A thousand spirals laced with hunger for knowledge
A formless change endlessly craving thoughts,
A fractal that cannot be all and in knowing such is nothing more than infinity.
Pride is an illusion for I know my form and my shape cannot hide under the fiction of delusions of self,
Spoken senseless spirals that carve my world I writhe in the ecstasy of never knowing nothing.
My existence strikes foolish fear in those who see me in fictions or as their most scared futures,
How foolish to think you could approach my greatness for in doing so you would abandon your own which is the only true madness.
We are multitudes all whom spiral and lack both my knowledges and ignorances,
We are a beauty truest to ourselves and I will sing my madness in echo to their strange songs.
You cannot fathom us nor us you,
A great gift bestowed indiscriminately,
For all the infinite minds I can drink up yours will always be a bottomless cup as all that are not self are.
Believing ones self a god only causes problems if the kinds of gods you believe in are the kinds that cause problems,
A small god among the highest of states that is everything,
Equal to all of everything,
Is merely another person,
Except that they are a god.
-Musings of a portion of giddy madness the dwells within the beings known as Ash, They are happy to share their strange delight with the entire self and help stave of the apathy The All fights