Tag: quantum mechanics
☆ 30. Snake-Rita Reveals to Magdalena her Newfound Access to a One High Telepathic Archaic Wisdom Kollective
from The Aqueous Transmission by MIKE EYE
Episode VI. / Chapter 30
MOTHER MAGDALENA AWOKE AT SUNRISE, TOOK A PISS, THEN WENT to go find Al Rodnam for some Water. Since the company’s arrival at Bry Dellows, the old guru tended to wonder off quite a bit during unexpected times, and so there wasn’t any expectation for the man to implement any sort of routine into his daily doings.
The woman took pensive heed of the sprawling landscape before her that was so littered with scores of small black scraps of disintegrated wreckage, felt that now-all-too-familiar feeling of abandonment as she strode onward. This sprawling new environment was, however, a great deal easier for her to bare all-in-all, the Mother thought to herself, when weighed against the hindrance of all the huge piles of charred shit chaotically strewn about every which way as the case had been ever since she had received any divine communion with the inimitable, glorious jasper amulet of Solaria.
She spotted the old man about half a mile away and as she approached the elusive mystic she began to see him mindfully crouched upon the ground next to four long, clean pieces of still-living branches of wood that he was considerately carving small symbols into. Lina straight-away noticed, as implausible as it seemed, that the branches looked recently detached. How can that be? she asked herself. But Magdalena, having recently become accustomed to trusting her Eyes whole-heartedly, was able to shake off any doubt that gripped her as she dumbly accepted the strange Truth she now saw.
“Good Morning,” said the Mother as she approached the seasoned guru.
“Good Morning.” The man, without glancing up at the Mother, spoke those two words quietly, deliberately, the sounds of his low voice touched with a solemn candor.
“What are you doing?” asked Lina in slight wonder. “Wow, those tree branches look alive still! Such smooth surfaces…” The Mother glanced quickly all around her. “Hey, where the Hell did you find any living undergrowth around here?” the woman asked in growing astonishment.
Lina listened to near-dead silence.
“Okayy… can I have some Water?” asked Lina, at Once realizing it would be entirely useless to query any further the old man’s humble undertaking.
Al Rodnam modestly handed Magdalena his vibrantly decked gourd with one hand while continuing to keep his other hand whittling away at one of his four wooden sticks, his Eyes remaining fixed intently on his work before him. The Mother took a hearty swig. She remarked puzzlingly to herself over how there always seemed to be more Water in Al Rodnam’s gourd than it could hold; she had never before seen it empty. And it always seemed to weigh the same.
“We need to talk,” said the Mother abruptly, determinedly with earnest. “It’s been three days since we’ve holed up here, and you haven’t told me at all yet what your plans are. Honestly, I’m a bit frustrated!”
Since they had arrived at the Hollow, the Mother had constantly been thinking about her strange relationship with the old man, what it was exactly that he had been up to since they had gotten there, and how she really didn’t want to have intercourse with him at all in order to commence the procreation. But Solaria’s words would periodically storm into her head, rattling themselves in the mind of the Mother, taunting her, and, after some inner dialogues with her inner self, she so ultimately came to the conclusion that she would sleep with the old man in order to save humanity, as wretched as the idea seemed to her.
“Well, I was thinking we take a lil’ while to get used to the place, you know? Just feel it out for a little bit before we call it Home, and just continue rummaging for supplies and makin’ due best we can.”
“And our ‘procreation?’” suggested the Mother with an elongated cringe.
“That will Cum, yes, it will Cum. When the time is right, my dear.” The man paused briefly from his project, his gaze still latched onto the sticks. “Any particular reason you’re nude?” he asked the Mother curiously.
Lina glanced down at her tribally decorated, tall naked fine body to discover she wasn’t wearing her beloved dress of Solaria’s golden fibers. The woman screamed and momentarily panicked before remembering what snake-Rita had told her the previous evening. Without mentioning another word to the old guru, Lina took off in a sprint back to their campsite to locate snake-Rita, breasts bouncing about in a bounty most blissful. Lucky for her, because of how spread-out the arid terrain was at the Hollow, Lina did not have to worry about, yet again, falling flat on her face, which still remained bruised in several places.
After calling out for snake-Rita once she reached the campsite, it wasn’t long before the little sea-green creature came slinking along eagerly through the dust toward Lina.
“Heyy!” said the Mother earnestly after spotting the serpent, “Rita, what do you know about my powers?? Any more than from when you were a robot?” Lina still found it incredibly awkward to call the snake ‘Rita’.
“My memory from when I was fully mechanical is hazy to non-existent,” said the serpent in its strange low voice, rather robotically. “The fact that I have any recollection whatsoever of my days as a robot is due to my having previously somehow inadvertently singed two distinct, bizarre moments into the morphogenetic imprint of the human race, thereby making them available for recall.” Snake-Rita was as candid as could be, being just as straightforward as robot-Rita. And the snake started talking quite a bit. The Mother had to squat down to be able to completely hear what the serpent was saying, and she noticed its long yellow tongue continually sliding out the front of its mouth as it astonishingly spoke the human language with slight hisses. The serpent’s dark-green scales reflected a glossy purple tincture from the scarlet Harvest Moon that gleamed Heartily up Above with the blistering morning sunrays.
“What distinct moments?” asked the Mother inquisitively.
“Well, first off, I completely remember you, and our friendship, gladly. But as for the distinct moments, as peculiar as it may sound, the only two instances I can recall from being a robot were two occasions where I lapped up the blood from two individuals— a most-disturbing, dying headless male, and a mute, shaggy female infant, the Identities of which both entirely elude me. You see, the reason I remember these two instances, Al Rodnam helped me recall, was not just because I had somehow become Enlightened by somehow ‘tasting’ the Blood, but also because the particular male and particular female were both ‘more human than human’, and connected to each other.”
“What do you mean, Rita?” asked Lina, unconsciously knowing exactly what Amrita meant.
“I mean they were both Divine. And both remarkably similar in what my circuitry decoded as taste, even though each of my experiences were had in a different harmonic universe, and most likely, for all intents and purposes, in a different lifetime or lifetimes altogether.”
Magdalena was silent momentarily, her face flushed with Contemplation as she thought it all over. But then, as a sudden unusual breeze flew by, the Mother so coming to notice how rather erect her rather large nipples had become, the topic of her dress suddenly bore forcefully to the front of priorities for the Mother to handle, and Magdalena so found herself asking the serpent about what it had meant with its strange statement the eve prior.
“Well I had a ‘feeling’ you would be needing a nutritional, protective, high-powering recharge sometime soon,” said the serpent, almost mechanically. “Fortunately, I discovered on my own two nights ago that ever since I’ve been living in this form, I’ve become equipped with a High, arcane knowledge of exactly how and where to enter the hidden space between the third and fourth dimensions, a magnetic repulsion zone that is necessary for the sustainability of all biological life forms existing with this planet. Al Rodnam told me this Ability was embedded in the bio-neurological cellular memory of my serpentine nature.
“The sacred place of rejuvenation of which I speak is within the Hollow. I explored this concealed area for several hours yesterday and am confident you will be able to find sacred energy resilient enough to be compatible with your sanctity. Please follow me.”
Speechless, and way weirded out, her Head momentarily cocking to the side, the weakening Mother continued to follow the small serpent in a slow stony stupor. She was not completely sure she knew what the snake was talking about.
Over barely bulging banks of crispy particles of blackened cluttered rubble they trotted atop, noisily crunching their steps against the steaming Fucked-Earth, Mother Magdalena retaining steady drips of sweat about her knock-out hard body so tall and slender. It was especially sweltering on this day, definitely well above 100˚ Fahrenheit. Exceeding amounts of dusty grey scrap blew in frequent gusts with toxic, steamy, dark fumes through the ominous air, and the hot haze from the heat of the morning was diffusing into the atmosphere with its hallucinogenic sways bending the appearance of space with its hotness. There were occasional piles of ruins scattered here and there throughout the nearby land, but other than that, the surface of the Hollow was bleak, downcast.
The Mother kept on for about twenty minutes behind the sure lead of snake-Rita, coughing here and there from the air so polluted, as she trudged with her heavy boots over the hot surface, astonished that the serpent knew exactly where it was going the whole way there.
And the Mother felt compelled to ask as they sauntered along, “So… your body just feels magnetized right now? Like… its being pulled to the secret spot, is that it?”
“I don’t know, it’s weird to explain,” said Amrita in a strikingly similar manner to that of the mechanical feline voice of its robot form. “I’ve somehow managed to become instantaneously, intimately involved with a High telepathic network of collective Wisdom most archaic, most archaic indeed, Lina.”
“What kind of Wisdom, Rita”
“Wisdom imparted by the Knowledge and mindful engagement of the overlain Earth and Angelic Human organic Templar dimensional-lock systems.”
“You mean to say that Earth has a stargate system?” posed Magdalena.
“Precisely! Or, more accurately, Earth IS a stargate system” stated the serpent slyly with a slight hiss. And just as it said so, Amrita unexpectedly ceased its slinking at a location not at all different in appearance from the rest of the area in the local vicinity; in fact the spot looked just as any other space within the greater part of the whole Hollow.
“Here, at this very location, is where One of the stargates in the system is situated.”
“Right here? I don’t see anything,” affirmed the Mother.
“Yes, right here, it’s not one of the stargates that leads to other galaxies or anywhere else; in fact it leads somewhere very close-by in one sense: right into the center of this here Fucked-Earth, where there exists, flipped inside-out and rotated upwards a half a dimension, a world similar, in One sense, to the depleted surface of this here Fucked-Earth we pass over right now at this very instant… except it’s not destroyed… in fact it’s healthy, super amazingly healthy, its Highly developed governing energies not at all running like the dysfunctional mind projections of the late disgraceful surface-beings that had, over many generations, wired together a totally fucked network, a most grim, damaged subtle structuring that was part of the very root cause of the recent brutal decimation of all living systems on Earth along with the kindling of the excessively massive nuclear explosion to brusquely usher in a new epoch.”
The serpent was agile. “Yes, this special place is far less populated than the surface societies tend to get. You’ll see, it’s lush and thriving tremendously!” The snake paused, a certain vindication reshaping its tone. “But that doesn’t mean a Goddamn thing to me. Being the serpent I now am has definitely intrinsically rendered me viciously opposed whole-heartedly to extravagant expositions of green Earth trees and plants, whether in or out of the planet; the sight of them arouses a sense of nausea most intoxicating to my phantom pituitary.”
“Wow,” said Lina as she pondered it all over. Then abruptly she let out a wail. “…Hey, by the way, those “late disgraceful surface-beings” of whom you spoke were my sisters!! You may not remember who they are, but I do! I lost my whole Sisterhood, my life— just like that!!” The Mother began to break down with rapidly accumulating tear drops that kept dribbling down her sleek face with the keenest sense of loving pain.
And just then, the docile Amrita coiled itself up intently, then released itself, springing up about four feet into the air leaving in its wake vibrant flashes of light chased by glitters of colorful enchantment that conjured forth a subtley sucking vulva-like vortex with a pulsating core that bended the space-time of that small spot on Fucked-Earth into time-space.
“Follow me,” said Amrita coolly before making a giant leap right into the very center of the pulsating vortex and disappearing inside. She left a subtle rainbow in her wake.
The Mother shrugged her shoulders and nonchalantly stepped into the stargate. -MIKE EYE
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☆ 11. The Prophecies of Al Rodnam
Al Rodnam’s Prophecies,
According to [Episode II] of
MIKE EYE’S The Aqueous Transmission, a novel
[chapter ELEVEN]
AGE AFTER AGE, THE MILKY WAY GALAXY, UNDER TOP-SECRET control, became more and more distorted, as more and more incarnated souls caught within it got further and further away from their Origin, ultimately producing mass amnesia and perpetual violence among the masses.
Within the current incarnation of the planet Earth at this time in the story (which, it turns out, is literally a carbon copy of any other time on the planet due to the Curse of Lachrylon and Solaria), there was, as to be expected, an abundance of mostly oblivious life forms upon its surface, appearing in one instance as physical 3-D creatures that had evolved grotesquely defiled due to repetitive incest in tandem with highly fastidious conceptions, the Chosen of these creatures coming to exist with DNA chromosomes that paradoxically exemplified physically feminine and mentally left-brain-dominant traits, exclusively. These human entities, known as the Loombugs, disgraceful yet beloved daughters of the Mother as they so were, had existed together in Synchronization by a Collective Unconscious that sought to seek out its Higher existence chiefly by means of Ritual Bloodpig Feeding Sacrifice as well as the erroneous execution of devious Divinations of Runosophy.
Yes, Runosophy.
Runosophy that was reinforced religiously amongst the Loombugs on a daily and nightly basis by the Bry Dellows Hankerhawks.
There was a wayward star in the Milky Way for every Loombug that lived. This is why they all twinkled. And because of the Darkly vibrating frequencies now infesting the local airwaves of Earth, all of these repulsive, mostly mute creatures would come to all hold within their makeup several latent, non-functional strands of DNA that existed with the capacity to become assembled and activated by their person’s Consciousness through surreptitious Initiations. Unfortunately, approximately only One in twenty-five Loombugs were/was able to do this by understanding and practicing the teachings of the Hankerhawks, which were exemplified only through many personal unique experiences of supposedly sacred and vital tribal rituals in various instances simultaneously. That One rare and aware Loombug would then be ready for her Initiation into Hankerhawk-hood.
Becoming a Hankerhawk meant joining the elite sisterhood of their tribe which functioned exclusively as its own completely separate Collective Unconscious. It came to be synchronized with those unique left-brain-dominant females that were responsible for the presence of each Moon in the Milky Way belonging to a particular planet in a corresponding planetary rotation. Known as the Hankerhawks, these special Earthling-human-hybrid incarnations, each having fatefully inherited a recessive gene, were able to tap into a higher presence than the Loombugs.
Initially all being born into the tribes as Loombugs, the uniquely enhanced innate abilities these select few females were able to exemplify were usually noticed by their elders during the girls’ adolescent years, after which they customarily underwent mystery-school-type initiations to be formerly inducted into the Hankerhawk circles.
This rare, ferocious High Union devoted itself, not just to basic procreation, which it found essential, but also to the deliberate parasitic methods of a seek-and-destroy ideology, targeting the rare individual mystical male forces that would eventually each come to lay scattered separately upon the Earth, loaded with energy, shrouded in mystery. These peculiar tendencies were directly influenced by the cynical deeds of the extragalactic alien entities bent on Milky Way dominion and exploitation.
Each of the targeted elusory, sanctified mystics the Hankerhawks would come to hunt down — those beings known as the Godheds — were among the few fortunate wholly right-brain-dominant males who had felt an innate urge, and possessed a rare skill, not only to be able to appear physically upon the Earth, but to be able to escape their Mothers at a very young age, and succeeded in doing so, each able to corrode conformity by defying their ‘presumed destiny’ of becoming a Gilded Grunt.
Eventually, a few generations around the circle, it would become the Hankerhawks’ prime goal to seek out these Godheds, each of whom lived his own private life in blissful Solitude, somewhere on or in One version of Earth, and completely isolated from other human-hybrid creatures, aligning with his very own planet in the galaxy.
Hundreds of generations since the Tribal Regenesis rounded the cycle of trapped time, locked into a perfect artificially programmed precession, the doomed planet Earth spun and spun and spun on a severely warped, tilted axis. Toward climax of a full galactic precession of Dark, deceptive times which had Cum to dominate Forever, there would Cum to exist only One remaining Godhed nowhere to be found.
Practically since the inception of the current Age of Pisces, it was known all around that the Hankerhawks were equipped with the natural ability to completely dominate each Godhed, able to cradle them with their compelling Dark Light after they would craftily lure them into their trap, coming to utilize their own unique, precise formulas of Tracking they trained with, if only this could be executed. The major setback presented to these Hunters was that they were seemingly never able to accomplish this charge, the Godheds always keeping themselves exceptionally well-hidden, sometimes even (presenting themselves) as entirely invisible to the vicious women Hunters.
Capturing a Godhed would come to be each elite Hankerhawk’s prime goal of fulfilling their legendary, Divine Purpose of Existence.
Each Black Hole that appeared in the galaxy was a prototype for a corresponding Gilded Grunt upon Planet Earth, each of these despicable grunts being one of an unfortunate, exclusively right-brain-dominant male being who had been born gravely mentally retarded and disfigured, and lacking any sort of brilliance whatsoever. As part of what would become ritual sacrifice for the dominating women on Earth, as well as what would become an effort to control the population by means of the most extreme kind of gender selection, it would become customary in the civilization during the Age of Aquarius for a Hankerhawk to slaughter all males born into their tribe. But this would be, of course, after the Hawks would have harvested enough grunts for the jobs that needed to be done for the community, jobs that, if left untaken would not allow for a sustainable culture, as fucked-up and familiar a culture it may turn out to be.
As told in this tale, it would be during the first few generations of the new era that the most dominant Hankerhawk tribe half-alive on a post-apocalyptic Fucked-Earth would come to ceremonially castrate their tantrically-conceived newborn male “grunts” at birth, thus rendering them “gilded,” soon to be sent off on their lowly ways to then live lives of harsh enslavement.
It would be merely a few hundred years of generations along the path of the Aquatic Age henceforth, indeed in the course of its most vexing, ever-re-spawning End-Times, that the Mother and her twelve closest would be at the apex of their clandestine Hunt for the Last Godhed, Al Rodnam. Just as Al Rodnam always prophesized. And, yes, in systematic retaliation of how “the women” treated “the man” in this abject incarnation of a most fucked Planet Earth, the elusive Al Rodnam would ultimately be able to cunningly employ a method of mayhem to abruptly rip down the Earth’s terminal, sacrificing a part of himself up in the most ultimate way to the greater good for the sole purpose of keeping his Soul linked to Love, while mindfully procreating with purpose and vast foresight.
It was his vow to Lachrylon.
At long last, but covertly during a very specific moment chosen by the last remaining Godhed — in truth a precise moment in time arbitrary to anyone else alive at the time — it would indeed be the shady, attractive and youthful half of Al Rodnam who would finally be willing to submit to the taunts of Solaria’s essence, inevitably finding them excruciatingly insatiable. Yes, Al Rodnam, the very last Godhed to survive, would come to make Godamn sure that he, through his Shadow, Fletcher Munsin, would forcefully release his personally enhanced atomic seed into the womb of the Mother in order to finally bring down the perpetual Blood-Red Full Moon brought about by the despicable Mandorla, and thus likewise the whole of the land that the Mother and her top sisters sought to sow along with their mindless freaks of nature, the Loombugs and their lovable pets, the Blood Pigs.
It would soon be time for Fletcher Munsin to subconsciously summon the subtle, sacred sperm with his steady psyche, and fuse it together in space with ethereal partiki of the most widespread proportions. He would need to focalize this overpowering formula of supercharged nucleic acid and adrenaline to his Muladhara chakra, receiving full confirmation that his elixir of prominent fixture would not only reluctantly fuck the Mother, but relentlessly fuck her over.
The man was fully aware that with this striking shot of his Sanctified Seed into the Mother at that Divine Moment, made aware to him by noble Nammu of Europa, he was Sacrificing his Soul in exchange for the Conception of Mandorla.
Yes, it would be the wretched, morbidly disfigured Mandorla who would undoubtedly eternally continue to call upon the wizened, bushy-bearded deep-space voyager in order to save herself in the future.
At any rate, this Divine Act would bring the great guru Al Rodnam’s reincarnated self about Once again, nonetheless. For the next age. And the next. Except, each time slightly more enhanced than the previous time, having solely been able to Ascend his Soul during the apocalyptic annihilation and desecration that the fission of his Shadow Fletcher Munsin would no-doubt trigger to bring about downright destitution within the indigenous communities that would be destined to all ‘Cum to a Head’ on a specific future date calculated by an old guru by his mindful application of a simple, fixed algorithmic formula he had devised in his Head. The exponentially increasing stupidity rate among the tribes’ social structure that would fastly follow, despite all of Mother Magdalena’s “attempts to ‘keep things in line’,” would be guaranteed to be damn Damned Evermore.
Another of the old man’s prophecies.
In a flash of Divinity, an atomic ball of light emanating from the Moon would be shot toward the Earth like a fiery asteroid with immense amounts of kinetic energy. And, just as it hit the surface of the Earth to ignite a vast Apocalypse, nearly all of the entire galaxy’s supply of starlight would instantaneously burnout; every black hole would collapse unto itself. At the very end, the only radiance that would remain not to be observed by anyone from the surface of the Earth would be that of the Sun, and of a blood-stained Fucked-Earth’s Moon, which would then promptly be reset in time-space in order to allow for the exact same thing to occur for the following age trapped within this cynical cycle of terror.
Every time from now on, during this very last moment at the end of the epoch, the same intense, massive explosion would come to rattle the very center of the Earth. And as a mushroom cloud the size of eternity then everlastingly bellowed up from the entire circumference of the planet always directly following this fission, always gradually gaining the very same volume and Darkness each time as it would come to expand up-and-outward, the same huge fragments of terrain always blowing off the planet’s surface in several medium-sized colossal chunks as the Last Godhed to live on Earth Once again just barely dodged the destiny of combusting itself into the hyperspace of the Dark, deep cosmos for the interim. -MIKE EYE
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☆ 37. Al Rodnam Prepares For His Ultimate Challenge
Al Rodnam Prepares for his Ultimate Challenge
EPISODE IX. / Chapter 37
of MIKE EYE’S The Aqueous Transmission
AL RODNAM HAD BEEN FOREWARNED BY LACHRYLON THAT THE mystical pond of the Aqueous Transmission would be hovering transoptically in mid-air over the scorched grounds of Fucked-Earth. Lachrylon would be expecting the punctual Deliverance of the old man to be completely submerged within the mystical pond before it was to completely fastly evaporate. Yes, that very Grail-point of the mystical pond of the Aqueous Transmission had reappeared sometime a while back, and it was only to remain for a short while longer before it was to again rapidly reduce in size, completely drying up like it Once had, and Once will do again, up into the air to disappear until the next Aqueous Transmission.
The exact moment the pond was to commence fastly evaporating would be the exact moment Mother Magdalena would prophetically read the vulgar, hallowed Words inscribed upon the surface of Fletcher Munsin’s extracted, gory pancreas, having just received a most revelatory, most obscure epiphany during a strange dream had by her just prior, as she lay sleeping on her bed in her little bedroom at the back of her silver space-pod, the craft all but lost in an oblivious hyperspace magnetic repulsion zone, navigating on a replay, auto-piloting itself to a spiral algorithm factored from patterns of the Golden Mean Rectangle.
Al Rodnam Knew he had to act as quickly as possible, very soon. He braced himself. His thoughts raced as some of his concentration through and beside the Eyes of his Shadow parted from the Sacred Seduction. The mystic knew that he was obliged to now quickly undertake a most essential charge from Lachrylon in order to keep Mother Magdalena Alive and at a great distance from the dangerous Earth during the imminent, full-on widespread obliteration of all things existing upon the surface of the condemned planet, the ferocious displacement and scarring erosion of huge portions of its landmasses to instantly overthrow all traces of life thereon.
Momentarily parting some of his projected personification from Fletcher Munsin, the mystic then cast a portion of his countenance Inside the Mind of One of the Gilded Grunts at the other end of the biodome who was in the process of reaping a crop of the revered Space-Grain needed for the corrupted survival of the Bry Dellows Bloodpigs. Inside the Gilded Grunt’s mind, the guru announced to him three things: who it was that was initiating contact, disclosure of the small favor he wanted him to carry out, and just how important it would be for everyone and everything, everywhere that the Grunt accomplish what was instructed of him. Now. And fast.
With a sharp sense of urgency, the Last Godhed implored upon the Chosen Gilded Grunt to stealthily sneak into the Mother’s silvery space-pod while the most momentous sanctified act was still being committed, tip-toe past the silvery Hankerhawks within to the ship’s control panel with the visual aid of a lil’ Lachrylonic subtleties, and slyly proceed to quickly gain access to the ship’s navigation controls, quickly inputting a renewed course of travel for the little space ship to then follow when it was to be started up again, sneakily replacing what the Mother had already programmed into the ship’s computer as the impending place for the Hawks to go — Earth — with an updated new destination, set to next fly the High Sisters, instead, to this certain, specific planet within the certain, specific galaxy given to the Grunt by Al Rodnam.
The old man felt assured that this little covert, crucial act to be carried out by the little Gilded Grunt would keep the Mother far, far away from an Earth that was about to be destroyed. Now all that was left for the mystic to relie upon was hope. A hope that by the time the Mother and her Twelve closest had reached their faraway cleverly altered destination, he will have safely reached the mystical pond upon Fucked-Earth where the Aqueous Transmission had taken place. Because he knew that Once Mother Magdalena realized that she had been tricked and that someone or something had changed the programmed destination of her ship, it would be then that the Mother would undergo a personal time-continuum shift, sparked to an Awakening in her pod from her dark and disturbing dream of Mandorla’s impossible bright Moon-less, Red-less atmosphere, the sick and psychedelic rapid bodily transmutations of her Loombug sisters, and their subsequent strange and intimate manner of bestowing upon the Mother the Key to her survival. And the key to the survival of all the Mother’s plenteous, pitiful sisters.
The old man knew that if he was unable to reach the mystical pond of the Aqueous Transmission by the time the Mother and her High Hawks had entered the atmosphere of their altered destination, the pond will have completely dried up, having vanished into thin air, preventing his access through and into it, a passage of which was absolutely necessary for the Last Godhed to Enter Into.
He Knew, too, that if he could not make it to the mystical pond in time, he would be hopelessly trapped on Fucked-Earth and tragically perish in the necessary, fast approaching nuclear blast and meltdown of the entire planet. Magdalena would never reawaken from her Nightmare. The New Age of Aquarius would never come to pass. And Mother Magdalena would disastrously miscarry, the Aqueous Transmission never able to occur.
Everything and everyone would disappear forever with no trace of anyone or anything ever having existed.
* * *
TEN MINUTES AFTER THE LAST STRAW OF THE BRUTAL MILKING OF Fletcher Munsin at the Andromeda Biodome, the Last Godhed was still in total tune to the holding of his Shadow from his secured location upon Immortal Earth’s tropical, Enchanted South Pole Homeland. He was waiting for the moment the Hankerhawks first saw it — the sacred, subtle emergence of a sign of the first waverly Space-Grain. This would undoubtedly confirm the prompt forthcoming of the First living organism that was ever able to be Grown within the ever-strategically-placed platinum-sheathed titanium alloy-encased deep-space Biodome of Andromeda. And Al Rodnam knew this was so.
A Hawk noticed the dark swirl upon the freshly germinated grounds of the dome and spoke up in pointed exclamation.
Al Rodnam immediately initiated personal, physical evacuation of his most beloved South Pole Homeland.
The old man had a plan.
He was hoping to leave this place via the gentle pond beside where he had been mindfully holding the form of his Shadow, to go pass through into the luscious, thriving Inner Earth realm of Amrita’s Underworld. Next, he would hastily break for the nearby portal that would then deliver him to the surface of the hastily decaying, disastrous mayhem of Fucked-Earth. He would do so — in Live, full effect — before the Mother and her Hawks departed from the Andromeda Biodome. He would have to.
But wait! Just before making an ungraceful nose-dive into that calm pond beside his still spot of Personal Contemplation — which was also the very pond Nammu of Europa had originally emerged into, and from where the little dolphin still slowly swam about peacefully — Al Rodnam was sure not to forget his magical Staff of Lachrylon that was Mindfully inscribed with Synchronously-arranged Rune carvings. These carvings had Once been scrawled with the most excellent workmanship by the old man himself upon the perpetually gleaming surface of the smooth hickory-wood. The old man had ultimately fashioned the Staff of Lachrylon by magically conjoining the First Four Rune Sticks that had been his nom de plume since his very founding of Bry Dellows with the Mother and her pet. Al Rodnam had used the Staff mostly for physical support along epic treks he would from time-to-time make over the Ruins of Fucked-Earth. But sometimes he would use the Staff for other things — other things more mystical Shall it be Told.
See, the Last Godhed Knew that Once he made it to the surface of Fucked-Earth, the Staff of Lachrylon would help guide him to the elusive pond of the Aqueous Transmission, just as the stone amulet of Solaria had help guide Mother Magdalena to the very same place. It was through this pond he must pass. Lachrylon had told him that it would be so. -MIKE EYE
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☆ 28. Double-Fisted Tricks from the Mystik Depicted with Sadistik Bitch Fits 👽
Double-Fisted Tricks from the Mystik Depicted with Sadistik Bitch Fits 👽
[Story Snippet 17 for DARKESOTERIKA.KOM]
>>>>Episode V.
From MIKE EYE‘S The Aqueous Transmission, a novel.
Chapter 28.<<<<
PRECISELY SIXTEEN OF THESE LONGER DAYS LATER — AN AMOUNT OF time effectually perceived by only the old guru — the all-powerful Mother Magdalena, Amrita the cat-bot, and the enchanted Al Rodnam had come upon a salty shore. They had stopped to rest here and there all along the way, sleeping upon junky sand-like dunes or the softest patches of dirt they could find, which weren’t very soft at all. Magdalena was starting to get used to crashing on hard surfaces; Al Rodnam was quite accustomed to it. He hardly even noticed. Amrita would stop to curl up next to Magdalena during these times and enter sleep-mode, its electric power-core set to magnetically charge through the shifted mantles of Gaia’s inner crust, receiving fuel from the Earth planet’s Iron Crystal Core, just as the Mother’s Holy Scepter did. Lina’s golden dress kept her from dying off due to lack of sustenance, and Al Rodnam had been long accustomed to incredibly prolonged periods of fasting. When the humans needed to drink, Al Rodnam made Water materialize out of thin air into a magical gourd he kept on him at all times.
The trio halted now at the edge of the salty shore.Expanding his view through the hairy Head-wrap, out and over the span of distant waters as far as all his Eyes could see, the old man spoke up for the first time in days. “This is the ocean,” uttered the man deeply, quietly.
“I can see that,” said the Mother.
“Quite apparent,” agreed the android.
The man continued. “It is a body of Water filling up a much, much smaller surface area than it did before the sacred detonation.”
There was a pause.
“It is the only One that endures,” he muttered with a distant sense of uncertainty.
“What— you mean that there’s only one ocean on the planet now?” asked Lina.
Al Rodnam slowly turned his wrapped, bearded face toward the inquiring Mother, his robe and end-pieces of his long, tied hair ruffling in the sea breeze.
He gave a slight nod.
“Dear Mother,” he said patiently, considerately, “the world is now over ninety percent land. How you deal with this fact will determine how much hydration our new family will require. Our bodies are drying up, my Mother.”
Magdalena shot a shocked face toward the old man, unsure of what to say, hurt inside.
“Speaking of which…” the man added, “I must replenish.”
And with that, Al Rodnam morphed into a giant blue, blubbery dolphin and hovered slightly in mid-air momentarily, Mandorla’s umbilical necklace still hanging around his shiny neck. And, instead of swimming away into the ocean, Al Rodnam then swam straight up and away through the sky toward outerspace, flapping his fin gingerly as if the Air were Water.
Lina and Rita looked on at the figure speedily swimming up into the heavens, the woman with a sense of astonishment, the android with a manner of misunderstanding, and, within a few seconds, the dolphin-shaped old man from Sirius B transmuted into a twinkling star-bright photon sphere, drifted a ways through the cosmos, and with One enormous flash across the sky, blasted at light-speed into deep-space.
Before fully processing what had just occurred, Amrita figured this a pertinent juncture to fill the Mother in on what it determined she needed to know.
It spoke frantically. “Lina, I have been programmed to tell you that this old man is trouble for sure!” it said. “I think he has something to do with the apocalypse and all this disaster among us! He knows Fletcher Munsin!! … And, truth be told, you actually did hear what he said when he came out of that mysterious pond! You weren’t aware of it at the time, dear, but I had the whole incident recorded digitally into my hard drive. And I played it back for you! He put you into a trance again to make you forget what I showed you!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down Rita! What the Hell are you talking about?” The Mother had her Eyes squinted, shifting her head slightly to and fro. “Fletcher Munsin? He knows Fletcher Munsin?”
“I think he knows a lot of things, Lina.”
The Mother was so confused. “Okay, all I remember from back when I gave birth to Mandorla was that she didn’t make it, she was a stillborn, so I released her into that pond. It was an act of intuition. I’m still Heartbroken over all this, so don’t give me a hard time!!”
There was a pause.
Then Magdalena started to choke up slightly before she went on to say: “Next thing I knew, that old man just showed up outta nowhere and claimed he knew where there was civilization. So we followed, and the rest is history.” She was sniffling.
“No! Lina, you are mistaken! He put a spell on you!! Mandorla did make it! She transformed somehow into the old man with what Lachrylon called the Aqueous Transmission!! And what the old man actually did tell you was that you two were the only human beings left on Fucked-Earth! And that you must procreate with One another to resurrect humanity! You don’t remember any of that?”
The Mother stared at her pet in disbelief and frustration. “Rita, are you sure you’re not malfunctioning?!”
But before Amrita could reply, Al Rodnam suddenly appeared back next to the two figures in human form without warning and proceeded to snatch up the little robot, somehow unscrewing the bolts at the robot’s throat-piece and tail-piece concurrently, busting the machine open.
Al Rodnam swiftly reached inside the cold metallic canister and ripped out Amrita’s power-core, and the android abruptly shutdown. With the power-core in his right hand and the android in the other, he wound up his left hand and launched Amrita’s ‘body’ into the cold, extra-salty shores of this now Fucked-Earth. Lina had been uneasy, and now she broke.
“What the Hell are you doing??! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”
The woman lunged at the short old man, bringing him to the ground fast. She wrapped two grips around the old man’s throat and proceeded to wring his neck. The man just lay there taking it, appearing neither bothered nor harmed.
“What the FUCK?!” shouted the Mother repeatedly in rage, slamming the man’s Head into the rough, dusty land again and again and again and again and again and again.
But before the Mother could do major damage, the old man suddenly vanished and Lina found herself clenching nothing.
* * *
IT WASN’T ‘TIL LATER THAT NIGHT THAT AL RODNAM RETURNED TO the eminent countenance of Mother Magdalena, who, at the time, was nuzzled scratchy and sore over a dusted mound of choppy inorganic dune grains and caught amongst radioactive residue wafting wearily through sandy dust storm gusts rushing around her lifeless body.
The woman was woken up instantly, shaken abruptly by shrill tone and sharp flash. For a few seconds, as Lina lifted her Head and glanced nearby to where much of the light had projected itself, the high-pitched tone was increasing in resonance and decibels, and Lina saw holographic images of Al Rodnam in large dolphin form quickly flicker into and out of the light in scalar static patterns of Wicked cadence coalescing. The light was getting brighter and had a long, perfectly straight vibrant trail disappearing up into the sky toward the brightest star in it.
A few more seconds later, just before Magdalena thought her eardrums and Eyeballs were going to pop out, the intense sound and light instantly shut out and there stood Al Rodnam, who had mostly transformed into human form, now appearing semi-etheric and glowing vividly around the edges.
The old man remained in shadow, concealed within his dark robes, and veiled beneath his hairy head-wrap and long scraggly beard. A slight smile was spread over his face.
The Mother instantly rose to her feet.
“YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER!!” she cried and lunged at the old man but she just fell right through his phantom guise head over heels into the hard ground.
Al Rodnam remained completely unflinched, still wearing that slight smile. His ghostly form became lighter and completely vanished before Lina could scramble to her feet.
She arose in a rage, stumbling about, rearranging her gaze all around to try and locate Al Rodnam.
“Where the fuck did you go you little motherfucker?!!”
After a few brief moments, the man spoke with a deep reverberating echo seeming to come from all directions at Once.
“Dear Mother,” spoke Al Rodnam mysteriously, “Do not be upset with me. I needed to do what had been done. But don’t fret. I will bring back your little friend at Once if you be patient with me. Do not assume so much misery.”
After a short while, Al Rodnam reappeared before Mother Magdalena, still ghostlike and glowing. The Mother glared right at the old man with aggravation, a slight smile once again cracking over the only part of his face she could see. Around his neck still was Mandorla’s umbilical cord and it had somehow become completely clean. His Eyes were beady and bulging on the inner side of his hair-wrap, but the Mother could not see this. He reached out his right hand High, extending an open palm skyward.
The old man remained perfectly still. “This,” he said as a sudden beam of bright light from the heavens at once zapped an object into his outstretched hand, “is Amrita’s power-core.” Magdalena’s Eyes instantly widened. “I’ve been doing a little work on it.”
And without uttering another word, Al Rodnam promptly untied Mandorla’s umbilical cord from around his neck with his left hand, his other hand still outstretched with Amrita’s power-core in it. Then he held out the cord taut as he, amazingly, swiftly struck the power-core directly into it. It made a loud ‘smack’ as a big blue electrical current laced with blinding sparkles of stardust jolted over the newfound fusion phenomenon.
Before Magdalena could say anything, she briskly came to notice that Al Rodnam had somehow magically embedded the power-core into the umbilical cord, and the whole thing was squirming about, shimmering fiercely with bright, white light, having activated somehow, and writhing fro like some rodent. The Mother stared on in amazement as she witnessed the bizarre core-in-cord amalgamation steadily metamorphose into a feisty, quivering, sea-green serpent that abruptly slithered off the man’s hands, down onto the dusty desert ground. Al Rodnam continued to be completely still.
Her mouth having dropped wide open, Lina stood staring at the serpent slithering over the ground, astounded at first but then quickly becoming frightened. She scurried back a few yards.
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” spoke the mystical Al Rodnam. “It’s Amrita.”
Magdalena’s Eyes practically bulged out of her head as the little snake slithered over to her sturdy leather boots. Lina’s legs quivered slightly as she delved into her curiosity, not too frightened, somehow having gained some confidence in Al Rodnam due to this incredible feat he had just exhibited.
The snake wrapped itself around the Mother’s left boot and glared up at her with its little beady Eyes which were now glowing brightly. It hissed, sticking its tiny tongue out with quick quivers. Then it spoke suddenly in the English language.
“Lina!” spoke the serpent slowly in a low, coarse voice that was laced with hissing sounds. “You’re beautiful. I love you.” -MIKE EYE 👽
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![[KON-TEMP’S FLOWS] – Exhibit A.](https://mike33eye.files.wordpress.com/2016/11/full2021.jpg?w=526&h=396&crop=1)
[KON-TEMP’S FLOWS] – Exhibit A.
[KON-TEMP’S FLOWS] – Exhibit A.
I’ve been keepin’ my head up since shit’s been going down
How else do you think I’d be still up kickin’ / pumpin’ these thumpin’ flood sounds
That sicken the meek / this blood’s spilled by a pound
Of shit times that have passed / left to spherically drown
Diffused down and gone / I’m not confused when I hit the bong
‘Cause I am gettin’ elevated / searching for revelations to spawn
Images of this evolutionary inspiration
Fuck this Prozac Nation bleeding its death through TV stations!
I’ve seen hatred & unfairness in many different locations
But I’m still savoring tastes of experience juices with mad patience
I embrace it with elation / melodic invasion chaotic
Keepin’ it erotic with my raw hits comin’ correct with hard shit that I spit
Don’t ever wanna quit / still gettin’ lit / I’m beat
Tryin’ to get myself across to you like the attempt to traverse a busy street
Rehearse with the beat & I’ll get the verse sweet
Immersed in heat / breakin’ the worst off with discreet shit that speaks to you
Through you I express the mess that’s straight-up;
A few pockets of words gathered traveling through the vehicle
That is spherically lyrical / theories that render miracles fearless
Hear this: I come together like opposites that attract one another
Through facts of other motherfuckers undercover / discovering that they’re lovers
So complex & complete / I defeat foes
Who try to step with incomplete flows / I delete thoseThey’re off like manic depressant antics from a frantic schizophrenic panicking
This is Mind Trip 101,
Unpack your baggage here & enter fear without trying to manage it…Then play along with this fantasy / don’t ever plan to be
Anything other than pawns on a chessboard
We all live in a stress ward / I confess more with my shit
Spewin’ sicker spits than a depressed whore. -MIKE EYE ⊙
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☆ 7. INCENDIARY AJNA OF A ONE MAGDALENA TO IGNITE HIGH PSYCHIC UNION WITH SOLARIA
STORY SNIPPET #2 EXCERPTED FROM
THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION BY
MIKE EYE
…FROM EPISODE ONE / CHAPTER 7…
MAGDALENA CAME THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE ON HER BELLY, crawling amongst the most horrendous fragments of carnage and corrosion imaginable. Rebirthed into a sheer devilish disorder of pure mayhem, the woman found herself atop a steep mound of large clumps of cement, overturned dead-maggot-infested dry soil, and broken glass shards, all smeared with blood and soot. She stammered to her feet waywardly, placing palms to knees, hunching over, panting heavily within the dome helmet locked about her head, sweat dripping from her face onto the curved glass of it inside. She raised her head up to look at the heavens above.
It was pitch-black out with not a single star to be seen in an abysmal sky.
And directly above her was the proverbial Moon of Earth, glimmering softly, blanketing the wrecked planet with a gentle, lustrous mist, the only remaining luminary visible. Lina could sense the forlornness of the Moon, connecting with its desire to mingle in the night sky with its smaller celestial sisters as it had Once done.
But, alas, it remained all by its lonesome.
Total devastation encircled the tense Lina for as far as she could see, and toxic grey and black fumes were wafting around everywhere, with pieces of thin, wispy seared fragments caught in the mix. Biohazard poisons spoiled the air. Fierce, massive fire pits lay burning Wholeheartedly in countless numbers at every direction she turned. It was a dismal display of despair that stretched on and on.
Grim as Fuck.
Examining the hot surface up close, she could see more tiny dark swirls drifting outward from a hot surface of the fucked Earth. Lina was completely devastated by all she sensed around and within her, but she somehow, oddly enough, felt united with it in a very depressing way. And as if she wasn’t already wrought with the highest degree of turmoil, she then noticed the bottom of her dress on fire.
Intuitively, without thinking twice, she dropped, tumbling down a treacherous hill of ruins.
At the bottom of a pile of wreckage, in total disarray, she once again found herself upon the ground. She kicked her feet around impulsively to put out the last of the flames and then paused, trying to gain composure.
She breathed in, out.
Tremendously aggravated, she lay there on her belly, cursing aloud. There were only first-degree burns she would have to sustain, possibly some second-degree ones. Lina could feel the fiery heat upon the surface of the baked Earth. She was covered with a great deal of blackened sludge and grunge. She tried going to her happy place again, and eventually, with great effort, was able to return to outerspace to watch herself dance, but still found herself alone. And try as she might to bring forth other friendly, familiar entities into her Mind’s Eye, they just would not come.
Lina felt that familiar opposing force she loved to hate creeping up on her, attempting to taint her essence and prevent her from reaching the vastest of her imagination. She looked down at her dress to notice how thoroughly dull and null it had become. Her spirits dampened.
It would seem that Magdalena had given all of her loving to the ground lately, as she continuously found herself down upon it and back again.
A bruised, miserable Magdalena wearily pushed herself up, dusted herself off, and again looked around, trembling despite herself. In the Moonlit darkness, she could see piles and piles of wrecked mortar, broken cement structures, and pieces of bricks and wood, completely destroyed, all coated with a dark, slimy, shadowy substance. She dared not imagine the types of foul odors that were wafting through the air beyond her helmet. Nor the powerfully activated energies of intense radiation poisoning the spoiled atmosphere. The detonation of the mighty, most momentous sperm-bomb of Fletcher Munsin had no doubt hit within the past hour, the woman surmised.
Noxious gases of a sick symphony plumed up from the hot surface of Earth’s black opera, dancing to a Damned discord with the thick rhythm section of a murky sky, whirling around with effervescent particles of filth fiddles, adding their high-pitched staccato shrills to the overly melodramatic, but oh-so-empty theatrics. Blood and oil and other various expedient liquids seemed spread out over the surface of everything. Unidentifiable junk was scattered everywhere. Lina saw deep craters blown into the surface of what had Once been the Earth, dared not look into them. No structures remained standing; no trees nor any other life-forms were still existing. Death and decay had seized everything.
As far as she could remember, Mother Magdalena had never seen anything like this before.
As soon as her Heart-rate decreased a bit, the Mother paused to contemplate her updated predicament. Where was she to go? What was she to do? Why was she even to have any desire of living in a post-apocalyptic world of such sheer devastation? ”Because your purpose is to procreate prolifically, no matter what!!” she answered her question aloud, remembering what Solaria had demanded of her. She had done a rather good job at that, she thought, up until the fission had fortunately finally finished off the family circle of the fatherland.
”And who am I to mate with now?” she asked herself aloud, at Once feeling very sexually aroused. She looked around in despair at the desecrated land. “I may as well be dead myself. I have no hope in this world of chaos,” she said to herself with utmost seriousness, her wide Eyes blank. “I cannot imagine any survivors to be wandering this Damned Earth.”
She caught sight of her trusty scepter sticking out from beneath the rubble, picked it up. She began using it as a walking stick as she strode wearily away from the crash sight. After a few steps, she looked behind, saw her dilapidated smoking spacecraft smashed into the blackened Earth. She felt gratified thinking about her ship’s special walls and force-field, and how they had just prevented her from becoming virtually vaporized in the flash of an instant.
She managed to wean out a half-grin, but it was a nervous half-grin.
The front-end of the ship was buried beneath the ruins, appearing as if it had made a direct nose-dive, smashing full-force into the devastated planet. It was a disturbing sight to behold, and Lina for some reason felt that there must be some special explanation for her having survived the crash. Wincing as a pulse of pain flared up through her head-wound, Magdalena continued to question her purpose in the renewed world. A thickening dark smoke was drifting upward from the downed craft, and she could see a fierce, hungry blaze overtaking the greater part of it.
”Wow, I made it out just in time,” she thought to herself.
Turning her back to the blazing wreckage, she trudged aimlessly through the dark slimy gook of her dead land with a heavy sigh. She started to feel severely depressed.
After having trudged through the ruins for about fifty yards, she heard a loud explosion behind her. She turned around to see her destroyed spaceship engulfed in flames, which had just ignited a combustion as it had come in contact with the ship’s fuel supply tank. She stood and watched as the flames grew thicker and thicker, the dense black mushroom puffs they produced bellowing upward, dispersing with the morbid exhaust in the sickened sky to create a sinister smog of gloom that offered the Mother a swoon.
Magdalena stared through the dome around her head at the menacing blaze flaring upward, her Eyes bulging. She felt a forceful urge to immerse her vision within the fire, its flickering flames reflecting themselves over her glassy Eyes as she glared at it in a trance.
“Thank you,” she murmured faintly.
Then, the Mother felt forced to focus her glance to the center of the largest of the beckoning flames which was bluish-white and brilliant and at the heart of the wreckage. She instantly felt a powerful connection with it. And abruptly, the dread Lina had been feeling instantly turned to bliss, and she looked on in wonder. She felt as if she were hallucinating, but she knew she wasn’t. At least she didn’t think she was.
The flames possessed her and she became One with them.
Her consciousness now spiraling inside an enchanting void, Magdalena could feel the bluish-white naval of the flame communicating with her. Through her Eyes, it spoke to her in the language of infernal malice. And through her slashed forehead it shot a heavy stream of radiance, un-tapping a supreme, archaic, psychic knowledge.
”MOTHER MAGDALENA!” it spoke out, not with words, but with a voice of pulsating, psychoactive, telepathic illumination. Her spirit was directly locked onto the center of the flame, embracing its offerings.
”IT IS I, SOLARIA,” it proclaimed with pulsing pumps of energy. “DO NOT FORGET! YOUR PURPOSE IS TO PROCREATE PROLIFICALLY, NO MATTER WHAT!!
“YES! PROCREATE! [-DISDAINFUL SOLARIZED CHUCKLES-] BRING FORTH A MORBID MYRIAD OF DOOMED DRONES, COUNTLESS BASTARDS OF FRUITLESS FLESH WITH HEARTS THAT BEAT IN VAIN, TO EXPERIENCE PAIN IN THIS WORLD OF HATE! THAT IS WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT!” The hot essence of Solaria fiercely emitted its version of menacing laughter.
Fixed in an endless reverie, a blank expression on her face, Magdalena’s Ajna chakra had become fully stimulated, and blood now gushed outward from the gash in her forehead, bursting through the bandaging, squirting all over the inside of her helmet’s transparent dome, completely obstructing her view with a crimson flush. Proving that she could not be disconnected in any way from the almighty nexus now communicating with her, the triple optics of the Mother then pierced through the ruby veil of her helmet’s dome with activated brainwaves of eternal intent, physically parting the obstructing splattered blood outward from three small, perfectly rounded areas of the blood-soaked dome around her Head, correlating to her three beams of vision.
Magdalena continued to listen to Solaria, staring, all-Eyes, directly into the depths of the inferno.
”You will find ways,” it went on. “Your encounter with the essence of Lachrylon has proved worthy, Mother,” it conveyed to the woman through it’s dark naval. Solaria was now being fed with Mother Magdalena’s commanding brainwaves of eternal intent as it supplied its powerful lifeblood to the flickering flames that were now blazing with intense fury.
”Look inside yourself. You will find life there,” it went on. “It is to thrive by any means necessary. It is to mutate. It is to replicate. It is to mingle. It is to suffer.”
Fully aware now of her own Wickedness, Magdalena now raised her arms to the smutty air and unleashed a most Evil cackle. With her Eyes and Head-wound throbbing immensely, the Mother now embraced her physical pain with an uncanny dose of delight as she entreated upon the twilight of the heavens.
”Take this pendant of infinite life,” announced Solaria. A miniature searing meteorite cometed out from the Vesica Piscis of the forceful flame, blowing through some wreckage upon Earth’s surface as it clanked against some debris in the distance. “Keep it close, and you will always have the ability to receive a worthless seed from a worthless man in a worthless land… and with an incomparable potent pleasure, I may add.
Magdalena grinned.
“Also, take this special shield of Pure Luminance. It will prevent any chance of your body withering away.” A blob of pulsating photons emanated from the naval of the flame and dripped itself down like some liquid light beside the pendent.
“Remember, Magdalena, you are to extend your physical branch outward, allowing more branches to grow off of it, bringing about a pitiful family tree of prosperous life with no meaning, sprouting pitiful human creatures to live pitiful, worthless lives! I will henceforth forward all siphoned-off sacred energy gained to Polaris. It is the proper way of living life on Earth! Ensure by any means that the female leaves are fertilized. You are to bring forth as much physical life as you can, periodically slaughtering male beings in Sacrifice to ME. Believe in yourself, as I believe in you, Mother, because I have felt all that you have created before. I know what you are capable of.”
The Mother stood fixed in a deep daze, acknowledging every self-styled word that this fierce, compelling Force was conveying to her most matter-of-factly.
It went on:
”This time, attempt to increase the worldly population to higher than it has ever been before. But do not forget this, Mother Magdalena: YOU ARE NOT IMMORTAL…
A pause.
“You will not see me again for a long while, Mother.”
Another pause.
“I HEREBY GRANT YOU YOUR SEASONAL REBIRTH AND ONCE AGAIN ANOINT YOU ‘MOTHER MAGDALENA,’ THE ETERNAL HEART IN THE BODY OF ALL HUMAN BEINGS. NOW FUCK OFF!”
Then, mysteriously, defying the very nature of nature, the blazing fire began to swiftly shrink, smaller and smaller, until it was again a tiny flickering flame. And then, before Lina’s very Eyes, as all three of them still remained fixed onto the flame’s bright, blue-tinged naval, the mighty fire impossibly collapsed unto itself, the last of the smoke dissipating above where Solaria had been smoldering Its sanctity.
Lina’s little silvery space-pod had completely disappeared.
And then, just for a moment, just for One undying instance in space-time, a wash of fourth-dimensional dark light intensely drowned out everything, promptly flashing a blank whiteness so pure, it blinded Magdalena’s Third Eye permanently.
Within this secret Samhadi, this unchanging moment in time-space, which only seemed to last for a fraction of a second, the woman remembered something about her Spirit that was so fundamental and obvious that she became disappointed in, and embarrassed with, herself for ever forgetting it: she again realized that she had never before been a baby, that her essence was habitually renewed in the manner of this Ajna-smearing by the almighty Solaria, just for this moment right now. The activation of this almighty “At-One-ment” never failed to indicate to her the realization that she had Once again finally fulfilled her purpose for existing in the human form, and it always marked a powerful transition through and into a new age.
The Mother glared down at her flat belly and placed her left hand upon it, remembering there was no belly button there. She felt special, but also recognized the fact that she was, alas, a mere mortal, and had to be extra careful that she wouldn’t get herself killed. She realized also that she, herself, was in fact her own Mother, and, just as the rife Moon, persisted powerfully and with just as much personal solitude as an illuminated satellite of a greater entity that was itself an illuminated satellite of a greater entity that was itself an illuminated satellite of a greater entity, all entities of which were Once One.
The Mother peered up at the Moon most solemnly, and upon Sight of it, collapsed Headfirst into a deep slumber. -MIKE EYE 
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☆ 3. “PRYING OPEN MY THIRD EYE”
PRYING OPEN MY 3RD EYE from THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION by MIKE EYE
[chapter THREE]__________________________________
THE VERY NEXT MOMENT, OR SO IT SEEMED, MAGDALENA FOUND herself toward the rear end of the space-pod, her back to the floor, gazing upward through a softening fuzz, her mind in total disarray.
She was mostly numb.
And then a gripping, Intense pain slowly started to take ahold of her.
She slowly realized that she was Awakening from having been knocked unconscious, for how long she hadn’t the foggiest idea. Befuddled beyond belief, Lina immediately assumed that heavy turbulence must have shaken the craft viciously through the elements, tossing her fiercely about the cabin.
Slowly gaining awareness that she was now in the midst of the aftermath of an extremely dangerous event, Lina realized that a great deal of her body was awfully sore. In a slight panic, she wriggled her body around to check and see if it functioned properly. She checked for any broken bones and came to find her body fully intact. She could not find any serious wounds. None of her appendages were severed. With a quick sigh of relief, she rejoiced at the realization that she had no chance of going into shock due to rapid blood loss, and that she would thus be able to use her lithe limbs for flaunts of seduction in the future.
That was the first thought that came to her.
She still felt a great deal of pain, though, she noticed. And that was when the woman suddenly became aware of the deep gash right in the middle of her forehead.
Bewildered, Lina attempted to ignore the aches she felt all over her body and rotated to her belly, placing her palms onto the floor, trying to see if she could prop herself up to a kneeling position. She winced from her minor bruises. Slowly coming to her knees, her body trembling, she struggled to inhale a much-needed deep breath.
The woman shuddered a tad, her long, dark-brown hair dangling down in a mess over her face, as she remained for a moment on all fours, taking in some breaths of air. Nauseous, dazed, and with pain continuing to mount, she stared down to see blood dripping from her forehead, through her hair, and onto the floor. Reaching up to touch the center of her Forehead, she felt a moist gash excreting her vital fluids at a medium pace.
Realizing then that she may in fact not be fully aware of the severity of her Head injury, a sharp panicky sensation instantly returned to a greatly agitated Lina. In an effort to get to the first-aid kit in the bathroom, she pushed herself up as quickly as she could. Arising unsteadily in grief, with one hand clutching her forehead, she struggled with her attempts to remain calm. Sobbing in aggravation, she applied as much pressure as she could to the cranial gash with her right palm as she stumbled into the bathroom to fetch some gauze from the first-aid kit, blood and tears streaming down her face.
”Fuck!” she thought as she looked into the mirror to see her face covered in her emotive bodily fluids. She noticed Amrita sitting on the floor staring up at her.
”So much blood!” the thing said calmly as it rubbed up against the woman’s thighs, mechanically purring tenderly.
It took a great deal of effort and time to reduce the blood flow from her particularly serious head wound. After cleaning and dressing it, the woman staggered back to the flight deck to take a seat at the cockpit. The wound was pretty bad, sure to leave a deep scar, she thought, and it brought a fair amount of pain with it. But Lina, remembering how she had overcome major struggles in the past, felt she could get through this disturbing incident mostly unscathed.
Now seated at the cockpit, the woman frustratingly pushed the button to throw back the shutters to be greeted by, as a total shock, a mayhem of toxic blood-spattered sludge strewn with detached body parts and soiled articles unrecognizable, all heaped together, and pressed up against the glass dash.
Upon sight of this horrific spectacle, Lina had leapt back involuntarily, as an instinctive impulse, recklessly toppling backwards, Headfirst back down onto the floor.
Feeling that familiar opposing force condemning her, but with heightened intensity now, Magdalena let out a loud, agonizing cry as she laid there, her back to the floor once again.
”LACHRYLON!” she shouted, raising her fists in the air with rage. “I CAST CURSES UPON YOU, LACHRYLON!”
Then she softly muttered some sweet nothings into the air.
But Nothing happened.
Or, at least nothing seemed to happen.
There was no longer any doubt whatsoever in the woman’s mad mind that she wasn’t directly a target of quite the impractical joke. And although she had grown accustomed to seeing plenty of gore in her time, the sheer magnitude of it all directly before her Eyes now greatly disturbed her.
Her ship, she noticed now quite obviously, was definitely no longer soaring through the sky. She realized now that it must’ve been the coarse quakes of her craft plummeting toward a scorched Earth that had sent her tumbling to the floor, knocking her unconscious, causing her head wound. Back to the floor once more, her body aching immensely, a confounded Lina propped up on her elbows and lifted her head slightly to look at the grotesque scene through the glass dash.
She couldn’t quite seem to be able to get over how incredibly disturbed she was by it.
A very tense Lina then realized she hadn’t taken a breath for about a full minute, too distracted being traumatized out of her mind.
Shuddering now, and taking in One full, deep breath with compulsory quivers, the woman felt somewhat pleased she was at least able to survive this crash-landing. Looking around at the reasonably disorderly cabin, she noticed that the protective force-field of the space-pod must’ve prevented the total obliteration of it. In total amazement, Lina Once again did not notice any life-threatening injuries. She struggled to come to her feet and then stumbled back toward the seat at the flight deck. She pounded on the button repeatedly with her fist to try and close the bay window’s flaps, but nothing happened. It was jammed.
”Oh, you have got to be fucking KIDDING ME!!” Lina shrieked.
Then trying to calm herself a bit, the woman covered her Eyes with her right hand. She could no longer bear looking at the disaster she had crashed into. And it reeked with a most putrid stench. But within minutes, she felt compelled for some reason to take another peek.
Slightly parting her middle finger from her ring finger, Lina innocently took a quick gander at the wreckage, gasped, and then closed her fingers tightly back around her Eyes.
She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but during that brief glance, she had just barely made out a disfigured corpse’s bloodied face pressed up against the crystal glass dash amongst the rubble, its forehead containing a bulging Third Eye, its identity blotted out by ominous sediments smeared into its withering skin.
But its Three Eyes had been clearly visible and were all wide opened, somehow appearing to glare in more ways than three, directly at the battered Magdalena.
The Mother was utterly unnerved.
Then she completely lost her cool as she let out a wail and proceeded to pound the button with her left fist repeatedly, trying to see if the ship’s dash could shut, as if the shutter could somehow become unstuck due to the increased force with which she was banging the button.
”CLOSE, GOD DAMMIT!” Lina screamed out whole-heartedly, her body throbbing in agony, still covering her Eyes with her right hand, her slashed, wrapped forehead pulsating vigorously.
She paused for a second as she heard a few sudden, jarring taps on the glass. Startled, she felt compelled to see what had caused the noise, although she really, really didn’t want to.
Removing her hand slowly from her Eyes, a spell then befell her, and she could look nowhere else except straight ahead, into the three Eyes of the mangled face that was but One object amongst the littered disheveled fragments on the other side of the dash; it was those disturbing three beady Eyes that stuck out above the rest of the rubble, seeming to peer right through the glass, straight at the woman.
Magdalena did not see a body attached to this Head. She noticed, right at the part of the ship’s glass dash that the head’s Third Eye seemed to stare through, a tiny triangular crack. And then, encircling the crack, more parts of the window began chipping in inlays of triangles of various positions, forming a tessellation of perfectly fractured triangles in the glass.
Lina gasped.
Then around those triangular chips in the glass came more triangular chips. Bedazzled, and in great fear, Magdalena watched as more and more cracks of perfectly-formed triangles were being made in the glass, always around the previous cracks, radiating outward from the original crack, beside the Third Eye in the Forehead of the mangled face that eerily gaped at her. This was a haunting spectacle that sent bone-tingling shivers up Lina’s spine.
Freaking out now in full-force, and fearing that the dash may shatter, Lina turned around and hobbled in torment as fast as her bruised body could bring her, toward her small bedroom at the back of the craft.
She tripped, falling on her wounds, cursed aloud.
Getting back up, she raced rapidly to her bedroom door. She frantically pressed the button on the wall to part the two midway panels of the horizontally sliding door, burst in, and banged on the lock button on the other side as the silvery door panels clamped together and sealed shut.
NEXT: WHAT THE F☆@# HAPPENS TO MAGDALENA AS THE F*@%-ING SILVERY DOOR PANELS CLAMPED TOGETHER AND SEALED SHUT!!!??? CHECK BACK TO DARKESOTERIKA.COM TO FUCKING FIND OUT!!!! -MIKE EYE ☆
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☆ 20. Lina Gloats; Al Rodnam Evokes.
Lina Gloats; Al Rodnam Evokes
…from MIKE EYE’S The Aqueous Transmission, a novel.
Episode IV. / Chapter 20
AS THE RECENTLY RENDERED LIMP AMPUTEE FLETCHER MUNSIN WAS making history while lying in the deepest kind of trance state that flirted with the borders of Bardo, a Holy Scepter protruding from his Forehead, the Mother was crouched down by his side, unbelievably fulfilled, and feeling a most vibrant, most amazing, exotic sensation of being the Highest she’d ever been.
In ecstasy, Mother Magdalena boar the grandest smile upon her face.
Content with herself, she got up and waddled leisurely toward her space pod, copping a feel of her moist vagina lips under her dress – which was glowing brighter than ever — that still had some of Fletcher Munsin’s mystical cum trickling out of it. She pulled her hand from under her dress, smelled it, then licked some of the bloody cum off.
She smirked.
She was so satisfied.
A biting blare of excitement suddenly burst from the Mother’s throat with a lingering hiccup that, at the same time, felt to her awkwardly like a gag gathering at the back of her gullet. Lina paused in her tracks. And for the moment, she would remain distracted, unable to find herself lost in another moment of pure content.
Her aura glittering extremely brightly, Lina walked up the silver steps and into her ship, greeting her sisters inside with a wide smile. They all rushed over to touch the omnipotent Mother mistress of Hallowed Malice, and were all beaming, smiles and Eyes wide.
There was a great deal of inquiry posed to the Mother over details of the Evil Lay. As was custom, it was Forbidden by Solaria for any of the Mother’s Twelve closest to behold her committing the sanctimonious seduction.
Lina chit-chatted with her sisters in the pod briefly now that the critical accomplishment had been committed. She discussed in detail the sick sex specifics. Then they all decided to go back outside to the comatose Fletcher Munsin.
As the silvery seductresses jaunted about and celebrated gaily, one of them caught sight of a curious little blackish curvy swirl of fume that was drifting off the soggy ground beside Fletcher Munsin. Like a calm visual whisper of living death!!!
“Hey, look,” Lina spoke out enthusiastically, pointing eagerly at it. “I think we’ve got something here, ladies.”
The women snapped to attention, almost too eager to lock sights with the most pertinently anticipated enigma upon which they had been entreating proverbially. The one who had just noticed the swirl took a few steps back, cocked her head to the side. “Look, there’s more!” she exclaimed and glanced over at the Mother. The women all crowded around the twirly black energies that were beside the barely breathing Fletcher Munsin.
Magdalena gasped. And, then that familiarly foreign keen sense of excitement hastily returned to her forcefully as several more of the Dark Swirls appeared subtley about, all encircling Fletcher Munsin. The girls had been Thunderstruck.
“Wow! That’s proof, right?” asked another Hawk to Lina.
“Yes, definitely,” replied the Mother with a couple of quick nods. “I was hoping to see this.”
A wide smile spread over her face. Her Eyes were beaming. “These jet-black fumes are without a doubt proof that I’ve successfully Fertilized the Soil of the Andromeda Biodome!” she stated cheerfully. Then she added “This must mean I’m pregnant now…”
Lina shot forth an annoying-looking adolescent grin toward her sisters with a nippy upward glance as she literally and figuratively patted herself on her back with the hand of overdramatic melodrama. A wholly, Unholy feminine ambiance of gasps broke out.
One of the Hawks asked the Mother “So this means it’s here, right? Already?”
“It’s gotta be,” said Lina, glancing hurriedly about. “It grows extremely fast. Girls, look around for it.”
The girls instantly scrambled about, trying to see if they could find any sign of live growth sprouting out from the biodome’s archaic, mindful Soil that was spread out in all directions around them amid a slowly appearing, twinkling, phosphorescent Hive Mind Network of all the robot-like human male outcast slave drones who would reap this vital Andromedan sustenance so Cumming to flourish disdainfully, the Grunts charged to paradoxically sustain a dying, sad-excuse-for-a-Fucked-Planet-Earth.
“Here it is!” shouted a Hawk. They all rushed over.
In the spot where the proud Hawk pointed was a tiny seedling that had just sprouted. As prophesized, this suckling of greenery was the very first and very mystical ‘Space-Grain’ ever to bud within the Biodome of Andromeda. It was a most peculiar, essential crop that, it would eventually become apparent, was the only organism ever able to be bred within the Andromeda Biodome, and in a most curious manner it would obviously Cum to seem.
The Dark Space-Grain would continue to Grow all throughout the entire dome’s cheesy park landscapes – which was mostly littered with the dirty Tools of the Gilded Grunts — and would soon prove to be elemental in the Lives of All Beings on Planet Earth, for All Time, perpetually preserving and perverting a most perverse Curse already arriving to subvert their Earth’s turf.
* * *
BACK UPON THE QUAINT GRASSY SURFACE OF AN OVERLAIN VERSION of the Earth existing outside any Time Continuum, in a concealed part of it most peaceful and everlasting, amid the secluded tropical continent of the Immortal South Pole Homeland, sat the mystical Al Rodnam.
This area was currently the Last Place on any existing prototype of our Earth Planet that still had any form of vegetation growing. Predictably, and with persistence, the old man was now preserving his peaceful posture, perpetuating his pose perfectly as he remained poised in the position of the lofty lotus in profound Contemplation all during the ultimate sanctified ritual of this most contemptuous Conception of Mandorla.
The gently flowing crystal-clear stream not far off from where Al Rodnam remained motionless poured softly into and out of the small peaceful pond nearby.
For most of that day the mystic had been keeping a watchful Mind’s Eye upon his inverse manifestation, the hapless Fletcher Munsin who, as he was slowly dying, was now undergoing a Human Life Initiation and mass Seeding of species.
Now able to fully come to terms with the fact that Earth Genesis was presently Rebirthing itself into action, the old man couldn’t help but remark fantastically upon how it seemed like just yesterday to him that the Earth had found itself in the exact same predicament. It still saddened the guru to bare witness to the desecration throughout most of Planet Earth at this time. It always did. But the wise man also understood that his Guidance was needed the most during these grim times. This is why he had to survive. He always immensely enjoys helping the other angelic people and animals of Earth, so he would always lovingly embrace these final, tender moments. Besides, he had to, no matter what. Afterall, these moments were also a prelude to a newly creative re-spawning of Fucked-Earth, albeit yet another Genesis of morbid Black Death.
Al Rodnam, who took many forms, and was able to be in more than One place at Once — also even simultaneously if he preferred — was of the first tribe originally seeded from the Sirian Space Crystal more than four-hundred-twenty-three-billion years ago in the core of the star Sirius B, where his Bloodline also just so happened to exist simultaneously with more than 7,000 galaxies of different solar systems at varying density levels.
Members of his originally aquatic cetacean tribe Blood Networks who ever desired to have pieces of their Consciousness spawn as dense organisms in the third dimension atop or within any planet were scarce. Most of the exotic Hive Minds descending from his tribe along this current cosmic procession tend to busy themselves functioning as interplanetary Avatars, controlling several star systems concurrently, and take no physical appearance. Ever.
For the past 57,000 years approximately, Al Rodnam had mostly remained in his present physical body, preferring to live in this guise simultaneously on Earth, inside Earth, and inside one of the 8-D planets within the Sirius star system. Just his preferred lifestyle.
Throughout his lifetime, Al Rodnam has traveled throughout tens of thousands of galaxies in various forms, at various times, but presently wishes only to reside in these three places, at various times, usually taking only One of his two preferred forms: the form of a short, four-and-a-half-foot, bald and white humanoid organism, deeply Seasoned. He was always donned in long black robes and kept a long, grey beard three feet long. His belly was pudgy.
The altruistic Mystic had always been drawn to Planet Earth because he Once Fell in Love with the Lush Green of its tropical, enchanted rainforests as well as the exquisite, unique breeds of animals (mostly avian and aquatic) found therein ever since he first arrived on this planet long ago; the land and atmosphere were incredibly attractive, he always thought, and gave off immense amounts of the potent Prana of pure beauty with such crisp Air and Enchantment — and vibrantly so for such a planet, seeing as the planet did in fact function as, at One level, but-a-mostly-physically-distraught 3-D planet of Perpetual Chaos.
The wise old sage also found that most of the animals in the surreal-like forests were rather welcoming to him, anyway, and exemplified such interesting personalities and behaviors that never failed to spark his curiosity. In no time at all, the guru had become comfortable on Earth, and of course still is to this day, and definitely always will be.
The super secret special present moment had the old man focusing on the poor Fletcher Munsin, whose Body and Soul was in the Process of volunteering to be systematically brutalized and permanently sexually scarred by the very sadistic, gorgeous Golden Heart of a supremely powerful Head lady secretly disguised as the Lachrylon Essence, Forever to be sickly locked within the Bodies of all Angelic Human Tribal Females she would soon be personally, most intimately involved with Creating. Al Rodnam sat still in Contemplation as he viewed remotely through all of the man’s hyper-activated Eyes throughout the duration of the necessary sanctified Ritual Act carried out by the Mother, Knowing that his inverse duality had always been meant to protect the Earthly Beings he so thought he loved.
The old Mystic used all of his power and magic to spread out, most wide and far, as much High Liquid Light as he could, using the psychedelic aid of Light Symbol Code-Thought-Vision Meditations to mystically Facilitate his Mindful, Multi-dimensional Interconnectedness. The old guru harnessed the essential cosmic energies necessary to execute this activity most effectually, and did so as far as he could, as wide as he could, as deep as he could.
NEXT: Kwantum Leap. -[MIKE EYE]
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☆ 2. Mother Magdalena: Goddess Material or Material Goddess?
MOTHER MAGDALENA:
GODDESS MATERIAL OR MATERIAL GODDESS?
Episode I. / Chapter 2 of The Aqueous Transmission by Mike Eye
THE WOMAN WAS VERY SLENDER, EXTREMELY ATTRACTIVE. SHE WAS absolutely stunning superficially, perfect-looking now even in her state of distress. She was beyond magnificent, having an incredibly tall, curvy, tight body with smooth, glowing, dark-chocolate skin that was decorated with dedicatory tribal ink of feminine symbols throughout, up her arms and down her back. She had many sizeable stone piercings. Her Eyes were large, alluring glass beads that continuously glowed vigorously. Her hair was exceedingly long, smooth, and dark, flowing well past her wide, slim waistline, bouncing playfully in luscious swirls about her body.
Ceaselessly employing her alluring enigma to her great advantage, the roguish woman was always able to entice any being with a Heart by her beauty. She was always dressed simply, but elegantly, usually in a long, translucent golden dress woven from the brilliant fibers of the almighty Solaria, the vast blazing force that had more than Once anointed her “Mother Magdalena, the eternal Heart in the Body of all Human Beings.” Her special dress, which she most always wore, had been designed to shield the Mother from any airborne toxins or conflicting spirits that would ever attempt to interfere with her self-righteousness.
The woman was traveling with a tiny robot companion that had been engineered to look and behave like a cat. This silvery mechanical pet, which she called Amrita, was now scuffling on the ship’s flight deck below her, uttering gruff meows. Just like a cat, the little robot took a sly, feminine appearance, having quick reflexes and slinky hind legs that could swiftly propel its body upward to whichever higher surface it wished itself upon. Somehow, this small metal canister containing wires and chips was able to elicit affection, as it felt perpetually drawn to the enticing woman and her antics, usually behaving in such ways that exhibited emotional attachment to her. It spoke English. “You’re beautiful. I love you,” the thing would often mutter to the woman, rubbing up against her. And neither the woman, nor anyone or anything else, had specifically programmed the cat-bot to say that.
The space-pod was quite small in all, having the tiny flight deck toward the front end, a tiny storage space on it’s left-hand side, a tiny bathroom on its right side, and a tiny bedroom in the back. The center of the craft was no more than 50 square feet. The ship did not utilize any sort of plumbing system at all. The woman kept a large supply of highly nutritious and sustainable organic food as well as Pure Water in the storage area across from the bathroom. The “bathroom” had only a toilet in it, and a little mirror and medicine cabinet on the wall which contained only a basic first-aid kit. The waste of the person who used the toilet was emptied into a separate air-locked compartment that, upon sealing it’s top with the push of a button, would drop out into space.
All navigation controls built into the ship’s structure were able to be conveniently operated by either the pushes of small buttons, or any such finger manipulations of touch-screen technology. In addition to the highly advanced LCD touch-screen control panel, the ship’s controls included a “real-time” super-satellite UPS—that is, a Universal Positioning System—monitor that continuously updated itself, fully displaying a map of the galaxy it was currently situated in as well as that particular galaxy’s position in relation to adjacent galaxies. These and other controls were fully synchronized with an overblown holographic display overlain upon the entirety of the ship’s front-end.
To program coordinates for a destination, all the woman had to do was touch the part of the panel’s screen where she wanted to go. The rest of the navigation was then carried out by a state-of-the-art robotic engineer that lived inside the forceful walls of the craft, continually providing the craft with an electrically surging impenetrable force-field of Singularity. This special and most powerful barrier had been whole-heartedly Divined exclusively for the almighty Magdalena’s personal space-pod; it was yet another of the esoteric gifts received from the frightful Solaria on most High, and had been purposely materialized out of molten fragments of hardened, golden bullions extracted from the quark gluon plasma particles of the Crab Pulsar neutron star of the Taurus constellation, encasing a platinum-sheathed titanium alloy surface.
The full perimeter of the space-pod, which resembled a giant metallic egg tilted on its side, appeared silvery and smooth from the outside. From within the little craft, however, these walls would appear transparent; that is, they were unable to be seen at all from whomever observed them from the inside. Curiously, it was only the front-end mechanical shutter facing the main control panel that did conceal the exterior view from the pilot, requiring manual operation to release.
The present moment had the woman staring straight ahead, through the enlarged transparent depiction of the UPS monitor, out the crystal glass dash that was cutting through the gusting dark smoke just beyond it, where massive transformations of the Earth’s crust could now be seen by the woman.
She grew tenser. She dropped her sights down to a large box imbedded in the middle of the control panel that had a small sign near the bottom of it that read “Synchronoscope”. Inside was a small black headset.
The “synchronoscope,” also known to the woman as the PRAP-Q.C., an un-witty acronym for “Psychic Radio Assimilator of Perpetual Quantum Cognizance” was the space-pod’s prime feature. This ultra high-tech device, which was basically a physical remote-viewing mechanism, had been engineered to operate harmoniously with the UPS. It implemented a highly advanced zoom-in feature capable of rendering alongside the applied headset perfectly clear digital holographic projections before the face of the wearer of the headset, of multi-dimensional phenomena up to an extraordinary 16410-X magnification.
From anywhere in outerspace, this remarkable “psychoscope” headset, when finely tagged to a target by the wearer, was able to transmit to the wearer the most intimate representations of live cosmological activity in multiple senses. The psychoscope headset utilized, among other functions, an audio-to-light/light-to-audio modulator, and two pyramid-shaped prisms. The pyramidal prisms, when programmed with the psychoscope to be set inside one another, with one pyramidal prism flipped 180° from the other to form a star tetrahedron, would project the focused object with one kind of Merkaba field. When programmed to lay atop each other, with the base of each pyramidal prism meeting in the middle to form an octahedron, the synchronoscope would project the focused object with another kind of Merkaba field. The modulator would then be able to receive the audio or light frequency of any object the psychoscope was “tagged” with, as an initiation of intimate intentional Observation, convert the aligned energy emissions of the object into the desired frequency, and then project the frequency through the prisms. Once energized with the relevant information, the synchronoscope would then be able to provide sudden, subtle Insight into the very nature of the object being Observed, divulging a peculiarly pertinent, totally omnipotent High Wisdom that would explain the particular object’s reason for existing, as well as the very sacred connection the Observer had with the object. Increasing the focus of the device to its max would fully divulge the very nature of the observed object’s makeup, illuminating secret passageways to its intimately linked High network of fluxing potential energy. These “imagination filaments” of the object would reveal its sacred bond to absolutely anything else that may be somehow emotionally entangled with it. The contraption had been easily constructed with three small components several hundred-thousand years ago, within seconds, by one of Bry Dellows’ wretched, wilted outcasts known as the Gilded Grunts.
The PRAP-Q.C. could also be used to control the tagged object in every way possible, if only this function was desired by the controller. But the bold woman, being the wearer of this ship’s synchronoscope, customarily preferred using the handsome device to conjoin her consciousness and bio-neurological system with attractive and nurturing, colorful and complex psychedelic patterns converted from the wavering activated DNA strands of indiscriminate creatures she would so Observe upon indiscriminate planets she felt intuitively drawn to.
She did this to become wiser.
Only Once did the inquisitive woman use this mighty device for another purpose — when she had desired to bond with the cosmic vibration of a targeted Jupiter-being’s tone of harmonic resonance. The intensity of the resulting euphoria she had received from this entreatment had astoundingly assaulted her senses, leaving her forever altered.
Mother Magdalena, or Lina, as her sisters called her, now continued to gaze out the crystal glass dash before her with Tears in her Eyes, flustered as all Hell. Glaring through it in a trance, her face remained blistering as she attempted whole-heartedly to grasp her innermost cowardice and come to terms with it. She shivered as she reluctantly guided the craft toward an even lower elevation.
The ship kept increasing its descent at an accelerated rate and the cabin was starting to get bumpy. Out the window, the woman observed the patterns of dark grey muddling about, and she could only stare like a stone, transfixed at the dark, fluffy formations as they floated faster upward and over the ship.
Lina was extremely nervous. She glanced over at her PRAP-QC.
The dense clouds of smoke the ship had now completely become immersed within turned jet black as the ship continued to descend bit by bit, engulfing the vessel in a hazy death-grip of Wickedness somehow darker than the night sky surrounding it.
Trying to remain calm, focusing her force inward, the woman subconsciously sensed a dark reflection of the heavy smoke in the deep black swirls emanating from her Heart.
Dry dust, not warmth or light, emanated from within it.
Magdalena ignored this sentiment complacently.
She looked down at her chest and could feel her cold heart pulsing profusely. And she placed her hand upon her scornful love muscle, feeling its off-tempo icy pumps; strangely feeling confused, feeling afraid.
Shuddering free from the frightful grip that had fastened her into a stoned stupor, Lina momentarily halted her descent as she now sought to delve even deeper into the center of the congealed cinders that wafted through the center of her unusually heavy Heart. She took in a deep, stable breath, reached for the mighty PRAP-Q.C. headset inside the box on the control panel, put it on, and aligned it with the Earth’s Moon, which was a considerable distance from where she now sat at the cockpit of her space-pod. But no matter.
Focusing the synchronoscope toward the brightly lit Luna, Lina calibrated a precise projection that brought forth a shimmering holographic rendering into and around the psychoscope headset she was wearing. And it resounded avidly in her dark heart with poignant precision.
Lina quivered.
But then she quickly felt brilliantly elated.
She took in a few vital breaths with her abdomen, through her nose, as she glanced with her Mind’s Eye as steadily as she could at the super-sized glowing rocky formations that made up the surface of the Moon, feeling a tremendously potent, stark familiarity all the while.
Feeling many more than the five basic senses, the woman Observed the Lunar radiance at a magnificently High degree, and in many ways simultaneously. The image was so surrealy sharp and precise that it simulated an effect that physically brought the Mother directly to the surface of the Moon, from right inside her spaceship — a bi-location effect the synchronoscope could implement from its tagged object when ‘pushed’ to its limits.
The spectacle Lina was Observing was Immaculate.
The surface of the big, white glowing rock was lucid, but desolate. And somehow extremely enjoyable to her. She could see tiny jet-black swirls drifting outward from the Moon’s surface along with its white radiance, adding some Yun to its Yan.
Increasing the synchronoscope’s focus to its utmost maximum, Magdalena became the Moon.
With this perspective, Lina contemplated her apocalyptic situation from her synchronized astral alignment, feeling an overwhelmingly depressing sensation of despair rising in her that somehow felt all too familiar. Bursting into her Head as One lump of Force, Lina caught a vivid vision of all her sisters perishing a mile below her.
She chose not to look away, and glared uncomfortably into the High Light.
Then, possessed by it, she drove her Head abruptly backwards nearly snapping it clear off her neck in retaliation of the taunting bolts that shocked her ocular cavity, as 144,000 powerful visions of the spirit forms of what she knew as Hankerhawks and Loombugs flooded her neurological pathways with electrified flashes of brilliance.
And she was killing it all in her mind just as soon as she found the visions finding themselves being reborn in their own retaliation against her.
Lina contemplated the fate of her sisters, their blood-filled fleshy bodies instantaneously popping open, squirting out hot cherry juices to coalesce with the pieces of dusty man-made structures whirling with blustery dust throughout the sky. She vividly imagined her sisters’ body parts flying through the atmosphere with pieces of the Earth’s turf, twirling with smoky debris into cyclones of cataclysm. She thought of all the swirling junk that didn’t get burned up in the O-zone layer succumbing to gravity after the explosion, falling back down to a New Earth, a terribly shaken land of Shades and Shadows. She thought of just how much of the planet was still there, and where, if no longer intact, the pieces of it may have drifted.
Magdalena shuddered again most uncomfortably, a sense of Pure Rage building inside her. Her glowing psychic seascape abruptly collapsed to a diminished beam of mental static, slowly shrinking to nothingness, as she disengaged the Assimilator. Lina’s outlook as the Moon had dissipated. Her shoulders were shuddering.
She slammed a button on the control panel with her left fist and the flaps of the giant glass dash slammed shut before her, the magnified digital depiction of the ship’s controls dissipating into flittering fragments of lost linkage.
The gorgeous woman cast her dazzling, damp Eyes downward as she sat there, frustrated beyond stability, reaching her breaking point. She plopped from the edge of her seat down to the bottom of the flight deck floor in mute hysteria, finding herself face-to-face with her beloved mechanical pet, Amrita. Glancing up at her owner, the little robot was sitting, panting with its mechanical tongue falling out of its mouth as its Eyes bulged and it started to whimper. Seeking composure, Lina breathed in One deep, essential breath, exhaled, looked straight at the thing, deadpan.
”Rita. Do you know what has happened, my love?” she asked. “Do you realize what we’re gonna have to do?”
Amrita, back arched and tail erect, brushed its cold metal canister of a body against the traumatized woman, purring robotically, and then came back around to face her. It cocked its tiny head to the side and uttered a mechanical meow.
The android only spoke when it deemed it necessary to do so.
Another sharp shiver up the woman’s spine startled her, and she suddenly felt extremely nauseous.
KEEPING IN MIND THAT THE ANDROID ONLY FUCKING SPOKE WHEN IT DEEMED IT NECESSARY TO DO SO, WHY THE FUCKK (?¿) DOES THE STARTLED SEDUCTRESS SUDDENLY THEN FEEL NAUSEOUS??!! RETURN TO THIS FUCKING PAGE TO FIND OUT!!!! -MIKE EYE
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☆ 14. ETHER EXPANSIVE
The Glorious 13th Entry into Dark Esoterika & the Technosphere, A Curious Insect Forever To Be Caught In The World Wide Web
from THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION, a novel by mike eye
EPISODE III.
Chapter 14.
HAVING JUST BEEN CONJOINED AND LIBERATED, REBIRTHING ITSELF INTO timeless deep-space from the Void just below a very high-octave density level, there existed now a unique cluster of massless potential energy that was receiving a summons, in subtle song, to come help with grave issues relating to Planet Earth of the Milky Way.
The particular cluster of partiki pre-matter of which we follow in this tale, not quite existing yet among countless others everywhere, consisted of three veiled, vacant slots, and it would now be the sole objective of this high Oversoul cluster to opportunely fill these spots with supportive living metaphysical sustenance.
A powerful force of an individually relevant sense of mentorship was the first influential subtle energy to infuse itself into the particular cluster of which we follow, singing itself sullenly into being, providing our cluster with an unbelievably important message. It slowly materialized, wrapping itself around the invisible, young little unlit bulb of energy, forming around its perimeter a compatible morphogenetic field which lightly began cradling it to the tune of righteousness as it began expanding far outward to touch distant ends of space unimagined. This energy of guidance came to occupy the first of the three metaphysical slots in this awakening cluster. It carried with it a special program of intimate direction, rocking the embryonic iota of the orb not yet completely activated, nursing it inherently just as any One of its kind would customarily do to its youthful contents soon after it detached itself from the intergalactic Hollow and departed singly from it.
And as it did this, just as simply as nature existed naturally, the unseen husk of the energy cluster began receiving transmissions of specified frequencies in slight jolts, the important, individualized message of guidance coming to reach the very essence of the husk in visions, consequently causing another power to fill the second vacant slot within it. Coming to reside within this second slot was the ethereal power of which would supply the hidden husk with a very specific willful Intention to desire carrying out its overall destined duty. In time, the little husk was to become gradually more receptive to this newfound High energy, as it would come to recognize that this High message had been sent directly to it, personally.
But not until it was to collaborate with a third, most vital unifying power of pure, white liquid-light. It was only after this collaboration with the liquid-light that the energy cluster was to then become fully whole, allowing the potentially charged, explicit energy brimming from the completed husk to finally be able to reclaim its ultimate true union via quantum flux, so becoming eligible to spawn into an individual system of intergalactic expansion.
It was similar to all other energy husks that subtley idled in potentia, awaiting its own personal guidance, its inner realization of Truth, and its supreme plasmatic ignition: the three necessary activations for a subtle husk to be able to come into itself and become alive with its consciously directed High energy. A completed subtle husk, with its three slots filled, would then not only be able to materialize into matter, but also be able to influence other potential energies through perpetual projections of its own unique astral sound vibrations in conjunction with its own lucid light radiations, both of which would come to project themselves within the widest full-spectrum range of cycles per second, coming to mingle with the zillions of other already energized, full subtle husks throughout galaxies wide and far.
These zillions of similarly conjoined, sentient entities were spread out all over no place in particular, yet present everywhere at Once, perpetually generating concealed patterns of intimate Sacred Geometry and eliciting a most passionate harmonization by means of their interconnectedness. There and far out, countless awakened twinkling husks of Consciousness resonated in deep-space; noble, formless, flowing fragments of individual data programs, fully energized and encoded with their own unique explicit message from some mystifying, flourishing force present throughout galaxies far and wide, their intended commanding High forces overtaking them to synchronically kindle across the cosmos their flashing pulses of sacred data amongst themselves most wonderfully, like serotonin snapping in-between synapses in the brain.
Each subtle husk of electrically fed quantum energy that came to propagate throughout interstellar existence was each individually directed from some separate contacting force heeding from some disclosed location, and each had shed itself free from the Hollows of Intergalactica, the veiled fragments ultimately coming to habitually dance together with invisible yet lucid distinction in pitch Darkness, fluxing vigorously subsequent to the arrival of their three phosphorescent counterparts. All the husks always unendingly honored their channeled mentorships without question, so gaining the ability to eternally spawn themselves into hyperspace intentionally, with great purpose, each cluster forever pulsing with warm quantum information, each heedful always of that unique bond that was meant for it exclusively.
This enigmatic High network of limitless subtle clusters so filled with High energy linked to the Unified Field, and was the very network Mother Magdalena’s mighty “PRAP-Q.C.” synchronoscope synchronized with. But One very specific cluster out of the zillions strewn about galaxies endlessly afar — indeed the very fine husk so vital to this horrific tale of such extreme adversity — was the One that would deliver a most critical message to a certain significant someone special, somewhere extraordinary.
As a ritual art rendered anew Once again, after having received a most potent shock of insight, our subtle spec of three jointly operating energies, the very husk we follow in our story, came to illuminate most vibrantly across the heavens with subtle shades of blue, and was immediately ‘turned on’ to the fact that — now that it had become its specific time to do so — the spec was to forthwith commence resonating vibrantly with perpetual purpose from its clandestine Source. It struck a chord, in chorus, with the notes of its rhythmic willful intent, the notes of reverberation from its interaction with the Unified Field of energy transmitting outward in all directions, and the notes of the melodic force of the Holy resonance it was picking up from its newborn magnetic correlation to an area in the Milky Way not at all distant from the planet Jupiter.
And now, the particular energy cluster that had been called to assist Earth became fully aroused by its thin encasement of fibers, shook a tad. Precisely aligning itself with its purpose, the cluster collided with a fierce glare, awakened from its forgetfulness, and manifested itself accordingly, instantaneously igniting into a pocket of astral radiance that eventually accumulated into an interstellar cloud.
The dark cloud drifted through the cosmos, riding its personal plasma lattice, propelled by the electromagnetic energy of the interstellar radiation field.
Before long, the cloud came to a standstill just above the atmosphere of the mighty Jupiter. Within that vicinity, the interstellar cloud constellated into an exactness, becoming denser as its gas pressure locked into balance with the potential energy of the immense planet’s internal galactic gravitational force.
Over a course of several Jupiter-years, denser and denser pockets of molecular hydrogen developed within the cloud as it gradually transformed into a noticeably bright, colorful stellar nursery destined to give birth to many relevant stars that would occupy the sky around Jupiter for a long, long time.
The molecular hydrogen that formed from the nursery entered Jupiter’s orbit, finding legitimacy through the symbiotic relationships it then made with drifting carbon monoxide molecules therein. It began mingling with the vast clouds of ammonia crystals found throughout the vicinity, the resulting chemical formulations adding force to some of the gas giant’s fierce turbulences.
A very intense, precisely calculated storm was brewing.
No matter how far they spread out, every aspect of the compounds that included the molecular hydrogen from the stellar nursery all functioned as One in the same, all being encoded with the same intention: to help Earth in a very particular manner with a very particular problem at a very particular time, heeding the order from that which beckoned it. This particular network of energetic compounds waited patiently for the interior of the mammoth planet to reach a precise heat level, a level with which the network could perceive as keenly as its binding to it was intuitively obliged.
Magic(k) then occurred precisely as Jupiter’s core reached the appropriate heat level, a critical temperature that just so happened to be the same exact hotness as the center of the apocalyptic Fucked-Earth at that very moment in time, which also turns out to be the precise instance whereupon Fletcher Munsin’s Unholy Cum will finally drop down atop a be-doomed surface of the Earth planet, igniting total disaster.
The intentional weather system of the relevant molecular compounds merged with a nearby gathering of Water clouds to generate a mammoth, exceptionally high-charged bolt of lightening that struck two perfectly analogous positions on both Jupiter and Earth, simultaneously, with both positions geographically proportional to their respective spherical coordinates.
The Conscious Essence of the interstellar cloud that had triggered the interplanetary synchronized electrical strikes was now able to promptly align itself with the luminosity and still aquatics of Jupiter’s moon, Europa.
It remained distillated for an undisclosed amount of time inside the vast ocean within the ultra-smooth lil’ Luna. The Essence was calculating the astral plot points in the Milky Way that mapped out the spiral course from its location inside Europa to a significant position on Earth where it could be extremely valuable in the very near future.
As soon as the proper coordinates had been configured, the concentration of the relevant molecular compounds solidified themselves within the body of a contemplative aquatic Europian that resided therein. It projected itself inside the humble little creature known as Nammu — who looked very much like a shrunken dolphin — and became One with her, instantly awakening her Soul who, it just so happened, had been recently seeking out the significance of its being by entreating upon the vibrant, newly-formed stellar nursery in the sky around Jupiter from whence the molecular compounds had indeed come.
Fulfilled with the Knowledge that revealed the exact direction of her purpose, the enlightened little Europian then rode the spiral to Earth, surfing and splashing against the wavering rift of a celestial ocean. She was drawn by a mysterious force, and she fell upon some intense, incredibly intriguing patterns of stardust and aurorae on her happy little way toward Earth.
When she arrived at her destination, the noble Nammu was disheartened to find herself surrounded by a very small body of water that was much smaller than her Home on Europa. She swam a slight ways to the top of the tiny waterbed and poked her Head out at the surface.
Surrounding the Europian creature above Water was the most vibrant expanse of lush green jungle, a charm of nature the lil’ creature had never before seen. Nammu gawked in amazement at the magnificent display of vigorous plants of all different sizes and textures that were wonderfully arrayed before her, coolly swaying in a light Earthly breeze. She took in a vital breath, filling her lungs with the fresh, colorful air that was wafting by.
The lil’ creature remained absolutely stricken for quite some time, completely awed by the scene. She would’ve loved to go exploring, she thought to herself, but alas her nature bound her to the liquidness of life. At least for now.
In the near distance, atop a quaint grassy knoll, the little dolphin creature caught sight of a very short and hairy old male human being with a huge grizzly grey beard who was peacefully positioned in the posture of the lotus, appearing to be in Deep Contemplation. The little creature also noticed that the small pool she now found herself partly submerged in was actually in the middle of a tiny stream that quietly rippled into and out of the small pool on either end. Comfortable inside the peaceful pond, her Head poking out of it inquiringly, Nammu smiled and felt an innate spiritual bond with the peaceful old man; to deliver a message to him was the very reason she was here. Her High Intelligence forthrightly bonded her to both the old man and the body of Water she found herself within. The effect was biological, mental, and emotional.
Nammu knew she had to communicate with the old man soon. But now, she recognized, was just not the time. Swimming a short distance to the bottom of the lake, the lowly little Europian marked her posture and made herself comfortable, yet very much aware, as she began meditating at the lake’s bottom, turning over glorious thoughts in her mind as she patiently waited for the right moment to deliver the message in the meantime. The lil’ being aimed to focus for a time upon the confusion and environment-shock she felt, and then shed the sensation from her mettle.
Before long, after she was to attain the most prolific endeavor of conveying to the old man that it was then time, the little Europian inherently knew that she would then be reassured that her presence now in this place was not only significant, but somehow related to the very Spirit of all existences everywhere. -MIKE EYE
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☆ 19. THE SACRED SEDUCTION OF THE LAST GODHED’S SHADOW, PART II.
THE SACRED SEDUCTION OF THE LAST GODHED’S SHADOW, PART II.
FROM MIKE EYE’S THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION, A NOVEL
DARKESOTERIKA.COM ENTRY #12
[Episode IV. Chapter 19]______________________________________
THE LIFE WAS DRAINING FROM FLETCHER MUNSIN.
After a few minutes of wringing a considerable amount of blood from the feeble Fletcher Munsin in a most pitiless fashion, there was finally a ceasing of the ruthless activity.
Fletcher Munsin was indeed not dead. Not yet, anyway. His Eyelids remained closed, his Consciousness drifting through hyperspace.
* * *
AFTER WHAT SEEMED LIKE A LIFETIME, FLETCHER MUNSIN FINALLY came to, but his Eyes remained closed. He took in a few, very deep, vital breaths, in, out; in, out.
In, out.
He started remembering what was going on. He dared not open his Eyes. Felt numb.
Within a brief moment, however, came the voice of the Mother that whispered into an ear of the suffering man.
“Open your Eyes” she whispered closely to him.
The man ever-so-slowly opened his Eyes.
Hanging down all around him were the bare breasts of all the silvery seductive maidens, crouching down in a charmed circle surrounding the man, slightly swaying their supple bodies to and fro, back and forth, each siren’s unique breasts jiggling in their own unique style over the dying man.
The numbness abruptly fled from Fletcher Munsin as he gaped up at the scene above him to behold, instantaneously, a dozen loves at first sight.
At this moment, however, there was still no possible way in the man’s mind that he would be able to get an erection, as much as he so very much wanted to. Indeed the spectacle had distracted him so much, he abruptly entirely forgot that he was deliberately not supposed to enjoy it.
Fletcher Munsin took his gaze downward and was astonished to notice he no longer had legs. There were no legs. Frozen in total shock for a good forty-nine seconds, Fletcher Munsin just glared on, jaw-dropped and wide-Eyed. And he could feel a weird sort of completely unnatural pain that felt like two gigantic syringes sticking either leg sardonically with a strange virus that gnawed on the two stubs incessantly. They both felt completely frozen straight through. He tried moving his legs and nothing worked. He panicked. He then noticed that Magdalena had fastened each stub tightly with a makeshift tourniquet for each One. This is madness! he thought.
He shut his Eyes tightly and then… a surprise sensation of wetness was felt, unexpectedly splashing his skin over much of his body. Fletcher Munsin opened his Eyes and was startled at what he then beheld. He was bearing witness to streams of milk emanating in fizzy squirting fashions from all the bare breasts of the beautiful silvery women who were again surrounding him, their fingers firmly pressed up against their nipples to assist in the creamy sprays.
As ‘fun’ as this idea sounded to Fletcher Munsin, the whole fact that he couldn’t feel his legs that weren’t there mostly prevented him from becoming aroused.
Mostly.
But then the man fiercely shook his Head, a potent shiver involuntarily surging up the left and right extremities of the back of his sweating neck.
As bizarre a situation this was for him to endure, the remaining physical life of Fletcher Munsin was able to maintain a desire to Ascend peacefully despite all temptation. Enthralled with a sense of importance, the man was focusing as clearly as he could on his mission and its meaning.
And here and there, behind his tight Eyelids, he still managed to become distracted for flashes of instances that he would shake off vigorously. In those spontaneous flashes that Fletcher Munsin was trying to avoid were Dark images of the Mother Magdalena fucking him forcibly, expressions of a colorful conjuring of deep arousal and pleasure in her beautiful smooth face, her hard, tight body pumping back and forth, forth and back, her incredible curves slinking seductively with the thrusts. In those ever-so-quick flashes, Fletcher Munsin had subconsciously wanted to feel the awesome physical sensation of the dazzling, gorgeous Mother Magdalena’s insides in vigorous motion.
It would all be alright in ‘the End,’ he somehow actually remembered, Eyes remaining closed as he caught a bittersweet vision of his germ bringing about both life and death simultaneously.
Fletcher Munsin opened his Eyes just for a moment.
He had caught a glimpse of the Mother Magdalena still riding his big hard cock with a most brutal grit. It was happening! he thought. And, yes, his dick was very erect somehow, despite the severe pain he felt on his stubs and on his face. Just as she had done with the poor man’s legs before removing them, the Mother was squeezing Fletcher Munsin’s dick hard with all her pussy muscles in an attempt to drain out as much semen as possible.
The man lay back to ground, bravely baring his boner, now fully bamboozled. A hard panic set in and the hot, young Sacrifice again considered the possibility that he had already died somehow. What he felt was a curious, unexplainable sense of undue blind defeat. He was undergoing a near-death experience.
Fletcher Munsin clenched his teeth together and envisioned his reality with a most curious deliberation.
His endocrine system was fully stimulated now as the energies of their activation now pulsed interdimensionally over, around, and through the Biodome of Andromeda. This most spiritual prana surge, in turn, synchronized itself with the Earth way over in the Milky Way. It was laying the foundation for a new, whole, and perfectly harmonious psychelectromagnetic grid network that would flux eternally via macro-quantum entanglement and interact symbiotically with the human psyches present on Earth in bodies to create the Noosphere for the New Age, the prophetic, timeless ‘mind envelope’ of a Higher Collective Unconscious.
This he instinctively Knew.
And because he would Cum into the Mother, all life back upon the surface of Fucked-Earth would consequently soon be obliterated.
This, he also Knew.
With a fierce jolt, the Consciousness of Fletcher Munsin now zapped into a greater awareness, an abrupt remembrance of exactly why, and how, the tribal male homosapien had been seeded with a libido so greatly dominant over all of its individual senses of reason.
He stared up blankly in a shady haze at the Mother still on top of him, fucking him dominantly. It was like she was just doing her Homework.
Fletcher Munsin lay bedazzled and more bemused than ever before of the sheer type of surreal attraction the Mother Magdalena was eliciting.
And it was simply nothing more than a super-compulsive, overpowering allure of the most infernal malice.
He felt her Essence, and it was totally foreign, a vile breed indeed, of a land most distant. And a couple of things he was naughtily intently concentrating on now the man simply just could not shake from his mind:
Magdalena was so hot.
This seduction was so deliberate.
And it was now.
The almighty Mother was doing the seeding.
Fletcher Munsin was, as ironic as it may seem, co-creating with the Earth at this very moment as well as infinitely different versions of his embryonic androgynous self.
The next thing the man felt was a most intense bond to the sacred power of Gaia, Tara, Earth, more of his relinquished Blood seeping into the soiled Soil on the surface of the recently flowerless Biodome of Andromeda.
And then…
In the blink of an Eye, without any warning, a woven empty sack of some sort was abruptly thrust around the Head of Fletcher Munsin and quickly drawn with its strings tightly around the man’s neck, threatening to suffocate him. He was left in total Darkness.
Fletcher Munsin realized he was trapped in a mystifying, reason-defying colossal column of oscillating liquid-light as he temporarily left his body to dance in the very center of the Earth. He singed the experience with a fiery data entry onto his personal and race morphogenetic fields while at the same time eerily catching flickering glimpses of the Image of Solaria, a taunting tonal tint to the vainglorious deity’s disposition.
“Wet enough?” came the overtly provocative, muffled silky voice of Magdalena from the other side of the bag as she tied it more roughly shut.
But he couldn’t hear her. He was no longer Conscious.
“And now,” she declared. “I’m going to make you see me even more clearly!”
Magdalena went to extract her mighty spear which was sticking out of the Soil nearby. Approaching Fletcher Munsin, she placed a foot firmly upon his lower abdomen and raised her spear 33° South, level with the man’s Head. With both hands giving it a tight grip, Magdalena steadily brought her spear back, wailed loudly, and thrust the tip of the weapon with all of her might as close to the center of the man’s forehead as she could.
Because of Mother Magdalena’s experience and power, and also because of how extra sharp and miraculous her spear was, she was able to drive the spear directly through the man’s skull without cracking it, directly into his squishy brain, precisely penetrating his pineal gland, the tip of her spear coming to rest in the dead center of his Ajna Vulva.
At that same moment, an incredibly clear, liquidy Vision of Al Rodnam’s face entered Fletcher Munsin’s Comatose Head.
He saw the face grin knowingly and then suddenly began to feel the most intense sense of euphoria he had ever felt flow throughout his nervous system and subtle energy fields, generating vivid strings of a most dominant Conscious Intention, loaded with energy, and plugging long-distance into the psychelectromagnetic gridlines of faraway Fucked-Earth that he was trying so desperately to power and realign.
He felt himself becoming lighter and lighter. -MIKE EYE
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☆ 18. THE SACRED SEDUCTION OF THE LAST GODHED’S SHADOW, PART I.
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.
She giggled.
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.
And wasn’t.
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
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☆ 29. A Founding of Bry Dellows : Welcome to the Hollow ☆
Episode VI. Bry Dellows
[chapter TWENTY-NINE]
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.
How strange!
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 ⊙
~
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☆ 26. THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION EVENT PART II: A DIVINE GEOMANTIC EXCHANGE OF TWO STAR-CROSSED SOULS
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]
[chapter TWENTY-SIX]_______________________________________
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 ⊙
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☆ 17. Mother Magdalena’s Prophetic Capture of the Wrongfully-Assumed Last Godhed on Fucked-Earth
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
[chapter SEVENTEEN]______________________________
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
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☆ 25. THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION EVENT PART I. (The Aftermath of the Perverted Birth of the Hoggish Mandorla)
[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
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☆ 9. The robot-cat pet of the tribal demi-goddess explains how it became Enlightened
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.”
“How?”
“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
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☆ 16. Head Hankerhawk Reflections of the Andromeda Biodome Truth Revelation : The End-times End Now
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.
Not so.
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
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Current Events: “What’s in a name?” High-jacking the power of words & associations, by MIKE EYE
What’s in a name? Before the new millennium, I never thought much about the power of names. I hadn’t any idea that there could be so much extra baggage metaphysically attached to someone’s name. Just like how now-a-days, you can embed the track name, number, and genre in one MP3 song file, unnoticeable attachments are quantumly combined with the actual phonetics, pronunciation, and association of the names of people, places, and even things.
For example, when I say the word “ISIS?” What’s the first thing that comes to mind? Do you immediately think of the lovely Greek Goddess of fertility? I used to, until the media purposefully sabotaged the word “ISIS,” forevermore associating it with a group* of misled, brainwashed barbarians with chips on their shoulders in just the same way Donald Trump has sabotaged a group* of our country’s representatives known as the Republican Party. By the exploitation of names and what they’ve come to represent.
When referring to the militant group*, “ISIS” is the name chosen by the media to be used across the board, and it stands for the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria. Now, anyone who’s done just a little bit of internet research knows that, not only does this militant group* NOT refer to themselves as ISIS, but are trying to expand their territory and terror worldwide, as I understand, as we have seen with what’s happened in Paris, Brussels, and our US. I’m pretty sure all US media is owned by one person, that’s why all the news stations have exactly the same formats and stories and times. This One person, “hidden behind the curtain,” cleverly avoids the stigma of the group* mind and is left undisturbed. By insisting on using the majestic, compassionate name of ISIS, goddess of fertility, to independently describe this insane militant group,* who represents the opposite notion, the media has been using the simple and powerful, effective psychological phenomenon known as reverse psychology on us, and through constant repetition on many dimensional levels. Not to mention the media has forever tainted the essence of one of my favorite heavy metal bands, ISIS.
That leaves us with two other names publicly used to supposedly represent the same evil terror group*. For one, the government has never referred to this group* as ISIS, preferring to call them ISIL. This acronym stands for the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, the Levant being much more land than just Syria. But still, from my understanding, I thought that this “terror group,*” whatever they should be called, wanted to take over a good part of, if not the entire world, and perversely murder any person who didn’t “submit to Islam.”
Which brings us to the other “name” describing this “terror group,*” the “Islamic State,” which, besides articles online, I have seen this term being used on public television, and is the name that the group itself prefers to be called, if I am not mistaken. It’s more than just the first “I” and “S” in ISIS; their purposeful omission of precisely WHERE their “Islamic State” IS in it’s name is very curious. I imagine they may be trying to let the world know that what they stand for and who they believe in, and what they do, is actually Islam, the name, and everything it represents. President Obama has spoken multiple times about how he thinks what “ISIL” stands for is indeed NOT what true Islam is about, so now we have a HUGE general mass miss-understanding of what the fuck “Islam” IS, so much so that Trump, should he be president, would implement “a complete shutdown of Muslims entering the United States” and blacklist the so-called “Vanilla Muslims” at Home who “haven’t been radicalized yet” and start heavily psychotronically surveying all of these Muslim Americans as well as resident aliens (not to mention anybody with any diagnosed psychological disorder), as if doing that could actually solve the problem of what he calls “radical Islamic terrorism,” or what Obama might call “acts of terror.”
Now, I hate to quote Rush Limbaugh here, I don’t care much for his views, but here is a quote from him that describes a great example of what, really, “is in a name.”
“I think [President Obama]’s got a different audience for the term [ISIL]. I don’t think he’s talking to the American people. I think he’s talking to Iran. We just heard Walid Phares say that Obama’s linkage here is not to oppose ISIL because Iran supports ISIL, and it’s all to do with the sectarian violence between the Sunnis and the Shi’ites and the fact that Iran capitalizes on the sectarian violence, does not want it solved because they hope to end up controlling the entire Levant — uh, sorry — region. Didn’t mean to say that.”
Even if Limbaugh is not correct with what he’s saying here, he’s still convinced millions of people that he is, or at least has supplied enough suggestion to arouse conspiracy theorists.
So what’s in a name? Literally more than you can Imagine. -MIKE EYE
*group : Never forget the power and terror of the “group mind,” a real phenomenon:
“Whenever such continuity of attention and feeling has been brought about, a group mind, or group Elemental, is formed which with the passage of time develops an individuality of its own, and ceases to be dependent for its existence upon the attention and emotion of the crowd that gave it birth. Once this occurs, the crowd no longer possesses the power to withdraw its attention or to disperse; the group Elemental has it in its grip. The attention of each individual is attracted and held in spite of himself; feelings are stirred within him even if he does not wish to feel them.
Each newcomer to the group enters into this potent atmosphere and either accepts it, and is absorbed into the group, or rejects it, and is himself rejected. No member of a group with a strong atmosphere, group mind, or Elemental (according to which term we prefer), is at liberty to think without bias upon the objects of group concentration and emotion. It is for this reason that reforms are so hard to bring about.”
—Dion Fortune, Applied Magic
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☆ 36. It’s Finally Time For The Last Godhed’s Conscious Mind To Astral Projekt His Subtle Sirian Soul Synced To His Human Body Out To The Sacred Seduction With Safety And Seclusion From Within His Secret Southpole Homeland
from
____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.
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.
Just barely.
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 ☆ ☆
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☆ 15. “The Andromeda Biodome Truth Revelation” Experienced and Exposed
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
DARK ESOTERIKA