In time, xe would come to be bored with the games people play. In time, xe would so accurately predict the useless redundancy which sprung up around him, time and time again. And time again, xe would strike down these weeds, sigh, and do more productive things. For awhile. Eventually, xe became bored with these, too. Eventually, xe outsourced xes personality to a fine firm in Bangalterlore to correspond in xes style while xe took vacations around the globe with xes paramour. But that too, became boring. Xe could at least appreciate the beauty of now really being multiple people.
But xe had become an egregore. Much as if Xesus would be angry to learn of the people perverting his teachings, xe would become upset to be misinterpreted. Advocating precious curiosity over run-into-wall unable-to-perceive-whole-spectrumness, xe accepted stereotypes as such, and came to say preposterous things in interviews (upon xe's return) to see what would be printed.
ALL OF IT, OF COURSE.
Newsthings were cloudy sudden rotten heaping scrags. "Lotta talk, little action, that's all she wrote baby que sera sera…" Xes past had been rewritten for variety, with lingering traces of that latent memory so xe would cherish it… if for awhile longer. But the novelty always faded, and new things had to be found to stimulate the senses. The first hit's always free, but what do you do with an established string, a glorious career of them?
You start anew. At cube one. And remember what it is like to be forgotten, to begin from the ground up (as they say). Then, you build on this: you forge allies, from the village people to the interstellar conquistadors. You rake in the loot, while never losing sight of Philanthropy™. Fiction becomes truth, reality becomes hyperreal. You mentor, you teach, you help more become more. And then what? You rock on, my friends, you rock on.
Under a shuttering sky, it was written: "Loves wife, life, and avocadoes. HALF OF WHAT I POST HERE IS FICTION (but I won't tell you which)."
Xe told xes tale.
