"It's like a cancer. A disease. A virus, but one that only exists within the creatures it infects. It's an idea, or a set of ideas, a concept. It warps the way you see the world. It spreads through writing, dialogue, images, it gets into your head and suddenly it just makes sense to you. It's how you see things now, and you no longer understand what it was like before, what it was like to be normal. You're tainted, and you end up spreading the virus yourself without even realising it.
"But it's not right. It's a lie, a fabrication, a construct, and just because it's infected your mind the way it has now that doesn't make it good. You're still in the wrong. There's a demarcation line, a wall of knowledge separating normal creatures from seeing things the way you do, one you no longer understand is there. It's all the same to you, and so you spread the word, and force it down other's throats, and warp their minds until they come to your side.
"But the truth is that there is no understanding. There is no knowledge to be sought, no key to unlocking the meaning. The words remain empty, devoid of significance. But you've been enslaved, conditioned, and now you believe in them and repeat them. And you give them the meaning the hivemind enslaved by the virus gives them, but there is no truth. No gradual shift from one side to the other. You wear creatures down with your empty rhetoric until they snap and accept it and worship it and repeat the chant.
"It's a disease, it spreads like a virus and warps the minds of those who fall into its trap, and it needs to be stopped."
"Ma'am, this is a cutlery shop." The cashier looked above his glasses at the mare, a tired and unamused expression on his face.
She placed a fork over the counter. "I will have this." She then paid for the fork, placed it in her mane, and silently walked out of the shop, while the stallion stared in a mix of annoyance and stupor.
Once outside the shop, the mare moved towards the first lone pony she spotted, fork still in her mane, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me. I'm a blue pegasus mare with an orange mane whose cutie mark is a seashell."
The pony looked at her, confused. Hesitantly, he replied, "No? Ma'am, are you alright? You're, um, a red unicorn with a light pink mane." He leaned lightly to the side to get a better look. "And your cutie mark is an open book."
"Oh." The mare looked at herself. "Thank you." A line of coloured flame ran over her body, and she turned into a blue pegasus with an orange mane, and a seashell as her cutie mark. She blinked towards the speechless stallion, her large bug-like eyes staring right at his face, then began to walk away, with the fork still in her mane.