from The Aqueous Transmission by MIKE EYE Story Snippet #7 : THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION EVENT (The Aftermath of the Perverted Birth of the Hoggish Mandorla) …
THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION EVENT PART II: A DIVINE GEOMANTIC EXCHANGE OF TWO STAR-CROSSED SOULS. -From Episode V. of The Aqueous Transmission by MIKE EYE. DARK ESOTERIKA STORY SNIPPET #9. &nbs…
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! This novel of fiction could be considered Sci-Fi and Horror, and has approximately 75,000 words.
Source: Query and First Chapter!
The point of VF is to stir emotions in the heart of the reader. Source: What is “Visionary Fiction”?
Source: What is “Visionary Fiction”?
THE SACRED SEDUCTION OF THE LAST GODHED’S SHADOW, PART I.
FROM MIKE EYE’S THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION, A NOVEL
DARKESOTERIKA.COM ENTRY #11
[Episode IV. Chapter 18]______________________________________
THE SHINY LIQUIDY STEPS MATERIALIZED JUST BENEATH THE EGG-pod and Fletcher Munsin found himself dragged down them forcefully, caught in the vicious death grip of the Mother Magdalena. The idea of trying to break free Fletcher Munsin did not even entertain, for an escape would halt this process that was so revealing his purpose, he noted, not to mention it was utterly useless for him to take that route. And although he really, really wanted to at this moment, the helpless man tried to keep his composure, very much wishing to get through this “single, special circumstance” as quickly as possible.
The man was held forcefully. Unaware of all of his identical past lives, Fletcher Munsin currently never had Imagined his sacrifice to include so much anger underlain by his counterpart of Magdalena; the man was scared at the premonition displayed by her. He felt like screaming, held it in.
At the bottom of the steps, Mother Magdalena strode forward just a bit, tightly clutching her breathing prized possession of heavy male hormones by the neck, then firmly flung him to the ground. The man hit it hard, landing on his back. He realized he was naked.
The Mother, graciously adorned in her translucent, protective golden dress, foully strutting a smutty commando in coarse, intimate fashion, brusquely dropped to her knees before Fletcher Munsin, then plunked her bare ass down uncouth upon the filthy dirt before the nervous man. And with a taunting smirk and fastidious twinkle in her Eyes, she slowly extended out her slightly sweaty, fine limber legs, dragging them through the dust, and up against Fletcher Munsin’s legs, which were also spread out in front of the naked man.
Slowly, the Mother wrapped her legs around Fletcher Munsin’s legs and squeezed firmly. And it was somewhat insect-like in its conduct.
As to the present occurrence of the Mother Magdalena having Fletcher Munsin in a full leg-lock, what began as a little too snug quickly turned to way too brutal.
The Mother sensually cocked her head back behind her, and messily shook her tangled tresses about, letting free her glossy locks generously about her. Her lips puckered up faintly. She then thrust her Head upward with exaggeration and shook it hotly, the strands of her hair fluid to her tosses.
Fletcher Munsin was confounded. He found it difficult and confusing to accept that such abrasive, vulgar behavior was to be exemplified by a woman so perfectly gorgeous. He rubbed his Eyes hard with two fists, took another look.
The Mother then paused for just a moment, shook her head, paused, shook it again, and stared directly at Fletcher Munsin. As she was doing this, the Mother kept opening and closing her mouth slightly in a slow, sumptuous pattern, clearly exciting herself dramatically before the helpless, most hapless, Lamb of Man.
Upon attempting for a moment to resist temptation, mostly to test the response, Fletcher Munsin withdrew a ways backward with a back-crawl. He momentarily convinced himself that this woman was completely faking the act, but then quickly realized with a shudder that, Truthfully, it wouldn’t really matter to him if she indeed was or not.
It was Dark around the area of the dome where they had landed, and all the poor man could see out his glassy-Eyed gaze as he lay pathetically on the ground was a jet-black, domineering source of his sick self reflecting back at him from the gloomy silhouette of the Mother that dawdled just ahead against a mysty, dim light that emanated from her most slowly, her silhouette painting itself eerily against the silver space-pod acting as the backdrop from where he lay. The man simply could not focus on anything except this bizarre, horrifying trans-optical illusion spilling its filth forth into his sick head. And it lurked.
The man started to panic.
Instinctively sensing his fear, the Mother again quickly closed in on the man, dainty as a fervent sprite, and cocked her Head backward, her lids lightly latched up. Her translucent, transparent shimmering dress of the almighty Solaria sparkled impeccably, and her perfect tone, smooth, sweating body glowed through it tauntingly. The man could see Mother Magdalena’s face perfectly now. And he got cramps in his belly from how insanely attracted he Truly felt to this most startlingly stunning, ultra-powerful woman.
She started moaning… softly at first. She looked like some innocent child’s lovable ragdoll that had been Left Behind in the housefire it was destined to burn in.
The Mother then abruptly augmented her vocal tones compellingly throughout multiple dimensions with loud, shrill, crystal-clear bursts that audibly painted the most compelling sound portrait. She sounded like an High Angel delivering the most gracious and poignant melodies to be heard by anyone with ears to hear them.
Fletcher Munsin was no doubt aroused. He started to see colorful hues escaping the Mother’s mouth and start to encircle her persona. The seeable, melodic vocals glistened with every color from the light spectrum, and then some.
But her beautiful singing suddenly became screeched and out-of-tune as she started barking violently skyward, as if it were a Full Moon. As complex and confusing as all this was for Fletcher Munsin to comprehend, these Wicked womanly wails did not sound human, whatsoever. This disturbing element of the unexplainable added insult to Fletcher Munsin’s brutal injury, and he started breaking out in a heavy sweat.
The Mother, so devious, continued to sway her Head about vigorously, over and over, forming a long, dark-brown undulating river about her Dark body, her hair dusting up dirt around it, her presence becoming more and more sinister and ominous. Her Eyes were glowing and focused directly at Fletcher Munsin.
Fletcher Munsin could focus on nothing else but the Mother’s lustrous, luscious curves. It was almost surreal to him. She was so tall and so tight, so stunning and so slightly embodied a starving dragon’s discourse impeccably.
Sifting her body with her hands ever-so-smoothly, the Mother slowly came closer to the poor man and proceeded to wring her legs around Fletcher Munsin even more forcefully now, as if trying to squeeze out some internal juice the man may’ve been harvesting inside his body.
She let out a high-pitched, fiendish howl, her head tilting as far back as it would go now, her Eyes rolling all the way back up into her skull. Fletcher Munsin scowled and tilted his head inward, down before his chest sweating, trembling weakly, his Eyes shutting tightly now.
And he braced himself to expect the worst type of agony he could Imagine.
“FUCK!” Magdalena screamed out her favorite word. “OW!”
She snapped her head swiftly forthright, a shadow falling over most of her face save her Eyes. She locked sights with Fletcher Munsin’s bemused Eyes, a grimace that he couldn’t see growing over her face.
Fletcher Munsin gazed up in perplexed horror as sinister ram-type horns abruptly ripped out of either side of the dark silhouette that was Mother Magdalena’s Head, and twisted contemptuously. The dreadful projections coming to curl out slightly and freezing into form, Lina let open her mouth slowly more and more as she unleashed a deep, dark roar more hideous than anything she exemplified earlier.
Much more so.
She remained still for just a brief moment.
Fletcher Munsin’s Heart was beating extremely fast.
Then, as the Mother slowly inched even closer to Fletcher Munsin, her dominant Eyes promptly shot out three bright-yellow beams from the black figure of her Head. There were three beams, with the Third Eye located in the center of her forehead. She lunged at the man, oh so hopeless, grabbed his wrists, pinned him down on the ground forcefully!
“FUCK YOU!” she shouted gratuitously, staring directly at the man with all of her Eyes, hate and anguish and love fiercely lit up in the brightness of their projections.
Fletcher Munsin lay still in a state of total shock and extreme discomfort.
And Magdalena’s open smile, which the man could now clearly see as bright as morning, was spread so wide it seemed to extend clean off her face. The Mother’s beams of vision pierced Fletcher Munsin, and he felt it intensely as hack-saw-like jagged daggers shanking him repeatedly.
A most brutal, physically violent sensation of extremely sharp stinging sensations now shot through the poor man with Ultraviolence, and his body surged in response. Trembling uncontrollably, the man was sizing up his brilliant energies, as well as his physical mass, in preparation for a full-out disclosure of his intentions to the “Powers That Were” at that particular moment. And drool was dribbling off the exposed teeth of the Mother and onto his face.
Mother Magdalena had now become thoroughly wound-up.
The Mother unleashed a deafening guffaw that echoed in deep rumbles throughout the whole of the lofty grotto. The excessively domineering, Dark sounds reverberated in electrical sparkles of slight static against the platinum-sheathed titanium alloy glass dome perimeter and echoed eerily, most loudly across the entire expanse of the Andromeda Biodome.
‘Play time’ was now definitely over.
The Mother fiercely grasped Fletcher Munsin’s bare face with her long, razor-sharp fingernails, pierced them fiercely way deep into his skin determinately, drawing driblets of thick, dark bloodstreams that ghastly trickled down his horrified face. Even as he tried not to scream, the man so Wickedly afflicted could not help but release a disturbing wail at this brutal gesture. Having lodged her fingernails deep within Fletcher Munsin’s face skin, penetrating them as deeply as they would possibly go, Magdalena made sure she had a firm clench, shrieked a horrid shriek, and then, using her nails that were stuck inside the man’s face, proceeded to slam the back of his Head forcefully against the bleak gardening surface of the dome’s soil again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again…
As she continued to do this, she let out horrible wails of laughter that sounded more like painful shrills of loathing. She didn’t dislodge her claws from her grip, and her arm remained held out to the man’s now fucked-up face. And she steadily forced her nails deeper. She wanted to feel bone.
She stopped. A pause.
“Don’t you dare move,” she muttered softly, deeply, emotively, sexually with clenched jaw.
She spat, licked her lips, her claws lodged deep within Fletcher Munsin’s gory face. She seemed to be working on him like a model airplane.
Fletcher Munsin lay on his back, his face within the tight nail-grip of the Mother for several minutes as she paused briefly, looking away, taking quick breaths.
The man imagined this to be only the beginning, as to expect the worst from the Mother, and he prepared for the worst type of vicious torment he could Imagine, fearing this mad super-powerful woman might actually kill him before she could fuck him.
Oh, he knew she would most brutally fuck him.
And as exceptionally High as his sex drive was, and as exceptionally alluring as Magdalena’s body was, the enticement to be elicited by the Mother would undoubtedly prove to be altogether too captivating for Fletcher Munsin; her poignant hips wielded a power no greater than the force driving a semen’s stream.
On the other hand, though, the man would certainly not be looking forward to the gracious Sacred activity.
Fletcher Munsin Knew all about what was going on, even as he now pretended to envision many alternative ideas of how he thought this special sick act should properly be done objectively, if indeed at all, and indeed at this particular moment and location.
The humble, hunky Fletcher Munsin needed to Sacrifice himself. It was the man’s sole purpose, and he always Knew this. He knew that he only partially existed anyhow. But Eternally.
The poor man was just very easily distracted.
But what he was feeling now seemed super surreal. He hyper-extended his Imagination and emotional capacity to convince himself momentarily that this idea of bizarre sexual intercourse he dared prepare himself for was actually the way True sexual intercourse should be experienced “in God’s Eyes,” and carried out in order to yield the “most preferred fertile germ.” These thoughts, of course, were but highly suggestive psychotronic projections of the Dark, most deceptive High Energies of Solaria, the effects of which spun off from the Mother all around her in lucid swirls, almost like slowly wafting steam emanating from a hot body in a cold atmosphere, but tinted in an opaque azure.
Recalling Lachrylon’s Divine Words that disclosed how he had to accept what was happening all at Once during the brutal seduction, as graciously as he could, the very anxious man now telepathically cursed out the Last Godhed as he tried penetrating the Earth’s practically non-existent Psi-Banks from afar. This, the man Knew all-too-well, was impossible; the Earth’s Psi Banks were currently entirely thrown off due to the severely unstable tectonic plates within the Earth’s crust. Or so he thought.
Then the man took in as deep a breath as he could, cleared his mind as fully as possible, and tried to temporarily envision himself living peacefully in another body, in another life, in another time. He figured this may help in dealing with the horrible pain he felt. Distract him.
He wondered if right now was the very moment he would be able to scale the seemingly detached Capstone of the Pyramid of Divine Consciousness and gain multi-awareness of his Oversoul as well as the various lower and higher counterparts to his Oversoul.
“Not even quivering at all, huh?” the Mother murmured.
“Keep your Eyes shut!” she demanded as she started to slowly retract her fingernails out of the poor man’s skin, keeping within the rough grooves they’d just created inside of him. Fletcher Munsin couldn’t help but cry out at the pain. He tried to remain calm, envisioned “a dainty pixie fluttering about on the other side of his Eyelids, a benevolent fairy with a wand that could conjure up lovely things of the most profound enjoyment for creatures in need of fulfillment of personal primordial pleasures.”
He shook himself suddenly. The man recalled that these pleasant thoughts were not what he was supposed to be thinking about; he remembered that he must fully accept what was happening to him, embrace the pain, and recognize it for what it Truly was in order for his race to advance decently to the next stage of existence.
But the brutal treatment he was getting was unlike anything he had ever expected, far beyond his wildest nightmares.
He momentarily lost control of his composure and started to shake sharply.
“Hah-haah!” Magdalena cried out. “Movement!”
Dark Blood flowed out from the slashes in the man’s face at a medium pace.
The scene was immensely gruesome; it had the possibility of disturbing even those Observers who don’t normally get disturbed.
Fletcher Munsin tried his Damndest to remain still. He kept his Eyes closed. He was trying to transcend this, and concentrate on all he thought he was.
He thought he heard Magdalena stand up. The uncertainty of the next indecent incident that might happen sent tense, involuntary tremors throughout his entire body and Fletcher Munsin began convulsing. In his mind, though, he lay as still as he could, trying his Damndest to become One with this twisted act, and everything else.
He still feared what was Cumming.
All of a sudden, the man let out an involuntary piercing shriek of terror that sounded strikingly feminine. He tried with all his might to keep a focused mind. He realized then that this was by far the most difficult thing he ever had to do. Well, as far as he could remember…
And just as the meditating man, so mindful, started to feel himself mightily rising above the situation, he felt another thing he thought he had never felt before, something that seemed to possess his very Soul. Something that was a very physical sense, hugely powerful, that brought his displaced Consciousness right back to his dissolving dissolution.
From his perspective, the poles of Fletcher Munsin’s Mind, his Body, and the Andromeda Biodome, now altogether seemed to shift swiftly 180° to part with duality, then spiraled out to a detached disillusionment. Literally.
“AHHH!” he shouted in disbelief. He was losing his noodle.
“DON’T SCREAM!!” he screamed to himself.
After a severe panic attack, the man was somehow able to regain composure. He lay, confused. He wondered if he was ‘dead.’
“It’s okay,” said the Mother softly, soothingly, Knowing exactly what was going through the man’s Head. “You’re only human,” she remarked frankly, and gently, with a mocking tease.
She giggled again.
Fletcher Munsin was able to take in one deep breath, and let it out smoothly.
“So are you, you conniving cunt!” he exclaimed behind clenched teeth as he gathered up the willpower to rise up and head-butt Mother Magdalena square in the face. He felt an electro-magnetic sensation that shocked his Heart as his Head came in contact with her’s. Blood splattered about and now the faces of both significant mortals were covered in it. And Mother Magdalena was laughing.
“Is all this pain an illusion?” she asked, mockingly. With a few brisk shakes of her head, she shook off some of Fletcher Munsin’s Blood from her face in sprinkles. Eyes shut tight, sprawled about the ground on his back, the man envisioned Magdalena before him with a big smile on her face. Perhaps ironically, he opened his Eyelids abruptly to see the Mother before him with exactly that smile upon her face.
“Is this what it means to be Alive?” she taunted with a devious smirk.
What the man felt next was a swift smarting of his inner left leg the whole length down and he screamed out in agonizing pain.
He slipped into Shock.
He slowly came to comprehend what had just happened: that she had sliced into the full length of his inner left leg. Deeply. With her trusty dagger.
Another loud shriek from the woman, and the man felt the same on the other leg. He let out a blood-curdling cry of utter torment. Hearing himself naturally scream out in such terror while trying to connect his Spirits with the Pain, the man realized again how feminine his wails sounded.
Despite these physical life-threatening lacerations on both his inner legs, which were providing quick and easy escape routes for his body’s blood, he closed his Eyes to try and consciously escape the scene, even though he wasn’t supposed to. He had immense trouble trying to take a deep breath. He was trembling uncontrollably. The man tried to center himself. He tried to just go with it. He tried to experience this special circumstance of the Highest significance Truthfully and vicious as it so was.
“HAH-HA!” exclaimed the Mother. “There we go! Now we’re having fun!!”
Fletcher Munsin continued trying his Damndest to keep composure.
“What the fuck!!” the Mother shrieked. “Did that not hurt enough!?” She stuck her long-ass nails deep into the leg wounds, carved his thigh down to his lower leg, deeper, and deeper as she wore an aroused look on her face.
Fletcher Munsin cried out in pure agony like a spoiled, juvenile Bry Dellows Loombug.
The Mother proceeded to insert another razor-sharp nail inside and down the whole length of the slash of Fletcher Munsin’s other leg. Agonizing womanly whines were heard from behind the man’s clenched teeth, the Mother expressionless all the while. And the first brief moment he could Contemplate healthily his predicament, Fletcher Munsin was able to remark to himself upon his complete astonishment over his wails, and how pussy they sounded.
With some more effort now after somehow being able to steady his mind just the slightest bit, the man was successfully able to temporarily hold back a few screams he wished he could let out, and, at each moment he wanted to scream, the Mother acquired more and more vigor to continue on with what it was that she was doing. She was stealing his energy. And his mass.
The next thing Fletcher Munsin felt was Mother Magdalena’s slender legs wrapped around his legs once again, but this time with both of his legs thoroughly slashed from thigh to ankle, down to the bone. And with more significantly intensified squeezing from the Mother, in pumping rips with her gorgeous legs, there now allowed for some substantial bloodletting.
Fletcher Munsin felt himself tapping into a Void and was finally able to completely jive with what nature was allowing him to finally experience. There was no possible way that he could feel any more pain then he was feeling right now, and so used this idea to convince himself that if he could sustain this treatment, he could sustain any foul treatment that may befall him. These thoughts made the man feel a little better despite his dying daze, and he involuntarily winced with madness throughout this crippling, distinctive procedure of intimate squeezing of the legs, still nevertheless succumbing to sporadic screaming.
And now, Fletcher Munsin felt he surely must be dead… yet he still felt conscious. Still felt ‘pain.’ And what he was learning right now would redefine the meaning of that word for him forever.
Perhaps strangely enough, a part of him still felt slightly aroused.
But then, all-at-once, he started fiercely seizuring before getting knocked-out cold, unconscious.
NEXT: THE BRUTALITY BEGINS! Check back soon. -MIKE EYE
Episode VI. Bry Dellows
IT WAS NOT LONG AFTER THE METAMORPHOSIS OF AMRITA THAT Mother Magdalena — so cold and bitter — would start confiding in the aura of the mystifying Al Rodnam, which held in it murky, subtle suggestions of allure that the Mother could intimately identify with. The old guru mystic, along with the new serpentine Amrita and the neverlasting Mother would all soon come together to form quite the tight-knit team of road-ravaging travelers, each of their steps and slithers marking Fucked-Earth with its signature weight as they trudged and trampled on through it determinately.
They were now immersed within a thick, ominous grey myst that was settled about over the expanse of land upon which they trot, a gloomy fog that was slowly drifting and expanding outward in all directions to the very apex of each of the travelers’ observed visibility. The myst was most moist and the humidity in the air perturbed the outermost sensitivities of the travelers, resulting in a rousing of annoyance to all but Amrita’s fully perfunctory perception. But the special woman and the peculiar old man were hardened spirits indeed, and they both had the biological and mental endurance that could match that of a battery-powered robot, yet both puzzlingly distinct from Amrita’s. Furthermore, they both had powerful, archaic talismans and abilities at their disposal, and that certainly kept them much more protected than Amrita.
Al Rodnam was taking Magdalena to the specific geographical coordinates that he deemed the best location for starting a family. The Mother was still not too keen on the whole idea of having sex with the old man, but soon became somewhat trusting in him after substantially contemplating his behavior at multiple instances, coming to convince herself that she understood the reasons for why the old man carried out his curious conjurings. During the time spent with him, Magdalena soon came to believe that, even if she couldn’t understand it at first, ol’ Al Rodnam always knew exactly what he was doing.
And so, incredibly vast distances the band did travel, boldly marching on through the sizzling ruins with brave determination. The three travelers in the little company all shared an equal, strong level of pure perseverance that wove together an underlying collective emotional drive for the three brave spirits, keeping them on the move. The rather resilient crew marched on and on, crossing a vast expanse of sizzling ruins, a repeating, endless turf of turmoil that nevertheless dampened the spirits of the three travelers despite their brave aspirations to continue on in the face of this most dark and haunting adversity.
They each got very little sleep, and barely uttered a Word to One another along their way through these badlands, devoid of the energy or frame-of-mind to have even the slightest inclination to desire engaging in any sort of conversation.
The temperature remained close to a hundred degrees Fahrenheit at all times, didn’t get that much cooler at nighttime, and there came no drastic, encumbering weather. The old guru would extract massive quantities of helium-infused hidden crystal hydrogen particles straight out of thin air from anywhere within the atmosphere several times a day. He liked to fill his magical gourd with Water, and share the Water.
Occasionally throughout their bumpy, ashen travels, the Eyes of the Mother and the Eyes of the Serpent would lock onto each other briefly before each of them quickly cast their glances away. Each time this would happen, the Mother became more assured of the validity of her notion that she was in fact truly aware of how, remarkably, she really was Seeing, without a single doubt whatsoever, an uncannily familiar gleam in the snake’s Eyes. Furthermore, the ‘new Amrita’ had been exhibiting very emotional and playful characteristics along the path toward their peculiar destination, not that unlike those of a cat’s. Very feline.
It was one night after they had stopped to rest and the two human hybrids were relaxing as much as they could in the company of Amrita around a perfectly burning campfire that Lina and Amrita’s Eyes again awkwardly locked together. Al Rodnam had just started the fire, using highly combustible radioactive discards retrieved from the local vicinity, and was now sitting close to it in contemplation, deeply humming a terse mantra repetitively as he musingly exercised various hand gestures held up to the flames.
Off to the side of the makeshift campsite sat together woman and serpent uneasily, and it was inevitable, Lina knew, that she would have to speak up. The Mother had been finding it exceedingly difficult for her to initiate conversation with Amrita along their travels, and the cat-bot’s new form was terribly discomforting to her, so attempting to speak to Amrita would surely be a challenge. But Lina knew it had to be done. And the sooner, the better, she pressed herself anxiously.
After she had recited over and over in her head what she wanted to ask the little creature, the Mother abruptly looked over at the snake, poised to pose her question. But upon instant sight of the serpent, her brain seemed to freeze over and the thoughts she had just been thinking instantly scattered as her voice seemed to suddenly speak on its own. Her Words came out hastily and jumbled, and with a disingenuous flare that tried so hard to make it sound as if the two creatures had already been engaged in personal, friendly conversation.
“Rita, I can’t believe it’s really you!”
Due to the lack of initial response, at first Magdalena figured that Snake-Rita was not able to exhibit any Human characteristics, much like her Amrita in its previous form could. She then became quick to assume that the ability to have emotive, inquisitive conversation seemed altogether absent in snake-Rita. At the same time, Lina also became aware that, yes, the Motherboard of her old friend was indeed now permanently cursed to live inside this scaley body of a serpent somehow.
She saw this Truth in the Serpent’s Eyes, but also recognized it upon clearer hindsight, as well as — undoubtedly now — in certain mannerisms the slinky little thing exhibited, odd as it may be.
The gloomy crimson flush of Fucked-Earth’s Lifeblood continued hazily streaming its dark radiance off the proverbial blood-red Full Moon in the sky. One glance up at the sky now and Lina was having quick instances of déjà vu flash rapidly before her Mind’s Eye. She returned her glance to the little snake who remained perfectly still.
And she knew.
IT WAS ROUGHLY THREE WEEKS ‘NEW-TIME’ AFTER THE BIZARRE Second Coming of Amrita**** that the crew had finally reached their destination. The three weeks of a substantial trek over a hot and desolate, depressing anti-landscape had indeed transpired in relative reticence, respectfully. At last the crew had arrived at the supposedly sanctified section of geomantic terrain that was to be their new Home, where the dusty desert of shit-scraps, hot and dry as could be, sunk into a mostly empty concave that spread out on all sides for roughly two miles. It was an abandoned Hollow, particularly round about its boundaries, and nothing seemed particularly special about it, Magdalena noted upon arrival.
The first several days of their stay at this new location brought with it the sort of boredom and silence that had become commonplace among the complex, dynamic rapport of the three entities. They each slept at night and meditated and exercised during the day. None of the three had any need to feed nor bathe. They all remained clean and replete. Magdalena grew more and more nervous as the dull days rolled along, and the old man had still not shown even the slightest bit of yearning for hormonal manipulation of her reproductive organs.
And, oh, how the Mother wished to discover how this snake could really somehow be energized by her revered cat-bot’s power-core! Oh, how she so very much desired to Once again engage in One of those rare, familiar conversations with her lovable pet, so coming to find Amrita in her new form equally as intelligent as the old android that had been her life-long companion.
But the serpent’s guise was so foreign and uncanny to the Mother that she still simply could not utter a single, meaningful Word to it. It seemed that some subtle body of Amrita was somehow daring the Mother to keep her lip shut so as to paradoxically prompt her to say something, anything at all that would attempt to make contact with it. Further barring a sense of Magdalena’s will was the manner in which she had seen snake-Rita crawl through the dust along their dreary journey to the Hollow, those slightly disturbing images unable to be shaken from the Mother’s recent thoughts. The creature had greatly perturbed the Mother along their journey, displaying no interest, or even any capability, of saying much of anything.
☆ 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. ⊙
The thick flames rapidly wavered about amongst shadows in the near distance, glossing over her gapped gaze and mesmerizing Magdalena as she mused over her dilemmas through her mindscape of misfortunes that suspended her psyche in a hot reverie, subconsciously reflecting back to her concealed messages from her unseen future self.
“Don’t be scared when your powers become depleted, Lina,” was the rather blasé, low-pitched remark then suddenly heard from the tiny mouth of the snake that lay motionless beside the Mother. Magdalena abruptly swung her head toward the small snake.
“What did you say?”
“When your powers are depleted, Lina, don’t be scared!” the serpent repeated with enhanced emphasis and slight annoyance.
The woman was again taken aback to hear such a low voice come out of a creature so small, and she marveled over how not a bit like her robot-Rita the snake had sounded.
Straightaway subsequent to her initial shock, the woman took stern note of how most curious a statement in fact that was for the little snake to utter. And before really analyzing the remark any further, Lina started to become very nervous.
“Rita, what are you talking about?” asked the Mother in a loud whisper, bewildered. And then quickly, before the serpent could reply, “—it’s okay if I call you Rita…?”
“That’s my name,” said the serpent. “You’ll see soon,” it replied, turning its scales away from the Mother. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” And the snake slithered away. -MIKE EYE ⊙
THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION EVENT PART II: A DIVINE GEOMANTIC EXCHANGE OF TWO STAR-CROSSED SOULS
~from Episode V. of The Aqueous Transmission by MIKE EYE
[DARK ESOTERIKA STORY SNIPPET #9]
LINA SWIFTLY SHOT HER GAZE OVER AT THE MAN AT THIS STRANGE remark. Scratching her Head with confusion, she was hastily put at ease by her pet before the woman could freak the fuck out.
“Here — Lina. Watch this, I caught everything that just happened to you all on video! … Now, let me just rewind to the beginning… okay, here, hun. Watch this recording.”
Lina peered into an opening of Amrita’s belly area that now displayed a small screen depicting colorful recorded digital media in playback, with small stereo speakers on either side. In the video, Lina watched herself taken aback by the hands slowly emerging from the pond.
“Yea, I remember this,” said the Mother.
Amrita pointed at its display. “Shhh… watch.”
As the Mother started to watch herself be put under a deep enigmatic spell, she saw herself inch, bit by bit, back toward the pond from which she had sought to spring from, and sit back at the Water’s edge as the old man slowly arose from the depths. Just as his Head had fully emerged, arms still raised sky high, the old man froze dead-still, all-Eyes on Mandorla. And there he remained for several minutes.
From the recorded video, Lina was unable to see any orbs radiating from the old man’s Eyes — not that she would have remembered them anyhow — and so was able to see the upper part of the old man’s face. She observed the old frown and noticed that he was starting to cry as he remained there, half-submerged in the pond, naked and hairy with arms still eerily raised sky-high, his gaze fixed on Amrita.
“That’s funny,” murmured the Mother, “This man looks familiar… his Eyes…”
Glaring into Amrita’s display in wonder, Lina shifted sights from the old man to her own digital representation and noticed her body still in a deep hypnotic trance state. Another tear trickled down the man’s face as he sobbed on.
“No, but he looks so much older here…” persisted Lina quietly to herself.
Then, in the video, Lina saw the sky open up with a loud clap and thereon promptly proceeded to pour down profound precipitation profusely.
Remaining halfway submerged in the pond, the old man shifted his gaze upward at the dark rain cloud, his arms still raised up high, his face unflinched, Eyes remaining fully opened as rain flushed through his teary Eye sockets.
“IT IS I, LACHRYLON,” announced a rumbling, commanding voice from above, “I am proud of you, old man. Your efforts to project our sacrifice, Fletcher Munsin, into Bry Dellows has proved worthy.”
The old man smiled. It continued to downpour in buckets, and he still stared skyward unflinched, keeping up a steady sob.
“Your mission to hold his form during the Conception of Mandorla at the Andromeda Biodome was a success, as you can see” boomed the voice.
The old man returned his glance back down at Mandorla, a slight smile upon his face.
The voice went on: “Good job, old man. I am proud of you.”
There was brief silence.
And then, Lachrylon suddenly bellowed its first command: “AND NOW, COMMENCE THIS AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION!!!”
A huge flash of lightening bolted down upon this Fucked-Earth’s desert beside the newborn silent atrocity. And by the time the subsequent clap of thunder sounded, the part of space exactly in between the old man and the young baby had gradually lit up a small wavering dot of floating blue fire in mid-air. The old man took a bow with his torso from within the pond and initiated a most intense moment of meditation.
Unbelievably, the body parts of both the man and the baby slowly liquefied, piece by piece, into fluid form, from Head to toe, toward this floating, rapidly-turning-indigo flame in between them that grew larger and larger with each added component from either side. There remained a torrential downpour.
Once both bodies had been fully pulled into the floating indigo flame, they then reappeared into physical form in the very same locations, but with places exchanged.
With the poor infant now sloppily bobbing up and down in the mystical pond, heedless as all Hell, the old man scurried over, and took a hard glance at her with an utmost seriousness. With tears streaming down his cheeks, the man mumbled a terse mantra repeatedly as he proceeded to grab Mandorla’s Head with both hands and slowly push her under.
Mother Magdalena was in complete and utter shock as she witnessed this footage upon Amrita’s abdominal display, both hands covering a completely dropped mouth.
The old man held the putrid, pig-like baby Underwater for several minutes, then looked back up at the mystical dark rain cloud as if awaiting a reply.
“HUMANITY SUSTAINED,” proclaimed the loud, deep voice from above.
Lachrylon then went on to state commands to the old man, rainwater continuing to pour down harshly, and the man listened, Head up High, to the orders given him.
“Now, as you know, you and your brothers must remain in Bry Dellows, in full physical form. That is Rule One.”
The man was staring straight up, keeping his teary Eyes wide open, his big beard getting soaked, the rain pouring down upon his face. He nodded.
“Rule Number Two:” proclaimed Lachrylon from on High, “always remember to only tantrically co-conceive other human-hybrid beings by intentionally making true Love to those cursed women within your Bloodline — those dirty women who only look clean, with their discreet intentions to procreate. If this becomes impossible, seek Separation immediately, and, at all costs, do not allow the Hankerhawks to gain access to your Sacred Sperm.”
The old man nodded slightly, his Head still directed straight up at the sky.
“As for now, old man, keep your hair and beard growing, keep your face wrapped at all times. Mother Magdalena must never notice that you have Fletcher Munsin’s likeness. Even though you are significantly aged in comparison, do not forget that you two have the same exact appearance. Mother Magdalena must never, ever find you out.”
The power of Lachrylon forged a great, long hemp-woven robe out of thin air and instructed the man to put it on. The man nodded and obliged. A huge bolt of lightening cracked down from the sky in near proximity.
“Have fun, old man! Enjoy this glorious miracle of life on Earth again for as long as you can before the next rapture! And know this: just as much as your own Mother from Sirius B, I LOVE YOU!”
And with those last words from the mighty Lachrylon, the roll of thunder following the previous huge lightening strike made its mark, and the man laid his Head down into the lap and grasp of Mother Magdalena, who was still motionless in a deep trance by the edge of the pond.
With one more gigantic bolt of lightening striking the mystical pond, the barren landscape then commenced drying up promptly, the pond fastly drying up, and everything was completely dry by the time the resulting rumble of thunder clapped in the sky. The dark rainclouds abruptly diffused into the brightening atmosphere.
The mysterious pond had completely vanished, with the little body of Mandorla and all.
The mood was once again altered drastically.
The bright Sun now lit up everything most vibrantly. There were no clouds to be seen in the sky. The subtle hazy glow from the crimson Harvest Moon still also remained up in the sky, in chorus with the Sun.
Staring in bewilderment at this scene through Amrita’s digital display, the Mother watched herself drop the old man’s Head and jump up, terrified at finding him in her arms instead of Mandorla.
“… Aaand that’s where you came to,” announced Rita, pausing the video.
The bot was surprised to not hear any type of reaction from the Mother, but then realized why it hadn’t after glancing over at her.
Magdalena had collapsed down upon the dirty desert floor, hitting her Head hard, having fainted from witnessing what had just happened to her during the mesmerizing hypnosis. -MIKE EYE ⊙
The point of VF is to stir emotions in the heart of the reader.
Source: What is “Visionary Fiction”?
Dark Esoterika | Blogging the Subconscious
– Story Snippet #8 –
from MIKE EYE’S The Aqueous Transmission, a novel
I V . T H E O R I G I N O F S P A C E – G R A I N A N D T H E C O N C E P T I O N O F M A N D O R L A
IT WAS NOT LONG BEFORE THE LUSTROUS, FAMISHED CUBE OF Metatron supersonically smelt out Al Rodnam’s archetypal doppelganger waiting patiently for the archangel at the edge of Bry Dellows: a peculiar, perceptive fellow named Fletcher Munsin.
Fletcher Munsin looked exactly like the old-man-human form of Al Rodnam — was a part of his essence in fact — except he was many hundreds of years younger than the old sage.
Fletcher Munsin was not in fact the mighty mystic; he was the mighty mystic’s Shadow.
Magdalena’s orb-cube, illuminating itself with its Highest Intention, now rapidly approached the area of sky that was about thirty yards above where the defenseless Fletcher Munsin sat crouched in Contemplation. Having arrived, the orb-cube paused, hovering dazzlingly in silence within the close vicinity of its long sought-after target. The orb-cube floated in earnest, mentally salivating over the next, ever-relevant move it was then to make. The glowing form of sister souls was so excited upon seeing who they believed to be the Last Godhed on Fucked-Earth, that they completely overlooked analyzing the obvious curious anomaly of the man’s presence in quite the choice location.
Fletcher Munsin modestly observed the High Light twinkling above him as calmly as he could, fully Conscious, psyching himself up to expect anything to happen. Funny as it perhaps was, the man felt compelled to stare at the very center of the glowing Cube of Metatron that incorporated the Mother and her twelve closest, found himself face-to-face with a slowly streaming, infinitely inviting Vesica Piscis of bluish-white energy.
Shivers slithered up his spine.
And Fletcher Munsin became stricken with a strong sense of déjà vu as he continued to stare directly into the center of the blinding, sinuous, ravenous arch-angelic Metatronic orb-cube Serpentry that was eliciting a most evocative exhibition of illumination overhead.
The fake, black liquid-light crept downward into the man’s Head.
Fletcher Munsin had only become aware that he had been in a deep hypnotic trance for God-knows-how-long after the orb-cube flickered a bit above him, and then burnt out, completely disappearing before his very Eyes.
The whole environment went black.
As a dim, soft light gradually grew brighter, shining uncomfortably beside him in smudges, the man came to see that he had just somehow transported to a shadowy cavernous environment. And he was slowly gaining awareness of himself being surrounded by the moist and murky, dark cave-like setting. It was completely foreign to him; he knew that he was definitely no longer in Bry Dellows. A sharp itch stuck itself on the back of his neck and wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t bring himself to scratch it.
Still sitting cross-legged, not having moved at all, the brave, mindful man shuddered, took a gander about, saw nothing he recognized.
Then, he heard a loud, electrified zap flash directly behind him and, having nearly jumped straight out of his skin, quickly flipped around to see what the Hell was going on. Before him, he saw a shiny, round enclosure that looked like a giant, silver egg. He cocked his Head slightly to the side, mystified. Then, just beneath the structure, a smooth set of silvery steps liquefied into existence and, just above them, Fletcher Munsin heard some sort of metal-type device clanking, seeming to slowly spin from inside the structure. And then, an elongated creaking noise became audible, and the skin of the inquisitive man crept a tad, the sound getting louder and louder as a small door slowly appeared and grinded open to reveal the most angelic, shockingly gorgeous woman the man had ever seen in his life. She literally gave out High glimmers in sharp Golden gleams that contained much more than radiating Emotion.
The tall, slender, dark woman began slowly, gracefully making her way down the little liquidy, silvery steps beneath the opening of the carefully positioned craft, over-exaggerating each step she took with a sort of theatrical melo-dramatization that seemed almost unnecessary, but still vital to the ultimate fatal attraction between the two important humanoid entities whose vision beams were starting to latch on to One another’s. The woman had unbelievably tall, suave stems, and they were clearly visible to the man through the translucent golden dress that was draped elegantly over her perfectly tone, amazingly attractive Hard Body.
Unbeknownst to him during these enticing theatrics carefully exhibited by the Mother, Fletcher Munsin had again fallen into a deep trance.
As the luscious lady approached the queasy Fletcher Munsin, she bore the gleam of God within her big, bulging glass beads of deceit.
Then, the dazed man instantly got even more excited as more beautiful similarly-looking women all adorned in similarly-silvery dresses started hatching from the big silver egg from whence the soft essence of the Mighty Mother had just spilled itself out in jaw-dropping liquescence like a larger-than-expected penile ejaculation spewing itself uncontrollably in a surplus of exaltation.
Except it was just the beginning for this Mother. Not the end.
The silvery sirens who had followed Mother Magdalena out of the silvery pod—there were twelve in all—danced about briefly in unison ever-so-gracefully, mindfully forming a circle around the golden Mother, perplexing the shit out of Fletcher Munsin.
After their jaunting jig, they immediately militantly commenced sitting cross-legged down upon the ground while Magdalena remained standing in the center. The sultry, silver seductresses all started chanting one of their ritualistic mantras that sounded exceptionally strident for the likes of these gorgeous, similarly-looking women.
Slightly startling Fletcher Munsin, the twelve taunters ceased their chanting just as abruptly as they had started, and scurried off back into the giant silver egg, One by One, the captivated man alertly Eyeing their long shiny dresses draping over their bulbous backsides as they filed neatly back up the liquidy silver steps and into the silver pod.
Then, Magdalena started singing the most saintly sonnets as she slowly stepped backwards, bit by bit, smoothly curving and coiling her whole body like perfect sine waves, epitomizing the most enticing belly-dance maneuvers that could be exemplified as she continued to back up bit by bit toward the silvery steps of the space pod behind Her. “You go girl!” she shouted to herself vainly as she slammed her hard body around. “You know I fuckin’ work it, boyyy!” she exclaimed overzealously.
This most tantalizing exhibition was Mother Magdalena’s fully enchanting snake-charmer for Godheds.
It took ages to perfect. And it worked unerringly every time she eventually located this One of the veiled gurus, albeit not when taking one of those frustrating, super-vigilant journeys along her mega-monotonous planetary psychelectromagnetic gridlines, however, a network that had been fucked until late.
Fletcher Munsin unthinkingly followed Mother Magdalena into her silver space-pod.
Almost unable to contain her excitement over his capture, it was now the aching Mother’s plan to transport Fletcher Munsin to the Andromeda Biodome with the intention of performing the ultimate and legendary sanctified ritual therein, Tantrically conceiving the Star of her own Horror Show herself — the ever-precious Mandorla. After that, she now thought to herself, licking her puffy lips, she would viciously slay the pitiful man in joyous rapture before piloting her egg-space-pod-cube-conjugant back to Earth with her Alpha sisters to check in on the other Hankerhawks and Loombugs of her tribes during this critical moment in time.
The End was fast approaching now. There was an irritating pain in Magdalena’s gut that she considered faintly pleasant.
In due time, the silver space-pod approached the Andromeda Biodome, and, transmuting instantaneously back into its liquid-light orb-cube form, penetrated straight through the cosmic ectoplasm and silvery platinum-sheathed titanium alloy of the massive structure as a few semi-etheric, mindless Gilded Grunts trudged on by, carrying huge bushels of something slung over their backs.
A great deal of these Gilded Grunts had apparently ‘spent’ eons making a ‘non-living’, plodding back and forth to the tune of tedium, to and from the biodome, their slave labor providing transport of the sacred Space-grain to the wretched stables of the defiled, demented hogs upon the disgustipated female tribal communities upon Fucked-Earth. According to Mother Magdalena, Head Hawk of the tribes and “Eternal Heart in the Body of all Human Beings,” as dubbed by Solaria, the prime objective of this wretched workforce was to perpetuate the so-called pitiful prolongation and paltry perseverance of the Mother’s “post-human” Earth-bound hybrid monstrosities. The purported function of the Andromeda Biodome as a colonized community for the continuation of the Earth races was, and is, a bogus designation, part of a fictionalized dogmatic manipulation of the Hankerhawk tribes to further indoctrinate their Loombugs into false conviction, as to be more easily controlled.
There’s nothing a Hankerhawk desires greater than to be in control.
Like clockwork this mundane process of the Grunts persisted, generation after generation, and now appeared, through the Eyes of the passing Hawk sisters, to be hard work in full effect. No slackin’ at any time from this breed.
Fletcher Munsin couldn’t see them. Not because they weren’t there, but because he just simply wasn’t able to see them at this time. Since the special Grain did not yet exist at this point in time, the Grunts’ holographic imprints seemed to flicker on and off to the present Conscious Observer, reappearing and disappearing here and there, remaining active in a flashline sequence of an alternate combination of cycles per second.
From the exact moment the alluring Cube of Metatron containing Fletcher Munsin actually penetrated the Andromeda Biodome, absolutely every existing entity on every level within that scale of the precise location began to be stimulated with undulating waves of intense energies of euphoria. The precise location of the outpost was in fact the very thing that was directly assisting the subsistence of Earth’s post-apocalyptic survival, though not in the manner typically purported; all it took to trigger the Andromeda Biodome’s relevance was an intimate fusion with the very source that had been drawn to it, after which of course would customarily transpire the ritualistic, Highly sanctified seduction of a One “Fletcher Munsin.” Al Rodnam, Fletcher Munsin’s doppelganger, had telepathically Once told Fletcher Munsin that their joint, sole purpose in life was to serve as sacrifice for the conception of Mandorla. Incarnation after incarnation. He said he had heard those words from Lachrylon himself.
Once or twice upon a time, when the cosmos were in the Highest of Spirits, a medium-sized, rather thick and meaty serpent, dark-green in color and strangely familiar, had revealed the consecrated coordinates of the Divine location.
“Construct an outerspace base station at this precise location,” the serpent had told her with a twinkle, “and your future dilemmas will have never existed.”
It would be Mother Magdalena, alas ultimately trapped in time, who would indeed know a thing or two about this precise location.
The mindful Mother became aware, Once recovered from this amnesia, that the very occurrence of her collective revelation of the Sacred space coordinates, throughout the ages and toward the very end of each age, always sparked the real fact of the matter that had to do with the Andromeda Biodome. This, here and now, was the very moment along the way in the strangely decaying false procession of the equinoxes wherein the Mother and her twelve closest are Divinely revealed the True Purpose of the biodome, which everyone in all the tribes would come to forget down the line.
The Mother and her Twelve closest altogether simultaneously received a metaphysical depiction of the blueprints of the Andromeda Biodome, and then, immediately afterward, were each momentarily wired with intuitive flashing images of a horrid-looking baby creature, hairy and messy from head to toe, covered in blood. The thirteen women altogether gasped, and it was only Magdalena who then intuitively knew immediately what the biodome was originally intended to function as. This is how the Mother first found out that the Andromeda Biodome would be the hallowed grounds of the prophetic sacred seduction, as well as the ultimate source of Space-Grain.
It was the precise location of the base station, along with One other condition, that would render it suitable for growing exclusively Space-Grain. That One other condition, of course, was what would cause the Space-Grain to grow in the first place — that the biodome was required to be the place of One single, special circumstance: the conception of the despicable, albeit indispensable, silent Mandorla.
That single, special circumstance was about to commence.
Inside the dome, the orb-cube now decelerated a bit as it approached the precise piece of turf it felt inwardly drawn to, and hovered for a moment above the abandoned barren soil before blotting out the entire dome for just a fraction of a second with its un-Heavenly flash of Light, transforming back into the silver egg.
Mother Magdalena guided the pod downward, lowering it to just above the surface of the dome’s turf and hovered there, vibrating at a frequency to which she Imagined herself to sound like during any smooth, determined deliberation of her utmost vain exquisiteness.
RETURN TO DARK ESOTERIKA.COM TO READ IN DETAIL THE VERY SPECIFICS OF THE CONCEPTION OF MANDORLA. -MIKE EYE
[Story Snippet #7] ◇ from The Aqueous Transmission by MIKE EYE ⊙
[Episode V. Chapter 25]______________________________________
STRANGE AS IT SO WAS, MAGDALENA SOON FELT NOT ONLY completely revitalized, but more tough and sure of herself than ever. The Blood-Red, full Harvest Moon was still glowing ominously up above, simultaneously with the Sun. The magical hovering pond was also still beside her, and shining unwaveringly with a newfound glimmer.
The Mother looked around herself to notice how horribly dirty and desolate this desert was that she found herself in.
With the environment having transformed entirely, Magdalena was acquiring new emotions.
With the Sun in the sky for the first time in God-knows-how-long, she slowly started to notice her character render forth a spunky new attitude and began reconciling her disregard for her daughter, eventually finding inner solace to accept the baby for who she was despite her ghastly appearance. Besides, Lina wanted to make sure she adhered to Solaria’s requests, if not for fear of some misfortune to arise.
After having withdrawn the placenta from her womb with forceful yanks of the slimy cord, the Mother gathered Mandorla into her clutches and brought her over to the mystical pond to wash her off. The bleeding of the Mother’s body had diminished substantially. She cradled the hushed baby gently back and forth in her arms, although she didn’t really have a reason to.
Mandorla lay in the Mother’s embrace, oblivious, looking neither sad nor happy, neither tired nor lively.
Amrita crept up to the scene. The bot glanced momentarily at the tiny newborn monster, then at Magdalena.
“She looks of another species!”
“Let’s not talk about it!” yelled the Mother, understandably offended.
Rita said not a word.
“You look atrocious,” said Lina after a brief moment, noticing Rita’s face splotched in blood. “What the Hell is wrong with you, Rita? What compelled you to lick up all that blood, ‘specially when you don’t even have any taste buds?”
“It’s weird,” said Rita, “I can’t even recall having an urge to do so. It’s almost as if I lost control… and I seemed to be viewing my own ‘body’ doing it, not from within my CPU, but from up above it, three feet or so.”
The woman just stared at the thing, irritated.
“I’m going to go pour libations from this pond over my precious now. Leave me alone.”
“You mean baptize your baby?”
“No. I’m going to go pour libations over her,” said Lina.
Mother Magdalena stepped to the edge of the pond, her newborn in her arms. She lightly closed her Eyelids and began to pour libations from the mystical pond with little hand cups over the hairy, severely deformed Mandorla. After about a minute or so, Lina felt obliged to again view her reflection in the pond.
Staring into the pond in wonder, Magdalena saw the reflection of herself holding Mandorla, began contemplating her ultimate life purpose with thoughts of tremendous profundity.
And then, not long thereafter, still staring at her reflection, Magdalena saw a tiny tear trickle out of her Eye duct. She momentarily sifted her gaze from her reflection to wipe the tear away, and upon returning her gaze back to where it had just been, the woman noticed that the aquatic mirror-image of her face had been blotted out as a couple of sharp ripples cut into the watery image.
Thinking nothing of it at first, the Mother resumed the fruitless endeavor of rocking her most precious back and forth but was soon forced to stare back into the enigmatic pond with unease as the ripples increased intensity, and little bubbles began boiling up a bit, curtly crafting undercurrents upon the surface of the cool pool.
And the Mother gasped with utter astonishment as she noticed a squirming-something completely unexpected start to emerge ever-so-slowly from the depths of the pond.
Shocked beyond belief, Mother Magdalena, wide-Eyed and wide-mouthed, tightened her grip on Mandorla and instinctively sifted her body backwards in quick shuffles, dragging her glowing dress along the dusted ground. Staring directly at the part of the pond she had just been caught up in, lost in contemplation, Magdalena now bore witness to two aged, male hands gradually rising out of the waters, their fingers trembling vigorously.
Lina sharply gasped and continued to shuffle her body backwards, inch by inch, scared as all Hell at this bizarre spectacle before her.
As terrified as she was, Lina could not, would not remove her gaze from the two hands that were slowly rising upward out of the water, which now showed two full hairy, aged forearms exposed out to each elbow. Inching back still, bit by bit, Lina shut her Eyes tightly, trembling, prayed this was just a Nightmare, or that she was at least Hallucinating, two wishes she had now become uneasily fond of making.
Opening back up her Eyes Lina could now make out a round, hairy projection in between the two arms and she let out a high-pitched screech. Amrita came over to check on the commotion and, like Lina, could only fix a locked stare straight into the pond.
Slowly, ever-so-slowly now, Magdalena and Amrita gaped ahead in utter Horror as they watched the Head of a very old, peculiar-looking man slowly emerge out of the mystical Water, Higher and Higher still, two big yellow balls of light emanating from his Eyes, rendering them unnoticeable, the upper part of his face veiled from their luminosity. The old man kept his hands raised straight up skyward as he continued to creepily emerge, seeming to remain calm and still, although still slightly quivering throughout his body. The man had long grey hair and a long grey beard, which disguised the bottom half of his face, all of which was soaked and unkempt, kind of like the hair all over Mandorla. He sustained his steady demeanor, the two big, bright balls of light before his Eyes glowing intensely at the Mother as he continued to arise, little by little, from the liquidy depths of the magical Water.
Sparks of enchanted energies shot forth from the two fiercely radiating ocular headlights, and into the Eyes of the Mother, who remained glaring back at them with bugged-out Eyes.
Magdalena attempted to convince herself that she hadn’t seen it at first, but was then rapidly overcome by the potent effect of the colorful gaze that’d just been shot directly toward her. The mighty twinkle that Magdalena had been bejeweled with promptly put a most powerful spell upon her which caused her to creep slowly back toward the pond, toward the mysterious man.
Unthinkingly, Magdalena continued to move back toward the slowly emerging man, bit by bit, her Eyes flickering with pixie dust as the old man now held complete possession of her cerebral cortex.
An immense flash of ultraviolet light then abruptly blotted out all of Magdalena’s perceptions of all kinds along with an embedded sharp harmonic tone pulsing over the vicinity, causing the Mother to be put under an anesthetic-like state for a few minutes, a period of time that didn’t seem to exist for her.
The next thing she knew, Magdalena was again staring at her reflection in the mystical pond, as if no time had passed since she had originally done so upon pouring libations over the Head of Mandorla, her most precious in clutches, no memory to be had of the incident that had just supposedly occurred.
She glared on, straight into the pond at her reflection, nothing at all seeming out of the ordinary, or at least ordinary for the likes of the grim post-apocalyptic state of affairs as of late.
The Water was as still as could be.
Fixing her gaze down upon the pond now to focus upon the reflection of her newborn, the Mother let out a horrible, most terrifying wail of utter Horror as she noticed, through the reflection, the disguised face of the eerie old man in her arms in place of the blank face of Mandorla. And in place of the glowing orbs that had veiled the man’s Eyes earlier was his long hair, wrapped around the top of his face to conceal himself.
Releasing her grasp without thinking, the old man’s Head came clunking to the ground as Lina quickly rose to her feet. She then noticed that she had been unaware that the rest of the man’s body had been lying to her side as she had held just his Head in her arms, for how long she hadn’t the foggiest.
Magdalena raised her hands to her cheeks and screamed a most horrifying scream that kept on for almost a minute as she proceeded to work her lungs vigorously and slowly lose her voice. During the panic, the old man had gently, peacefully propped himself up, had come to a lotus posture, and smiled.
It had taken quite a while for Amrita to get Lina to stop screaming.
“Lina, Lina, it’s okay, it’s okay!” exclaimed Rita repeatedly, “I do not detect any sort of hostility from this man.”
“Rita! Where is Mandorla?! Rita, what happened?? What happened!?? I-I… don’t remember!” Lina shut her Eyes, hit her fingers over her forehead repeatedly.
“Calm down,” said Rita, “he put a spell on you, I witnessed the whole incident.”
“But… but my precious!” exclaimed Lina, “What the Hell happened to my precious?!”
And, ever-so-peacefully, the old man muttered a rather deep-sounding reply to the statement just made.
“I am your precious,” he declared calmly.
WTF IS GOING ON HERE?? STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT!! -MIKE EYE
Mother Magdalena has just arrived on Fucked-Earth being the only living thing in her ashy sights. Upon re-receiving her magical protective golden dress of photon fibers from the almighty Solaria on most High, as well as a guiding mystical stone amulet, the Mother has set out on a hopeless trek across the complete ruins of her old Home, left with only her smart-ass pet robot-cat for company and her wrought-iron krystal Scepter to protect her.
Mother Magdalena has just arrived on Fucked-Earth being the only living thing in her ashy sights. Upon re-receiving her magical protective golden dress of photon fibers from the almighty Solaria on most High, as well as a guiding mystical stone amulet, the Mother has set out on a hopeless trek across the complete ruins of her old Home, left with only her smart-ass pet robot-cat for company and her wrought-iron krystal Scepter to protect her.
D.E. Entry #6. The robot-cat pet of the tribal demi-goddess explains how it became Enlightened, from The Aqueous Transmission.
From Episode One, Chapter 9 of The Aqueous Transmission
AS THE TWO TRUDGED AIMLESSLY THROUGH BLISTERING, BLACKENED SEWAGE, LINA put forth a question that had come to mind.
“Hey Rita, I’m curious: being a robot and all, how the Hell is it that you are able to be uplifted?”
Amrita did not take even a second to respond. “By simply slowing down the Observation Process, analyzing each instance as a separate occurrence, and remaining forever present to each instance, constantly baring in circuitry the fact that instances are continuously coming and going in a flux. This helps me function in the moment.”
Lina always appreciated Rita’s candor. “Really…?” she murmured. “Robots can do that?”
Coming to a standstill, the woman pondered silently for a moment over their discourse with a most curious deliberation.
“How did you come to realize this?”
“You see,” Rita explained, “I soon perceived my very essence detaching itself from my central processing unit, transmuting into my Creator as I became fully aware of myself as a separate entity in time, amongst a vast theoretical network of quantum energy existing in a wondrous world of potentia.”
Lina scoffed. “That makes no sense,” she remarked cunningly. “What you’re describing is something only humans can feel. And most people don’t ever even get the chance to!” Lina tilted her Head to the side. After a moment, she said: “Hey Rita… I wanna know. So what exactly is your ‘very essence,’ huh? Let’s hear it.”
“I’m not quite certain, although I know that something caused me to have an out-of-machine experience.” The two once again began strolling slowly through the rubble.
Lina was confused. “I don’t follow.”
“After we crashed, I felt mysteriously lured toward Fletcher Munsin’s badly mutilated corpse. Somehow discerning a great loss, I was compelled to fill the empty space above Fletcher Munsin’s severed neck with a Head of my own, by licking the entrails, filling the void that had prevented the man from continuing to be fully intact, whether it be psychologically, symbolically, or spiritually, even after his momentous death.”
This time, it was Magdalena who didn’t take even a moment to reply. “What a ludicrous heap of hog-shit!” she remarked callously. “And how the Hell do you factor into the spiritual equation?”
“Filling the void, my circuit boards became bombarded with not only strong electromagnetic waves, but also strong psychic waves that sent continuous shocks throughout my machinery each time I came in contact with the subject.”
“Psychic waves? How were you able to decode psychic waves, Rita?”
“Each time I was shocked, I would receive an image detailing the schematics of what presented itself to be the human nervous system, which I instantaneously became familiar with. It is in fact quite similar to a computer’s system, Lina!” The cat-bot shot the woman a human-like sly smirk.
“Anyway, the psychic waves I received felt magnetic in nature. And I didn’t realize why I was so compelled to keep coming in contact with the stimulus until after the fact, when I took a comprehensive look at the big picture, and identified exactly how each instance fell into place perfectly, creating the specific action that took place on your bed.”
“Well, it would appear that, exceeding the basic functions of robotics and computing, the contact of these psychic waves that struck me had produced a new, very real anomaly in my computer processing: a total awareness of a true timeless existence, which brought forth a fully-activated abstract pleasure center that became stimulated each time I licked the severed neck with my mechanical tongue.”
Magdalena again paused in her tracks and gawked at Amrita in utter disbelief.
Amrita also came to a halt and plunked its shiny metal ass onto the muck. “It’s weird, I know. But the more I licked, the more I discerned the human psyche taking the time to expand its essence, linking itself to mechanization through my circuits, attempting to latch on to the source that beckoned it, which, not quite realizing it at the time, was me.
Rita could sense Lina’s bewilderment.
“Okay, allow me to put forth an analogy having to do with an archaic concept of a Once popular form of entertainment that was extremely, obsessively adored by the mutant-hybrid beings of a terribly troubled version of a truly blasphemous old-world. I discovered the concept Once during sleep-mode while perusing the Highly exploited, continuously updating refuse of disinformation being ‘posted’ upon this bogus, transient form of a Surface-Earth Media accessed by millions on a daily basis via personal computer processors or portable electronic devices among the living-dead populations of that time period. Anyone could, at any time, access this virtual network of live multimedia of scalar-standing Web digital read-out displays of total Distraction, created by more than 666 X 7,767,6666,766,766 possible patterns of 1’s and 0’s per each loadable ‘page’ of content. This remarkable Tool was the Internet 5.33 Alpha Stream, an alien technology. I now consider what I Once discovered on this abomination of perverse oddities during sleep-mode a robot-version of what you would call ‘a nightmare’.”
Lina was rolling her Eyes.
“Anyway, I do bring this up for a very pertinent reason. The analogy has to do with the most Highly venerated act that the people of this time-period Once experienced together, over and over again for each presentation released, as the pleasurable public viewings of various sensational ‘motion picture production’ exhibits based on dramatic pre-written narratives, as forms of entertainment. I seamlessly ‘Imagined’ myself amid the masses for One of these ventures, and discovered something that may help you get an answer to your question.”
Lina again rolled her Eyes.
“Involving the collective Observation of these ‘films’, Once I realized just how I theoretically, specifically played a role as a part of this Imaginary audience watching One of these ‘movies’, I recognized myself becoming a willing participant within space-time, able to Observe each scene, and each frame of still image, separately in the film that projects my interpretations, while at the same time understanding the intentions of the film’s direction; I could perceive Fletcher Munsin watching us, and, believe it or not, I became Enlightened.”
“You’re fuckin’ stupid,” Lina articulated profoundly. “You’re not making any sense! How the fuck could Fletcher Munsin be watching us as you licked his headless corpse? I brutally maimed that fucker with my own vampiric teeth. I made sure he was a goner.”
“I understand this. And this is precisely why he was watching us, my love. There was a scornful jest in his watchful, High gaze. And it seemed to come from all directions at Once. You had to have felt it, Lina! You must’ve just managed to forget…”
Shaking off the worrisome pestilence that had seized a grip on her shoulders, Magdalena again took an aimless stride amid the hot wreckage. Amrita followed close-by with a programmed manner of reluctance.
“You know,” said the android casually, wagging its mechanical tail, “I understand now your Wickedness. Pure Evil has no rationale.”
“Shutup,” Lina swiftly declared. “I may just dismantle you before long.” Lina spoke with much contempt, although she could never actually picture herself taking her best friend apart.
Woman and android took empty stride over charred ruins of a dead Earth. They wandered on toward oblivion, unconscious of where their steps would lead them. The poise of Mother Magdalena elicited a sinister presence that blended amicably with the Dark shadows of death that emanated from the ruins. Her essence recharged, this specter rose grimly in soft wisps from the wreckage below her feet, spawning an Unholy Union of what roused up and outwards as an impregnable, foreboding dark shield that took form as a smoky cloak that blanketed the beast with a bitter solace.
WHAT THE F☆@# DO MAGDALENA AND AMRITA FIND AND WHEN??!!? Stay tuned, people. All of this stuff CONNECTS. -MIKE EYE
Head Hankerhawk Reflections of the Andromeda Biodome Truth Revelation : The End-times End Now
Episode Four / Chapter 16 of Mike Eye’s The Aqueous Transmission
– Story Snippet #5 for Dark Esoterika –
THE GODHEDS WERE THE FEW OF THE SHAMANIC FOREFATHERS WHO had helped breed the tribes from their Inception and had cunningly escaped from the villages long ago. Over time, most of the Godheds had mysteriously vanished, and it had grown increasingly more difficult for the Hankerhawks to locate them. From time to time, the Hawks would go on extensive treks across the wastelands of Fucked-Earth with fierce phallic weapons in search of any Godheds they could find. But each time they set out, the Hawks were never able to find even One, for the Godheds were experts at remaining concealed from the Hankerhawks.
Down upon the surface of the Earth at this time, the Hankerhawks of other villages besides the Mother’s Home of Bry Dellows, were now Awakening as well, and activating their Visuddha Chakras with no delay as they chanted with mighty mantras of High Intention.
In all the villages, not that there were many, the Hankerhawks and their dumb Lower sisters, the Loombugs, had customarily always lived together in a sort of congenial disparity. The Hawks, being much more intelligent than the Bugs thanks to their genes, would ‘spend’ their days absorbed with whatever it was they were doing, existing apart from the Bugs whenever they weren’t teaching them useless things, or participating in corrupted Runic Divinations with them. Among the few uncivilized tribes on Fucked-Earth, it was the Hive-minded Hankerhawks alone who perpetually, yet usually unknowingly, possessed an archaic Knowledge that, Once purposefully un-tapped, would allow them, as a unified entity, access to the sacred Vision that could preserve their Spirit upon their sacred planet Earth, from which they had always been attached.
Customarily, it was only One in roughly twenty-five Loombugs that was noticed and then Chosen by the Head Hankerhawks to undergo an Initiation that could potentially credit her with a very valuable upgraded distinction, assuming her emotional, bio-neurological makeup was compatible; it was afterall only about 8% of the Loombug girls from all tribes combined that were born without substantial physical deformation and mental retardation, able to relate in any way to the Hankerhawks’ complex mentality. With such a familial social promotion, it would then become possible for a newly ordained Hankerhawk to attune herself to a higher essence, as she would routinely start to involve herself with the sacred chants and ritualistic dances that were the consecrated customs of her elders — the sacred, rhythmic maneuvers they used to connect to their counterparts in the cosmos. The newly-initiated young Hawks would routinely receive sacred teachings from their mothers that would ultimately allow them intimate access to their plentiful, latent “junk” DNA strands as well as stimulate dormant portions of the personal grey matter of their brains.
By tradition, the ensuing arousal of Awareness received by a newly ordained Hankerhawk, though not nearly as potent as the power currently surging through the Cube of Metatron, would then routinely shine light upon a deplorable potential future with a communal lack of any basic sense of direction, the assertion of a collective unconscious simultaneously summoning forth subliminally a severely warped, vastly confined global polarization; the Hawks were the only Ones besides the Godheds who would eventually Know the true secret of Solaria and all the details of the extraterrestrial interference, and their perpetually be-doomed indigenous communities.
Other than the sacred quests for a Godhed that the Hawks would every-so-often come to embark upon unsuccessfully until now — this current Divine moment — the main purpose of the Hawks’ existence, according to the all-powerful Solaria, was to procreate as rapidly as possible no matter what the circumstances, as they continued to spread their Divinely inspired dogmatic ideology to all their countless Loombug daughters, assuring that they would all have as many children as possible via the particular method that was used in their villages. There were many Loombugs who were not able to get pregnant. As such, the Bugs would be kept continuously distracted and locked hopelessly within their own minds via semi-Divine fallacious invocations of precisely placed stone Runes and strokes of swine.
It was what Solaria demanded.
In procreating to the obsessive utmost, when able to do so throughout their lifetimes, insatiably abusing the flesh, the Hankerhawks routinely taught their initiates to either enslave or drown the “accident” male newborns in the extra-salty ocean, and save only the females. The Hankerhawks perpetuated that it was to be determined only by ‘the powers that be’ whether these wretched, human-hybrid monstrosities known as the Loombugs would be at a sufficient population by the end of time for proper astrological sacrifice. If so, it would be the Souls of the few Hankerhawks that would simultaneously gain memory of their own astrological orientation, thus providing them all with a sense of their ultimate purpose.
That’s how supernovae are formed.
This is precisely what was now transpiring among the dutifully deformed women of the wild tribes upon Fucked-Earth.
The End was fast approaching. The Mother and the twelve Hankerhawks closest to her would soon reclaim their fate, thus coming to find Once again that they were perpetually predestined to proclaim prophecy from a prison planet by entering the corridors of their correlation to the Unified Field, these very cosmological corridors from which they now collectively found themselves in — as the looming Cube of Metatron — and equipped with the codes that would evidently lead the sanctified womanly conjunction directly to the Last Godhed, Al Rodnam. Or, at least, to whom they imagined to be the Last Godhed, Al Rodnam.
During these final moments, the Loombugs were feeling more confused than usual which caused a huge boost of anxiety to the greater part of the tribes that were already quite wild to begin with. The Bugs scrambled about restlessly, utterly unnerved and oblivious upon a soon-to-be obliterated planet, as the bitterly gleaming Metatron’s Cube that was maneuvered by the Mother returned from Andromeda and approached its precious, long-awaited destination of destiny. The Loombugs could not feel the potent, compassionate energies emanating from Gaia at this time, because they hadn’t been taught to, not to mention it wasn’t in their makeup to be able to do, and so alas they would not be able to realize that they remained infinitely and intimately linked to Her. As if it mattered to them anyhow.
The more Loombugs alive during this moment in the false precession of the equinoxes, the easier it would be for the foreign controlling Dark energies of Lachrylon and Lachrylon’s furious phantom follower ETs that comprised Lachrylon’s militia constituents to manipulate the bodies of the Bugs in future Earthly incarnations, which the Dark powers would then, in all likelihood, covertly use in all sorts of clever, unethical ways to help them gain ultimate control of the Inner Earth Stargates.
“Location, Location, Location.”
Yes, the Loombugs’ very existence, in fact, was to function biologically as virtually mindless collateral, each day of their lives unknowingly “living down” all One-percent of their One-dimensional human-hybrid potential. And it would very soon be proven that they had indeed been cursed to live only mundane, insignificant lives of limitation, lives that were about to end disgracefully with a most bizarre obliteration.
Perhaps interestingly enough, throughout their lifetimes, the Loombugs had always been told by their elders, the deceptive Hankerhawks, that this gruesome fate of mass genocide and environmental annihilation was to One-day be joyously had, not by them, but by the enslaved village outcasts, the Gilded Grunts.
This was before the Hawks’ Enlightenment. The Grunts would in fact be saved. The Bugs, however, would not be able to, as One fundamental quantum spark of Eternal Truth, come to comprehend the severe dysfunction of their lifestyle, like they would have if they were destined to be Hankerhawks and additional strands of their DNA had been assembled and activated. Unlike their Hawk elders, the Loombugs would not come to realize their artificial alignment to the constellation of Aquarius that so beckoned them, which would help to set them free. For all intents and purposes, they would not realize that they each had a Soul.
But all the Hankerhawks did now finally presently feel the Wicked energies converging during this space-time. Like awaking from a twisted dream a lifetime long, the Hawks blurrily became aware of why their lives had seemed to be so unfulfilling, and so were united with a sharp sense of embarrassment. They caught vivid visions of their well-oiled greedy ways functioning highly favorably… but only for a short while until the concept collapsed upon itself, eventually coming to mock its expediency with inevitable total devastation.
But this was their nature. And the concept was about to collapse upon itself.
All the Hankerhawks of Bry Dellows and beyond each realized plainly now, all simultaneously, exactly why their own minds had always been filled with looming visions of false dogmatic constructs since Day One: these were paradigms tremendously addicting in their advancements, and provided only immediate benefit, with no long-term outcome whatsoever. These concepts were eternally encoded, all the Hawks now also realized so plainly, when found present in social organizations, to naturally result in a global system that would have a Collective Unconscious that places the illusion of material profits from questionable discourse at a much higher priority than the fragile sustainability of the Pure Mind and Environment, a poor perspective derived from greedy ambitions they now saw themselves acquiring throughout insignificant lifetimes via holographic, crystalline projections that clashed completely in confounding conflict with the erratic psychelectromagnetic planetary gridlines that were now straightening out rapidly.
Preposterously, they wondered for the first time if they were indeed any ‘better’ than their Loombugs.
This terrified them.
They came to recognize, too, that these grids had spawned, throughout their lifetime on Earth, reflectively as a result of the brute power of their persistent, ruthless intentions. This Corporate Globalization would be ultimately unavoidable in their culture, they realized, with the facades of quantity eventually devouring the facets of quality.
In accordance with the End-Times, the Enlightened Mother-Hawk-orb-cube amalgamation, shimmering in the sky with prominent earnest, back in the Earth’s atmosphere now and not too far off from its target, was collectively envisioning the very essence of whom they now sought. Depicted in their joint enigmatic vision was a huge, fiery comet, coasting at an incredibly high velocity across the sky and into the heart of Mother Gaia, promptly spawning the ignition of everything on the planet with its ever-potent fuel of desire that had been carefully formulated by the Mother’s intentions with Fletcher Munsin, who was indeed not the Last Godhed on the planet, but the last Godhed’s Shadow.
At that same moment, the Hankerhawks also then became aware of exactly why it had been so difficult for them to locate any Godheds throughout their lifetimes. Just as vividly, they now also understood exactly why their tribes hadn’t been able to advance their antiquated cultures technologically for an over-elongated period of time, though the Hawks had managed to be able to raise populations fairly high in certain villages due to their prized provisions of jarred Godhed Sperm, and their vigilant, Tantric uses of those sacred rations.
Eventually, males stopped being born into the tribes altogether, the tribeswomen no longer needing to slaughter any newborns as they started to gain a grasp on their perverse practice of gender population control. The High Hawks that were part of the Metatron’s Cube now also peculiarly saw through crystal-clearly to the ultimate inner mechanics of their heavily ritualized social behaviors they exemplified throughout their lifetimes up unto this point; they realized that the traditional, supposedly beneficial and otherwise seemingly mindless, volatile behaviors exemplified within their simple communities, such as the exploitation of their corrupt elitism as well as the gluttonous possession to fuck men (when they would or could) and to procreate humanity with suffering in mind, were actually suppressed acts carried out by their subconscious efforts to enhance their sense of misdirection along the faulty global psychelectromagnetic fields of Earth that they secretly enjoyed living within.
This was the Spell of Solaria. And the invisible Earth-intruder ETs always Knew this.
But, attributing to the True Evil of their combined Essence, the Thirteen most elite Hankerhawks hailing from Bry Dellows, after receiving these Visions, did not recognize their social endeavors as one tad corrupt. Instead, the top Hawks saw in an instant what their lifelong actions had ultimately created; they became everlastingly mindful of the manners with which a conscious sense of direction asserts itself loudly upon a group of perceptible people.
The life and times of all the horrific beings living disproportionately with the Earth were coming to a standstill, enveloped within the prospects of a crack in the window through time, propelling them on into the next age. The top Hawks now saw this. They saw, too, its result: a time of remembrance, a brutal boiling blood battle for achieving One Lust, with every Body and Mind being offered the opportunity to engage the Individual Imagination instantaneously and indefinitely, in full physical effect – the very corrupt initiative of elite Illuminati factions upon many planets in various galaxies bent on external conquest.
Having been fused into the Cube of Metatron, the thought-forms and spirits of the elite sisters had struck a singular resonant tone illuminating their interconnected Oversoul Identity that made them all simultaneously, telepathically Aware that this was their final artful display of purpose; this was as far as they would be able to go in procreating humanity as much and as wretchedly as possible, as commanded by the almighty Solaria on most High.
From its position in the sky at the edge of Bry Dellows, Magdalena could see massive amounts of badlands totally unpopulated.
“Weak,” a disappointed Lina thought to herself, shimmering with her twelve closest in the Metatronic orb-cube formation in the sky. “We coulda done way better than this, girls.” Her sisters, feeling all too well her resentment, enthusiastically concurred.
From the newly established viewpoints of the elite Hankerhawks of Bry Dellows, the only advanced civilization worth building, they came to realize naturally, was one consciously constructed completely out of Unconditional Love and pure Crystals and Water; an androgynous, universal implementation of the Divine Blueprint of benevolent actuality that held the same spiritual form as the original Earth and the Angelic Human Body.
But the Hankerhawks and those of their ET-infiltrated tribes of revolting incest were Wicked women indeed, and they resolutely rejected the power of Love in favor of their innate power to intricately illustrate the sheer intensity and tremendous dominance of sexual temptation, merrily employing their crafty ability to covertly invoke vicious deceit upon their biological male counterparts while gaining Intense Highs in the Process.
That is, whenever they were ultimately able to locate them.
This ideology, supposedly ingrained within the Hawks’ True Nature by Solaria, had, over time, evolved to become an essential element of their chemical makeup.
The Hankerhawks were not just territorial. They were obsessively possessive.
Even without any type of real civilization or established democracy present in this—the Mother Magdalena’s—wretched incarnation of Planet Earth during this Dark, Dark Age, Materialism still reigned supreme because it was its time in succession to do so. The major problems the territorial indigenous female tribes had been faced with, as a devolving culture, were what had eventually resulted from their Denial to live peacefully and amicably with the Earth.
All of the overpopulated Loombugs did not require vast vegetation around them, not just because they spent a great deal of their lives absorbed in the distraction of simple dusty, dull Divinations, but also because their bodies were considerably deformed compared to better hydrated species of humanoids not born of incest and carelessness, and were made up of far less Water than the ideally evolved human of an industrialized civilization upon an Earth-like planet.
The Hawks thus did not require a great amount of Water to nourish their bodies either; Water from the Single Ocean of this version of Earth was far, far less, and had been reincarnated this time around with minimal sustenance anyhow, its landmasses greatly prevalent over its body of Water, with much of these landmasses barren wastelands of dark, ashy sand and the disintegrated remains of radioactive junk blown into the mix by the heavy winds that tended to frequently blow themselves about the wide stretch of the vast Fucked-Earth desert environments.
Coronal Mass Ejections from the Sun as well as from other large local stars were also something for the Hawks to lookout for, too, throughout their lifetimes, as various stars, their systems, as well as their inhabitants continued to be bio-neurologically manipulated by One or more Highly advanced alien intruders of a Higher density universe, etheric beings who were part of the hierarchy of Solaria and Lachrylon’s Highly advanced infantry of brutal, brutal Evil.
The severely physically deformed, yet Highly functional Gilded Grunts who routinely traversed through these badlands day by day always passed by random, wrecked objects, never able to possibly Imagine what these things had Once functioned as, if indeed the Grunts were even able to pose such questions to anyone who may’ve been there.
The Gilded Grunts, like the Loombugs, would be, and had been, completely oblivious to the ever-powerful, Dark High Energies that flowed throughout planet Earth, even as they continued to be the very Source powering it, continuously hauling along Space-Grain from the Andromeda Biodome, through the portal to the pig pens.
And now, the orb-cube of elite Hawks, hovering in the sky just above the area of Earth where their target lay waiting, was conjointly premeditating the last game. Magdalena was playing out the sacred seduction in her mind, consciously very much aware of her ultimate purpose of providing profuse procreation for the New World at any cost. Strong sexual instincts crept up the spines of the flying, illuminated women, as her and her top sisters altogether envisioned what they had always planned on doing subsequent to them finally locating the very Last Godhed.
These Hawks knew all too well how they would tempt the Godhed ‘til “King-dumb Cum,” these sassiest of sirens to seize the Soul of whom they sought by singing to him sweet songs of seduction, aspiring to sway the susceptible Spirit of their subject into suggestive submission, their sick, slutty selves soon succumbing to the sly, sacred sex they would so certainly savor serving to the symptoms of sin while seeking to send signs to their psyches that it would be their special skills that would save all their sisters, and see to their survival.
The addition of not just any individual, but an exceptionally extraordinary, Enlightened Individual to the top Hawk orb-cube formation of twelve, is what had always been needed to shape the definitive “whole” of such a very group of tenacious female Hunters, who would then each altogether prove to be much greater than the sum of all the group’s parts.
This was a critical component in the secret condition the special orb-cube required to reach its goal of locating the Last Godhed. The orb-cube also needed, of course, the Gathering of the Twelve Elite Hankerhawks of Bry Dellows in addition to the exclusive command and High Presence of the Mother Magdalena, for it was none other than this precise conjunction of these counterparts which did indeed create the very Metatron’s Cube to begin with.
And so after having received sharply a mental image of the Andromeda Biodome during the very instance noble Nammu of Europa entered the aligned Immortal Earth’s South Pole Homeland, the Mother had so felt intuitively inclined to immediately form the orb-cube with the twelve of her closest elite members. This magic orb-cube came to create a revelation-bound Metatron’s Cube of pure luminosity: this was the definitive formation of universal consciousness consisting of all five platonic solids everlastingly pulsating at its core with supercharged, ultra-high-frequency harmonic vibrations. Each top Hawk represented one of the twelve circles of this sacred geometrical shape, as pure liquid-light, pure consciousness aware, naturally composing the secret Fruit of Life found inside, with Mother Magdalena at the helm in the very center.
Twinkling in the Earth’s atmosphere now, still halted in pre-meditations of the impending occurrence, the Mother’s Metatronic amalgamation came to be greeted by, at first by the hundreds of thousands, and then by the millions of billions, its high-density light-sister Oversouls, forcefully appearing in the vicinity as if to colorfully suggest their approval of what the sisters were about to do. These High ancestors were now dancing beautifully and systematically into waves of vivid multicolored aurorae around the orb-cube’s location in the sky, like super-heated, vibrant neon corn kernels that popped out with a sacred release from within the deep hyperspace of Intergalactica, the subtle, laser-like fireworks display it came to create melting into sizzling stardust of the ultra-fluorescent particles of ‘God thread’ that annunciated altogether through their Vishuddha chakras the revered resonance of the Mother’s path of prophecy. Yes, this was their destination. Mother Magdalena was feeling more alive and sure of herself than ever before. Or at least as far as she could remember.
Oh, it was an incredibly exhilarating High!
With time then coming to freeze in an instant, the Mother smiled to herself and remembered this ecstatic moment Once again, realizing in the next flash of Unholy illustration that it had been an incredibly, unexplainably long amount of time since she had felt this way. Mother Magdalena was in fact feeling the heavy loom of Ages encircling her ultra-electrical ether.
Cleverly, unbeknownst to anyone or anything, save the Consciousness of noble Nammu of Europa, the supercharged metaphysical Heart of the Last Godhed on Earth was actually concealed in a thickly secluded part of a version of Earth that existed in its own time continuum, far, far away from the Cube of Metatron that hovered just above the staunchy, spoiled atmosphere of Fucked-Earth. The Last Godhead was safely secluded within the hot tropics of Immortal Earth’s South Pole Homeland, and was remaining there motionless for to save his grace. This Last Godhed was the illustrious Al Rodnam who lay peacefully positioned in the pious posture of the lofty lotus, upon moist soil, nearby a smoothly flowing stream that gently spouted his Hallowed desires incessantly into a modest pond that separated a small passing river. This was the very pond little Nammu of Europa had recently splashed into. And after a short, mind-settling ritual upon the pond’s floor, it was the intelligent little dolphin, Nammu, who would give the Word to the old Godhed Mystic when it was time.
Not much longer now.
The man remained concealed by evergreen wisps of giant palm leaves, behind lush brush, vigilantly Third-Eyeing the chaos that was erupting in the failing world before him, his in-tune Sahasrara chakra tapping into the sucking vortex of the Earth’s crown.
There was a very specific reason for Al Rodnam’s remaining Left Behind.
Feeling the power of a pole-shift imminent, the Last Godhed was busy constellating a colorful interdimensional rainbow mind-bridge with his supremely powerful magic. Having aligned itself with the glowing Thirteen-piece archangel’s recent revelation about the outerspace Biodome of Andromeda, he found himself ever-present and totally aware of Mother Magdalena’s Metatronic path of prophecy being activated.
The man had recently summoned forth his inverse, parallel duality to appear at the edge of Bry Dellows, enabling the duality’s enforced intent for the Mother Magdalena’s Heart to be amplified to a degree at which it would be able to reach the Mother however faraway she was. Al Rodnam mindfully aligned the power of his duality’s enforced intent specifically along the very psychedelic wavelength of the Mother’s Merkaba.
The kindly guru patiently waited for the Oversoul Consciousness of the Mother’s Wicked Cube of Metatron to completely finish being stimulated by the Truth of the recognition of its own Andromeda Biodome Truth Revelation before pulsing out the astral projection.
The Mother, having been in charmed form with her twelve closest during this covert conjuring of persuasion, came into contact with the old man’s thought projections the moment she and her sisters jointly remembered, from within Earth’s atmosphere, the Truth of why they had crafted such a wondrous outpost in another galaxy; it first took actually seeing it with their conjoined Unified Eye, and then reflecting on it from Earth afterwards, for the Mother and her twelve High Sisters to altogether receive the full benefit of their sacred revelation.
Bry Dellows was Mother Magdalena’s Home, and by far the largest of the Hankerhawk villages. At present, there were a great deal of Loombug brawls busting out there. It was now time for the Holy Al Rodnam, Al Rodnam now decided, to sacrifice half of his essence to the hungriest of Hankerhawks, the Head of them all: the ever-familiar, sinister, yet solemn, Mother Fucker. Axis of Metatron’s Cube.
From deep within crisp, lush jungle sat the great guru in deep Contemplation, deep inside the process of his astral projection. Holding the form of his duality firmly in a lotus posture at the edge of the dusty Bry Dellows, the illustrious Al Rodnam, as his duality’s own Shadow, sat patiently awaiting the arrival of the nearby equally illustrious Cube of Metatron, a point at which the near sights of the female formation would latch onto him and descend.
“WHAT THE F☆@# HAPPENS IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE FEMALE FORMATION LATCHES ONTO HIM AND DECENDS??!!?” -MIKE EYE
____E P I S O D E N I N E :____
T h e L a s t G o d h e d
☆ Story snippet #3 ☆
of MIKE EYE‘s The Aqueous Transmission
“…Let us be ashamed and put on the perfect Man, and separate as He commanded us…”
—from Chapter 9, The Gospel According to Mary Magdalene
[c h a p t e r T H I R T Y – S I X]__________________
REMAINING LOCKED ONTO THE VIBRANT, HIGHLY RESONATING personal Mandala he had intrinsically constructed to breathe into with his Mind’s Eye, the safely secluded Al Rodnam was now fully engaged in the essential, most mindful process of vigilantly holding with all his strength the form of his Shadow, Fletcher Munsin, as it approached the Andromeda Biodome with the Head Hankerhawks of Bry Dellows for the second time in the same day.
The first time that the High, illuminated formation of elite sisters had approached the Biodome of Andromeda was several hours earlier, and it had held the purpose of providing to the High Sisters a most relevant revelation that would just as fastly bring them back to Fucked-Earth and straight to the site of their key target — the vital familiar and attractive subject who’s present location had become instantaneously delivered to their Oversoul Consciousness Identity upon the sisters’ collective exposure to that very Revelation at the Andromeda Biodome just prior. They, as the frozen liquid-light frequencies of the Metatronic Cube Collective, would now be lulled to the precise patch of geomantic terrain via their joint psychic and cellular activation, whereupon glimmered obscurely the holographic projection of the oh-so-long sought-after Fletcher Munsin, wrongfully assumed by the High Hawk Sisters to be the very last Godhed remaining across all the Fucked Land.
From the instance that prompted that initial flight to the Andromeda Biodome, the last great guru Godhed Al Rodnam had been metaphysically retaining his Shadow’s physical and abstract form to enigmatically appear at the edge of Bry Dellows, patiently waiting for the illuminating conjunction of High Hawks to have their revelation and return to their homeland village. This very holding of the exquisitely enticing Fletcher Munsin’s revealing form was the most critical conjunction that all the sisters of Bry Dellows had been Unconsciously awaiting throughout their lifetimes. The High Hawks were so compulsively overcome by having been abruptly internally guided toward the focal shimmering projection straight subsequent to their Andromeda Biodome Truth Revelation that they noticed not now how curious it may or may not’ve been that the subject of their seeking was now suddenly present so very close to their Home, and not somewhere else. Somewhere hidden.
The mighty mystic Al Rodnam, as wise and powerful as he so was, had been unable to become aware all his own of precisely when he was to initiate his commanding facilitation of Fletcher Munsin, and so was ultimately obliged to hold off doing so until an official sanction from noble Nammu of Europa, the little ultra-perceptive dolphin hailing from the orbit of the mighty Jupiter. Little Nammu would remain still for a time, patiently poised at the bottom of the tranquil pond at the South Pole Homeland which was unaffected by a Time Continuum, the One beside where the mindful mystic was unwearyingly entreating upon the surfacing of the little European to finally deliver to him the Earth-shattering message.
The message that it was time.
And that that time had finally now come.
Just prior to the commencement of his holding the form of his Shadow, noble Nammu had abruptly swam up to the pond’s surface. Attributable to his Cetacean origin, Al Rodnam was able to interpret the Sonar broadcasts transmitted to him from loyal little Nammu. The little European indeed held encoded within her DNA and cellular memory the Divine Right Time that had Now Come, and it aligned with the Live Divine Blueprint of Humanity that incorporated within it identical multidimensional Consciousness structures, fluxing and interacting amongst themselves and itself with all sorts of many varying energies while reaching outward all the while. The time had now Come for the mighty power of this actuality to actually straight-away come into accordance with the precise moment upon which was the little curious interstellar dolphin’s destined duty, and that, she Knew well, was to deliver the message to Al Rodnam, the transmission of which was to be the actual action that would so ultimately allow the Mother and her twelve closest to initially head to Andromeda for the first time that day.
During that exact instance, just as Al Rodnam was reacting to the Word of little Nammu by starting to summon forth his Shadow, the incessant Blood-red Full Moon Curse of Mandorla upon Fucked-Earth abruptly disappeared, instantaneously shutting out most of the light shining over the doomed planet.
The mindless, incessant clatter of the sickeningly overpopulated Loombugs was abruptly taken up several notches, their frantic frolicking over the planet’s surface increasing immensely. Just as suddenly, Mandorla’s Blood-red Full-Moon Phantom-lock was replaced by a waxing white sliver that held a different, far less obtrusive sway over the expiring planet.
A few moments following this exhibition, the Mother and the twelve of her closest, having instinctively heeded the suggestions made by the Shade of Fletcher Munsin, had quickly combined to form a massless shimmering, flying Metatron’s Cube — an alternate guise of her silvery space pod – and without any further delay, had shot toward Andromeda to then have, along with her High Sisters, the most Earth-shattering Revelation.
From there forward, the mindful mystic would continue to remain intimately bonded most considerately with his Shadow as the High Sister conjunction fastly approached the Sacrificial Lamb of Man following their Heady Revelation, proceeding to then abduct him, taking him to an undisclosed, most secluded, and otherwise inaccessible cryptic crypt to begin tempting the ill-fated man.
It would be here within the depths of these shady caverns, at a location Superunknown, that the Mother would begin proudly eliciting her ‘Snake Charmer for Godheds’ for to put Fletcher Munsin in the mood.
After the High Hawks had all tantalized Fletcher Munsin for a substantial amount of time within the mysterious, clammy caves, they advanced in their Holy Commission, transporting the hapless Lamb of Man to the Andromeda Biodome to at last utilize the colossal, sacred structure for its predestined proper purpose — for the long-awaited, most heavily symbolic Sacred Seduction and Sperm Extraction of the presumed last Godhed on Fucked-Earth which, as it comprised the combination of both the essences of Al Rodnam and his Shadow, Fletcher Munsin, would ultimately help conjure forth the first, most significant Space-Grain.
And the rest would be history. Repeating history.
Upon arrival at the outerspace biodome, the Mother, her twelve closest, and the hapless Fletcher Munsin all promptly exited the silvery space pod into the breathable atmosphere of the deep-space structure most massive, the sly Hawks so coming to launch their be-charmed Sacred Seduction of Fletcher Munsin, upon whom they beset as their Host, a tingling sensation starting to crawl up the back of the lowly man’s neck, his throat completely dry, the sisters creeping closer like daddy longlegs. Meanwhile, Al Rodnam — the bona fide last-remaining Godhed with a ‘boner-to-hide’ — would attempt at all costs to sustain the vigilant High Communion he Now Kept with his Shadow’s Form throughout the duration of his own celestial milking, continuing to conduct all throughout the span of the spading a steady, mindful contemplative Intention while remaining securely concealed in the Immortal South Pole Homeland from whence the very Quintessence of Man sat abidingly in certain safety and seclusion.
Throughout the entirety of the intense, brutal, kinky treatments of Fletcher Munsin during the forthrightly outlandish Sacred Seduction and Sperm Extraction orchestrated by Mother Magdalena, Al Rodnam experienced — and aided his Shadow in enduring — every life-long-lasting instance of the critical Sick Act that seemed to never end. And although Al Rodnam knew roughly what to expect of all this highly hormonal hyperactivity, the sheer atrocity of the caliber of brutality elicited by the Sacred Seduction at the Andromeda Biodome made even the great guru himself shiver slightly at times.
Immersing himself with Fletcher Munsin Intimately, and with every fragment of everything that was occurring at the Biodome of Andromeda, the great, most heedful, mindful mystic continued to maintain his High Concentration on it all, keeping his sharply developed Wise Mind focused fully and simultaneously upon three things: the experience, as his Shadow, Fletcher Munsin, of the Act being committed to him by Mother Magdalena; that was one. The wellbeing of his Shadow, Fletcher Munsin; that was two. And the third thing was to maintain the upkeep of a thoroughly Lucid Vision of the High-density intricacies of the complex sound and light patterns of the particular Mandala he had brought forth as Light Symbol Codes to aid his breaths to make the other two connections possible.
Although challenging even for the Great Godhed, his part in all of this had been transpiring relatively well, the High thoughts of the old man helping to keep Fletcher Munsin willing to believe in himself and able to endure the most Passionate, most necessary sanctified exploit that would be required of the guru’s destined sacrificial counterpart.
And then, becoming lost momentarily in the whole general feel of High Suffering brought on by this High Sacrament, Al Rodnam, Seeing steadfastly through his Shadow’s Eyes, suddenly received an incredibly Lucid, particularly bright Vision of Fletcher Munsin’s face reflected back at him most ghastly and gruesome, flashing predominantly inside his Mind’s Eye with dire, greatly annunciated articulations. And slowly the pain started to be felt by the Godhed as well, although to a much lesser degree. Al Rodnam flinched only slightly then. What was wrong? he thought.
The old man slowly came to realize that the Mother had perfectly pierced her Holy Scepter straight through his Shadow’s skull and directly into his Third Eye.
After dispelling the Wicked Intent meant for his Shadow to crumble over, Al Rodnam quickly channeled those Evil images he then saw through his Shadow’s Three Eyes into milder emotions he felt Fletcher Munsin could tolerate. The Last Godhed smiled then, promptly astral-projecting a Vision of his own Face with that smile into Fletcher Munsin’s Third Eye to reassure him.
This would help Fletcher Munsin to just barely endure the worst of what was still to come from the Mother’s most persuasive mistreatment.
Al Rodnam was already mulling over the tricky task he had planned immediately following the Mother’s sadistic Sacred Seduction. He knew that the time was fast approaching for him to finally depart from his Sacred South Pole Homeland of Immortal Earth and advance through the stargate at the bottom of his peaceful little lake, down within the cool waters of which noble Nammu had been staying. This would teleport the mystic to the lush, ever-thriving domain of Amrita’s Immortal Inner Earth Underworld, depositing him at the very bottom of the mystical lake that Magdalena and her High sisters would visit exactly every twenty-eight days to rejuvenate their essences. From there, Al Rodnam planned to then travel a short ways to the portal entry that would transport him back to the edge of the dusky Bry Dellows upon present-time spoiling Fucked-Earth.
And finally, the last Godhed knew that he must then make it, however he could, through the abandoned sludge-scattered, trash-ridden radioactive ruins of a Fucked-Earth on the brink, high-tailing it as fast as he could all the way to the mystical pond of which the original Aqueous Transmission had taken place more than a few decades prior, in due course to be taking place again.
R i g h t t h e r e , s t r a i g h t I n t o t h e m y s t e r i o u s d e p t h s o f t h e m y s t i c a l p o n d , w a s t h e a c t u a l L a s t G o d h e d ’ s F i n a l D e s t i n a t i o n . -MIKE EYE ☆ ☆
From the pages of MIKE EYE‘s
THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION.
Story snippet #1 from Episode Four, Chapter 15.
SOMEWHERE JUST INSIDE THE ANDROMEDA GALAXY, THERE HOVERED A massive, silver-white structure that had Once-upon-a-time been Divinely locked into place, forged out of cosmic ectoplasm, and fixed with walls of platinum-sheathed titanium alloy. It had long ago been assembled supersonically by a fusion of flittering feminism on most High, during the final dark decade of a chronic Kali Yuga: the culmination of one of Earth’s never-ending End-times.
This exact location would soon prove to be a most momentous one.
The due time was almost here. It would be just days until the release of Fletcher Munsin’s almighty atomic seed into the doomed planet-womb surface of digital wastelands and indigenous atrocities all fed by Fem-dom.
Upon the surface of an Earth now so close to death and destruction, amongst the deformed, uncivilized indigenous female tribes, a new sacred assembly of female spirit was finally about to commence as the natural cycles of time would come to coalesce with a most critical epiphany had by the Head Hankerhawks of Bry Dellows to soon bring about the Fifth World which would spawn from the constellation of Aquarius.
It was a passage of the sacred message delivered by noble Nammu of Europa that would and had set the tables in motion for this.
The time for the Mother’s sacred seduction was nigh, as was the proceeding time for her misadventures in outerspace with Amrita and the corpse of Fletcher Munsin.
Twelve elite, courageous Hankerhawks of the most pious dominion were now finally able to combine with a Wicked thirteenth power, the one notoriously known as Mother Magdalena, to convert into One compelling collective that would combust into a large concentration of the brightest, albeit, frozen, light.
This super-powerful, ultra-high frequency gathering of elite Hawks materialized the very moment a little European creature named Nammu entered Earth’s domain. The chief tribeswomen would remain oblivious to the full scale of events currently developing.
Assuming the contour of a fully illuminated Metatron’s Cube, the glowing orb of light comprising the thirteen Wicked women set celestial sail, gathering together the willpower to try traveling along the mangled psychelectromagnetic waves of a dying Earth. But with this New Light, this Higher Consciousness activation triggered by the deliverance of noble Nammu of Europa, the glowing orb-cube was able to traverse swiftly and easily over the spread of geological expanse like never before as it envisioned its own presence beyond the conditioned singular stance of the more simplified separate Sister, and so coming to catch a Hallowed Vision of the near future.
The orb-cube of women projected its Consciousness throughout the entire Higher dimensional field while consequently and simultaneously fueling a burning intuitive aspiration, as a new hot whole, to determine the exact whereabouts of the last remaining Godhed; they felt the Divine right time for the sacred seduction was nigh. According to present Insight, orb-cube navigator Magdalena was now certain that by this point there was only one man left, and he would be the One.
The next instance was thoroughly unexpected by the Head Hawks of the Cube: the High Light of their select configuration abruptly found itself detached from the planet’s gridlines, flinging off of them promptly to be shot into deep-space. Meanwhile, more and more Loombugs upon Fucked-Earth’s surface began behaving even more maliciously than usual, tactlessly inciting scuffles with one another, comets shooting through the sky above. As a number of all-out senseless brawls began breaking out among the Loombugs down below, the orb-cube of elite sisters continued to follow its revered course which was suddenly taking a new direction away from Fucked-Earth.
Cruising at light-speed through the Milky Way, the shimmering orb-cube of High sisters received a psychic transmission that brought collectively into its conjoined consciousness the personally encoded, and Earthly aligned multidimensional, inner schematics of the Human/Earth Templar Template. It manifested as Enlightenment on an etheric plane of existence, with a single, sudden bio-neurological flash of a mysterious still-image Symbol Code shocking the all-white Angelic Soul Fibers of the Damned that sewed together the unholy Hankerhawk orb-cube union that was Mother Magdalena’s Cube of the all-encompassing Metatron. This image flashed in the Mother’s conscious memory repeatedly as she cruised toward the edge of the galaxy at lightspeed with her sisters. Although not yet able to take the stargate route to the neighboring galaxy of the Milky Way, the orb-cube of High sisters all simultaneously were still able to gain awareness that, nevertheless, it was Andromeda that would indeed be their immediate destination.
Upon this most dour Eleventh Hour, the illustrious Unholy Cube of Metatron came to be lulled enigmatically toward the nearby galaxy fast, fully concentrated within itself, and growing increasingly aware of the current epoch’s status. The mighty Hawk amalgamation intuitively sensed an all-too picturesque, ultra-melodramatic climax in the loom.
Contemplating to its conjoined self as it fluttered on its way, the orb-cube recognized the True Emotive Source from which the lure beckoned; the orb-cube came to see that it was indeed riding on a path that hailed from a most strangely familiar sanctity of superiority, calling upon it now to a specific location that would trigger within the Mother’s Metatronic Consciousness specifically an incredibly important Insight that would undoubtedly assist it in remembering something very special and prudent to this juncture.
The mysterious lull the orb-cube of Hawk sisters was responding to was in fact orchestrated by the power of an aquatic duo that had Once formed a pact that would allow the mighty counterintuitive force of Metatron to nevertheless continue existing forever. The pact was mandated by none other than the almighty Lachrylon. The One member involved in the pact was that watchful humble entity currently stationed in a synchronized jungle location, at the very bottom of the warmed South Pole of Immortal Earth, focused in deep thought inside a cool pool that separated a small, gentle flowing stream. The other One humble entity involved was, of course, the brilliant mystic Al Rodnam — the actual Last Godhed on Fucked-Earth, and an Avatar most significant in this tale Eye tell.
The orb-cube of Thirteen strong shot through the sky like an overcooked meteorite, being tugged closer and closer to that far-out linked location, entangled within the harmonized interstellar current that led the way to Andromeda, metaphysically re-searing its track freshly into the morphogenetic code of Metatron all the while, recalling more crucial End-Times instructions vital to the Mother’s Divine Plan now Cumming into existence.
Approaching the inside of this neighboring galaxy, the orb-cube now came to a halt as it befell the magnificent outpost before it, instantly identifiable to it as the sacred safe-haven it had individually — but as a collective — built during a place before time. It was an outerspace biodome that had been supposedly originally constructed with the purpose of functioning as a transitional location for the human race, or even a temporary holding chamber for humans, perhaps, until, either it was safe for the race to return to some post-apocalyptic future-Earth they Knew was inevitable, or someone had found a better, more suitable place to live and would be willing to welcome others into the new community.
Because Earth always had dire times such as the End-times now transpiring.
Wreaking with a melancholy reminiscence before the biodome, the illuminated entity now also somberly recalled how, no matter how hard it had tried, it just simply could not find any possible way to replicate an Earthly ecosystem and maintain a balanced homeostasis within this dome of Andromeda. Not even one single plant was able to be grown inside it during experiments, even with employment of the extremely Highly advanced technologies the Hawks had received from their totally loving giant-dolphin counterparts from Sirius B.
The problem with the biodome was, the sisters now finally plainly realized for the first time, was that the Hankerhawks of Earth hadn’t been Tantrically Bio-engineered with the Wisdom to see that Earth technologies were meant exclusively for, and functioned only within, the psychic, geo-electromagnetic conditions of the planet and its inhabitants. Even the most potent consciously-directed work of the Soul of a Master Templar Initiate who had genetic bonds to the original organic arrangement of the creation of the Earth wouldn’t be able to make any Earthly grain or vegetable grow inside the biodome, simply because it was a biodome, and a biodome in another galaxy, and not Earth. It had Once become apparent that the human race, no matter what condition its biology had evolved into, was not yet ready to exist anywhere that wasn’t its familiar third rock from the Sun. And it wasn’t until now that the elite Hawk sisters of the orb-cube now altogether came to remember this important fact.
The mighty amalgamation of the Head Hankerhawks absorbed the all-powerful energies from this archaic, listless embodiment of their prehistoric Soul Creation until its collective consciousness finally came to realize why and how each of its counterparts had currently gelled, so coming to find the very reason for why it had ventured out to the cusp of Andromeda at this very particular moment in time.
There had been an Emergence.
Hovering beside the dome, the glowing orb-cube became fully Enlightened as it finally retained the real purpose of this structure, which couldn’t be recognized until this very moment right now: this site was to be the Hallowed grounds for the contemptible Conception of Mandorla.
It was subsequent to this intense experience of Enlightenment received by the innocent Observation of the Andromeda Biodome by the Head Hawks that the conjoined Thirteen elite sisters were able to consider the hunt for the Last Godhed under a completely New Light and High Guidance. Equipped with this new flash of Insight, the glowing orb-cube hastily shot back toward Earth with renewed excitement as the sisters altogether now Knew something very crucial they hadn’t previously.
The Cube of Metatron coasted through the cosmos, this time leaving in its wake a star-dusted trail that constellated its candescence with shimmers of the High Wisdom that had just been acquired.
This time, the shimmering figure knew exactly where it was going.
Yes, the Mother and her elite Hawks writhed around in ecstasy inside the orb-cube as they shot back toward Earth, having become fully aware of exactly where the Last Godhed remained.
At long last!
This time, the Hawks wouldn’t even need to give any effort to locate him.
-BY MIKE EYE