Miracle focused messages propagates social vices instead of social virtues.

Their message will never be decoded… because people have no patience to listen to it in an age when the accumulation of messages old and new is such that their voices cancel one another out. Today history is no more than a thin thread of the remembered stretching over an ocean of the forgotten, but time moves on, and an epoch of millennia will come which the inextensible memory of the individual will be unable to encompass; whole centuries and millennia will therefore fall away, centuries of painting and music, centuries of discoveries, of battles, of books, and this will be dire, because man will lose the notion of his self, and his history, unfathomable, unencompassable, will shrivel into a few schematic signs destitute of all sense.

There are so many downsides to the message of looking for miracles.

Never mistake the uncomfortable feeling of insecurity and the fear of the unknown with the Holy Ghost’s promptings. Sometimes those feelings are simply Satan keeping you stuck where you are because he knows you will have a half-life there. He knows that you will spend half of your life disconnected, discontented and convincing your mind of what its heart will never accept. He knows when you have settled, gave up and didn’t try. Inaction is his greatest weapon, while regret is his second.

This is the truth about mainstream media and advertising: People wouldn't have to pay to show you such messages if they were right.

In the rough-and-tumble play of politics, dog-whistle messages are copiously dispatched over the heads of the grassroots people that cannot see the writing on the wall and have to remain in the cold, like dumb puppets on a string. ('What after bowling alone?' ).

The messages must be stuck somewhere in the tube of light underneath the ocean that connects London and New York.

The only furniture in the dank space was a flimsy cot. Water dripped steadily in one corner. A hole in the floor appeared to serve as a latrine. What most caught Kendra's eye were the messages scratched on the wall. She roamed the cell, reading the crudely inscribed phrases.'Seth rules!Welcome to Seth's House.Seth rocks!Seth was here. Now it's your turn.Seth Sorenson forever.Enjoy the food!If you're reading this, you can read.All roads lead to Seth.Is it still dripping?Seth haunts these halls.You're in a Turkish prison!Seth is the man!Use the meal mats as toilet paper.' And so forth.Cold, hopeless, and alone, Kendra found herself giggling at the messages her brother had scrawled. He must have been so bored!

I really don't like art with a message, unless the message is crystal clear.If you have a message that really needs to be said, just fuckin' say it! Don't hide it in indecipherable lyrics... A sculpture, it's a play, the subtext... Just fuckin' say it, 'cause the people who need to hear messages are dumb as shit--the masses of humanity are dumb as shit, and you're really just pandering to your friends. Say what the fuck you mean, just say it! Title the song 'eat more leafy greens'. 'Give a hoot, don't pollute' is as much message and art combined, 'cause I get that, it's a poem but I'm pretty sure you're saying 'don't pollute'. But if you have something... 'ooh, I have the cure for cancer...And I've hidden it in this Rubix cube!!' -- just fuckin' say it! - Before Turning the Gun on Himself [2012].

Even in societies where words are often strictly controlled, messages diverse never die. Resembling seeds scattered here and there, they find all manner of cracks and crevices to root.