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"A wind howled across Los Diablos, a darkened skyline betraying the tall, glittering towers of bone and steel that made up the city. Large, winged creatures could be seen flying in the sky, oblivious to all but their own ominous nature. The city was dark, almost always, and had an iridescent green hue to it coming from the windows and lights of the demon city, centerpiece of the hellish demon planet L'naam. In tall towers, demon lords lurked and monitored their lower classes. The people, and this city, were subject to mind control in an effort to drown out any opposition to the demonic factories in Los Diablos. The obsession with profits, grandeurs, greed,  and malice of these evil conspirators as they traversed their way into a new age of slavery and death was infernal. Once thriving demons of happiness and self-pursuit on L'naam, the new city of Los Diablos was crushed by the weight of enslavement. The demons were told what to do, by glaring screens, and directed harshly from one assignment to the next, like set routines. The higher demons controlled the hellscape with eerie propaganda, inundation of commercial mind-control, and controlled public speakers that were celebrated over the demon horde. The speakers, as they were called, were looked up to by the demon horde, and represented the public presence of the demon factories that controlled them. Then they were cast into an abyss of death when their roles were done. The nature of these particular demons was ragged and barren, in any real manner, to the decent and average demon horde. And few knew it. These freakish demons, the speakers, dressed provocatively in tacky and gaudy clothing. They had demon technology hooked into their bodies that made them appear strong, and wore flashy, garish false hairs. All manner of things were done to inundate their images upon the lower demons, for the sake of the looming and evil demon factories. This also included the absolute butchering of the face and body amidst a horrid and ghastly process to reconstitute the speaker demons afterwards. With surgeries, they were turned and twisted into something new, wretched, and unholy. And, seemingly, these butchered and false speakers were beguiling to the lower demons of the city. It made the mind control effective, to create speakers and thrust them upon lower society in such a brazen fashion and manner. The proles, or poorer, lower demons of the city of Los Diablos, took this horrible illusion gratefully. The speaker demons were routinely manufactured and placed into the public eye of Los Diablos to quell unfriendly thought or sentiment against a new age of death and enslavement. They were put in screens, on stages, and given great galas or affairs in the public eye. All to sell a mindset of obedience and contrition to the evil hypnotic factories, and soon rulers of a new age, in Los Diablos. The dark age was coming. Almost no one could fight back, and the minds of even the strongest demons could not resist the socialism of the hypnotized demon hordes. Harsh accusations of sedition lurked on every street corner, were in every gasp of air. What could stop this horrible death and brutal enslavement but a stronger, darker evil? The night grew deep and cold, and somewhere, outside the city of Los Diablos and its gleaming, greenish bone towers, a giant, restless eye opened at last."

"It was going to be a great night. Paul had been invited to a club, or had heard it from a friend, anyway. His friends were in the car with him, driving to the downtown destination of their choice, the nightclub Heaven. It was all the rage, people were talking about it everywhere, and everyone wanted to get in. Peter cranked down the volume on his reggae music and addressed the car from the driver's seat. 'Finally, huh? It's the big night. It's finally happening!' John, Michael, and Paul, also in the car, laughed uncomfortably. It was kind of a big deal. John leaned over from the back seat and screamed, 'We're getting into heaven!' The car laughed, and they drove on towards the city. Paul looked out the window, his collared shirt reflecting back at him in the sedan glass. Greasy hair, cologne, he couldn't be too prepared. It was like life didn't matter anymore. Like the man said, we're getting into heaven. Ha. The city night zipped by him as he reminisced about his life before that moment. 'There it is guys.' Peter announced once more as they finally took in the godlike nightclub awaiting them. Lined with immaculate lighting, floodlights surrounding the area, and a large, glowing sign spelling out the word Heaven in shining golden letters. Peter found a spot in the back of the parking lot, barely available in the mass of cars. They parked, and exchanged murmurs of appreciation, promises of a great performance in the club, and nervously got themselves together to approach the doors. Heaven held no exceptions to taste. The four men approached the front of the club, and sure enough, large, ornate doors resembling a golden gate awaited them. 'Peter, let us in!' Michael laughed, and his friends grimaced and chuckled, nervous about their behavior in front of the bouncer at the gates. The bouncer addressed them: 'ID, please.' The stern, thick-necked bouncer demanded from them. They all showed their cards, were patted down, and then waved with a security wand. 'This way,' the bouncer ushered, and they entered the lavish nightclub, exchanging glances of nervousness and awe. The four men were never heard from again. Crime reports indicated bloody clothes found in their car, and unidentified body parts being found in a lake nearby. No one knew what had happened, but reports mentioned a lack of welcomeness in the elite club. Nearby, a note was found scrawled in shaky words. 'For the life of a creature is in the blood, it is the blood that makes atonement for one’s life ... Leviticus 17:11.'"

"Pavlov rung his bell. The dogs approached, wretched and scurrilous, after a hard day of not being fed. Nothing occurred to Pavlov, nothing except feed the animals. He passed out the scraps, one by one, careful to avoid giving the good meat or larger pieces than normal. It had been a good project. Wreckless things had happened, but the research team had been satisfied with the statistics and results. There wasn't much left to do but coach the dogs a little more aggressively. The days passed, weeks turning into months, as Pavlov's team studied the behavior of the canines. The dogs had been treated much worse, less and less food and substantially more mean treatment. But the bell, ahh. It quelled the dogs' hearts, remembering days of fatter and happier existence, as they trudged slowly into an unknown abyss. An abyss of the future, and the mistreatment and death, which they would soon suffer. The dogs died, miserable and unatoned, with the ringing of the bell still in their heads. They had promised. Pavlov stood up, his team in pieces over the difficulty of the study, and wondered. They had little good data, the dogs did something obvious, they routinely practiced lying and mistreatment. And the dogs were dead. Confused and shaken, they had died of expecting things that they were promised. The promises were then taken away, and the fear and hunger had set in. Pavlov wondered again. Were we studying their intelligence, for the purposes of control? Or were we just rote liars, who abused and mistreated the animal subjects out of greed and malice towards life? An alarm went off, and Pavlov headed out the door."

"They were breaking down. These things. Apparently, they just kept coming to the same conclusion. Must go on. They terrorized, mainly during the daytime, like day walkers, or zombies. Crowding the roads, shopping centers, restaurants, anywhere they could get a good eye at people. They did anything they wanted to. Not really people anymore, they tried to act human and appear normal in society. For the few who remained. The change must have happened a long time ago, as there was so little humanity left in these things  that it was incredible to describe. Though appearing human from a distance, or even slightly up close, these monsters had a grotesque appearance. Like mimics, they milled through human society, imitating, attacking, and swarming, until nothing remained but them. The attacks were strange. Merely the personalities of these things were enough to destroy a living being. Bitter, hostile, and passive-aggressive, their behavior towards living things seemed to be their primary weapon. Hauntingly, if you perceived their form as a normal human, the spite and malice were enough to stop your heart cold. They also spread insanity and preyed on the sound minded with a schizophrenic slurry of exalted emotions and bitter, malicious proclivities against normal tendencies. And things got openly violent. Murder was a common fate for getting cornered by one of these monster-like entities. Though not fully immune to the law, they found ways to abduct, lie, and conspire to finish off the last vestiges of a dying human race. A combination of freak, mimic, and evil clown, the various parsing of their personalities was starting to show its wear. It was like these monsters couldn't function for much longer, without turning on each other, or themselves. Some of the last humans had noticed, and had breathed a sigh of relief, but there was more to it than that. Survival against the Its was on every remaining human's mind. A war of attrition was being fought. The things were starting to fail and die, their schizophrenic scars overwhelming their ability to attack. Where they came from, what made these monsters, and what had happened was not the point anymore. Everything came down to one thing, and one thing only, and hopefully just for a little while. Let them die. And no matter what: Survive It."

"The dingey creak emanated through the empty hallways. Elfonse shook his head at it, oblivious of the source of the noise. The dust swirled around him as he brushed his mop up and down the corridor, trying to finish his days chores. Outside, light was casting into an otherwise empty laboratory for clinical research. The cogs zoomed by. They traveled past the dusty laboratory, perfectly in fashion with the road around them. They carried other workers and automatons, just like Elfonse, on their way to work, chores, and errands. The city was bleak and mechanical, various harsh lights bleeding over an iridescent landscape of steel and wires. The day was just like any other. The automatons had left for work, empty and hollow of emotion. They had taken their road cogs various places, all glowing and mechanical, and committed to their labor again. The various parses of natural land contained ragged leaves, bare trees wasting away in wretched grass, here and there all over the city. Elfonse leaned his mop in a corner of the corridor, wheezing at his shift nearly being finished. His dead eyes looked out the window, feelings of remorse and trepidation still easing into his soul. The orange morning light was almost clearly up, and a morning sun shone brightly in the sky. Elfonse wondered at it. Oh well, at least it was doing its work. An alarm loudly blared through his assigned vacant laboratory. Elfonse looked up sharply. This was a strange alarm. He noticed smoke pouring down the road outside, and a woman began screaming in the distance. What was happening?  He rushed to the loudspeaker and began listening for announcements. The screaming was joined by more screams as the smoke became acrid and cloudy, billowing in further intensity in the roadways. Cogs pulled over, as everyone became aware of something in the sky. Shrieking and pointing, Elfonse followed the crowd's gaze to a very tall building somewhere in the distance. The Hamien Towers.    Shit.   Not what Elfonse would have expected. Twin towers of grace and majesty, they were home to the great leaders who told Elfonse what to do. A plane had apparently hit one of the towers, and a big one too, at quite high speeds. How could this happen? Elfonse's stomach doubled, a strange warmth coursing through his system at the same time as feelings of deep fear and dread. There was another plane. Elfonse shielded his eyes as a bright flash hit his face. The second plane had slammed into the second building, a resounding boom echoing through the city's buildings and wires. The explosion was rocketing straight towards them. Elfonse remembered something, an ancient riddle he was taught as a young worker, about a dark prince seizing power over the city's masters in pillars of flame, as his heart froze. For the last second before the flames engulfed the building, Elfonse's automaton mind had returned to life fully for one instant. Something had happened..."

"They were marked everywhere. Little water labels, showing how high the level of the water was. But they were on bottles. You had to wonder what was wrong with this world. Narn Klunkin looked about. A sad clutter, a diminished little greeting, waiting for him as he arrived at his home. His cave was high, a little on the smaller side, but marred not by the outside aesthetics of obsessiveness and purity. He collapsed into a reedy little armchair and pondered his thoughts. His enchanted homeland, Nonexistencia, was suffering from a blight. People were gathering, creatures of all kinds, and debating the course of action to end the lack of things growing and living. Even labeling the water. In a magical realm once thought of as high and merry, terrible and strange things were starting to happen. Narn looked at his hand. He could hardly believe it was still there. Nothing lived anymore. He understood that. But the way the other elves, fairies, and gnomes responded to it was incredulous. Always meetings, councils, committees more committed to talking than action. No one seemed concerned with the real problem. Narn shook his head. As if anyone knew what that was. A sharp yip from his small pet brought Narn's eyes to the entrance of his cave. A poultry-dealer, clad in his company's requisite chicken feathers, was standing there as if waiting for a conversation. Narn rolled his eyes, forced himself up, and strolled over to the strange merchant. 'What? Chicken's still coming in, eh?' Narn looked passed the older elf, eyes straying to the sky as he studied the dark and clouding atmosphere of Nonexistencia. The old elf grimaced, put off by Narn's display of unaffectedness. Coughing up a reply, the old salesman motioned to his cooler. Narn noticed the wild, distraught look in the old elf's eyes and gasped slightly.  It was like this all over. Narn's eyes fell to the old elf's hand cooler. It was noticeably empty. Narn gave the old elf a look of disapproval and sent him on his way. Flexing his shoulders, the young elf reminded himself of how good it was to be strong in those days. God knows what that old merchant would have done otherwise. Narn hissed at his tiny furry companion and slipped out the cave door. Same as every other time, this might be the last time he ever saw his home. Always ready to die. Flexing a small dagger on his waste, Narn gritted his teeth and hopped on a magical sidewalk towards the central village. Always ready to die. He looked at an attractive young fairy woman loping passed and smiled at her. She pretended not to see him and danced along the sidewalk in the other direction. He noticed a bottle in her hand, marked about half-way down its length. He smiled again. Glancing back up at the ominous skies, he took a deep breath. I guess it depends on how you look at it."

"Arnold Palmer slumped in his office chair. The sun was shining outside of his office window on a bright Washington, D.C. morning. Outside, the capitol building lawn shimmered evenly in the sun. Arnold looked out briefly, then back at his computer screen as he sighed thoughtfully. Today was the big day. He had a meeting set up with Omnicorp, a technology company that specialized in microchips. They were working out a deal to protect Omnicorp's interests on the west coast, and to mitigate any rumors flying around that their company was a monopoly giant. And, sweetly enough for Arnold Palmer, a nice little financial package for the congressman on the side. Lobbying, it was called. Arnold held his head wryly to the side and smirked. What a life. Arnold's assistant knocked politely on the open office door, beckoning his attention. 'Mr. Palmer, your meeting with Omnicorp is in five minutes. They're just pulling in.' He nodded and lifted his hand, signaling that he understood and waved her off. Her smart ponytail bounced as she smiled politely, nodded back, and left the room. He felt nervous, wiping a slight sweat from his face, then composed himself. It was almost time. The Omnicorp representative had been intimidating. Congressman Palmer had expected a big show, and sure enough, even for a big and powerful company like Omnicorp, they had pulled no punches. Six-foot-five, powerful, and half Arnold's age, the representative had towered over him during their fifteen-minute sit down. What a strange meeting. The Omnicorp representative had glowed confidence, swagger, almost telling him what to do.   Arnold shrugged and sat back in his desk chair again, alone now. At least it was over. He could get the legislation passed that they wanted, without too much work or interference from other members of the house. He sighed, pushed some papers into his briefcase, and smiled slightly. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.   A day's work, no less. Arnold stretched and got out from behind his desk. Time to refuel. Jesus, the pressure those companies put on you, Arnold thought to himself. He left his office and went down the hallway, signaling his assistant that he would be out for a little while. He headed to the snack machines on the other end of the hall, fumbling through his wallet for a couple of dollars. He retrieved two reasonably fresh dollar bills, put them into the machine, and studied the machine's selection chart. What was that candy he wanted? Not too chocolatey, but plenty of energy and nuts. He saw it, studied the label under it, and punched the code into the machine. Payday. C4. The machine tumbled and spun, and with a loud grinding thud, the congressman received his treat in the compartment below."

"It was an ethereal realm, one of mists and forests and enchanted trees. Many came along there, but no one stayed long, as the rasps and rumors of the forest were too strong to bear. There was an inkling, a glinting danger of the forest, that no one could ignore. It was the men, the men who stayed in the forest, who bewitched and slanted anyone who came near it. These were the men, the men of Hollywood. Many an angel came near, listening to their whispers and sighs as the men drew them in closer. Fabulous hair, well sculpted bodies, the most audacious and voluptuous masculinity anyone could bear to offer. The women adored them, threw their lives upon them, cursed all other men who were not of their name. The women disappeared into this forest, lost and bewildered, utterly taken by the shining trees and golden leaves, and the vivacious pomp of the lovely men of the woods. No one knew how to fix this remedy. Daughters, cousins, mothers, lovers, all who were lost and abandoned to the realm of Hollywood. The women would walk by this forest, see it from a distance, even hear it from a friend. And soon, they too would approach the glistening woods. And surely, by fathom alone, they would encounter none other than a Hollywood man. Or group of them. Looking seductive, sulking, doing everything in their fathoming to achieve power over the woman. And surely, that woman too would disappear into the enchanted forest, never to be seen again. Their families cast astray, their lives long forgotten, as they fell into the pomp and splendor of the men of the forest. Jessica caught her hair neatly, as she swished it around her head and gave her father a haughty look. 'Today's the big day.' She winked neatly at him and continued packing her bag for her trip to an enchanted forest. Her father shook his head and sighed, numbly coming to grips with the fact that his only daughter was being swayed by the rumors of Hollywood. 'Hon, you can't mean this. This is a senseless trip. There's something wrong with that forest. People disappear there. Those men are insane.' Jessica rolled her eyes cutely, not hindered for a minute in her pursuit of a luscious, glowing, tantalizing life in Hollywood. Imagine the attention  she would get, being one of those famous, handsome men's beautiful woman. She sighed to herself, then sat down neatly. 'Father, you worry too much. I'm not leaving for a couple of hours. Let's just sit here and enjoy ourselves.' The hours passed, and Jessica was on her way. A few hours in a carriage, followed by a few miles of walking, and she would be there. The famous, glorious land of Hollywood. She wondered which man she would pick, and how famous she would be with him, as her head bobbed up and down on the bumpy carriage ride toward the famous enchanted land. The carriage had arrived at a signpost, and she had taken her bag and headed off up the trail. She had a little money, enough to start a new life in an enchanted land, so she thought. The midday sun was almost up, and she made time towards the enchanted realm. After a few minutes, she saw it. A horizon, filled with gold and sparkle, glistening trees and beautiful light filled her eyes. She gasped, started laughing, and ran towards the beautiful vision with lightness in her heart. Jessica took a deep breath. She had entered the golden woods, casually passing under breathtaking leaves and branches, and started looking around. 'Hello?' She called out in a singsong voice, trying to catch the attention of one of Hollywood's famous men. She walked on the well beaten path, continuing along in the direction the arrows and signs pointed her. Jessica heard a noise behind her. Leaves rustling, a bush shaking, something seemed to be going on just off the path she was walking. 'Hello? Is anyone there?' She looked around mystified, still trying to be happy about her impromptu trip to this famous forest. Golden lights and mystical trees. Blech. Where was the fame, the parties, the beautiful men and the women they'd taken into Hollywood? A young man popped his head out of the woods and held his hand up. His hair was glowing and fine and his form was fit, strong, and unique. He smiled and winked, as Jessica let out a squeal of admiration and ran up to hug the young man. 'Oh my god! Hello, hi, I've been here waiting for you!' Jessica threw herself at the young man and wrapped her arms around his neck. The young man rolled his eyes, smiled again, and started a conversation. He offered to show her around Hollywood, let her meet his friends, and maybe go with her to a party later. She took his arm and they walked off, Jessica thinking maybe this wasn't such a nightmare after all. She walked along with the young man, whose had introduced himself as Justin along the way, and started to notice a few strange things. The arm she was holding seemed to feel like rubber, his beautiful, flowing hair didn't seem to match his face, and his voice seemed overly deepened and stern. Such a beautiful look , or so she thought, but the signs of dishonesty, and his brutal attitude and demeanor, were making her scared. Very scared. Don't. Stop. Running. Jessica heaved breathlessly, trying to find the path again, to follow the arrows and signs backwards and get out of there. She had inquired... Just a brush of his hair. A pinch of his shoulder. And a little question at the end about his voice. He had snapped on her, his wig brushing to the side, his false muscle drooping as she had picked at it. The voice, once stern, deep, and masculine, had gone eerily high pitch and threatened her with death and violence. She dashed through the forest, as she had been able to get away from him so far with a slight kick to his shin. As she ran through a clearing, strange stones that looked like a cemetery caught her attention. Her stomach knotted. She paused for a second, guessing she was out of sight, and examined the stones one by one. She gasped and recoiled in horror. Every one of them. Every last one of them. Female names. These weren't men at all. They were whores, trolls, high-pitched little fairies , that trapped women here and murdered them. From the look of the devices and a watery trench near the graveyard, very badly indeed. She heard high, angry, feminine men's voices in the distance, and hid behind a stone. All she wished for was her life back, to be somewhere safe, somewhere loved, and somewhere happy. She prayed for her father's soul, as an ominous, angry fairy hand fell on her weeping shoulder "

"A note was found in the wasteland: ' Beware. This endeavor is full of fear, and contentment. Though you walk through the shadows and the mire, your surroundings will reveal to you a truth in full. But you must look closely. Those around you will not know such things and will balk and shame at your very inspection. But worry not. This is not about them. This is about the land you are, and you are from. Welcome to the wasteland. At first, you will not notice such things. Your life will be content, and dull, and full of false remembrance. Then, perhaps, you will awaken. The treacherous nightmare will reveal itself, and a knowing you never had will enter your mind. You will see them. The smoke clouds, the mutants, the toxic ooze pouring in and out of everything imaginable. The hate, the senselessness, of a world you thought you knew will ravage through your mind. Then it occurs to you. This is not a real world. This is a wasteland. How to survive. The vivaciousness, the soul, and the need for such things will come screaming right at you. All worlds, everywhere, will know this one rule. Do not conform, or die. The death is in everything, every living being, every trace of society around you will reek of this. Find your way. Find your own sobriety, essence, and wisdom in a world that does not condone such things. Do not fight with your body unless you have to, but you will have to fight with your mind every step of the way. Or you will not survive. How to win. Courage, triumph, and never give up. See light in the freaks of the wasteland dying in front of you. Find merriment in their conformed suffering, and know it is there. The victory of the mind is the victory of the soul. So, feed your mind. From neoclassical music to neoclassical literature, learn to think and feel again. Make conclusions and think for yourself. And for the love of God, smoke tobacco. Find a reason to live in these words and know the mutants of this wasteland will not last long. And you want to see them die, don't you? Wreckage. Steel. Wires. Smoke. Desolation. There is not much beauty left to absorb. But find a natural spot, a shady tree, an outside porch or garage, anything to put you back in nature again. The fresh air will do you better than you know, and the leaves and trees, the very grass, will sing a song to you of survival and omnipotence against the damned. Especially with that cigarette hanging from your lips. Farewell, my friend. -From the wasteland'"

"An evil robot sits in an apartment, studying himself and his surroundings. The walls are bleak, the light is grayish and dull outside. A refrigerator hums gently in the kitchen, as the flicker of a television is the only distraction from his bare living quarters. The robot sits on the couch, paint peeling off the walls, and consents to immerse himself in the television's static glow. Snorting in discontent, he changes through the few barely visible channels on the television. To be aware, he knows, is a sin in this world. He knows only to be critical. He knows only to be vain. Then he might be on the television himself... After a few minutes of watching a television advertisement, the robot leaves the flickering screen and goes to examine himself in a mirror. The hard eyes. The swollen chest. The voice that is so gruff. They are training him to be these things. They are training him to obey.   The robot glares up and down the mirror, daring it to look back. And he is, and he did. Going back to the television, the robot sits down and stares at what he should be again. The television flickers as his eyes grow heavy. going braindead... mind shutting down... mind slave routine activating... television watching commencing... 'Coming up next, Life! What are your favorite flavors? Right here on CUL..."

"I'm just driving. And thinking... There's a thought for you. There's a thing out there, a thing you have, a thing that helps you think. Only some people have them. It goes on and on. The symmetry, the flashing lights, out here on the road. That's when you see them. It's dusky. The cars drive by, one by one, and you see them go by. But there's something wrong. There's not a thought, not a feeling, just a strange buzzing. And things go on. But you notice. And you surely do. I don't know how they got that way. The ones that don't have them, these things. It's like something has shut their mind down, created them as zombies, with no thought or sentiment left. They just go by, plain as a breeze. And you don't rile them up, or a shitstorm happens. Just don't. Just let them go by. I've seen them. The little houses, with glowing lights. They just sit there, idling in its glow, not letting a thought go by them. Because they have none. They just sit there and stare. You can see them, from the road, but it's not so much like this. You have to look carefully. I wonder about it. Why sit and stare? There's no point to it. I've seen what they become. Like screen death occurs, and they just go down like that. Sitting, staring. Sitting, staring. And they just want more. And they just go on and on like that. Shoveling it into their faces. Gluttonous. With no mind or thoughts left. Like TV zombies... Oh, there's a little left of that imitation. When they see something on the screen, and later they know how to imitate it. It's not so high. They just pick out a character and sell it, whatever it is. Just don't mind them. Just know it's imitation. And it seems like they have a braindead mind. Like I said earlier, it's a car, it's a road. Just let them go by. There isn't much else to it. We have a thing, they don't. A thing in our mind, that knows it's there. A thing that helps us think, and feel, and know we're alive. They don't have that. TV zombies . That's all there is to it. Don't let them rile you up. Remember, it's just imitation. I'll go back to my driving. Watching the cars go by, wondering what's in them. Thinking, feeling, as I have a right to do. It's still dusky. I think I'll enjoy my night."

" A curator walks into a room full of people and gives them a strange speech. 'Welcome. To the Museum of Life. Everything you see here is real, and everything is set in stone-cold fact. Every exhibit has its cure, every case has its life in it. Then, you will realize it. That all reality is this museum, and all reality works this same way. Come with me, as we explore deeper into what awaits us here in the Museum of Life. You see them. The cavemen, the narwhals, standing stolidly around us as if they had their own space and time, their own ascent, too. For you see, we were like them, and they are like us.   Real, and applied to space-time in a matter-of-fact way that cannot be ignored. They lived, they dreamed, they suffered, they died. Just like we do. And here they are. In the history section of this great, and very eclectic, museum. There is every exhibit you would wish to see. From the clouds of Rome to the clouds of the cosmos, all infinite space-time is connected and captured right here in this very museum. Every second of your life is a part of this, everything you ever experience will be inside the strange walls of this infinite reality, this infinite place, we call the Museum of Life. There is no avoiding it. You can't turn back. We are all cloaked in fact and history, science and data, and there's nothing you can do about it. Everything is real and applies to the same laws. So, relax. Ponder the exhibits, browse them as you will, and  learn to love the feeling of learning.   We are all in this together. Learn to appreciate your fellow patrons, and exhibits here, too. Everything has its purpose. Everything has its meaning. You will learn that soon. I am the curator of this museum. This is my job, and I take it very seriously. I have my judgements, too.   Go easy on the exhibits. Like I said, they are all a part of our same reality, and completely real and true. Respect them as you respect yourself. Learn to respect these walls, these exhibits, all of these infinite facts and ideas. This learning that applies to all reality, forever. I will be watching. And by the way, we all have that feeling. Are we exhibits, too?   Ha. Have fun. And remember, this works. As we like to say here at the Museum of Life: Life works. Things make sense.    Figure that out, and go easy on yourself. Take care, and I'll see you another time. In the Museum of Life.'"