universe, across all space, across all time. Prepared or not, you will fuse with me.