Poisonous.  Our waiting is poisonous.  We sit, idly, hoping that others will see the light of our works and come to us.  Our axis-mundi, our light of the world, Jim Groom, venerated as he is, grows weak.

Do you truly believe we are all made of the same molecules?  That all of us will jam at midnight with unequivocal passion if so pushed?  Our passion is not strong enough.  We cannot proselytize by works alone.

We must needs seek new methods.  Find strength in forces greater than our own.  We must use, use with unabated vigor, all means and methods available to us if we hope to achieve our goal before the pixalated sun sets one last time across the cyber lands.

Strike fear! Bend and break their will.  Make them come to us, wild eyed, voracious for animating comic book covers and minimalist movie posters.  We will build an army, a state, an empire on their sedated minds and their deranged visions.  Make them know no other refuge but our own.