There grows in the garden a certain tree, which feeds upon the blood of men and is watered in times of war and upheaval. Always drinking the sacrifice and loss into it's roots to feed into the fruit of life upon it's bough, it has stood watch over every confrontation nature ever produced, and it's reward, that scarlet bastion of power that blossoms in it's flower, has been awarded time and again to every victor since the beginning. There is a way out of our situation - the fruit, you see, which grows upon it's bough, is Holy - It's flesh filled with the power of all worlds, it's nectar charged with the essence of liberation. It is the distillate of fate itself, Ambrosia, the food of the gods. It stands forever, from eternity, and unto every tomorrow that will ever come, awaiting the blood sacrifice of those who dare.

Anons...we will not live forever. Do not let this lifeless post industrial concrete graveyard be our future, or our loved ones'. Life truly, veritably is but a dream - now a nightmare - but can and should be changed fearlessly. The dark gates of Thanatos will glow bright and warm, for the one who has found his beginning, that he should know his end.

He who has ears to hear, let him hear.