Anyway, here it is:
Light, agitating the seminal interludes between vast vortices of twisting neutrino energies, bathe the Consciousness. Colors facet and splay across the empty landscape of nothing, contorting and whirling into various geometrics and patterns. Like a paint-by-number, pictures coalesce into shape as the Consciousness passes, seeming to imbue life where it lingers. These various hues throb and pulse into existence, at first dim and difficult to make out, then slowly, rhythmically, brightening. Although this process seems random at first, an outline switches into existence, a faint black pencil outline showing unfathomable patterns and objects. Blurry and indistinct, this unrealized potential cries out for the Consciousness, clamoring for shape and volume. So the intelligence moves, slowly but with purpose, bestowing life and meaning upon all He touches, creating Something from that which was Nothing.
I am a writer.