This is the last thing I wrote before quitting my book. Reading it now makes me want to finish it and then start over, completely rewrite the 51,000 words with new words and then expand it into what I always intended it to be. Motivation. Have at thee!

So. I am here, here at last, at the last point before Something Big And Ambiguously Monumental Will Happen To Everyone, Which Means Me. And everything does not seem to be converging as I had suspected it would. The big bang, reversal, the fucking dress rehearsal that I thought would be beautiful. To see All of It in one spot, spinning madly and yet rhythmically until it could not stand the heat of it all and ejaculated it (multitudinous infosperm) into the Nothing that hung where soon a different sort of Nothing would hang, full of movement and energy and heat and information that would signify only the most basic binary flips and switches. And I would have condensed myself to reach its state (not expand, retreat into the Unit and then smaller, into the Unit shoved Null times into the Zero), to the Step Into its code and I would meld with it and absorb it and become it, and there would no longer be a difference between anything, the 1 and the 0, the same, not an average, but a hybrid rape-child spawned from the two, only to spontaneously replace them with Its nature.

I am alone.

At least I am I, am this flesh that fell from flesh into the world of flesh.