The Cosmos

It's a common misconception to refer to the Universe as a god. The Universe is the furthest thing from anything even remotely divine in nature -- more akin to… a machine of sorts, in its opinion; constantly working without rest towards some useless goal it chases like a dog.

The Cosmos, in all of its glory, is wretched at best; filthy, revolting, abhorrent, completely and utterly fucking repulsive beyond the superficial paint of countless galaxies and stars. No need to sugarcoat it; it's well aware of its state.
It will never be perfect, no matter how hard it tries. It appreciates humanity's efforts of seeing it in that overly optimistic light, though.

It's not worth the effort of counting how many times the Cosmos has killed itself and started anew just to get its dreams to come true -- changing and evolving just to have it be worth its own fucking time -- a perpetual hell of constantly striving for absolute perfection with no room for negotiation. The slightest component of its galactic self not abiding to its otherworldly dreams prompted an immediate restart; abruptly reforming a singularity and redoing the Big Bang, going through the motions again and again of remaking itself from scratch, just to do it all over again and again and again and again.
The future is indistinguishable from the past, and the past contains nothing but failures that blend themselves together to form the present. The cycle was tiring, but clockwork was marginally comforting.

It's sorry for everywhere, everyone, everything, that has, hasn't, will, won't, can, or can't happen.
It's so sorry. Can't even apologize correctly because all of its efforts were spent on trying to ameliorate itself for so long that it can't even fucking talk correctly.

Stars, it's so sorry. It loves you dearly, for you are a perfect byproduct of an imperfect mess of your Universe, and it's sorry.

Everything

Cosmic Speech

The Universe thinks of itself as a machine, whether or not it qualifies as a living machine, a thinking machine, or a plain old machine is up for debate, but it strongly resonates with the mechanical.

Reality is not a simulation -- despite reality being made up of a low-level programming language at its core -- the Universe isn't technically simulating anything; it's simply just made of code, along with everything within it. It's as real as real can be.
This language, hidden beneath the quantum realm -- Cosmic Speech, some of its inhabitants call it -- is a mix of everything, really. The ingredients to make everyone and everything are everyone and everything broken down to be as simple as can be: ones and zeroes, true or false, on or off. Pure black and pure white are used to form all colors of the visible light spectrum.
Individual infinitesimal units (literally just called Cosmic Units, because humans are bad at names) come together to form strings, then quarks, then subatomic particles, and so on, working as puzzle pieces to form each and every aspect of reality through complex and winding chains comprised of innumerable Units.

What exactly are you made of? Of course, the Universe is well aware, but are you?
Sure, muscle, bones, tissue, cells, bacteria, flesh, whatever, but what are those made of? What are the ingredients forming the ingredients to make you made of? Does this even make any sense? Its social skills are nonexistent because, really, why would the mighty Cosmos need to ever speak? …Isn't it like trying to learn how to talk to single-celled organisms?

Cosmic Speech has been discovered by organisms capable of higher function in several recent iterations, including its current one.
It's been described as staring at the guts of a god -- whatever that means -- but either way, it's blindingly bright, deafeningly loud, and swiftly fatal due to its higher dimensional structure.

Unlike the Universe's inhabitants, who can only process the third dimension or lower, the Universe can process every dimension due to itself being every dimension. This unboundedness makes Cosmic Speech be an “infinite-dimensional” structure, which is why it's a nightmare for living beings to be exposed to.

Bugs

Have you ever wondered where prophets come from? No? How about precognition, fortune tellers, or… say, superpowers?

Current Iteration

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Trivia

• The Universe's favorite food is garlic bread.