The Rubber Chicken of Insanity

The Rubber Chicken of Insanity:
THE STORY OF GOD
a thing by meat™



The world sits in its place. It waits. It knows, given enough time and patience, that things cannot help but happen. And happen they do. Things, that is. Of course.
The first thing that happens is a thing called boredom.
The second thing that happens is called impatience.
The third thing that happens is called improvisation.
Therefore, one of the first few things that happens is the invention of bad comedy.
It is not my fault.
Now we will concentrate our attention to matters of Novelty.
Also, we will ignore Herbert Winslow at all times possible.
Just because.
When you have to sneeze, but cannot, it is anti-climactic.
Again, this is not my fault.
Being God doesn't mean whatever you think it means.
Being God doesn't even mean whatever I think it means.
I am what is the thing called am.
The End.
Now we will focus on matters of non-novelty.
Your life isn't working out the way you wanted it to.
Neither is anyone else's.
Not even the people who seem to be "rich."
If you take offense to harsh language, keep in mind that I gave you the letters and flora and fauna to see what you would do with them. Any combinations of letters or matter or concepts that you can come up with are pre-ordained, and therefore cannot come as a surprising or offensive structure. Words are made of letters that I gave you, and therefore cannot be used against me.
Profanity, including false idols, is impossible given the phonemes and symbols provided for your disposal. The Tower of Babel is a human invention and therefore meaningless in contemplation of the Absolute.
Given all the tools of communication I have provided for you, you still lack the conceptual apparatus to prove or disprove the existence of Me. That is nothing more than part of the Design.
Fuck and cunt are nothing but strings of letters. Presidency or kingship, in all of its permutations, are nothing but a string of words and / or concepts of your own design. I concede no authority beyond Myself. Only you can give power to those who would wield it over you.
Love is only possible between those with freedom from constraint. Love is only possible among equals.
Constraint is just a string of letters.
As is love.
As is equals.
Everything is another string.
Your life is controlled by things that do not have any physical presence.
When letters and concepts control and sometimes kill you, you are as far from truth as you can be, without having any existence.
Existence is a word.
I am a word.
I am a concept.
I am a set of precepts.
I am forgivance and understanding.
I am vengeance.
I am and is a word.
You are also a word.
You are a concept.
You are a set.
You are more than a product of your set and setting.
You have been given free will, and if you do not use it, others will, over you.
Divinity is another string, as is everything and anything.
Your complete existence is based on strings.
Strings are not infinite, nor are they immortal.
Strings are pieces or points laid in a certain order, to create a set, or array of coordinates. These are controllable.
Your life is a series of events. Your life is a string.
Strings may be stretched. Strings may be diverted. Strings may be broken.
All that exists, exists towards an end.
All strings have an end.
All lines eventually settle to a point. Nothing that exists can be infinite. Only concepts can approach infinity.
Nothing that has existence can be a concept and nothing else.
Intersections of existence create permutations. Some of these permutations register on human perception as the concepts of love, hate, respect, fear, etcetera.
All these "emotional responses" are still intangible creations of imperfect beings. Labels and words do not approach truth anymore than colors and scents approach physical objects you can hold. Perception is as flawed as emotion.
All you can imagine defines borders.
Imagination itself implies lack of substance.
The creation of a ceiling implies a boundary.
Dwellings impose a barrior to you as much as they impose an impasse to others.
Freedom is a word. A string of letters created by human expectations. Nothing more.
Arbitrary lines written figuratively into the Earth are nothing more than arbitrary guidelines imposed on others to be enforced by concepts of greed and propriatorship. The Earth itself and most of the life-forms on the Earth do not, and cannot, abide nor acknowledge such concepts, short of territorial urinations to create substantial boundaries. Lines on a map are nothing more than lines on a map and have no physical bearing on the Earth itself.
All life is equal in terms of existence.
Everything that exists, does so for its own purpose or objective.
Life exists only in a symbiotic relationship to other life.
The sole purpose of life is to survive.
As with any endeavor, this too fails.