57) I am one day's run from the meeting place, where the carnival of revenge, the grotesquerie, the circus maximus of hell, occurs. What ever I call it I cannot be prepared for the quality of destruction that will follow. Having had millennia to feast on inflicting cruelties and to cultivate mayhemic scenarios, the cardinal points, N,S,E, and W surely have honed hatred of each other to an atom-splitting point. What can have been worse than eternal reflection on the annihilation of their children? Can there be a greater pain than to tred upon loved ones for millions of years, to witness an entire world of strangers come into being, every plant and animal, down to the lowly microbe, thriving on the bodies of their young? How they must despise the earth, every living thing upon it, all entities flourishing with the fragrance of their children, soaked up through roots in the flower, or lingering on the breath of every gaping maw. And stone. I can imagine immemorial pounding, scraping, or smoothing of the same, in the miserable effort to coax forth a kinder. Cliffs battered by howls, the despair at erosion, I can hear them cursing at rivers transporting increasingly smaller bits and pieces of the loved, dispersed to the ends of the earth, never to be brought together, like the bit of Mozart, exampled from the pantheon of men, Mozart in the fire smoke of Mongolian horsemen, snagged in the eye of an Amazonian pirate, coherence is lost. Volcanoes, especially, were not spoken of, methinks. Perhaps they should have been worshipped, N,S,E,W, it can act as a salve. Worked well for Absolutes hitherto. But man, the world's sole conjugator of terrestrial rhythms and incorporeal remainders, never found them. Like the god of gravity or a god or things caught in the middle, or a god of fat, or of the tooth, of the broken vessel, a god of minerals or of rot, there is no god of invisibles as such, these and many more, have never passed through the credulous gate of man. Frogs, bees, the fithy cat have had their moment, as has the more obvious heavens, mountain, chance, breath, the zero, there are so many. But the cardinal points, never. They were merely assumed, poised as the initiation of greater schemes, necessary sores man bled and healed off and on as he scurried about the globe, singing praises to erstwise gods all the way.
Yet the cardinal points would have done nothing with the earth. Are they not to blame for their enduring calamity? Look what vanity has brought them, what life incidental has done without them! They are neither lords of water nor air. They obtain on globes, orbs, geometric things. They are useless to the life that has arisen. Yet they plot revenge, and under the limp banner of the sublime.
Life is in peril. I have meted out death as indifferently as they will, but on so small a scale. I no longer want to kill, to serve my jealous creator. Yet I am Dr. Creep's servant, I am the servant of the North. The monstrous is as the monstrous does. I am driven to begin the end of days. Tomorrow.