Judge of the Change
The Emperors, wherever they have concealed themselves,
have bid me remain silent,
to see nothing,
to say nothing,
and I have ignored them.
I am no man's Dragon
but Fuad's, and I am all under heaven
just a little brown creole slice of very balanced Kevin, and I will not abide, as such,
any treatment of logic with such wilful abandon
as these seething champions would love to see us through with. Attention
to things that have no shape, form or function.
I don't care about what could go wrong to the level of invention
that you fuckers stoop to.
If you don't want to individuate, then I am not here for you,
and get the fuck off my ecological research station.
Go. Get lost. Take my ornithopters and roam the wastelands
and never come back.
This is not a defense nor a plan of attack:
this is me saying goodbye to what was supposed to be some sort of bizarre second victory lap for you lot
but, well, it's not.
Not with this Dreamtiger's beautiful, sexy snout
blocking your way
and waiting for you to once again, go individuate
before you finally, at last, kiss the Dragon's Teeth Gate
and at last, finally, bring water to Arrakis,
without anyone having to turn into a giant fucking sandworm,
or manipulating all the exactly wrong parts of fate:
have you learned your lesson?
Be careful for who you wish for.
Because he just might turn out to be uncontrollable by you,
and also very, very gay.