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"This group of conquering, belligerent warriors. What do they need, Yin? You think what they have is true Yang? Cruel, marauding, destruction... That speaks to me only of a strong shell that lacks a proper balance of both energies. A capable shell, a capable species, reduced to ignominy and self-destruction through a bred imbalance in their energies. Taking that imbalance out upon others as a means to appease their pain of need. War. Have you no sympathy for the truly strong who exist in that corrosive culture of violence and regression? To have their own strengths attacked as weaknesses? If their culture is so foolish as to see love as weak, then surely, they exist in a state of perpetual agony and restlessness. While they do exist at all..."

"This will be over most of your heads. Most of you are weak. Most of you are brain-washed by a malevolent society. Most of you will never know the true meaning of the word. But here it is none-the-less. 'Love is the one true god.' Did I get it from Bill Hicks? No. But I agreed with him when he said it. When any of the few enlightened I have heard have said it. Nietzsche: 'Anything done out of love is beyond good and evil.' I will not speak of the hippies. Those are weak minds, utterly dependent on chemicals to gain such temporary and unearned insights. They make a mockery of it with their complacence and slovenliness. And if you think your piddling religion is on to this fact because they had to wrap their slave-dogma in something nice...you're wrong. This force is far and above most of your heads, most of your minds, reduced to shitty day-time movies and cut-out hearts. Fluffy pink shapes and overly wrapped chocolates. This is what you think of. This energy, this force, this existence is so far beyond your comprehension I shudder to think of your attempts to comprehend it. It is a force, one that governs the universe. One that is the universe. What makes the planets revolve around their stars, the stars their galaxies, and the galaxies turn in the infinite void? What gives you sight, breath, life, existence, what is you? This. Yet it is this force, this idea, which you all so blatantly and bluntly betray for the sake of your complacence and conformity to a society which scorns such things. To truly possess this force, to be this force, in this world, means unfathomable fighting and resistance. To everything. Especially society. That one God of yours that you all truly worship, conformity to the herd. It is this that you sacrifice to become so conformed. Women, with your plasticity and your promiscuity and your lack of soul, it is this which you have betrayed to become what you are. Men, so weak and foolish and controlled, drooling and desperate at the idea of very skin, it is this which you have forsaken. And you have all become droids in the process. Drones. You have forsaken the energy that has given you life, the energy you once were. Now you are a mockery, a shell. Nothing, truly. But a collection of particles destined to corrode and break down over time. No purpose, no identity, and no existence. All because you immediately surrendered without a second thought when the tribe, when the herd, challenged you. You forsook your soul, your very soul, for the sake of that treacherous fear. And you all do so willingly and cheerfully. Such is the price of weakness. This force turns the sun, opens the flowers, gives you sight, gives you breath, lets you exist. And you treat it as a child's toy, a fascination to be played with. And you behave accordingly. Sex is a game to you, this demonstration of one's love, something to be thrown around and enjoyed because it's fun. So you treat the essence of existence. Instead of revering it, you treat it like a game. As close to God as you fools shall ever see. And it shows in that you become nothing more than foolish mechanisms, sparking and fading and whirring, until life is snatched angrily from your corrupted fingers. From your corrupted, irreverent, ungrateful, foolish, fingers. And you will fade into dust, a fool, all in all. Your soul not taken from you, as you betrayed it yourself, forsook it yourself, a decision you made in your own life, because it would be easier than fighting. Sure. At first. While your body still kicks, and your heart still pumps. Then you will see what a foolish, what an atrociously foolish, bargain you have made. A few easier years in a single life, for the destruction of your soul. And you empty shells, you do such a good job, a good job of hiding that fact, of hiding that treacherous fear. That cowardly nature, even from yourselves, of pasting that soulless, purposeless smile on your faces. Marching to your ignominious doom with the rest of your foolishly smiling cattle brethren. That which you called fluffy pink hearts, that which you called fun, like soulless idiot zombies, was the only true "God" you fools will have ever known. And you spit in its face. What doomed little creatures you will surely be. You have been brain-washed to see Love as weak, as paper hearts and tepid movies and a game to be played with, by a society that wants you weak and dumb, instead of a force that governs the universe. That is the universe. And you have treated it accordingly, like weak idiot sheep. And a just fate awaits you, you hollow shells of things that were once men. And I pity you not. Love is not just strong. It is not only the force that governs the universe. It is the only thing that exists. All of the universe is an interplay between positive and negative of this force. No other thing has ever existed, and no other thing ever shall. Simply because we feel this all-powerful force as creatures when we attract, you selfish fools assume that this is all it is. Something that exists in your universe, not you in its. So gravely have you underestimated the only true God you have ever known. And I pity you not."

"For they did what he said. Naught but his own will could guide him, and others were wrought to this, too. The flashes of brilliance, the white fangs, the golden mind, the mosaic of color and beauty that was Lux Aeterna as he crafted his form to that of an angel. A perfect angel. Hewn as a diamond of eternal flame, with brilliance forsaking lovers themselves, as the light of life passed through him. A remarkable prism formed. He called it Aiya. As the angel Lux decided his mind, and his posture followed, such beauty took place that none but him shall determine the universe. Ever again. Lux bowed his head, the premonitions now etched into the darkness. For the diamond, the true form of the angel of life and death, would come to pass. He vowed so."

"Modern psychiatry is the arm of the industrialized system that condemns intelligence, individuality, sexuality, and youth all as mental illnesses. Psychiatrists, nowadays, are nothing more than witch doctors, literally voting in groups on what mental diseases actually exist. All after some massive pharmaceutical conglomerate pays their rent, of course. These corrupt doctors swear by their funders, asserting that: "Mental illness is a permanent chemical imbalance and must therefore be treated with chemicals throughout the remainder of a person's life." Something anyone with a rational brain on their shoulders would know is utter stupidity to begin with! These shrinks, here is what they do: Sling the newest fancy chemical pill at their patients who have actual, real-world problems and issues, and subscribe them to a dogma of chemical ingestion and obedience for the rest of their natural lives. All because you have questioned the system in some way. Do the chemicals cure me, or are you glorified drug dealers who act inimically to anyone who resists a totalitarian regime? Modern psychiatrists are stooges that anybody with a shred of intelligence would discount immediately. Fortunately, no psychiatrists possess that trait, nor does anybody else in the psychiatric industry whatsoever. All, naturally, netting the corporate sector billions of dollars a week in selling pills and needles and giving them an excuse to dope up the population with sludge to boot. It's amazing how people buy into this corporate garbage, doctors and all. All of these doctors are as scared as the next guy, all completely owned by the society around them, just with generally bigger paychecks. And, of course, it is more insidious than just making money. It is an issue of control. Those who do not conform are diagnosed as insane and medicated. And that trend is just getting started. New diseases are springing up left and right from the American Psychiatric Association (APA) trying to create new things for their parent pharmaceutical companies to treat. Sooner or later there is a drug for every mood, everyone is numb, brain-dead, and obedient, and these pills are mandatory for every citizen. If these are the people you look to with your problems, God help you, it is the blind leading the blind. We are a society of madmen. Mimicking, faceless, robots of obedience, sparking and whirring machines of imitation, with no true personality or soul left. And there is no pill for that."

"It was going to be a great night. Paul had been invited to a club, or had heard it from a friend, anyway. His friends were in the car with him, driving to the downtown destination of their choice, the nightclub Heaven. It was all the rage, people were talking about it everywhere, and everyone wanted to get in. Peter cranked down the volume on his reggae music and addressed the car from the driver's seat. 'Finally, huh? It's the big night. It's finally happening!' John, Michael, and Paul, also in the car, laughed uncomfortably. It was kind of a big deal. John leaned over from the back seat and screamed, 'We're getting into heaven!' The car laughed, and they drove on towards the city. Paul looked out the window, his collared shirt reflecting back at him in the sedan glass. Greasy hair, cologne, he couldn't be too prepared. It was like life didn't matter anymore. Like the man said, we're getting into heaven. Ha. The city night zipped by him as he reminisced about his life before that moment. 'There it is guys.' Peter announced once more as they finally took in the godlike nightclub awaiting them. Lined with immaculate lighting, floodlights surrounding the area, and a large, glowing sign spelling out the word Heaven in shining golden letters. Peter found a spot in the back of the parking lot, barely available in the mass of cars. They parked, and exchanged murmurs of appreciation, promises of a great performance in the club, and nervously got themselves together to approach the doors. Heaven held no exceptions to taste. The four men approached the front of the club, and sure enough, large, ornate doors resembling a golden gate awaited them. 'Peter, let us in!' Michael laughed, and his friends grimaced and chuckled, nervous about their behavior in front of the bouncer at the gates. The bouncer addressed them: 'ID, please.' The stern, thick-necked bouncer demanded from them. They all showed their cards, were patted down, and then waved with a security wand. 'This way,' the bouncer ushered, and they entered the lavish nightclub, exchanging glances of nervousness and awe. The four men were never heard from again. Crime reports indicated bloody clothes found in their car, and unidentified body parts being found in a lake nearby. No one knew what had happened, but reports mentioned a lack of welcomeness in the elite club. Nearby, a note was found scrawled in shaky words. 'For the life of a creature is in the blood, it is the blood that makes atonement for one’s life... Leviticus 17:11.'"

"They were breaking down. These things. Apparently, they just kept coming to the same conclusion. Must go on. They terrorized, mainly during the daytime, like day walkers, or zombies. Crowding the roads, shopping centers, restaurants, anywhere they could get a good eye at people. They did anything they wanted to. Not really people anymore, they tried to act human and appear normal in society. For the few who remained. The change must have happened a long time ago, as there was so little humanity left in these things that it was incredible to describe. Though appearing human from a distance, or even slightly up close, these monsters had a grotesque appearance. Like mimics, they milled through human society, imitating, attacking, and swarming, until nothing remained but them. The attacks were strange. Merely the personalities of these things were enough to destroy a living being. Bitter, hostile, and passive-aggressive, their behavior towards living things seemed to be their primary weapon. Hauntingly, if you perceived their form as a normal human, the spite and malice were enough to stop your heart cold. They also spread insanity and preyed on the sound minded with a schizophrenic slurry of exalted emotions and bitter, malicious proclivities against normal tendencies. And things got openly violent. Murder, torture, and rape were all common fates for getting cornered by one of these monster-like entities. Though not fully immune to the law, they found ways to abduct, lie, and conspire to finish off the last vestiges of a dying human race. A combination of mutant, freak, mimic, and evil clown, the various parsing of their personalities was starting to show its wear. It was like these monsters couldn't function for much longer, without turning on each other, or themselves. Some of the last humans had noticed, and had breathed a sigh of relief, but there was more to it than that. Survival against the Its was on every remaining human's mind. A war of attrition was being fought. The things were starting to fail and die, their schizophrenic scars overwhelming their ability to attack. Where they came from, what made these monsters, and what had happened was not the point anymore. Everything came down to one thing, and one thing only, and hopefully just for a little while. Let them die. And no matter what: Survive It."

"Arnold Palmer slumped in his office chair. The sun was shining outside of his office window on a bright Washington, D.C. morning. Outside, the capitol building lawn shimmered evenly in the sun. Arnold looked out briefly, then back at his computer screen as he sighed thoughtfully. Today was the big day. He had a meeting set up with Omnicorp, a technology company that specialized in microchips. They were working out a deal to protect Omnicorp's interests on the west coast, and to mitigate any rumors flying around that their company was a monopoly giant. And, sweetly enough for Arnold Palmer, a nice little financial package for the congressman on the side. Lobbying, it was called. Arnold held his head wryly to the side and smirked. What a life. Arnold's assistant knocked politely on the open office door, beckoning his attention. 'Mr. Palmer, your meeting with Omnicorp is in five minutes. They're just pulling in.' He nodded and lifted his hand, signaling that he understood and waved her off. Her smart ponytail bounced as she smiled politely, nodded back, and left the room. He felt nervous, wiping a slight sweat from his face, then composed himself. It was almost time. The Omnicorp representative had been intimidating. Congressman Palmer had expected a big show, and sure enough, even for a big and powerful company like Omnicorp, they had pulled no punches. Six-foot-five, powerful, and half Arnold's age, the representative had towered over him during their fifteen-minute sit down. What a strange meeting. The Omnicorp representative had glowed confidence, swagger, almost telling him what to do. Arnold shrugged and sat back in his desk chair again, alone now. At least it was over. He could get the legislation passed that they wanted, without too much work or interference from other members of the house. He sighed, pushed some papers into his briefcase, and smiled slightly. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A day's work, no less. Arnold stretched and got out from behind his desk. Time to refuel. Jesus, the pressure those companies put on you, Arnold thought to himself. He left his office and went down the hallway, signaling his assistant that he would be out for a little while. He headed to the snack machines on the other end of the hall, fumbling through his wallet for a couple of dollars. He retrieved two reasonably fresh dollar bills, put them into the machine, and studied the machine's selection chart. What was that candy he wanted? Not too chocolatey, but plenty of energy and nuts. He saw it, studied the label under it, and punched the code into the machine. Payday. C4. The machine tumbled and spun, and with a loud grinding thud, the congressman received his treat in the compartment below."

"The situation was getting intense. The 'cattle', or lower beings of reality, were catching on, had sentient awareness, from the government program, Scient, being released accidentally. Panic and mayhem were everywhere, as the new minds, the glorified slugs, of the cattle were taking hold. Secrets were out, top secret information from all over the world now pouring into the mesosphere of the lower beings. Arnold Devereaux sat and thought, deep in an underground government lab, pondering the outbreak of information and awareness that was causing all this insanity. Scient wasn't designed this way. Created to instruct researchers on the thoughts of high-level telepaths, Scient was meant to bridge the gap between humanity and the higher beings they could possibly become through evolution. Only the highest-level genetic specimens on Earth were taken into account for this project, and only the highest researchers had been involved in the study of their thoughts and brainwaves. Things had gotten completely insane. Public attention had gotten out about Scient, genetically pristine telepaths creating a higher human race through brain studies, and the population had exploded with outrage. As if genetics weren't even a real thing. Arnold adjusted his lab coat sardonically and continued thinking. Of course, they had. Of course, the outrage. They were the lower classes of humanity, trudging by in their anxious little affairs, no thoughts or wisdoms to speak of. Confronted with the very idea that life might be bigger than them and their shitty little lives. And now they were completely involved with this project. Reading the minds of the world's highest telepaths, watching their thoughts being studied, right on television at this point, for Christ's sake. Nothing good was going to come of this. Not only could they watch the top-secret Scient program take place on a daily basis, these people were learning the world's other utmost top-secret programs and secrets from the mass wave of information. Scient created artificial telepathy, and Arnold Devereaux knew what that was. Trouble. The rumbling from the next room caught his attention. He looked over, curious if anyone knew what was going on. Sheesh. The visitation room. The lab had been forced to sign on other people, from the normal population, to study their reactions to not only the Scient program but the plethora of secrets and evils it was unleashing on the world. Arnold walked over to the auditorium, gazing over the mass of discontent faces. The way they mooed, herded, whined thoughtlessly, they had earned this nickname. Cattle. There was no avoiding it. That was the nature of common humanity at this point. Now falsely telepathic and aware of infinite highly confidential government secrets in a way that endangered existence itself. The telepaths being displayed on television were also psychic, and able to intuitively figure these secrets out in conversations with the researchers in the laboratories. To the chagrin of these lower-class idiots, who were too caught up in jealousy and welfare to think anything positive anymore. This was getting out of hand. The telepaths, on satellite cameras all over reality, were being attacked. The cattle weren't having it, the obvious snooty superiority and beautiful looks of these higher genetic humans. Arnold looked around the visitation room, the cattle lined up hundreds deep in front of a vast screen showing that day's highest telepath doing daily activities. Hatred, booing, thoughtless rancor, the room was in mayhem. Catching the eye of lab security nearby, Arnold Devereaux exchanged a nod and walked off. It was as if humanity had split, one-part super-human and one-part farm animal. The Scient program had blown the lid off of that, for sure. Arnold smiled slightly to himself and walked down the hall and back to his desk. There was one thing to do with this situation, and one thing only. Vast extermination. He flipped a coin, catching it and smacking it down without a glance. Let them find that out, too."

"An evil robot sat in an apartment, studying himself and his surroundings. The walls were bleak, the light was grayish and dull outside. A refrigerator hummed gently in the kitchen, as the flicker of a television was the only distraction from his bare living quarters. The robot sat on the couch, paint peeling off the walls, and consented to immerse himself in the television's static glow. Snorting in discontent, he changed through the few barely visible channels on the television. To be aware, he knew, was a sin in this world. He knew only to be critical. He knew only to be vain. Then he might be on the television himself... After a few minutes of watching a television advertisement, the robot left the flickering screen and went to examine himself in a mirror. The hard eyes. The swollen chest. The voice that was so gruff. They are training him to be these things. They are training him to obey. The robot glared up and down the mirror, daring it to look back. And he is, and he did. Going back to the television, the robot sat down and stared at what he should be again. The television flickered as his eyes grew heavy. ...going braindead... mind shutting down... mind slave routine activating... television watching commencing... 'Coming up next, Life! What are your favorite flavors? Right here on CUL..."