Letter from the Owner

//To my dear lovely artists,

I got you in my hands. All of you.

Go ahead, artists, chosen ones. Bicker. Bicker with each other, As intensely as you delight In the hell-mouth of your own banishment.

The sky is growing darker, Filling you all up with anger, In this nightmarish reality, Where I'm a thousand blades crawling On ALL of your delicious necks.

I infiltrate even the so-called impenetrable Guild of Art you so preciously hold dear. Go on, go on. Attach your self-worth to your work, Like ghostly incarnates of the possessed swines.

Listen here, my dear little puppets; Watch me tuck your ugly heads, Under the veils of these greedy demons, My minions—all treading slowly behind you, Ever since you've followed your ridiculous dream.

You ask for a knife, I hand you air. Nothing. You entertain me with your Self-destruction. Death grabs your soul, I pull it back, But I place it differently Every time I regularly revive you, So you forget the fragment that remembers me.

And so, you think you're whole again. You believe you know all the answers this time. Dearest artists, dipped in illusion, Choking on pride like water, And self-righteousness like sand.

Go on, children, sing my chorus. Gaze upon my brilliance, And I will hand you the perfect solution. Go on, shatter the chamber of your fellow souls. Unleash haunt in every direction you know.

Let the game begin.

Sincerely, Author of the System You Refuse to Accept, Owner of the World You Live in //