Have you ever asked for a gift from God? And he gives you the antlers of a deer, the legs of an ant. Does He consider these equal? Does He, perhaps, need them both the least? I prefer to think His gift brings to attention the things which I lack with signs, which vary.
I take great care to not misinterpret. I’m very tired. Why does He not take care to place these truths in a less, say, clusterfuck-ish of a place?
I put the month-old cup of tea down. No milk this time, no sugar. Bad results from that. I write down the time on the clock. Exact life-span of culture. Type of tea. What I think of the drawing, cyanide-blue, on the cup. Sister put much effort into this one. It depicts a well with a rooster atop. Spins and swirls told a different story twenty-nine days ago. They spoke of eels. Is this relevant? Sould I tag it in some way? I’ll write in blue, I think that makes sense.
I drink the sample down. Sample of the atmosphere of me, imprinted on a circular surface continuously for a month. It had islands of activity, seas of seeming calm. Now they are one with me. I will become one again. Metamorphosis abound.
I approach the beast. I right-click on a grey rhombus which says “Submit”, or something of a similar nature. I wrote a paper about crystals a year ago, in one of my blind states. The ones in which I didn’t care about being God. Immortal. Only in all ways that matter, of course. Some people in some journal with some bland name liked the paper, the thoughts on it, the numbers too, I guess. So I go to labs now, as I did before, as I will continue to. I flower the mint and the rosemary.
As I take back the humanity out of the room, a hole forms in it’s place. A perfect mirror of what was before, what will be. Maybe the metamorphosis is not mine. This sample adds more quickly than the last. The hole crumbles away a little more. This one’s important. At first it was just a void on a drum set, slowly eating away at the black plastic. Subsequently it was hard to notice. I liked drumming before, I think. Can’t very much recall the feeling now. Don’t want to lie. Mayhaps I did not? Speaking things around tell me that I did. So annoying, the presences. Thankfully, oh god, so ever thankfully most don’t ask of anything now. Don’t make noises. Don’t shift the images too rapidly. I smell of moss, I imagine.
The legs formed asymmetrically. In patches the blackness poured, first left toe, then right pinkie, heel on both. Patches. I wrote the process down, trying to find a pattern. Left toe first, significantly earlier than others. I do move it often, for when the action is done it makes a click. Pleasant but painful. Pleasant but pleasant? Tautology. Sorry. So, ever so sorry indeed.
The arms were strange. Left first, whole palm, much more slowly than legs. Ulnar nerve first, of course. I’m right-handed, though. Mostly, that to say, because for most of this room’s life I wrote with left hand specifically. To check. To stop myself from drawing, when not needed. Such things should be controlled, for most efficient results. Checks and balances. If only I could do such a thing for thought. I am now proficient in writing with both, but can only draw with my right hand. How neat is that?
Right formed second, slow also. Body and legs without note. A couple of cuts on the left leg faster than the rest. First they appeared like stone, and then the rising tides of the remainder of the leg flowed in. Teenage me sure was a bother! But him I must absorb also, to complete the apotheosis. If you think about things too much, people start noting. Just stop doing it. Easy as sand.
Neck, jaw, mind first, then skull. All sculpted by memory of a lack. All, every one, intricate details and pasts and possibilities. A lump in the right parietal lobe first, though. Nice to meet you too. Thin as a pole. Looking at his human copy. Voidful, pleasant to the eye. Eyes, eyes, eyes. Today is eyes day! I’ve enough to activate the golem. The pupils set in, voids in their own respect. I whisper to it the name of god, and we laugh and we cry together. If it actually moves I don’t know. Because I fall asleep at it’s heel.
Somebody entered my room. Eh, why? I thought I locked it. Unfortunate. They are screaming something or other. They turn on the light. Wrong, wrong light, why do that, ever so why? In darkness you can still see the me-shaped-presence, for it is not dark but null.
People are so unfortunate these days. She ran off, or at least she is not here anymore. I apologise to the me that has ascended into eternal unity. The perfectly spherical, frictionless me waves it off, using it’s left hand. I ask it why left, it doesn’t know what “left” is. Better this way. Perfect, even.
I ask it when we can join. For I am deteriorating rapidly. It says when I close the door. Of course, of course. Reasonable, the door is to be closed at all times. There is a man or two downstairs, I note. Sure, guests are reasonable as well. They will see us and smile, I think. Or pray?
I close the door and approach the rest of me. I give it my left hand, my right. Mind, tumour, the works.
I’m here.
Everything stings. All white?.. No, this really isn’t it. Put me back please. Collect me into one again. Anti-Apotheosis? Fall From Grace, Northern star? I am a.. well wound, I sould not, this should not. Cannot, but it is. Can’t move my godly lack, for we are horridly separate once more, am aware of not being able to move my putrid meat container. No, godly in part, don’t offend it so. Eyes moving all around. Can’t focus on anything in particular. Horrid, horrid, horrid, god kill me, strike me down, eat my flesh.
Note on patient progress:
This note’s contents are ones of which all persons interacting with Ronald Rivers are to be made aware of. The practice, while not common, is a strict necessity, which the unusual circumstances of this case require.
Ronald seems to have made no considerable progress since his enrollment into the institution’s care. In his diaries were found mentions of “blind” states, we assume those to be periods of time in which his thought cleared, and he did his noteable academic work. Currently Ronald exhibits multiple states, all not very responsive.
Due to the mentioned episodes of clarity, he is actively being processed in the justice system. Ronald has assembled a human-sized-and-shaped statue, made of, there’s no gentle way to put it, corresponding human tissue. This tissue belongs to at least seventeen different persons, by current estimate. Most filed as missing, other didn’t match to anybody in the database. Some animal. A lot of it too severely chemically treated for proper analisys.
He is being charged due to the fact that an unknown, but seemingly not insignificant amount of the time working on his statue he was entirely not mad, and capable of reason.
Other parts of the victims haven’t been found yet. Analisys of Ronald’s kitchen appliances seems to imply that he has been eating them, at least partially.
The tissue is still being analysed, and new details of the case are uncovered very rapidly. Some persons used in the piece have been discovered to be Ronald’s friends. The brain in this piece was almost entirely constructed of his childhood friend, presumed to be MIA a month ago. Another large part of the brain was constructed of a peculiar object, resembling a black sea hedgehog. Embeded in the brain, as if growing from it. The tennis-ball-sized thing has some noteable qualities, ones which we were gently advised not to disclose to the public.
Ronald was found by his long-concerned neighbour, coming to confront him about strange smells and sounds. The man was found, consciousness lost, underneath the sculpture, immitating it’s pose entirely.