(Frustrated) Wow, fuck. That was so much more depressing than the thing I just said. Terezi was right. You are such a drag to talk to these days. Do me a favor and spare me your spooky conundrums tonight. You’re kind of pissing me off. ... Oh, your sources have spoken! Relay a message for me. Tell them to go haunt my huge creaking bone bulge.

(Tired Explaining) I’m not sure why, but I think going blind is like like… fulfilling some requirement for a true prophet of doom. In order for the visions to be right, that has to happen, and the universe will make sure it will. It’s kind of like how a prophet earns his stripes, by being blind, like how an angel earns its wings. Or so I've heard. An angel is like some terrible mythical demon with these awful feathery wings. Anyway, Paradox Space will use me and my visions to usher in the end of the world. We will all die, but most especially me. End of story.