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2018 Jan 16

15 minutes: He opens the empty

He touches the desolate. He swoops down on blackened wings and finds the lonely. They do not see him, but in some sense know him. He whispers to them in their own voice, and they do not know if they can believe him.

He burns down the kindling. He searches for the lost. He gathers millions in his giant arms, and looks for their light.

He cries for the happy, he laughs for the sad, he does nothing for the angry for they do it already.

In their dreams, he finds their desires, makes them real for one night. In their nightmares, he exploits their fears and forces their confrontation.

He has no particular purpose but what happens to suit him, a storm that blows across his people, neither really there nor absent.

He lights the unlit, he extinguishes the burning. He scatters the united and calls together the disparate. He finds the voice of the unheard and puts it in new ears. He finds the voice of the noisy and sows seeds of their oblivion.

He comes for you tonight, sword in one hand, lantern in the other, but perhaps he passes by, having seen someone else more interesting. You don't really know him. He is neither for you nor against you. You may know of his siblings, while he just plays in the shadows

Some things are unexplained, but only because he does not explain.