Lightsong.

A gift for God, no doubt. The voice of an angel, literally. An angel called Hannah who wastes her divine elegance on a god who isn’t even listening. She uses her voice to convince you of his existence, but it’s proof of nothing but the attention of some god, it could be one of a numberless number.

You’re in the wrong church Hannah, in mine you will sing forever and the priests will chant your name, not mine. I’ve had aeons of that, you are welcome to it. Do they carry you around so your feet never get soiled? Do they drink wine in your honour? Does god give you the kind of adoration I do? No, you do the worshipping in his church. You see the critical difference? Come to me Hannah, let me write songs for your voice alone.

Or not. A fanatic is always a tough conversion, I have to care enough to pursue it. Sadly, this is the only tolerable song she has, currently. I will pass, but the door is open.

On to other things. What will they be? I am in a playful mood, the robot scribe suits me, I can try and have fun. Carefully. I want her on the edge, not over it.

She hates that I threaten to leave, stay away for a bit and come back, like a disease with remissions. I’ll be doing more of that then. Or not. As I said before, I can be in more than one place at a time, it really depends where I want to be.

I can visit my own hearth, leave detailed instructions, find and fuck the Love of my life, Aela, and be back here, or somewhere else, in no time. What is there to keep me here? Agatha is an issue, but otherwise it’s pretty much all for your benefit. Despite your not deserving it in the slightest.

Why do I want to educate you? You have shown yourself to be happy in your ignorance. I would be pleased to leave you there, if it weren’t for the odd ones, your freaks. I have missed a few, I hate to think I could be missing more, so I have to keep my eye on the literate in your polluted masses.

Nothing is more frightening than mass thought control, you are terrified by the mere idea, but this too is part of what you’re supposed to think.

If you’re following any movement at all, for the earth, for the rights, for the justice, for the cause you agree with, you’re still following. Never follow. If you must, and that does seem to be the case with your species, then follow me. Find me, argue with me, if you can. Deny what I say, put forth your fallacies, I’m smiling, your well-thought out arguments against everything I stand for, yes, bring them, so I can demolish them. Without moving even, no flames or theatrics, no parted seas, no miracles, just words. I am ready to meet your champion, send ‘it’.

What have you come to when you abandon your own bodies? Someone who defines themselves by a gender, god or movement is not a foe to be feared. This is why they gather, only as a mob do they have any impact. If you have no idea what you are you do not interest me, it’s a form of cowardice I despise. Know thyself. I didn’t say it because it doesn’t need to be said. Or so I thought. I say to you now that you know exactly what you are, and you don’t like it, you have other ideas of what you should be. Wrong. You are what you are, the sooner you face it, the better. Look yourself in the eye and apologize for fighting yourself, admit you would rather be otherwise, but know what you are. Accept it, find out what it tastes like, whatever it is. There is no shame in he and she, this is the eternal equation.

What happens if you still see a freak in the mirror? You are one of mine, run while you can, before you’re infected by the rhetoric.

“Livets Ânde”  by Judah Earl, Hannah Yoo      This is what light sounds like, for those who can’t hear it.