True Eyes 2

Anti-Skotianth manifesto, 2500 B.C. stolen from the caves in France.

Antarctica, China, Malaysia, Rwanda, Cambodia, Nunavut...Their homes are as manifold as our beliefs, and their habitats are as sharp and ruthless as our minds. They are not men, but men they were. Reproductive barriers between two colonies of ants, like the displacements of a natural disaster, after enough time will completely halt any future interbreeding between the two groups once of the same species. This is the terminal stage of our depature between their and our kind. They are not like ants, or like idiots, or like geniuses. No; the horrifying thing is that they are exactly like us, with certain of our understandings repressed, and certain of our repressed traits pushed to the forefront of their own understanding. Their language is unfathomable to us, coming as it does, from a completely different understanding of the world. They have their economy, and their conquerers, and their roughness, and their leisure. They take women as we do, and their women provide for them the same as ours. But their homes are in termite-like houses, and anthill-like structures, and their bodies are very odd, with another section between the abdomen and pelvis. Their legs are much shorter but their chest is massive, and their arms are skinny and appear to allow for the formation of webs and appendages. We are worried because we have grasped their genetic capability and deemed it identical in biological power to our own intelligence. Jutting out hundreds of feet and sometimes into the Earth, their sharp, mantis-like arms reach out and cast webs to bring other life to them.

They fuse and absorb with and control all life on planet Earth, slowly marking this planet as their own. We have been fighting them and winning, but the defects of birth are so concerning, and the children chase clouds that do not exist and worship new and terrible gods. We begin to think that they will speak, one day, the tongues of the terrible Skotianth. If that is so then this world, with oceans made of love, and harsh skies made of truth and power, will surely perish, or perish from view, soon enough. Our love is a many-flowered plant, and our society is an tree, with its fruits available to everyone, and which everyone is invited to cultivate. If it is to perish let it at least be known.