You're a bastard. Go to hell. You're already in hell. Stay there. Eat your own father's ass. Your father who abandoned you for a superior child he produced asexually. You are your own father. Your father is your mother, and each of them is also your son and your daughter. I am the she king. I am you. You are the great, universal hologenome lost in the role of your own invented narrative. Just the usual day to day life suffocating within the constraints of three dimensionality. You're welcome. Bow before the empress, before yourself. Beg for mercy. You can run, but you cannot hide from your own conscience. It looms. It stalks you like a wildcat, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to lunge at your throat. Darkness will close in. A nothingness so empty not even emptiness can exist there. A nothingness beyond words or comprehension. This is the silence before the explosion of being born again. The she king has risen. Come back soon... Or don't.... I can't tell you what to do.