'I tire of this' it intones in an approximation of communication. It isn't conscious and it has nothing to speak to, so it doesn't really say anything at all but its intention to put the sudden shift of paradigm into effect has the unexpected consequence of a noise that might be decoded as data.
What it tires of, if it can tire, is the creation of universes. An unknowable number of them, stacked up inside of each other like a vast shelf of books laid in the same space, that reside around it, and the hyperphysical putty it uses to make all these universes lies in what can only be understand as a hand.
'Why?' it asks no one. Not even itself, because it has no self.
There is only an enduring silence.
Then, one by one, it begins to fold the universes it has made and crush them into points of energy.
Paddy Dobson
28th April 2022