The Creators Ch. 14

"Petranumen came here when she saw that a realm had been formed in Purity. She put an idea in your center—a bible—in the hopes that she could plant her lie into your origin. I see that you took to it more than Wisdom did. Perhaps it does not define you, but it still cages you." She looked at me with her obsidian gaze. "Mankind's mind should be uncaged. You have put up walls around an idea you don't understand. Until both the astral and earthly planes are unfettered from the bonds of abstraction, the world will never know freedom." She studied my face like a clinician, impassive and thoughtful. "There are many tethered beings, but you are without a doubt the most pathetic. Perhaps you lack the pretense I so despise in the others, but they at least made something of their self-imposed personifications. You used to be the most feared man on earth, and now you're a cockroach clinging to life's putrid underbelly. Even when you were a god, you were but an insect wearing giant's clothing."

"Have mercy!" I blubbered.

"Did you ever show mercy, Sun Man?" Corruption asked. Before I could answer, she grabbed me, dragged me into her embrace, and plunged her tongue into my mouth. Blackness flowed in me, tasting of putrid bile. It flowed from my nostrils, infected my sinuses, scoured my throat like vomit being poured into my gut. I screamed, I shrieked, I ripped and tore at her, but she held me effortlessly, and drowned me in her acid. The mountains of my realm crumbled, the valleys rose, the hills collided upon each other. A jungle emerged from the grasslands, the vines snarling and binding, the great trees fighting for superiority of the heavens with their branches clawing upward. The walls were consumed by the foliage, and they rotted away like wet timber, joining my realm with the vast dark jungle beyond. I was no longer Purity. I was no one at all.

Excerpt from Dr. Siam's thesis, The Broken Bridge, page seventy:

Energy is always conserved. These are the laws of thermodynamics. If you eat a delicious tuna sandwich, your body will take the calories, deposit the carbohydrates into your fat cells, the protein into your muscles, and the fiber into your digestive tract to aid in the tuna's transformation from fish into poop. When you weigh your feces (as I do every morning), you will find that their mass is far less than the tuna you ate, and that is because the rest of the tuna has been converted to biological processes. The sum of all the energy converted to feces, muscle, fiber and fat is exactly the sum of all the energy that was present in that tuna before you ate it.

You cannot break these laws, and so the question is then posed, where in the good fuck do Creators get their energy from? The spiritual plane, obviously. The energy is taken from the spiritual plane, converted into an idea in the astral plane, and then made manifest (turned into poop) in the physical plane. Now, it is known that Creators have limits to their energy. If a Creator is unbound, then they will expend themselves quite quickly. If a Creator is bound, their access to energy is multiplied, but it is not infinite. Love is unromantically quantifiable. Just ask my ex-boyfriend.

So what is love? This is a question philosophers and psychologists have ruminated upon forever. Because of that, the only logical conclusion that can be made is that philosophers and psychologists are fucking morons, and if you listen to them, then you are clinically retarded. Love is a number. In the physical plane, the variables of romantic love are the novelty of sexual acts and the proportional level of each partner's attractiveness. The lower your attractiveness, the lower your expectations are in the bedroom, and the easier it is for you to be "in love." Yes, that's right, reader: the person you are currently in love with is only physically in love with you because you perform the prerequisite sexual activities and have the right amount of attractiveness. That love could change very quickly if your partner raises their attractiveness, and you do not proportionally raise your willingness to do anal. So put down this book right now and buy a gallon of lube.

In the astral plane, love is the percentage of your self-perception that you devote to another person. In this regard, love and hate are very similar. The variables for love in the astral plane are: compatibility of prejudices, and the conviction of one's assertiveness. It doesn't seem so romantic, but logic rarely is. If two people have the same prejudices (we like this music, we like that food, we hate those people) then those two people are candidates for astral love, but the other variable is even more important.

Your conviction to your assertiveness—that is, your willingness to dominate the relationship with your own self-perception—is paramount. A submissive individual will have a low conviction of assertiveness, while a dominant individual is the opposite. Indeed, opposites do attract. While it is imperative for astral love that both partners share the same prejudices, it is more important that one partner is as submissive as the other is dominant. Two headstrong people can still be in love, but one of them will inevitably compromise, or the love was never there. In that regard, the submitting headstrong partner was never as dominant as they thought they were. You, dear reader, might think that you are an incredibly dominant personality, but there is a very good chance that you are actually just an asshole.

And so that brings us to the spiritual plane, the source of all life energy—not just the Creator's energy. Spiritual love is very, very simple. Two spirits meet. The end. "But, Doctor Siam, how is that possible? I meet spirits every day!" No, you don't. If you have ever been in true love, then you have met exactly one spirit in your whole life. When I told you in the first page of this thesis that the broken bridge is not broken, this is what I meant. It is not a one-way avenue from soul, to mind, to body. Love is a journey in the opposite direction. You meet someone. You find them attractive. They do anal. It's fucking great. They like your music, they like your food, and they really hate orcs and goblins, and damnit, you do too! They argue with you, and that's OK. You like a good argument, just as long as they're the ones who say sorry first. They do. Your spirits touch.

Your love has moved from physical, to astral, to spiritual. If you are a Creator, you have just transited the planes in the opposite direction, and created a beacon to the heavens from which you can suck your power from. No longer do you have to drag your energy through the molasses of your meagre astral ability; now, you can just take it from someone else.