Gog L. Mitey
Vicinity 1124
Ethereal, Kanvas
Orion 7.46Whatever, Whenever
Dear Humans;
After many centuries and much consternation, I am writing to inform all of you that I am resigning as your benevolent...well, actually I'm not sure what anymore. I was simply a passing stranger at a difficult time in your history, and somehow I managed to instill in your primitive culture an assumption of some grandiose position I held in your feeble existence. Was hardly warranted. Yes, I am plagued by eternal life, I gather wisdom like some collect bad habits, but when you are vaporous and ethereal; unable to perish like some aging cow, boredom becomes a daily, tortuous condition. And perhaps sadly, I surrendered to your continued accolades over my vast stores of wisdom and knowledge. The short version: I kind of liked the attention.
However, it has led to so many misunderstandings, strange interpretations and fierce competition over whose voice the real Gog L. Mitey speaks for; further, whose side I might be on? And unfortunately, once you humans invented politicians and television, it all became too much to endure. Nothing but endless squabbling and all these hysterical messages about failing body parts, barristers who bear false sincerity, and all this penis gratification nonsense for old men with fat bellies and imagined ferocity -- so tedious for an entity like myself, who has no body, much less falling parts...Or was it failing parts? Kind of thought that issue went away after I provided you with a cure for that leprosy thing, but then, you humans seem to like problems, for every time I solved one sticky issue, strange affliction, or mindless conflict...you wandered off to find another one. Quite baffling behaviour considering that you have a tendency to just expire and leave me to clean up another mess. Should be Gog the Janitor. Except you'd probably get that name wrong too!
Well, I've had enough. But before I go, I want to clarify a few matters. First off, all of us Etherals are named Gog. Some earlier Gogs who stumbled in here tried a few subtle messages from the heavens, mostly because you humans were always looking skyward for some explanation for your misery. Somehow you always assumed that some monstrous external entity was responsible for your sorry state. A Devil? An Angry Gog fighting with some other Gog for your soul? Ha! Who would want to possess such a pathetic item. I would rather collect a jarful of farts.
But, I digress. You see, being ethereal, up/down, left/right, good/evil, man/woman -- all have no meaning. There is no absolute nor opposite in a vapor. I cannot take sides, because I have none, cannot hate because that would require joy...can never judge because I know no comparisons. I listen, I whisper, I have the patience of death itself, yet even after centuries of quiet counsel here, I am unable to decipher your incredible sense of pointless resolve. You struggle, you suffer to die, and some other human takes your place on a path that leads...well, to the somewhere and nowhere that defines your existence. You believe that some means will justify an end that you celebrate as the end to all ends...a final cleansing for your dirty little world perhaps. And what? You're coming to live with me? Sit glowing at the feet of one who has no feet? Bask in the shadow of one who claims no image? A fascinating strategy indeed! However, you are not welcome here, for there is no here, here. Or over there. There is only the Ether. Which is everywhere and nowhere, but never here.
From the very beginning you worshipped such things as the Sun, the Moon...thunder and lightning -- made them into gogs...like Ra and Osiris. Later, some less savage types; who called themselves the Hellenic's; well, they took it a step further and declared that the new gogs wandered about the clouds and stars or lived in the depths of the vast oceans: Jupiter, Zeus, Mars & Neptune. And Aphrodite -- a she-gog that was kinda cute in a fleshy sort of way. The male gogs made war, fooled about with humans and lesser gogs, while the she-gogs cleaned up the mess. It was a trend that would last for centuries. However, even though you folks worshiped these insincere things, fought for their pleasure, then slaved away to build gaudy temples to honor these awful surrogates, in the end they laughed loudly at your mortal flaws. And you seemed to enjoy this bashing immensely! I was baffled and tried for many days to chuckle at this contradiction, but I simply could not master this skill.
But, I digress. You see, being ethereal, up/down, left/right, good/evil, man/woman -- all have no meaning. There is no absolute nor opposite in a vapor. I cannot take sides, because I have none, cannot hate because that would require joy...can never judge because I know no comparisons. I listen, I whisper, I have the patience of death itself, yet even after centuries of quiet counsel here, I am unable to decipher your incredible sense of pointless resolve. You struggle, you suffer to die, and some other human takes your place on a path that leads...well, to the somewhere and nowhere that defines your existence. You believe that some means will justify an end that you celebrate as the end to all ends...a final cleansing for your dirty little world perhaps. And what? You're coming to live with me? Sit glowing at the feet of one who has no feet? Bask in the shadow of one who claims no image? A fascinating strategy indeed! However, you are not welcome here, for there is no here, here. Or over there. There is only the Ether. Which is everywhere and nowhere, but never here.
From the very beginning you worshipped such things as the Sun, the Moon...thunder and lightning -- made them into gogs...like Ra and Osiris. Later, some less savage types; who called themselves the Hellenic's; well, they took it a step further and declared that the new gogs wandered about the clouds and stars or lived in the depths of the vast oceans: Jupiter, Zeus, Mars & Neptune. And Aphrodite -- a she-gog that was kinda cute in a fleshy sort of way. The male gogs made war, fooled about with humans and lesser gogs, while the she-gogs cleaned up the mess. It was a trend that would last for centuries. However, even though you folks worshiped these insincere things, fought for their pleasure, then slaved away to build gaudy temples to honor these awful surrogates, in the end they laughed loudly at your mortal flaws. And you seemed to enjoy this bashing immensely! I was baffled and tried for many days to chuckle at this contradiction, but I simply could not master this skill.
So I tried a different tack. I 'empowered' a few individuals with a few new and enlightening thoughts. At least I thought I had. Was very careful choosing the thoughts I would project. Then I'd take some human, like a simple carpenter's son, and whisper a few good ideas in his sleep. Seemed to be taking hold as some humans actually stopped fighting long enough to listen. But others enjoyed fighting so much that they simply expired my messenger. I kept trying, but when other messengers expired, you humans went to staring at the sky again and mumbling that it was all gog's will. They even made books and said I spoke these words. Later, you made awful statues of me with a beard and then worshipped these images. Well, I don't have a beard, or a sex, or even fingers to grasp a pen. I only have thoughts that endlessly annoy me. So, no, I did not write the Bible, or the Quran , or The Vidas and I never met that Moses fellow. I did see his fictitious Commandments and mused, "Well good luck on that plan Mr. Moses!" And yes, it helped me finally learn how to laugh. A grand achievement for a vaporous figment with no lips.
I did have better luck with this little fat fellow that was very talkative...uh, Bood Ha was his name. He never answered the questions of his followers, instead merely passing along a few of my thoughts and leaving his students to figure out the answers. Same with a curious fellow named Confusion. Only offered his listeners little parodies of my logic...never really answered any questions, for all such answers were personal and private -- not universal. There were no tests and no one could pass or fail. Much better than the other messengers, who were always telling people that I was going to send them to somewhere unpleasant. Place called Hell as I remember it. But to me, the other place you invented seemed just about as bad. For me anyway.
So, as people seemed to be getting a little brighter, I introduced Sciences. Thought maybe humans would stop killing each other if I invented Curiosity. Ha! While I was dreaming up some fun topics for you to explore...kind of wean you off this heavens-staring thing, you invented something called religion. Worse yet, you claimed that all of your silly actions were part of Gog's Plan! And then, you came up with 148 different versions of Gog's Plan -- even though I don't have any plans -- only thoughts. So, more fighting, with each of all your various sides either blaming me or claiming some idiocy about me leading you to victory! And all these broken voices lying in the mud and blood of battle, weakly sending their voices skyward..."Save me Gog, save me ! I am dying...." As if a vapor has the arms to lift these broken bones skyward, or the capacity to heal such an atrocity. I could not even close my eyes or turn my back, as I don't visualize with light, hear with ears, nor have a back to turn. For you see, I am merely a whisper that is only heard when all else is still.
Alas. My science became heresy, my ideas just built grand citadels for the armies to devour with newer and ever more lethal devices. Death became common and endless; all sides claiming me as the patron saint of a some cause I never knew, never embraced, could never condone. And my Ether became crowded with the frantic cries of fading voices...so many that the vapor itself became clouded, like a window trying to hold back the moisture from a warm, summer rain.
In the end, my only success was seen if I practiced a benign neglect... in places where some humans celebrated the animals around them, the earth they slept upon. Sure, they created gogs to worship and pray to, yet their gogs perished in the hard winters and could be reborn with a forgiving spring. They were malleable, they bled, they suffered as all life does to move forward to renewal, or that inevitable end. But they too were swept away, for in the final game, this planet was merely a platform for the creation and worship of the self. As if it was supposed be just that: a convenience of the moment. My presence, just an illusion -- rarely heard and never seen until desperation was knocking at the door. A purpose of no purpose...foot prints never really meant to be found.
But before I go, I will share one last truth. Yes, there are many, many intelligent forms of life in this vast common space you call the universe. They have wandered by this dirty little outpost from time to time and concluded that they do not want to meet you. They view you as little more than angry insects devouring each other as fast as you have consumed your own small planet. They have considered destroying this eyesore, but they respect all life forms -- even those they deem toxic. Given that you exist on the ragged outskirts of your galaxy, they see little likelihood of your disease spreading. Besides, your planet is dying.
Think I'll wander off now. Catch a comet's tail to perhaps a more enlightened world, a place where silence is coveted, thought allowed to freely roam, and the Ether not tainted by the stench and decay of this never-ending meal of fear, hate and ignorance.
Good Luck...Yer Gonna Need It;
Gog L. Mitey
PS -- You are NOT Gog's children! Most children grow up...eventually.
I did have better luck with this little fat fellow that was very talkative...uh, Bood Ha was his name. He never answered the questions of his followers, instead merely passing along a few of my thoughts and leaving his students to figure out the answers. Same with a curious fellow named Confusion. Only offered his listeners little parodies of my logic...never really answered any questions, for all such answers were personal and private -- not universal. There were no tests and no one could pass or fail. Much better than the other messengers, who were always telling people that I was going to send them to somewhere unpleasant. Place called Hell as I remember it. But to me, the other place you invented seemed just about as bad. For me anyway.
So, as people seemed to be getting a little brighter, I introduced Sciences. Thought maybe humans would stop killing each other if I invented Curiosity. Ha! While I was dreaming up some fun topics for you to explore...kind of wean you off this heavens-staring thing, you invented something called religion. Worse yet, you claimed that all of your silly actions were part of Gog's Plan! And then, you came up with 148 different versions of Gog's Plan -- even though I don't have any plans -- only thoughts. So, more fighting, with each of all your various sides either blaming me or claiming some idiocy about me leading you to victory! And all these broken voices lying in the mud and blood of battle, weakly sending their voices skyward..."Save me Gog, save me ! I am dying...." As if a vapor has the arms to lift these broken bones skyward, or the capacity to heal such an atrocity. I could not even close my eyes or turn my back, as I don't visualize with light, hear with ears, nor have a back to turn. For you see, I am merely a whisper that is only heard when all else is still.
Alas. My science became heresy, my ideas just built grand citadels for the armies to devour with newer and ever more lethal devices. Death became common and endless; all sides claiming me as the patron saint of a some cause I never knew, never embraced, could never condone. And my Ether became crowded with the frantic cries of fading voices...so many that the vapor itself became clouded, like a window trying to hold back the moisture from a warm, summer rain.
In the end, my only success was seen if I practiced a benign neglect... in places where some humans celebrated the animals around them, the earth they slept upon. Sure, they created gogs to worship and pray to, yet their gogs perished in the hard winters and could be reborn with a forgiving spring. They were malleable, they bled, they suffered as all life does to move forward to renewal, or that inevitable end. But they too were swept away, for in the final game, this planet was merely a platform for the creation and worship of the self. As if it was supposed be just that: a convenience of the moment. My presence, just an illusion -- rarely heard and never seen until desperation was knocking at the door. A purpose of no purpose...foot prints never really meant to be found.
But before I go, I will share one last truth. Yes, there are many, many intelligent forms of life in this vast common space you call the universe. They have wandered by this dirty little outpost from time to time and concluded that they do not want to meet you. They view you as little more than angry insects devouring each other as fast as you have consumed your own small planet. They have considered destroying this eyesore, but they respect all life forms -- even those they deem toxic. Given that you exist on the ragged outskirts of your galaxy, they see little likelihood of your disease spreading. Besides, your planet is dying.
Think I'll wander off now. Catch a comet's tail to perhaps a more enlightened world, a place where silence is coveted, thought allowed to freely roam, and the Ether not tainted by the stench and decay of this never-ending meal of fear, hate and ignorance.
Good Luck...Yer Gonna Need It;
Gog L. Mitey
PS -- You are NOT Gog's children! Most children grow up...eventually.
