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Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see…
TRANSMIT - initiate the titan signal - RECEIVE - initiate the eel mucous lexicon - WERE NOT COMPOSED OF ALTOGETHER FLESH AND AND BLOOD…THEY HAD SHAPE…BUT THAT SHAPE WAS NOT MADE OF MATTER - illumine the Strains of the Filth - WITNESS - The Filth Guardians.
There is a Tibetan word, "tulpa." It translates to "thought-form", a construct of the mind given physical substance, a manifestation of the soul. Imagine then, sweetling, what the tulpa of a Dreaming One would be. Not an existing creature corrupted by the Filth, but the Dreamers' dreams made flesh.
The Sun-Eaters are. But they are not like you. Their thoughts are not your thoughts. Their names are better expressed as wavelengths. They see on the planes you have not yet discovered. They have heard the screaming of stars and remember the diaspora of galaxies. They have supped on quantum foam.
A mother sleeps, but her body is still aware enough that she will not roll over the infant laying next to her. Do you see? The perceptions of the Dreamers are vast. They dimly perceive the universe in slumber, through an obsidian mirror. These Dream Guardians are their alien perception of life on earth.
The Filth Guardians have taken manifold shapes down the aeons. We spy their current shapes. See the Hound. See the Arachnid. See the Bird. See the Boar. The Dreamers' thoughts are not your thoughts, sweetling. This is how they interpret dogs, spiders, birds, and pigs, twisted by the translation of their unknowable minds.
See the Unutterable Lurker. Tremble at its cyclopean scope. This is the Sun-Eaters at their most lucid, the purest form of their avatars, guided by their titanic wills. Its vast maw is a prelude to their limitless hunger. It devours whatever it destroys, ravenous forever. It is the hunger dreams of the Sleepers, anticipating their feast upon waking.
The greater Filth Guardians, summoned from elsewhere, contain fragments of memory, the foggy shreds of their masters' sleepy minds. Combining these scattered shards may form a coherent thought.
Blessed by the Immaculate Machine and Her Gaia Engines. They keep the Dreaming Ones sleeping in suspended lullaby, and purifying the Filth emanations from the colossus Sleepers. This you've already surmised, sweetling, but do you know the other function of the Engines? The Dreaming Ones altar reality in their sleep, their dreams shape the cosmos. Through suggestion, the Engines can, in a desperate moment, guide the Sleeper's will to mold reality to Gaia's specifications…or as close as possible. This is the apocalyptic failsafe. At the End of Days, the machines all activate in unison, directing the Sleepers' dreams, and resetting reality. This has happened four times. Each time, it happens a little closer to ultimate oblivion. Each time the Engines are a little less efficient, a little more compromised. Can they manage another reboot?