In many forms I walk among them. My infant flock heirs to the crown. Shaping their future generations. Primitive as they are. Still soft for the sculpting. On all fours they crawl, shameless savages. the chatter headed hierarchy. Pull straight their spines and send them off to roam the earth upright. Their hands now free to show allegiance through live sacrifice. Their minds still weak to covey the worship words I wish to hearken. So from the very turf on which they stand I erect the keys of cognition. The sharpener of tongues psilocybin. In telepathic speech the herd is gathered. Mouths wet with anticipation gnawing of the earth. The onset igniting visions of geometric webs. Painted in shifting pixels as distant dialects take shape out of the void from a monotonous hum. This hum grows ever louder exposing variants. Broke into syllables struggled to replicate. Their jaws in convulsions communicating their awe. With pupils wide their throats vibrate in songs of endless praise. For centuries the dismal Om has echoed through the plains in endless repetition.. The choir of infinity shakes loose instinctive law. So quickly they conform. As man have they become. Madness.. Never did I mean to incite such religious fervor but still they ration sanity in such insane behavior. Weary have I grown of the chanting. A loving god they worship not. So ripping wide the cloth of space-time, my children, the dirge tolls for thee...