Month: February 2017
Goodreads | Mike Eye (Author of The Aqueous Transmission)
FRIENDS OF MINE, PLEASE FOLLOW ME ON GOODREADS! I AM A GOODREADS NOOB AND NEED HELP GETTING STARTED, IF YOU LOVELY PEOPLE DON’T MIND. I WOULD GREATLY APPRECIATE IT! THANK YOU. -MIKE EYE
Mike Eye is now on Goodreads! Please follow me, I am a Goodreads noob and need help getting started, if you lovely people don’t mind. I would greatly appreciate it! Thank you. -MIKE EYE
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☆ 35. Bugs To Loom In The Pens Of The Bloodpigs | Part Two.
[Episode VIII. / Chapter 35]
OVER THE YEARS, MOTHER MAGDALENA HAD CONSISTENTLY FOUND herself down and back again within the Inner Earth Sanctum originally shown to her by her most beloved pet, Amrita, whom she now got along with as well as she had during the strange, aggravating days of Rita as a robot. Eventually, her sister Hawks came to join her in her secret, special visits. Magdalena needed the presence of Amrita in order to enter the secret Stargate at the edge of Bry Dellows, and it greatly widened her Ajna Chakra — which by this point ‘around the circle’ perpetually glowed vigorously up and between the brows of the Mother, emanating outward in pulses of supersonic multidimensional audible waves; Magdalena usually kept Snake-Rita coiled around her Head like some serpent crown, which was very much okay with Amrita. The serpent crown, along with the lush, throbbing shining of her multihued Ajna, together with the glaring glittering of her great golden garment, gave the Mother an aura that lent to her a look and overall disposition of the Highest, most artful, metaphysical and biological articulation. Notions of raw sex stained the sight of any observer to gaze upon her countenance now, her dark, hard body subtley unleashing fierce undercurrents of potent, brain-numbing energies that naturally hard-wired the brain of any observer to become locked-in and hard-wired to Imagine Intense filthy, sexual thoughts about the Mother Magdalena. Her almighty smutty lure had eventually begun to frighten most of her sisters despite their familiarity with her.
The Golden Magdalena would make her routine visit to the luxuriant Inner Earth Sanctum with her silver Hawk sisters exactly every twenty-eight days for a regular recharge and Rebirth of her Spirit, at always the very instance whereupon she would perpetually perceive her prodigious power perishing. These relieving rejuvenations were had also by the other Hankerhawks during these times. And they would partake in the activity together, in Silence. The Mother would Ritually revitalize her mighty golden dress at this splendid pond that she had Once taken sips of Water from during the very first time Amrita had taken her to the Sanctum — a clandestine Queendom, she came to realize, that was a domain exclusively held by that of Amrita, according to Al Rodnam.
This supreme revitalization would keep the Mother Magdalena extremely powerful, and as High in Spirit as her social rank of the Bry Dellows Hankerhawks. It would also keep the woman youthful and gorgeous as ever she was. This was how she would continue to survive.
There was never a single instance Lina didn’t thoroughly enjoy coming to the Inner Earth Underworld, and she absolutely loved all that her serpent pet’s spectacular world had to offer her. It would be that One precise time per Fucked-Earth month, during her so-cherished glorious purification through the emotive pond, that she would also always mindfully let pour her magical menstrual medicine. She wanted to give something back.
Not because she felt inclined to, but because she kidded herself that she actually wanted to, and it felt amazing to her.
This time of month from within the Immortal Inner Earth as well as from within its ever-be-doomed Fucked-Earth counterpart, was the very time of month that also naturally would have found the Moon fixed Full along its Phase, had it not been already wholly bursting out with brightness due to the Liberation of Mandorla, flowing and bloody to its utmost, exactly matching the Mother’s monthly cycles.
She really didn’t want to admit it to herself, but time and again, Lina would catch slight glimpses of the gory, detached Triple-Eyed Head of Fletcher Munsin glaring back at her from within the reviving pond in exactly the very position she figured her own head should be reflecting.
During the first few times she saw it, she foolishly shook it off, attempting to convince herself it was ‘all in her head.’ But gradually during her visits to the Inner Earth, she eventually began seeing the vision more often, and clearer, shimmering back at her for longer than just quick instances out of the corner of her Eye.
Eventually, it spoke to her.
“You piece of shit,” it had muttered faintly ‘out of the blue’ in gurgly spurts, blood and spit shooting out of his mouth and severed neck in earnest with the effort. “You’re in –choke— serious danger, Mother. You — your sisters — everyone on the planet –choke— is in serious, –choke— critical –choke— danger. Figured you might wanna know.”
The aquatic apparition remained cool and composed despite the ridiculous fragmented hackles he so sputtered, and the impossibility of what was actually now happening somehow occurring anyway.
A great lump of glossy innards of the familiar deathly talking head reflection slowly oozed out the bottom of its severed neck in super-thick burgundy entrails as it continued to speak with a curious and exceedingly deep, raspy voice, ignoring completely his observed apparent discomfort. “Your days –choke— are numbered, you know –choke.”
Lina could not be certain she was simply Hallucinating. She grew angry.
A pause.
“There is One way you can save yourself,” the gory apparition abruptly went on, –cough, cough, cough— “as well as –choke— twelve of your Highest Sister-Hawk-Fuckers… it’s –cough, cough, cough— the only way for the continuing survival of anything, my gorgeous.”
The reflecting head cleared its throat terribly loudly, but carefree. Somehow it could still get its vocal chords working so that it could be heard and mostly understood. Its three Eyes were beaming horrifically in illuminated elucidation as a super-smug grin forged itself forth from the familiar bloodstained face in the enchanted Inner-Earth pond.
Lina shivered as notions of a loathing laced with loads of arousal rose to the surface in her.
And then she wondered why the Hell it was that the Shade of Fletcher Munsin was giving her advice that would save her life, and the lives of Twelve of her Highest sisters. Something wasn’t right, she thought; things were just not adding up.
“You will receive an Omen,” the Shade went on, convulsing slightly. “When the -choke- Blood-red Full Moon of Mandorla fully vanishes, -choke- it will be the signal -choke- to quickly gather together with your Twelve High Sisters and -choke- proceed to evacuate to Andromeda at the Biodome at the edge of the galaxy –choke, choke- at light-speed to initiate a Re-genesis of Human Civilization –cough, cough— without delay! This is your only chance. –cough— Everything on Earth will be destroyed.” The throat of the reflecting head of Fletcher Munsin gagged on itself manically, overenthusiastically and as loud as could be, and a fair amount of filthy, glazed drool and blood was Spilt all down his Watery chin.
“Good luck, bitch,” it managed effortlessly in the face of having a look of excruciating torment.
Magdalena felt her shoulder blades and the sides of her neck instantly ice-over, and she released a bold, gratifying involuntary shiver of her entire upper body.
The Mother remained fixed in a daze for a moment, lost deeply inside of herself…
The Mother shook herself clear of her deeply emotionally-wrought reverie. She shuddered. She spat a juicy wad of her bubbly saliva to the side and growled loudly. She wasn’t sure exactly how to feel and her emotions were running wild, viciously seeking to undyingly warp her mental stability.
This was all pretty strange, she thought to herself.
Lina began tossing around the prospects of the apparition’s assumed words in her mind. She didn’t doubt that Mandorla’s Moon of Ruby could and would disappear, she just felt baffled over what she should do when it did. Fletcher Munsin was a spiteful jerk, she knew, but she found that in her cold, Dark Heart, she nevertheless was fiercely attracted to the man for some strange, seemingly unexplainable reason because she wholly believed that she knew for certain that her Fletcher Munsin was indeed the last Godhed that she must hunt down and keep.
She would never know that the last Godhed was in fact Al Rodnam who had helped her found Bry Dellows. And she would never come to find out that Al Rodnam was even in any way associated with Fletcher Munsin.
But surely, deep down inside, Magdalena had to have some clue as to what was really going on. ⊙
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☆34. BUGS TO LOOM IN THE PENS OF THE BLOOD PIGS | Part One.
…from [E P I S O D E E I G H T] of The Aqueous Transmission by [MIKE EYE]
[B u g s t o L o o m i n t h e P e n s o f t h e B l o o d P i g s]
“As copper is transformed into gold through alchemical practices, likewise, those who have gained Knowledge use Passions as the Key to Liberation.”
— anonymous Tantric text
[chapter THIRTY-FOUR]
[THREE-HUNDRED-THIRTY-THREE YEARS FOLLOWING THE FOUNDING OF BRY DELLOWS. FUCKED-EARTH TIME.]
The foul little lazy rascal knelt lackadaisically upon the dirty, cursed surface of Fucked-Earth on her filthy, disfigured knees as she caressed her pig’s thick, hairy ear that smelt of bio-toxic waste. The young girl — who looked more like a wretched and useless rejected runt of some Damned set of Demon offspring — was deep in the midst of overindulging in her favorite two-and-a-half hours of every two-and-a-half days, a most enjoyable time routinely enjoyed by her as well as by all of her low sisters, all active in the rowdy pig farms of the dark Mother’s feral, rickety village of the shit-stained Bry Dellows.
Amid the smelly little girl sat several very distinct, similarly-deformed smelly little girls within a fairly large expanse of dusty, twisted farmland, each Wickedly afflicted girl tending most lovingly to her very own ugly, deformed smelly little pig. As usual, all of the sisters were getting so much a rise out of the bonding with their personal pigs that their dispositions seemed to illicit a kind of passive hyperactivity that had them poised to be officially qualified to lustfully milk the wretched creatures from their tainted teats in spite of the impossibility of the feat; there was an odd air of general sexual tension settling in a thick fog over the atmosphere of the pig pens.
Perhaps ironically, the fucked swine receiving all the attention didn’t look all too different from these retarded excuses for girls — the pathetic tribal filler-material known as the Loombugs — who were obsessed with feeding and ‘playing’ with the Bry Dellows Bloodpigs most enthusiastically as had become custom of their bizarre, indigenous tribe.
A thick, heavy stench of brute blood and festering feces lingered about the chaotic piggery emitting a putrid, pungent air within the vicinity that not One girl seemed bothered by. The rank stink wafted through the atmosphere along with loud, incessant Bloodpig oinks that were interspersed with the occasional shrill shriek or elongated, off-key drone of a preoccupied Loombug who had become exceedingly excited with her personal undertaking, momentarily unable to control herself. Bloodpigs who were not presently being tended to by the Loombugs, or had already finished their meals of the hearty Space-Grain, were currently squealing and scurrying mindlessly about the stables, their disproportionate, lumpy and saggy limbs crippling their steps to weird hobbles, rendering them oblivious to their surroundings as they scampered on into and past one another retardedly.
The hogs had not a notion that they were, at present, each subconsciously, by their present behavior, ultimately seeking to be ordained back into the Spirit Molecule that had initially Summoned them all forth to this most corrupt countenance initially overseen during the Genesis of Bry Dellows by Al Rodnam.
The Loombug sisters of Bry Dellows perpetually seized every precious moment effortlessly during these times ‘paid’ in the filthy village pens, Ritually immersing themselves with their sisters, although each Individually divulging their own selves with their own pig, of whom each Bug would customarily pick out personally for this most cherished “pig-sty playtime.” During this special time, all of the Loombugs would always consistently carry out very vulgar molestations of the Bloodpigs along with these vital feedings of the special Grains as part of their Ritual; such sick acts of which each Loombug conducted One-on-One with her own personally chosen pig, were overtly overly overzealous, hedonistic activities that required no Intellect whatsoever to execute — mere child’s play, as it were. The Hankerhawks of their tribe never showed them how to do this; the Loombugs had all felt instinctively driven, and very strongly so, to commit such whacky, vulgar behavior all their own, as a ‘side dish’ to the Feeding of the Space-Grain.
So, this was their favorite thing to do. Well, other than become engaged with the potent power expended by Sacra-mental manipulations of their Stone Runes, of course, ‘spending’ most of their days constantly engaged in subliminally manifesting shifty conjurings amid a plane of fundamentally, unconsciously misunderstood esoterica (the Loombugs would never come to know that the ‘potent power’ of the Stone Runes was mere ‘Placebo Effect,’ the Runes’ True magic long lost over the decades as a result of, initially ignorance by Mother Magdalena, and ultimately misinterpretation by all of her sisters).
As per the Mother, the Loombugs were only permitted to ‘pay’ such gleeful times in the pig-pens under One condition: it was strictly mandatory that the Bloodpig Feedings always be followed by one extra final task of which the girls were all sworn to their pathetic lives to then Ritualistically endeavor upon: after the allotted two-and-a-half hours’ time with the Bloodpigs, the Bugs were then required by the Mother, à la Solaria, to each take their own recently skyfallen personal Bloodpig, of which they had been feeding and doing strange shit to, over to the nearby salty shore for a High dedicatory ceremonial Bloodpig drowning sacrifice. The Loombugs were hardened to this most sacrosanct sacrament on account of compulsory custom (not to mention genetic programming and human-hybrid perceptual multidimensional interferences), and so always underwent the Ritual Addendum without any difficulty, despite the general lack of well-functioning motor skills crippling the always sweaty Loombugs.
Upon arrival to the edge of the sparkling and slowly wavering, salty and bubbly azure shoreline, the Loombugs would customarily begin thoroughly scrubbing their Bloodpigs in the Water, proceed to then hack them the-fuck-up with their super sharp trusty daggers always kept within their loincloths (that were attached to the loincloths with some string) until most of the horrid hog blood was Spilled in the Ocean, then finally hold them Underwater for several moments thereafter while holding Visions of Solaria within their Collective Mind’s Eye for the duration of the ‘under’-taking.
The Bugs would thereafter customarily each grab as many pieces of pork as they could carry, and fill up their wooden flasks with the extra-salty ocean water before scrambling themselves promptly back to the main dirt paths of central Bry Dellows, as a group, to go cook the hog pieces around an open flame and thoughtlessly eat (storing some of the meat in their loin-cloths for whenever they got Hungry later), thereafter habitually coming to absorb themselves with their Stone Runes and come to mumble mindlessly to One another as well as to any unoccupied Hankerhawk who was momentarily willing to put up with their shit.
Strange fact: the few rations of brutally brackish Water the Bugs gathered from the only ocean on Fucked-Earth was all that the dried-up, deformed bodies of the Bry Dellows Loombugs required. And the only food the Bugs of the tribe would eat would be Bloodpig. And lots of Bloodpig. And more of lots of Bloodpig. They did so many times a day, unceremoniously, and did so defying Mother Nature Herself by amazingly being able to survive normally on far less Water than Earthen organisms living more symbiotically in an ideal Vision of a world with its Land masses far, far prevalent geographically over its ever be-shrunken Seas. This was another reason the Loombugs of Bry Dellows always put so much effort into their routine Feedings of the Bloodpigs. Bloodpig was indeed all that they wanted and ever needed to eat, and it did them well. And yes, there was certainly a great deal of hog-shit that went along with that: most of the village’s grounds were strewn in it. The stench had come to garnish the Mother’s village in a subtle, familiar undertone that richly added to the community’s overall aesthetic.
Interestingly enough, although the Loombugs were constantly filthy from ugly Head to fucked-up toe, they never thought to wash themselves subsequent to the Bloodpig Sacrifices; in fact, they seldom ever washed themselves at all.
And so, three-hundred-thirty-three elongated years after the Mother, her pet Amrita, and the elusive mystic Al Rodnam had established Bry Dellows under the subtle command of the mighty Lachrylon, the village’s tribe had grown to include roughly 85% Loombugs, 10% Hankerhawks, 4% Gilded Grunts, & 1% Godhed. The Loombugs, with their own scheduled mundane activities assigned by the Mother, were only slightly larger in size than the hideous hogs they would each so come to make their own at High Noon during playtime. The Hawks, always having to be the Ones to order the dumb Bugs around and remind them of this as well as other things — because the Bugs all had trouble focusing their frames of mind with their lines of thought — had no clocks (or any other machines for that matter) and would only know it was Noontime when the Sun was directly overhead, the Sun’s seeming path over the planet’s horizons taking nine [72/8] hours in all, which was one-third of a day, Fucked-Earth time. The Bry Dellows Loombugs typically never gained a developmental functioning capability beyond that of a four-year-old not bred with such Wicked, Balanced, Tantric Intention the likes of which the mighty Solaria had mandated for these doomed Loombugs. In all, the Loombugs pretty much greatly resembled the ever-so-precious, wretched Mandorla, as she had originally been born, beside the mystical pond that was the trippy window of the Aqueous Transmission, except that the Bugs of Bry Dellows physically grew, in average, to be about four-and-a-half feet tall by maturity.
This One Loombug of which we now follow — inconsequentially named Loomy — was a very young girl of four years (Fucked-Earth time), currently coming to most deeply delight in, as did all her sisters — who were all also named “Loomy” — her cherished time with the Bry Dellows Bloodpigs. Yes, each Loombug had the same name, not One of which was ever able to figure out its correct pronunciation. They all looked remarkably similar to One another, were gravely mentally retarded with all Bugs having an identical genetic makeup, and had an extremely limited vocabulary that mostly consisted of a few faintly recognizable sounds and frequently used buckled bodily mannerisms ordinarily exchanged among the Bugs so dysfunctional.
During the Bloodpig Feedings, however, the Bugs would each ‘pay’ time connecting only to their own loud and smelly consort, the girls remaining focused completely on their own individual task at (deformed) hand. They each enjoyed the company of their sisters around them during this special time, but were each unwilling to ‘pay’ the others any mind or communicate with them by any means. Full focus was had on the Bloodpigs.
The ultra-vivid sheen of the brightest midday Solar beams now flooded the dusty, drab atmosphere of Bry Dellows, throbbing its radiance in a strange pulse, and the incessant beat-down from the sky it brought upon Loomy struck her as it struck all the others, and in such a way that made her feel as though she were being pressed in between two giant, red-hot stone plates that were somehow continuously conjoining against one another despite a consistent pressure from either end.
But it was okay; Loomy was used to this weather.
All the Loomys were.
And now nearby the smutty piggery, we see a few seasoned, expressionless Gilded Grunts trotting on forth sluggishly to dump the precious Space-Grain from their big bushels into the long troughs that ran lengthwise all along the stables. The Grunts would perpetually keep these troughs filled with Space-Grain, which they would bring through a stargate linked to the Andromeda Biodome. Despite the troughs lining the whole of the pig pens, the Bloodpigs therein would not — could not — eat from them; they had all been somehow neurolinguistically manipulated by Al Rodnam during the Genesis of Bry Dellows in such a way that they always had to wait to be fed by the Loombugs, no matter how hungry they became. And they had no patience.
Despite all the commotion surrounding her, Loomy, the dreadful youngster now totally preoccupied with her favorite activity, entirely numb to the intense heat, nevertheless lay mostly motionless in her shadowy corner of one of the stables, very overly excited as she held out her stumpy little wart-wrecked arm with a handful of prized, magical Space-Grain for her darling vile swine who disturbingly bared a most uncanny resemblance to herself.
As she continued to feed her Bloodpig, Loomy the little Loombug maintained an over-exaggerated smile that seemed forced, but wasn’t; her smile was, in effect, an unremitting affliction affecting her countenance that became comfortably settled upon the subject of her interest, stuck in a state of At-One-ment.
Time ceased to exist for Loomy as she lost herself inside the Ritual.
The left half of young Loomy’s fat lip so moistened with drool would raise higher than the right half each time she flashed her hideous, mostly-toothless smile to her present personal pig — which was quite often throughout playtime, but for no apparent reason. She had several hairy-ass warts and large, distinct birthmarks all over her mostly naked, disproportional black, hairy body. A horrid smile now cracked her face in a flash as she uttered a few exaggerated cooing sounds with her mouth and nose, the latter of which had a great deal of rich snot dribbling out of it. The temperature was a sizzling 111˚ F, and Loomy was not bothered by it in the least as she sat distracted, completely covered in her extra-salty sweat.
There were precisely sixty-nine Blood-pigs present at the Bry Dellows pig-pens at all times; just as soon as One pig was Ritually Sacrificed on the specific day it was meant to be sacrificed — along with all the others — others would replace the spots in the pens of the previous pigs, having flown to Bry Dellows from some mysterious, undisclosed location. By this time along the Bry Dellows tribal ‘devilution,’ the flying pigs had all been genetically trained psychically by Al Rodnam to land at the pens at Bry Dellows on their own, so the old man no longer needed to shoot them down from the sky with his trusty handmade crossbow.
At any rate, the mystic had been long, long since gone from the dusky land of Bry Dellows.⊙
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IN 1986, ARTHUR C. CLARKE PREDICTED WORLD WAR III TO BEGIN JUST AFTER SUMMER EQUINOX OF 2018.
It’s now 2017! What a fascinating time it is to reflect upon the visions of Arthur C. Clarke’s future that were published in 1986 in his book of 21st century forecasts July 20, 2019 !! A future that is now!! Re-reading this book now is fun, guys!! A LOT of the shit Clarke envisioned has now come true!! Especially his ideas on advanced electronic applications, cyborg-like bio-neurological implants, and future psychiatric treatment equipped with drugs galore! But there is also A LOT that he didn’t forsee!! For instance, the Internet is hardly mentioned. And, in the most fascinating conclusion to his book of predictions in my opinion which depicts his vision of how… and WHEN… World War III will initiate, Russia is still the U.S.S.R. in the 21st century (still considering the forecast was made in the mid-eighties). Still, though, his foretelling of World War III is eerie and creepy to read now when getting a chance to compare predictions made with modern-day actualities. And, perhaps not ironically, yet definitely dark, is now pondering upon the very day World War III begins in Arthur C. Clarke’s vision of the future, One year before the date mentioned in the book’s title: July 20, 2018. -MIKE EYE
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Goodreads | Mike Eye (Author of The Aqueous Transmission)
Mike Eye is now on Goodreads!
Source: Goodreads | Mike Eye (Author of The Aqueous Transmission)
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#10. A Founding of Bry Dellows from the Aqueous Transmission ☆
☆ And now, three days since their arrival, Magdalena was sitting cross-legged on the soiled, still-steamy surface of Fucked-Earth within the confines of the Hollow, Observing the deep crimson hue of blood-like sentiment settled over the scenery of shadows that danced about in fervor with the flames of the campfire that were flickering fruitfully. The three had mentally and physically territorialized a makeshift base camp area in a specific spot chosen by Al Rodnam, a spot that appeared not unlike the many campsites they had crudely constructed throughout their journey, only larger. The Mother thought of Mandorla now as she Eyed Al Rodnam in the near distance who was performing various yoga stretches beside the hungry flames of the campfire, intentionally entreating upon what they had to offer. She sighed. ⊙
Source: #10. A Founding of Bry Dellows from the Aqueous Transmission ☆
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#20. Snake-Rita Reveals to Magdalena her Newfound Access to a One High Telepathic Archaic Wisdom Kollective
from The Aqueous Transmission by MIKE EYE
Episode VI. / Chapter 30
The woman took pensive heed of the sprawling landscape before her that was so littered with scores of small black scraps of disintegrated wreckage, felt that now-all-too-familiar feeling of abandonment as she strode onward. This sprawling new environment was, however, a great deal easier for her to bare all-in-all, the Mother thought to herself, when weighed against the hindrance of all the huge piles of charred shit chaotically strewn about every which way as the case had been ever since she had received any divine communion with the inimitable, glorious jasper amulet of Solaria….
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#22. Amrita Brings Magdalena to her Secret Underworld of Wonder, from The Aqueous Transmission
…from Episode VI.
[chapter THIRTY-ONE]______________________________
INSTANTLY, HER WORLD WAS TRANSFORMED AS SHE JUST AS SOON stepped into a most magnificent warm, tropical environment, with all kinds of lush, exotic flowers and plantlife of the most stunning colors overlying the land that was spotted with wonderful, exotic forest creatures — some airborne — busily bustling about, adding slight, wondrous sounds to the atmosphere. Not a single cloud was to be seen in the sky above, and the atmosphere had a sort of brightness to it that Lina had never seen present upon the Earth she was used to. So extraordinarily bright it was, yet not in the least bit blinding. Lina had noticed straightaway how amazingly fresh the air smelled, as she thought she seemed to be reaching an exceptionally High state of being just by breathing in the air around her. She found it instantly incredible.
After an amount of…
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THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION eBook by MIKE EYE – 9781499902440 | Kobo
[About Me & My Page]
Synopsis Of My Novel
*Synopsis of The Aqueous Transmission ____________________________
The Aqueous Transmission by Mike Eye is an incredibly exciting tale of dark lore that explores the idea of what planet Earth would be like if it had started out being ruled by small indigenous tribes of super powerful, genetically enhanced barbarian women with penchants for powers of perversion!
Source: Synopsis Of My Novel
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☆ 21. The Golden Mother’s Metatronik Orb-Cube Comprising Her & Her 12 Silvery Seduktive Sister-Hawx Becomes Inadvertently Misled.
THANK YOU FOR READING DARK ESOTERIKA, A BLOG THAT SEES THROUGH THE VEIL….
This Post [#28.] Includes Text Excerpted From Mike Eye’s The Aqueous Transmission.
[chapter TWENTY-ONE]
A MOST DEFINITIVE QUANTUM LEAP WAS THEN MADE AS EVERY Hankerhawk on Earth instantaneously became Conscious of precisely how embarrassingly defective the polar alignment of their Fucked-Earth had been for the past 25,566 years… and precisely why this had been so.
The Hawks instantly, clearly all understood their paradoxical dilemma as they retroactively re-envisioned the faulty paradigm they had been living in. The women altogether realized, in One Single Instance, that over all these years, they had in fact been attempting to navigate a depolarized Earth, and trying to do so while lacking the vital, driving Force that could provide to them supreme Guidance: a sense of True, natural Divine Direction, a certain kind of direction that would Illuminate each of the Hankerhawk’s own personal predestined paths. They altogether now realized that the missing piece of the puzzle was the enigmatic retrieval of this Divine Direction.
It was not understood by the Hawks at this time however just exactly where these paths so stricken with Wickedness would in fact lead to. And the women were presently oblivious to any Awareness of just how disturbingly Wicked these destinies would in fact prove to be.
As if it mattered to their sense of communal reason, anyhow.
It was thus without any wonder, the Hankerhawks then came to recognize, just precisely why it had been so Goddam difficult for them all this time to locate a Goddam Godhed.
During this climax of the current era, any Hankerhawk atop Fucked-Earth in any other tribe — not that there were many — who was not attempting to assemble herself together into larger charmed circles now became increasingly erratic in her behavior, and finally to the point where she, along with all of her Enlightened sisters, just snapped and started mindlessly slaughtering female newborns and any Gilded Grunts nearby — the only two ancestral descendants the elders of Bry Dellows customarily let live as functioning members of their tribes.
Utter Mayhem was in fact now ensuing over the Face of the Earth due to the sprout of the very first seedling of Space-Grain, a groovy space-crop that Fletcher Munsin had so solemnly, tragically help create, on par.
It was the tainted juices from a most Wicked intercourse so deliberate that indeed seeped into the Soil and spawned the first thing ever to be grown inside the Biodome of Andromeda.
The pandemonium among all the tribeswomen upon the surface of Fucked-Earth had increased threefold as soon as the seedling had been spotted by Mother Magdalena and the Twelve silvery seductresses.
From the moment the Collective Observation had been made by the elite Bry Dellows female union of the first dark swirl wafting in close proximity to the Dark Space-Grain, the Mother ordered her sisters to help her at Once. They carried the limp Fletcher Munsin back into the pod, everyone assuming their “moving forward” positions, and the pod promptly took off from a now-hotly-Sanctified, energized surface of the now-freshly-charged precious acres of space-biodome farmland-plots, which were already starting to fastly soak and spread out amongst itself the newly-conjoined, most well-received Sacred Fertilizer soon to have every designated landplot throughout the entire Andromeda Biodome lively with the Fucked-Earth-bound Dark Space-Grain-oh-so-revered.
The shape-shifting High spacecraft mindfully penetrated enigmatically through the consecrated components of the Dome. In glowing orb-cube fashion, now carrying the compatible codes in their celestial light signatures, the proud Mother’s silvery Lightship intuitively proceeded to heed the call to its next destination with much valor.
All Thirteen entities of the sizzling psychopathic Metatron’s Cube of the Mother now thoughtlessly assumed that they were Headed back to Earth to bear ‘good news’ of the sprouting of the Space-Grain to the villages of Hawks throughout the planet.
Not even for the slightest instant did any woman discuss the topic of destination; they sat smug and ecstatic, and still literally drooling over their prized, Sacrificed Possession that remained on the brink of life, the man’s pulse dropping to critically low levels.
With the Divine Sperm of Fletcher Munsin Cumming to Fertilize the Mother, she, along with Fletcher Munsin, in turn, had indeed Cum to Fertilize the Biodome floor with their Lust Juice. This, so the Mother thought, was to warrant her and her Twelve closest to then be on their way to save their world, a priori. It was the High Demand of Solaria.
Several hours later, the Hawks had come to notice that they had reached their programmed destination. The metamorphosis of the orb-cube transmuting back into the silver space-pod was the cue that the women had arrived.
Lina reached for the clank, opened the hatch, and pressed a button on the wall that caused the silvery steps to materialize beneath the ship’s outer door in liquid-flow fashion.
One by One, with Magdalena Guiding the way, the Hawks stepped out into a world they all momentarily came to realize synchronistically, dumbly, was not even close to looking or feeling like Earth. Their newly regenerated DNA signatures had evidently guided them to a new place, the Hawks each now took it upon themselves to figure.
Each woman was instantly embarrassed and completely caught off guard. There was confusion and silence all around.
Surrounding the women was a strikingly invigorating, deserted desert environment, most dry, the likes of which was unlike anything any of them had ever Experienced Seeing, or at least so they Thought. Dark clouds clogged the breadth of the skyline with such utter dreariness that the foreign vista oh-so-subtley seemed to the Hawks to be softly, slowly daring the newly-arrived chief humanoid-female-Earthling Space Voyagers to ever even consider coming to a place like this. This allowed for the organic aura of this distant — yet close — planet to project a Universal Forced Perception of its actuality, passive-aggressively imparting a subliminal, twisted mock-display of some supposed, inevitable, shocking upshot intended to intimately pity its alien Observer(s). The sly façade was Black, both in Appearance and in Spirit. Brown streaks of what looked like dense dirt were scattered over the smooth, grey silicate rock formations of the planet’s jagged surface, and the land was excruciatingly rutted all around the area from which they now stood in stupors. There seemed to be plenty of oxygen in the thick, vast, exceedingly sweet-tasting atmosphere, the core of which came to diffuse occasionally now with resident High heat and carbon in the air, conspiratorially inviting in taunting, invisible High Blazes that would result, periodically, in the most relentless hits of the fiercest of electrical strikes, suspiciously conjuring forth quite the powerful subconscious taunt.
Against the expansive gloom, the Hawks somehow sensed an overall strange overcast blindingness that sought to utterly unnerve these foolish Bry Dellows Hankerhawks of Fucked-Earth, and the colors and hues of everything surrounding the women now appeared unimaginably ludicrous; in Truth, most deep and personal…
The haunted Hawks remained silent, were totally confused. They all felt as if they were heavily hallucinating to an overkill.
Magdalena caught sight of a small crater in the distance. It was a small piece of rough turf about 26 kilometers in diameter that was the focal point in a conjunction of several distinguished pale cracks caving in on themselves.
“Look up ahead,” she said to the ladies, her forefinger pointing before her.
Guiding the way forward, loyal Iron Spear in hand, the Mother braved onward. Utilizing her embedded wild, tribal radar/sonar detector, Lina noticed a slight, yet intense vortex-like pull on her subtle energy field.
She paused, raised her left fist up high, level to her face and shouted commandingly, “HALT.” The women all came to a militant stop at Once. There was a moment of silence.
“You girls feel that?” asked the Mother.
But before they could reply, all Twelve of the Silver Hawks were suddenly sucked into the gloomy crater just ahead, which apparently contained a sucking Black Hole within its Center.
Magdalena remained the only One still standing on the surface, her magical Golden dress somehow able to counteract the tugging she felt from the Dark hole attempting to suck her in.
She ran on straight ahead, right up to the edge of the crater’s murky drop and peered down in a panic.
It led down into a deep, Dark chasm below and she did not see any bottom to the hole. Winded, the Mother crouched down, her hands coming to rest upon her knees, still in Shock. She stared down bleakly into the Dead Center of the bottomless pit before her, all wide-Eyed.
Then she realized that she could see a faint, whitish azure glow moving subtly down, deep inside the massive hole before her, a giant orb in the far, unforgiving dusky distance nimbly pulsating with a High curiosity.
Magdalena felt for a moment almost as if she were spying on some important living, loving entity relevant to her very nature, certain to also point out to herself that she didn’t have to feel bad about doing so.
Squatting now over the edge of the ledge with a desperate bewilderment, sweat swimming about in a bodily bounty within and amongst the crystal-clear pores of her dazzling black skin, Mother Magdalena extended her neck as far out as she was able, peering down intently.
She heard nothing. -MIKE EYE
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☆ 5. A POST-KRASH LANDING
WELKOME TO DARK ESOTERIKA…. [post #27.]
AND NOW, WE REJOIN MOTHER MAGDALENA BACK IN HER RECENTLY CRASHED SPACE POD AS SHE SUDDENLY DECIDES TO INITIATE EVAC, STAT!
[chapter FIVE of THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION]
SUDDENLY, AN INTENSE DESIRE TO QUICKLY FLEE THE SPACESHIP overcame Lina. She felt barely any shielding energy left inside her magical dress, the powers of it mostly depleted. She entered her small walk-in closet and hastily grabbed her knapsack that was hanging on a hook and took a look inside it. Inside she found a ball of hemp cord, an ink pen, a pad of paper, and some other odds and ends of useful purpose. She slung the satchel over her shoulder and quickly stepped back into the bedroom. Cautiously, Lina went to go fetch Amrita to stuff inside the sack. “Stay in there and be quiet,” she told the thing. She tiptoed to her night table and opened the drawer. She grabbed her handy dagger that was inside, attached it to her waist, and stepped to the door. She took a deep breath and shut her Eyes tightly. She planned on trying to exit the craft without looking at the flight deck.
She was disturbed as she briefly caught sight of a potential future image of herself gaping in astonishment over the sloppy mess on the flight deck.
Lina shook herself free of the gripping, grimmy image, cautiously felt for the button on the wall, and the two parts of the door slid open. She stepped through.
Instantly, Lina noticed an intensely foul odor in the air, much stronger than the one in her bedroom. She grimaced as she returned her nose beneath her dress.
Her spaceship, being small as it was, was not difficult to navigate behind closed Eyelids; she cared not to investigate further the loud shattering she had heard, nor the strong stench she now smelled, although she could imagine precisely the cause of both of them.
Cautiously, Eyes shut tight, Lina shuffled to the storage area on the port side of the craft. The surface of the floor was heavily uneven on this side of the ship and she struggled to hold her balance. She opened a cabinet and, holding open her knapsack, hastily reached in and dragged all the fruit and tiny bags of nuts and grains into it. Eyes still closed, she opened another cupboard, felt around, and added the rationed portions of flasks of Pure Fresh Water to the bundle. This was all the food and drink she kept on her ship, which she had only previously ridden on special occasions, this particular ride, obviously yet quite peculiarly, being her last.
And also somehow her first.
Lina grabbed her trusty spear that was resting on the floor, readied her nerves, and prepared to book it past the front-end of the ship toward the hatch on the far right side. She could only hope that the hatch could still be opened given the condition of the pod; she figured this was a Once-in-a-lifetime type of predicament she found herself stuck in.
And indeed it was.
She closed her Eyes and briefly meditated on her escape.
Other than her magical golden dress, it was Magdalena’s trusty spear that was her prized possession. The demoralizing lance had also been crafted from the fierce filaments of the almighty Solaria, and had been, more than Once, handed down to her as a ferocious, inhuman aid in the brutal combat that would inevitably befall her throughout her travels. It was fashioned from unadulterated iron crystal that had been extracted from the center of the Earth. As such, it worked intrinsically with the bleeding planet’s core, and the edge of it always remained perfectly sharp, having embroidered jagged teeth toward the top-end of it. In essence, the enchanted staff was really a sacred scepter that, through the sanctity of Solaria, ceaselessly sought secret sanction with its specific possessor, entrusting itself with, whom in this case was, Mother Magdalena. This was a most awesome power with none other like it, and it had the miraculous ability, along with the application of two other star-gate Tools, to tap into the sacred Black Hole Sun of the Inner Earth chambers, providing the Mother, along with her formidable, fulsome dress, with the utmost protection and guidance on the surface of the densest of planet environments she may happen upon.
And now, from where she stood, feeling great fear, the Mother mindfully folded down her epiglottis to block her air duct, lifted opened her Eyes, and directed her gaze toward the ship’s hatch, paying no mind to the flight deck. Gripping her mighty spear tightly, Lina took in a deep, putrid breath and then went for it. She galloped awkwardly toward the hatch as fast as she could across the surface of the sloped cabin, her body in pain, the odor unbearable. When she got there, she grabbed the wheel at the center of the hatch. Heaving, she used all of her remaining strength to spin the wheel to its extremity, then pounded on the button to the left of the hatch, which was supposed to open it. But, alas, as she had suspected, the hatch was jammed.
”FUCK!” she cried out and started pounding on the door as if it would give way just because she pounded on it.
The stink was repulsive. Lina whimpered in pain. And just as she began to think up new ways of how she could escape the downed spacecraft, a very flustered Lina started to feel wafts of heat blow by her. Slowly lifting open an Eyelid, she snagged a peak at some smoke drifting by and instantly became petrified; the level of anxiety she was wrought with rose several notches and the back of her neck grew instantly damper.
Feeling completely overwhelmed at this point, Lina realized that if there was any chance for her to make it out alive, she needed to break free of the hysteria that was starting to grip her and focus her mind at least somewhat on what it was that she was trying to do.
She took a brief time-out. Trying with all her might to gain composure, she consciously attempted to ignore her racing thoughts and project her powerful energy inward. For a moment, just One brief moment in time, she aimed to block out all senses and attain a flash of Divinity.
She paused.
In a state of absolute dissociation, like a deprivation of senses submerged in water, her Soul grabbed hold of what presented itself to be the experience of an intensely real hallucination of a rather pleasant image for her.
From out-of-body, Magdalena saw her tall, shimmering form swimming gracefully through an ocean of a milky, midnight sky, in a patch of starry outerspace not too distant from the Earth. Swimming vibrantly through deep-space as if it were a cool pool, Lina was overjoyed to find other, separate, smaller celestial entities gaily joining her for a merry, intergalactic swim.
For an instant, just One simple instant of bliss, the iridescent bodies all swirled together in ecstasy, dancing happily in harmony. Lina smiled.
A stinging choke brought the hopeful woman back to her subjective consciousness of the physical being that was trapped inside the smashed space-pod. She bent over and spewed out a few robust coughs, spit, and then lifted her head slightly to find herself looking at the jammed hatch that wouldn’t budge. She shook her head briskly, feeling a slight sense of déjà vu set in. In an effort to limit the amount of smoke being inhaled, as well as to dodge the dreadful, drifting odor, Lina took in a deep, disgusting breath through her mouth and tried to see how long she could hold it in her lungs.
As she held that breath in, she tried with all her might to remain consciously locked onto that comforting sensation brought forth by the spectacular Vision she had just had, while still remaining mindful of her task at hand. She wanted to see how long she could hold in her big breath. And with it locked inside her lungs, she gathered up all her courage and turned around to face the facts.
Sludge, scattered.
And without realizing it, she let loose her breath before her in a forceful blow.
At the ship’s bow, Lina helplessly beheld the same overwhelming mess of toxic rubble and pieces of corpses that had seared her vision from behind the great, big crystal glass dash, but now the dash was shattered, and the grimy debris was scattered upon the flight deck, having fallen into the ship when the cracked glass had given way. Lina was aghast.
The toxic shit littered a good portion of the flight deck, and there was a huge mound of it just outside, completely clogging the opening of where the dash had been. It seemed most of the spaceship’s sharply inclining, downward-sloping front-end was buried beneath the surface of a scorched Earth, trapping Lina hopelessly inside. She gathered a great amount of air into her lungs then released her breath to speak forcefully.
”SOLARIA!” the Mother proclaimed with raised head and lifted arms, “GUIDE ME OUT OF HERE!”
She shut her Eyes tightly and mustered together some nerve.
Lina gagged slightly as she reluctantly shuffled down the incline, toward the intruding wreckage to analyze it further, noticing a thin layer of smoke accumulating just above it as she got closer. Trying not to panic, she scanned the debris, seeking the source of the smoke. In the far corner, Lina caught glimpse of a small flame flickering faintly. She gasped. And then she came to find herself glaring into the center of the flame, concentrating hard on it.
”Solaria! Anoint my Spirit with your scalding center!” she cried, “But torch not my hot temple of flesh and blood! Just as you said, I am needed to procreate! Now get me out of here!” She could hear a raspy, muffled, mechanical meow come from within her knapsack, which was still slung over her shoulder. She coughed.
Lina again shut her Eyes. She took a slow, steady breath in, and then out, and found herself Once again Observing her body back up in the High Ocean. She saw her long, smooth figure gracefully gliding in twirls within the all-too-black, totally starless sky; this time she swam alone. -MIKE EYE
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Everyone, please take a moment to sign this before a Code Red situation. -MIKE EYE
☆ 33. “Now that Pigs Fly…”
from the pages of The Aqueous Transmission by Mike Eye
[chapter THIRTY-THREE]
THE FOLLOWING DAY BROUGHT SULLEN SKIES ENTWINED WITH THE now-familiar dreary, subtle scarlet. It was mid-morning when Mother Magdalena found herself sitting on the Hallowed grounds of the Hollow in deep Contemplation to the sky over what Al Rodnam had said to her, her back propped up uncomfortably against a huge blackened, ruined stub of a trunk that had once been a massive Oak.
She knew that the old man spoke only when necessary, and in riddles that bothered the shit out of her. She knew she cared very little about Al Rodnam. But she did not have the foggiest idea how it possibly could be that the mystic had already somehow gotten her pregnant. Lina had questioned the old man several times about what he had meant, but subsequent to his utterance of the perplexing statement, Al Rodnam had chosen to give Lina the silent treatment.
Magdalena was fairly certain they hadn’t mated, or if they had, she noted, she most definitely did not remember it, neither were there any marks about her body that could’ve leant to her hints of recent sexual activity. Maybe the old man had used another tapped spell or something of the sort, Magdalena began to entertain, a sharp anxiety starting to well up inside her. She had decided then that if Al Rodnam was to continue acting so mysteriously, she would do something about it. She wasn’t quite sure yet what that something would be, but she would most certainly do something about it, she thought to herself.
The Mother glanced down at her tone tummy. Through her brightly glittering golden dress — recently recharged at the Inner Earth lake where she could’ve sworn she saw Fletcher Munsin within — she Eyed the bellybutton-less section of her fine stomach where, for every other human being she had ever known to exist, always bore the scarred Navel. After mulling over the evident paradox of what she knew of the peculiar phenomenon of human birth and germination, Lina humphed to herself upon considering just how ironic the senseless life-process truly made her feel after gaining the type of Insight she had recently received. Flooded by horrid thoughts she couldn’t shake, Lina became extremely frustrated.
She couldn’t Imagine herself pregnant. She didn’t feel pregnant. But the Mother somehow knew for sure that the wise old man had been telling the Truth when he said that the two of them had recently bred. Al Rodnam’s All-knowing temperament coupled with his irksome slyness deeply bothered Magdalena. It scraped at her insides with an uncanny cunning, causing her to feel unendingly inadequate in the company of the guru. And she would not be able to admit to herself that, deep down, she was jealous of the old man.
Lina’s day-dreaming suddenly ceased as she realized how uncomfortable she was propped up against the rough surface of the huge pallid stump that dug into her back most irritatingly no matter which way she shifted her posture. She ogled the ashen stump with irritation. Unconsciously, the Mother knew that Al Rodnam had very recently secretly abducted her, taken her to his South Pole Homeland, had his sacred Soma-laced Sperm discreetly artificially inseminated into her uterus, and used magic to make her forget the whole incident, much like he did during the Aqueous Transmission. But the Truth of this occurrence would not surface up into the Mother’s Consciousness.
Magdalena returned Head to sky and immediately noticed something ugly and much misshapen flying crookedly against the bloody horizon — just one single, solitary fat mass of a twisted creature all by its lonesome, aloof and seemingly undaunted in the High air. Lina didn’t jump or start at all; she kind of just focused in on the airborne creature indifferently, squinting her Eyes as she looked skyward, knowing instinctively she had seen this type of animal before.
It was a flying pig.
And this pig had worn-out, leather-like skin with dark welts and bulges, patches of filthy, unkempt hair in unassuming places, and tiny, little frayed wings that were rapidly flapping out of rhythm without one another, just barely able to lift the portly shape of its bearer aloft, causing severe unsteadiness in its seemingly oblivious advance.
Magdalena arose at once and began to follow the deformed swine, her curiosity getting the better of her. Although the creature seemed to have no idea where it was headed, it looked as though it was moving along quite steadily, and she liked to see where it would end up. Lina trailed the flying pig for almost a half an hour before, far ahead of her, she saw a shooting arrow fly speedily straight into the small wings of the airborne animal, straight-away sending the soaring swine plummeting downward toward Fucked-Earth and disappearing behind a massive ramshackle boulder in the distance. Magdalena took pursuit in that direction with increased fervor.
The closer she got to the huge boulder, the louder strange, muddled noises were heard coming from the other side of it. Nearing the source of the sounds, the Mother thought she was beginning to hear a frenzied clatter of greatly exaggerated hog howls. Lina’s Eyes widened. Her Heart picked up pace slightly in excitement, in awe of the whole situation transpiring. After plodding through the disheveled, upturned rubble and gravel that surrounded the massive boulder, she had finally made her way to the other side of it.
The Mother found herself confounded, staring perplexedly at loads of squealing freak swine rushing around the place frantically, the whole lot of them scurrying recklessly into one another hectically, each one insisting the pools of their soppy sweat be swapped with the next one that scampered on past. Rank odors of an uncanny porky smut were laced with loud, pathetic-sounding oinks of the most mindless demeanor, the noises mixing with the haze about the site that wafted in thick, potent fumes of near-toxic levels. Lina covered her mouth and nose with her mighty dress.
She caught sight of Al Rodnam then, a mere shadow in the near distance. He held a medium-sized, hand-crafted wooden bow by his side, and he was staring directly at Magdalena, his hair masking his face, his robes hung loosely about his frame. So eerie was the still image in the grey of the day that Magdalena for the first time actually felt genuinely frightened of Al Rodnam, the skin over her arms, up her shoulders and neck having just crawled so emotively that fat goosebumps instantly appeared across the surface of her skin. She became extremely lightheaded with a potent nausea, the whole of her upper body having fastly froze up for a frightening, brief moment that left her in a cold, Wicked daze.
After that insane moment, she came to and involuntarily shook her whole torso back and forth so violently that she almost fell over. “Ugghh!!” her voicebox then released out into the air in disdain.
One particularly large, fat hog within the mad piggery that the Mother wanted to instantly flee from, disgustedly squealed out with an exceptionally loud emphasis then, and Magdalena turned to see Amrita pestering the pigs as it slithered beneath their missteps, raising up dust in its trails. The Mother’s pet sensed Lina’s presence, turned to her, and began slithering in her direction.
“I knew you’d come around sooner or later,” stated the snake as it slinked up to the Mother.
“Where did all these revolting creatures come from?” the Mother ventured after a brief moment.
“The sky, it would seem,” was Amrita’s reply.
They were located at one of the very edges of the Hollow Homefront, and all these flying pigs seemed to have gravitated toward this general direction, one by one. Al Rodnam was shooting them down here, in this place. He seemed to have been expecting them to come.
Magdalena stared on at the messy confusion before her, eventually coming to fall in a bedazzled daze as she became fixated with the mindless muddiness of the stupid hogs.
Shamefully, she noticed right then and there how akin the innate behavior of these wretched animals was to her ultimate nature.
She took a glance back to the old man but he was no longer there.
“That would do it! All sixty-nine of them!” was the rather droll statement then over-enthusiastically made just behind Magdalena. The Mother turned quickly around and there was the guru. He smiled slightly at the Mother, sensing her deliberation, and before she could ask him a thing, Al Rodnam said “We will have use for the Blood Pigs in the near future, Mother. They will be our Lifeblood.” His smile was closed and ever-so-slight.
The Mother suddenly lit up, taking up a candid swagger. She pointed at him threateningly. “Look here, Mister Al Rodnam, I’m pretty sick of your shit. Your crazy little wizard games are driving me wild! Why do you have to be so secretive?” She reached up to clutch her temples with the lower parts of her palms and shut her Eyes tightly as she rolled them swiftly around impatiently. Then the Mother reached down, assumed a dual grip on the little old man’s shoulders, and lifted him clear off the ground, bringing him Eye-level with her. She shot a mean glare at the old man.
The mystic remained expressionless, a mute look over his face. “Very well, if you put me down, I will tell you whatever it is you need to know.” Lina paused, tilting her Head slightly to the side and narrowing her Eyes at the old man. Then she sighed and released him.
“What are these creatures and where are they from? Be straightforward! And tell the Truth!”
“These here are the Blood Pigs, my dear Mother,” simply stated Al Rodnam. “They are a part of what skulk in the sick pastures upon your dark side, my Mother. The dark side of the Moon.”
Lina raised her Head over at the pens where the despicable swine scrambled about and rapidly received a potent jolt of déjà vu. She shivered as her thoughts seemed to clearly project images of Mandorla in reminiscent succession and for the first time ever, Mother Magdalena all of a sudden felt scared of everything she knew to be anything at all. She had just caught the flash of a quick psychedelic vision and understanding of Nothingness.
She looked back at Al Rodnam. “So how the Hell is it that we’ve mated already, I don’t remember us mating at all. Did you dose me on something?”
“No, I used a spell on you. I could not let you know where I was taking you.”
Lina started abruptly and blurted out loudly “I knew it!” She took her voice down a few notches. “Why?” pressed the Mother urgently with a harsh whisper that was barely contained as she tried to reason with the mystic very simply, a hand on her hot hip.
“My instinct. And I don’t even question my instinct.”
“Where did you take me?”
“I took you to the Andromeda Biodome,” lied Al Rodnam.
He had, of course, taken the Mother to his existential South Pole Homeland. The reason Al Rodnam had to conceal his course to his Immortal Earth Homeland involved a painful secret that the Mother Magdalena could never know: in order to warp to the perfect, precious time-space of his Enchanted Emerald site, the great guru — only Al Rodnam himself — had to first bypass the Inner-Earth Underworld that belonged solely to Amrita— the same place the Mother and her Hankerhawks came to every so often to recharge their powers. He did so through an underwater stargate that was located in the very pond that could replenish Magdalena with her thriving energies. This amazing, tropical world was exclusively Amrita’s, and, as such, the old guru would not feel secure there. It was indeed embarrassing for him even to admit to himself that he had to go through this world to get to his own; he could not Imagine the Mother ever finding out this secret.
Once casting a trance upon the serpent-crowned Mother Magdalena and bringing her through the Underworld Garden to his secret hide-out, the mystical Al Rodnam had selected the contents from one of countless jars of his personal plasma-preserved jars of sperm incubating with the Soma in the Sirian Space Crystals he kept by the calm pond that teleported him to the Inner-Earth Fountain of Youth, and promptly artificially inseminated it into the Mother’s uterus before bringing her back to Fucked-Earth Genesis á la Aquarian persuasion.
“Why the Andromeda Biodome?” snapped the Mother.
“So that we could quickly sew the seed of the first Space-Grain!” again lied Al Rodnam. He lightly tilted his wizened Head to the side and squinted his Eyes at Magdalena. “That stuff is vital to the flow of things around here, you must know.”
Receiving a vision then, in beams of High Light, of her most desirable turnout of future events to occur at Bry Dellows, the Mother suddenly could not stop obsessively thinking about completely overtaking in every way the Spirit of the elusive man that eternally enigmatically entreated upon her corrupt countenance, that ever-watchful, perpetually present, most attractive man called Fletcher Munsin. She probed fixatedly over just when it would be that the full body of Fletcher Munsin would Cum around, knowing all too well how infuriatingly manic and bittersweet he would come to make her feel on all levels of Emotion.
She thought she didn’t realize why this was so.
But she did.
[BY MIKE EYE]
DARK ESOTERIKA 