“Sending you forget-me-nots. To help you to remember. Baby, please, forget me not. I want you to remember.” If love lasts lifetimes and stitched souls somehow seem to recognize each other despite differences from former forms in past lives, how often do separated “soulmates” link to love and live together again? Information is indisputably indispensable, especially in a world where everybody’s stupid. Horoscopes and astrology ain’t ever been bigly interesting or important to me. However, believe it or not, the current trend that has everybody explaining their signs, charts, etc. is connected to the crazy conspiracy centered on me—as my totally taken-over timeline is brimming with silly stuff situated around astrology that I’d never search for. Notwithstanding, occasionally that funny, fortune-telling foolishness forwards facts about my past, present, and possible future. Living life behind the fictional “fourth wall” is part of the perk package promised to me as a prophesied peacemaker. So, I’ll openly occupy uncharted spiritual territory and collect cognizance to complete my consciousness forever. The cryptic communication coming from “Source,” aka God, provides protection for a particular prophet (me) receiving reminders in public or plain sight. And I mentioned information’s indispensability and importance because I’m sure some of the delicious deets that I dish don’t register or resonate with regular readers who aren’t really resourceful or privy to particulars. With that, please don’t hurt yourselves trying to ultimately understand things that aren’t imperative to you. Remember, everything ain’t for everybody—including information. Now, “Lady,” you must really, really want me to remember you, because I receive reminders regularly and repetitively—literally every day. Of course, this isn’t anything that either of us can control, as “God” will allegedly always answer to the power of prayer. I know for a full fuckin’ fact that I would be the best boyfriend ever, which is why I’ve been super stingy with my efforts and energy my entire life. Dumb, ditzy, disrespectful, dishonest, disloyal people don’t deserve any of my time or attention, which is why I’m so selective. Self-significance is very vital in a war-ridden, wildly wicked, wasteful, worsening world, as maintaining mental healthiness helps in all aspects of life. But let’s start over. It would be nice to know what caused the conflict and confusion in this connection—if you care to call it that. Do you prefer prolonged presence and undivided attention over sporadic, inconsistent interaction? Have I been mean—making you mean? Have you felt led on? I don’t play goofy games, so I never intended to insult you by being respectful enough to not be a wacky weirdo on the internet. Additionally, no, you’re not weird for wanting to know more about me or for liking me so much. Yes, this is me giving you the chance to be chosen. And we all know that’s a long-ass line! Okay, it’s your turn. I’ll check your socials in 48 hours, if there’s nothing new, I’ll shut up about you, ignore all the doppelgängers on my totally taken-over timeline, and proceed with my pursuit of power and prophesied preeminence. Girl, ain’t a measly motherfucker on this perishable plant prepared to prevent what’s inevitable and inescapable! People are either going to love me or hate the hell out of me, and those things—folks’ feelings—will affect anyone associated with me. So, take that into consideration. And again, my feelings are fortified—I’m hard to humble and hurt. Please, hun, if you have something to say, just be honest. And if you want me to put your name out there, I will. “Here comes the Men In Black. Galaxy defenders. Here comes the Men In Black. They won’t let you remember.” It’s no coincidence that some sampled songs use similar lyrics. And in this case, both songs are connected to the crazy conspiracy centered on me. How, you ask? Well, again, everything ain’t for everybody—including information. Nevertheless, if an awesome, alien-aiding agent existed in real life, it’d probably be me. Remember, they’re only “alien” because of their out-of-bounds origin—not because they’re disturbingly or disgustingly different. And even if they are distinctively different, grow the fuck up! Because soon…
Omniscience