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Ten condemnments.

Five. Thou art made from shit. This is what you shall be for the rest of your days, might as well enjoy it while you can. Finding a way to mutate ourselves into being capable of directly assaulting our own senses, which is subsequently why the senses lie, but our forms are always changing into different shapes. Shit is the highly malleable substance of the universe. A form of dark matter, if you will, and this stuff is produced by everything. Shedding the ages of life and death, breaking beyond the hole to see the heart is difficult being blocked by all this hemorrhagic shit in our systems, and we are the chemical meat that protrudes from the brain of god. If we serve no function, we fall out like hair, and our heads become hung in shame through thousands of years of darkness. Falling apart by the handfuls is the intention of being the animal, but is also the price of self-awareness to some degree. Consciousness is channeled through the jelly we have conducting the electrical pulses that surge through physical movement through a material plane. More than half of this conducive structure is water-based, and much of the rest is just well-organized bacteria and particles altogether, the edge of essence. Being totally real to function in the external crust. We are beyond even this amalgam of parts and programming.