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I've held a barb of the flower of death, a single sherd plucked from the stem of all mortality; that greedy rose which harbors countless avarices and drinks that which exists to feed its roots, swallowing life and warmth and ejecting it as photosynthetic entropy. Its name is Anathema, and its purpose is extinguishment... An excerpt from history tells my tale.

There is a concept in modern philosophy known as The Sublime. It first entered our species' headspace sometime in the first century AD when a writer who we know today as Pseudo-Longinus coined a name for it. It's difficult to convey what The Sublime is with words alone but it may be thought of as total, transcendental sentiment. The Sublime is not an object but a state of being, something which someone may approach and sometimes grasp for brief, fleeting moments. Various happenings may elicit aspects of The Sublime: the animal bliss one wells up with when they look upon their newborn child, the cerebral awe that a person feels as they look upon the Earth from a great distance, the raw terror of beholding the terminal point of life when so much has yet to be achieved; these are tremendously pure experiences during which everything but the present moment is forgotten and only one emotion is felt, utterly overtaking the subject's consciousness. These evanescent milliseconds - the time it takes for a neuron to fire and fade - make a person sublime.

When Bert stepped into the arena, facing the the tyrant Nickel, the ardor which overwhelmed the assembled crowds put The Sublime to shame. As the Leviathan's footfalls echoed in their heads, amplified by a cocktail of chemical fear and adrenaline, a deadening malice crept into their veins and tangled their nerves. The world came to a stop. The internecine feuds of man were forgotten as was all sense of self. Laying eyes on Bert obliterated all other sensations; it overloaded their senses and psyches such that every other experience in living memory seemed vanishingly insignificant. Nothing dared move. Not the stars, which ceased their oscillations and flares, nor men, who knew that such a being as Bert - one so gifted with agency and capability - rendered them obsolete through the virtue of his existence alone. All the combined works of humanity paled in beauty and importance to even a single act of Bert's. This was an entity without boundaries, moral or physical. He was constituted of deprivations: a lack of obligations, a lack of needs, a lack of anything that could be considered a limit.

When you first learnt that things existed outside of your perception - gaining object permanence, as all children of Adam do - you realized that a world of boundless possibility existed outside of your limited perspective. Suddenly, you stopped being the most important thing within your nescient sphere of perception. That minor neurological reconfiguration instantly altered your existential context, changing the way you thought of yourself and of others forever. Bert elicited a similar reaction. You think of yourself now as an individual, don't you? As someone with goals, aspirations; you are the center of your own universe. Rarely has the thought ever crossed your mind that you might be unimportant to yourself. Not inconsequential on a physical, cosmological scale - that is a given - but instead, totally irrelevant even to the collection of ideas and remembrances that you know as your own life viewed from a first person perspective. When Bert alighted from his throne, that belief was dashed against the rocks.

…Continued in the Books of Old

I humbly request your signature to acquire the Founding Father role that is so rightfully due. Your aid is a step towards the path of peace. I thank you in advance.