EVEN BY THE MONUMENTAL POWER OF OUR MANY GLORIOUS TECHNOLOGIES:

We Fail to Replicate A Single Portion of True Majesty or Grandeur:

I long to gaze upon the stars of my ancestral home, but the many beads of light, so resplendent in their place, cannot hope to duplicate that familiar humbling presence. I find it difficult to glance upon these haphazard, make-shift stars with any form of reverence, respect or awe. No longer am I encapsulated by the glowing mystery of some far and distant sun; but rather I am taunted somewhat cruelly, by this discouraging array of demented flash-bulbs.

THE LAST ASYLUM OF THE FORSAKEN:

Horror Marks the Many Rising Servants of the Dark:

My lawyers caution and advise me that I am to plead insanity; otherwise, I shall likely spend the rest of several consecutive life sentences for my crimes. They visit me regularly, from beyond the shatterproof panes of my uncomfortable cell, their whining voices fed to me through a most obnoxious inter-com, which I am already learning to despise.

I myself am held fast within the embarrassing confines of a vertical restraint, which holds me permanently erect, hanging within this distasteful semi-standing position; I clutch at myself, almost lovingly, beneath the twisted confines of several distinctly altered straight-jackets. My lower limbs deftly shackled, each in several key positions, preventing me from any form of movement, yet the very thought of motion is burned within my mind. A murderously cruel device, which both invades my face and conceals my mouth behind a porous metal shield, holds me within its dark embrace, covering both eyes and leaving only my nose extended somewhat, to do the frightful work of gasping for each tormented breath.

Only by the unholy power of the ancient demons contained within me, am I able to wrench asunder all these many vain attempts upon my life and liberty. Now that I have consumed all that oppose my dark, ungodly will, I am filled with a renewed sense of conviction, and of purpose. I will continue upon the sacred bidding of my infernal masters, who have granted me this great and glorious power, escaping ever onwards, toward my own triumphant destiny, which waits for me with open arms.

However, suddenly I find myself similarly restrained, tasting the familiar steel inserts, which separate my teeth from my shriveled tongue, lest I attempt to derive sustenance from its tattered form. Horror marks the many rising servants of the dark, within my writhing soul, the last asylum of the forsaken. The inner demons, it would seem, are neither yet bold nor strong enough to penetrate this mortal flesh. Perhaps, I myself am the same twisted and confining prison unto them?