**Klick Here** Blessings Beloved Light Tribe ~ Our Light level took a jump this week as the May shift began. Gateway passages and unified Grid focus are consistent now, however unified focus during May 9 – 11, and the very amplified passage of May 19 – 21 is requested. Creative energies return to us now, purified, renewed and ready to manifest the New. Use this Light, it aligns you with the Christed timelines.
Evolution Ascension — Denise Le Fay
>>>>>>>>OF ALL THE INTENSE THINGS IN THE SPOTLIGHT OF GOINGS-ON AS OF LATE, there is One MAJOR amazingly positive, super rare and exciting event coming up this month that seemed so very unlikely and unexpected to me in light of how much terribly horrible and deeply demonic stuff is seemingly more likely to occur nowadays on our planet Urth, at the kusp.
TOOL is coming to headline a festival literally RIGHT DOWN THE STREET FROM ME……….
This is such incredibly happy, stunning news for me and I am deeply grateful and honored to Know I will be experiencing yet another Once-in-a-lifetime event (not to mention EXTREMELY EXCITED ABOUT IT). Eye Imagine I could be only so fortunate as to gain epiphanies there that would otherwise aid me somehow in stimulating my budding growth as a new author and propel my kareer officially into its “New Author” Emergence phase.
I’m so excited for BOSTON CALLING festival that it’s still about ten days away, and I already have my admittance bracelet on. 😆😆😆😆😎 It’s been almost five years since I’ve last seen TOOL, and this will be my fourth time Seeing Them. ANYONE ELSE GOING, I WILL SEE YOU ALL THERE!!!! 😀👽
[KON-TEMP’S FLOWS] Exhibit D.
Sent to you / as a pool of drool / my rules
Are concocted from a pocket of endo sacks & jewels
Attackin’ the bent socket / I’m packin’ what will shock you
Fuck the sloppy shit like soppy trips from a poppy
I’m talkin’ of facts that will rock the cradle / so I’ll be able
To discern a burned face from learned disgraced fables
I’m bringin’ mad shit to the table because I’m hackin’ it
Stacking the truth / keepin’ it loose like a noose / before the eclipse
Then my mighty rhyme / given some time / might tighten like grips…
I creep soul to my peephole / seepin’ the keep hold
Gatherin’ light / fusin’ cracks / Fuck the steeple
I keep the coal in the furnace blazin’ sacks
The facts are hazy but don’t faze me ‘cause they’re lazy cats
When I rock / it’s over / like I’m sober
Hear that I’m knockin’ on the door / as I soar through the open sky
I’m surprised my high has subsided / now I’m collided
With sheer irony squeezin’ like pliers…
The fiery siren of the liar that has subsided
I hide / I’m hidden / feelin’ forever ridden of lies
That try to connect with the wrong pieces of the puzzle
I dissect the next activity given to me as a guzzle
Beer / which steers me in the direction of cheer
When I get close to the near hose I shed a tear
Disappearing but merely nearing a searing fear
I’m leaven in Heaven I dwell with the spell I cast on thee
Is it me? Or the meltin’ skeleton key
Holdin’ like gelatin / sellin’ out / spoutin’ a fee
Of grief that holds me & guides me to the leaf
I pack the keef / keep my stride as a relief -MIKE “Kon-Temp Klowd” EYE
Get your PDF for $3.33 HERE:
…from the pages of The Aqueous Transmission by Mike Eye:
[chapter ONE of MIKE EYE’s The Aqueous Transmission]
WITH A SWIFT PRICK OF PANIC SUDDENLY INJECTING HER WITH A sharp sting of anguish and cynicism, the woman squashed the Blood-soaked pancreas with her fist in rage, hurled it at the floor, and darted from her tiny bedroom toward the nearby flight deck, Blood rushing to her Head with mortification. Approaching the cockpit, the frantic woman reflected inquisitively upon the flash of deep insight she had just obtained, began uneasily entertaining the idea that she may very well have fallen victim to a scheme more expansive and elaborate than her own.
With a few fingerings atop the surface of the console’s flat screen control panel, the woman disengaged light-speed and initiated descent, adjusting the ship’s altitude to take course within the Earth’s thermosphere. She sat frantically on the edge of her seat, smacking herself upside her perspiring forehead in an attempt to jostle herself awake in case she had been dreaming. As she approached Earth, the tense woman at the cockpit directed her gaze straight ahead, eyeing the closed shutter just in front of her. With an eager touch of a button at the control panel, the automated shutter retracted to reveal a murky outdoors.
The woman anxiously peered through the great glass dashboard to notice it was nighttime. She flipped the switch that powered on the ultra-fluorescent headlights. Straining her neck toward the front glass, the woman gazed into the darkness in an attempt to see if she could see anything out of the ordinary. Her heart was racing. With the touch of another button at the control panel, the little spaceship dipped another few kilometers South. That was when the woman caught first sight of the remnants of mayhem just below her: the sinister miasma blanketing the air with dark greys, spread out in thick gloomy puffs, slowly rolling upward.
“NO!” the woman yelled out in alarm, her whole back now soaked in sweat. The smoke was quickly rising up around the ship, encasing it with its drear envelopes.
As the space-pod quickly found itself shaking viciously through the turbulence, immersed in the dense smog of dusky greys that were ravaging the night sky, a flash of embarrassment lit the inside of the woman’s cheeks on fire.
It all came to her.
She realized her ego had been knocked out from having been unwittingly caught in the punch line of a devious joke, struck by the spiteful brunt of a most ruthless prankster that had ultimately proved to be shrewder than she.
The lady placed her dainty digits upon her cheeks.
She screamed in Horror.
The painful shrill echoed throughout the curvy enclosure of the flying silver craft.
The woman maliciously clenched her teeth and cocked her quivering head slightly upward, her Eyes widening as panic struck her hard.
She gaped blankly through the great glass dash in a numb terror, feeling forced to watch the ominous heavy clouds of dark smoke gust about beyond it. She sat paralyzed, sensed a hostile opposing force laughing hysterically at her. But all around her was dead silence. A tear trickled down her left cheek. She let out a few whimpers.
For a timeless instant, the woman remained perplexed at what was before her as she trembled, staring wide-Eyed in a trance out the window.
”It’s true. Oh God!” she spoke aloud, more tears falling down her face. She cupped her palm around her mouth in astonishment. A quick quiver crept up her spine and a shudder shook her glance away. She took a long blink and placed her other palm across her heart.
”My sisters,” she thought. “Oh, God!”
The woman continued to sit at the head of the space-pod, immensely distraught and in sheer disbelief. The ship was now approximately 25 kilometers above the surface of the Earth, quietly cruising on auto-pilot at a smoothly decelerating velocity through the sinister smoke that was growing thicker and thicker as the vessel descended.
WHAT THE F@*# HAPPENS IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE VESSEL DESCENDS??!!? Stay tooned to find out. -MIKE EYE
All Chapters Of The Aqueous Transmission Have Now Been Blogged. They Will Be Available @DARKESOTERIKA.KOM For An Undisklosed Amount of Time. 👍
AL RODNAM APPEARED IN MOTHER MAGDALENA’S TINY BEDROOM OF her space-pod as a ghost that No One Saw but himself, From Above. To his left was a horrific display of flesh-gore set about the Mother’s plush, bloody bed, a lump of a twitched body beneath the soiled sheets clearly evident and completely lifeless. Al Rodnam knew just by bearing witness to this disturbing display that, not only was the limp body under the Mother’s tribal bedsheets the recently deceased Fletcher Munsin, but that his Head had just popped off his neck in final fulfillment of his sick sacrifice the moment the mystic had entered the space-pod.
“Wow,” mumbled the mystic inaudibly to himself as he glanced at the messy bed of the Mother, “that was too close!! Praise Be to these Powers that Be that I was able to make it here!”
Lying Peacefully in a most beauteous slumber beside his own Dead mortal Shadow of High Attraction, was Magdalena. The mystic now knew that the Mother was presently having the prophetic, psychotic dream of the Source-less Blood-Red Moon and her psychedelically mutating freak sisters, the important dream that would soon lead the Mother to discover what she was then obliged to do upon waking. Magdalena had been spared a fatal Fall into the depthless black pit that her sisters had fallen down into, the mysterious abyss on the peculiar planet that she and her High Hawk Sisters had landed down upon, thanks to the quick and covert manipulation of a preset at the control panel of Magdalena’s silver space-pod that was the clever work of One of the Gilded Grunts who had been harvesting Space-Grain at the Andromeda Biodome during that most significant, most evocative Sacred Seduction long desired to be executed by the Mother Magdalena.
There was a sudden bump and the ship started shaking erratically, causing the Mother’s obscure knick-knacks that were spread across the slight surfaces of tiny furniture about her little bedroom to tremble, and some items tipped over, some rolling to the floor. Then the shaking subsided. Al Rodnam could do nothing but stare at Mother Magdalena throughout the duration of the turbulence, wide-Eyed as could be, trembling a bit with nervousness. He hoped to God she wouldn’t wake up. He knew that she must experience this dream during the nap she now took, for contained within its message, rather explicitly and quite perceptibly, was the very magical catalyst that would initiate all the bizarre occurrences that would cause the Mother to be Enlightened to the forces at work around her, and so Come to live perpetually with a spiritual grudge for Fletcher Munsin, coming to eventually realize reluctantly how the man had ultimately overtaken her façade, and in such a devious manner! Ha-ha!!
A sudden shift in course brought the cabin trembling warily and the walls shook as Al Rodnam lost his footing and stumbled to one knee. Cautiously glaring over at his Sleeping Beauty, he concentrated on the Dark woman’s Eyelids, hoping they would remain latched dreamily throughout the duration of the turbulence. After a few more rumbles of the craft that came to take place before the course slightly smoothed out again, Al Rodnam Praised the Lord that the Mother had not Come Awake.
Al Rodnam became Aware that he now had the authentic appearance of his Godhed Identity.
The old man came to his feet.
Now was the time, he Knew.
The Last Godhed would project his very Spirit Essence into the wavering astral Mind of the Mother to make sure her surprising, life-altering revelation would now be personally experienced within the realms of her sadistic revelatory reverie — the horrifying nightmare the Mother would have of herself in Bry Dellows with her sisters, the Moon to go Missing on a somehow brightly lunar-lit, otherwise normal evening.
Al Rodnam actively entered Magdalena’s dream now to be a spectator, but while able and willing to interfere with the course of its events if he so chose. High, potent Godhed liquid-light plasma-photon fibers of the Last Godhed’s High Consciousness conjoined with a flooding of excess melatonin to enter Mother Magdalena’s Pineal gland, coalescing with celestial circadian rhythms that straight-away carried the old man’s Consciousness of High Intention ceaselessly along the catchy cadence of the sleeping Magdalena’s intergalactic, rhythmic dreamscape.
Finally, the old man thought, my due course has proven True, and most Divine, albeit somewhat devious. And the Last Godhed knew for certain in that moment that his High Wisdom had finally aided him in fulfilling his aquatic paternal vocation, his extraordinary exoneration, his ultimate deliverance.
And Into the Bitch’s Head, and with a most graceful swan-dive the Last Godhed dove bravely, and with all of his Identities at every density level, leveling out fastly to smoothly form mindful breast-strokes as he entered into Mother Magdalena’s choppy brain-pool of loyal Lust. It was, unsurprisingly to the old man, a most soiled, sullen, smutty sanctum, and Al Rodnam Now righteously acknowledged upon soakage that, due to his deliverance, it would indeed be within these depths and from where they flowed, inside this most intimate, Motherly prophetic dream, where the Last Godhed will Come to See through clearly Into Himself Once again.
[KON-TEMP’S FLOWS] – Exhibit C.
The process is piece by piece with repetition of ill matter
I’m on a mission to fill fatter spots than ducks splatter
Duck & gather your things & run far
‘Cause I’m flippin’ this spit in your eardrum
My repertoire is to come correct with this affection
Alarming like detection / ‘cause I’m startlin’ you
With effects from sessions / & then next,
My words will bust through your head like sex lust
‘Cause you’re bein’ fed with this verbal lead of complex thrusts
Shit’s ill / as I switch up the sick skill,
Flipped / unexpectedly like fate when karma trains slip
Off track & spill / destiny / a wreck successfully in check
Like you’ll be / when it’s your face that I fill
With toxic cum of Holy Shit
Spillin’ ridiculousness of ill words of sickness on your tits
I flip & smoke the tree,
Lettin’ it loose over the façade of God’s land,
In my own space pod / I command the beat
& enhance the mindset / for you to understand
The deceit in bittersweet trances of silhouettes
In fact the threat / of cracked regret / of shit lost
Is past / so I can cross / & surpass the laws
That’ve been lettin’ tax upset the bots
Who kicked back / relaxed / & forgot the max cause,
The facts that don’t pause / in bein’ more ever present & clear
Than the voices a paranoid s-s-schizophrenik hears
Enter Fear: I am near the horizon that’s Blood Red
& I’m feelin’ the rain starting to sprinkle with the wind
I’m parting with sin. -MIKE EYE
THE WONDROUS 13TH CHAPTER OF THE AQUEOUS TRANSMISSION
WITH THE INTENSE QUAKE OF A FULL-BLOWN CRISIS TURNING HER hot, Lina got winded.
The insides of her cheeks lit up.
She squashed the blood-soaked pancreas with her fist in rage and hurled it at the floor. She hastily turned around, pushed a button on the wall to part the panels of the door, and raced in anguish through the threshold toward the ship’s cockpit, completely losing her nerve. Blood was rushing to her head with mortification.
Having just obtained a flash of deep insight, Lina started to face the fact that she may very well have fallen victim to a scheme more expansive and elaborate than her own. Reaching the cockpit, the frantic woman disengaged light speed and initiated descent, adjusting the ship’s altitude to take course within the Earth’s thermosphere. She sat frantically on the edge of her seat, smacking herself upside the head in an attempt to jostle herself awake in case she had still been dreaming.
With an eager push of a button, the automated shutters of the ship’s glass dash retracted to reveal a horribly blinding bright white light that instantly soaked the whole ship’s interior with its intense luminosity.
Raising her hands to try and block out the light, she shut her Eyes, tightly, and when she reopened them, found herself on the ship’s floor, bruises suddenly able to be felt throughout her body. How much time had passed since she was last conscious? Her back was to the floor and she gazed up all blurry-Eyed at the ship’s ceiling in total disarray.
Lina slowly realized that she was awakening from having been knocked unconscious, for how long she didn’t know. Befuddled, Lina immediately assumed that heavy turbulence must have shaken the craft viciously through the elements, tossing her fiercely about the cabin, knocking her out.
Slowly gaining awareness that she was now in the midst of the aftermath of an extremely dangerous event, she realized that a great deal of her body was awfully sore. She felt herself up and down, felt grateful that she was at least able to move her lithe limbs around, although they ached deeply.
She wasn’t sure exactly what she had seen out her space-pod before her white-out, but she was starting to remember, piece by piece that it indeed now was the end of the world as she knew it.
At least she thought so.
Magdalena raised her Head Up and took a glimpse into the cockpit from where she lay on the floor, still not attempting to get up, preferring to remain in an ignorant bliss for as long as she could, trying to block out the bluff. The shutters of the crystal glass dash were closed and she felt compelled to see what was on the other side.
But then, taking in a few steady breaths and glaring directly at the closed bay flaps as she lay on the floor, she felt a strange sensation in her ocular cavity as her mighty vision straight pierced through the front-end of the ship and she realized that she already knew what was just beyond the flaps; she could see it.
Slowly shifting her body to come to rest on all fours, she took a deep breath in, and out. And just as she was about to force herself up, she realized she was bleeding profusely from her forehead. Lina was surprised; her forehead was in a great deal of pain, she realized, but it didn’t seem to warrant a yield of quite this much blood for the amount of pain she felt. Quickly becoming very concerned over how serious her cranial wound might be, she hightailed it to the med-kit in the bathroom to see if she could find a way to stop the bleeding.
After dressing her Head wound, she quickly stumbled to the cockpit and earnestly pressed the “open” button to retract the shutters of the premium-grade crystal glass dash.
There before her Eyes was the familiar mucky assortment of indiscernible sludge spread out over the entire expanse of the glass dash that still managed to take her off guard, and she unintentionally leapt backwards, head over heals, back down onto the floor, hitting her head hard.
She could already feel the powers of Solaria draining from her, and she at least hoped the extraordinary child she would bare would be a happy, healthy baby she could love and nurture with pleasure.
”SOLARIA!” the Mother screamed, her fists pounding the forlorn air in retaliation, her back to the floor, enraged as all Hell. “I CAST CURSES UPON YOU, SOLARIA!”
Lina crawled over to the cockpit. From out the corner of One Eye, she could barely make out the disgraceful debris squashed up against the glass dash of her ship, guck daubed all over it, and she shivered. More frustration befell her as the button to shut the shutters somehow stuck fast, preventing the window from being able to close.
”Oh, you have got to be fucking KIDDING ME!” Lina howled at the stubborn mechanics malfunctioning before her Eyes.
She shielded her view from this horrid vision but was unable to shake it from her mind; it seemed steadfastly singed into her sights with a seal of scary scorn.
And it inexplicably beckoned her forth with a tantalizing tease of torture that shook her.
Feeling a powerful pressure that seemed to almost possess her, Mother Magdalena felt persuaded to pursue the impulse that was pulling her in as she popped a quick peak at the repulsion.
What she saw next will never leave her Mind’s Eyes.
She had caught a quick glimpse of an eerily familiar human Head amidst the mess beyond the glass dash, fully detached, and containing three wide-open Eyes that seemed to stare directly at her. She tried again to close the window but it was an attempt in vain that tempted her veins and her body ached all over.
”CLOSE, GOD DAMMIT!” the woman shrieked, but the dash didn’t close.
And from behind closed Eyelids, an extremely lucid vision was finally able to become etched within her optics, melatonin flooding her head in gracious Glory as it fully stimulated her Sahasrara chakra, delivering to her a sacred message that was peculiarly recognizable.
A spherical orb of concentrated oscillating photon fibers materialized above Mother Magdalena’s Head.
She heard a tap on the glass. -MIKE EYE ⊙
ORIGINALLY BLOGGED BY MIKE EYE ON NOVEMBER 14, 2016 @ DARKESOTERIKA.COM
The State of the World, Undressed
By MIKE EYE
What really is going on upon, within, and just outside of Earth right now??
Okay, let’s get a bit more specific. Let’s Zero-In on the dreaded topic of the well-oiled Machine of US Politricks that is in desperate need of some figurative WD-40. Or not. Let’s talk Ruport Murdock (who’s personal net worth is now supposedly close to 12 BILLION USD).
I don’t write political articles very much because I honestly don’t see the point. I personally “got over duality” some 20-odd years ago. But, alas, I am still an American Citizen, so if I don’t mention it every so often, some people would consider me apathetic, which would, in all reality, most likely just be a dingy, undesired representation of their misjudgement of me.
But, let’s seriously ask ourselves, what the fuck just really happened in the past month or…
View original post 579 more words
There was Once, not too long ago, a modern-day prophet with extraordinary lingual skills and a passionate heart who Once went by the name of Asha-yana Deen. At the dawn of our ‘current millennium’, just prior to the H. Event, she warned us that this so-called ‘New Age Movement’ Wave Mind Stream we now not find ourselves entrapped, so enraptured within, would demonically pervert the archetypes influencing the channel source of divine incoming messages we Receive from our Higher counterparts. It is worth mentioning here now and today Once Again, that some (ALL) of these ‘divine channeling urgent messages’ Now being received by our lightworker friends from angels and avatars may be (ARE) purposefully warped and tapped intentionally intended to deviously deceive us. The following excerpts are found in the Once Asha-yana Deen’s VOYAGERS II. Secrets of Amenti and her Millennium Round Up Expose. Discern. -MIKE EYE
The New Age Movement represents the emerging Light, or enlightenment, within our mass psyche as we transition into a greater understanding of the mechanics of the multidimensional universe (Time Matrix) and our place within it.
As this enlightenment is in its infancy on our planet, very often the exploration of multidimensional reality is approached with excessive naiveté.
Frequently within this movement one is encouraged to open to multidimensional interaction [found in ‘social media’] without possessing enough knowledge about the nature of dimensional structure, and often surrenders personal power and the responsibility for consequences over to some designated authority within the multidimensional spectrum.
The New Age Movement represents a manifestation of our evolving Collective Consciousness, a natural attribute of evolving to “see beyond the veils” of 3-dimensional reality, which comes with activation of the 4th DNA strand within the greater design of our 12-strand DNA potentials.
The understanding shared by the New Age Movement and the Secret Government (Illuminati) represents a conscious cognition and scientific validation of the existence of multidimensional structure, interdimensional operations, and the existence of other sentient lifeforms from within the multidimensional universes that interact directly with Earth and its people.
Neither [NO] side realizes the whole structure, or the operational laws of nature within this multidimensional framework, and both [NONE] are exploring these new frontiers to serve their intrinsic objectives.
From the “Energy Healing,” Channeling, Vortex/Chakra technologies and ET/Angelic contact of the New Age, to the EMP (Electro-magnetic Pulse) technologies (See HAARP, Psychotronics, Metatronic Broadcast Station), Remote Viewing, Time Travel/Star Gate technologies, and intruder ET Contact of the Secret Government.
The Anunnaki-dominated New Age “pseudo-ascension” spiritual movement (most of it inspired by the “Templar Melchizedek” false ascension teachings of Anunnaki’s Thoth [see Drunvalo Melchizedek and the Flower of Life Facilitator Workshops], pre-Emerald Covenant Enoch, Archangel Michael & Friends,” “Jehovah,” “Maitreya,” “Lord Melchizedek and the spiritual hierarchy,” the Urantia, etc. inherently promote a fear-based paradigm of “Light, Love, and Pretend Away the Darkness (“everything is all right”) dogma.
The Illuminati races within the infrastructure of the covertly metaphysically motivated Illuminati World Management Team, who serve as Fallen Angelic puppets, are being “played on” and manipulated by fear of personal survival and a desire for acquisition of power to prevent pain and create personal pleasure (see One World Order).
These are the same motivations behind the actions of the “spiritual” peoples of traditional New Age affiliation, who think worshipping an ancient book, or surrendering personal power to an external “God,” “ET,” “Angel,” or “Channel” is the ultimate expression of spiritual development and will “make everything all right.”
Fear, the “Pleasure-Pain Principle” and Disinformation are the common control elements by which the Illuminati and Humans become easily misled into surrendering their power to something outside of themselves. Once this “outside source” has your power, compliance with the approval of that source becomes implicitly the only way to feel empowered.
….we listen to the Album.
IN THE ABSENCE OF TRUTH | ISIS
We Know We Want Change, But From What? And How Exactly Do We Get It?
By Mike Eye
Change. Do We want it? A great deal of Us here now seem to be personifying that notion, or at least that’s what We’re lead to generally assume. But do We get that change?
To be honest (as I always am on my blog) I’m scared of Change. The state of Mind Eye try to achieve is perpetual harmonious bliss. I’ve always Viewed that highly desirable elemental, emotional wave mindstream to be a perpetual ‘OM’, which Eye View as a konstant, and denotes no Change. Yet I also realize that the Only konstant IS Change, as it holographically manifests itself into Our existence flickering through Our Consciousness to form fluid Images of constant growth that always Changes. And then, it is to assume, of course, that Changes must continue happening, as an object, or subject as is the case here, in motion remains in motion proven by what we can test in experiments with modern-day physics. So I guess it’s logical to presume that We “creatures of habit”, as it were in Our case, require and are hardwired to expect and want Change with respect to the fact that We are constantly changing.
But we somehow never seem to publically, collectively convince Ourselves that We have yes indeed gotten that big major Change in Our Lives that We’ve been Dreaming of because We haven’t as a people yet gotten to that convergence point in our evolution where we can Collectively Live in the Moment and Be Here Now. As Creedence Clearwater Revival alluded to, “Some Day Never Comes.”
To all my WordPress Followers (now over 1,000!) who struggle with the Idea of Change (Thank You!), and since we live in a fiscal society, I offer up this helpful metaphor to consider. Whenever we need to ‘make Change’ we break a dollar. Change is therefore made, and actualized, when We immediately and systematically break down and subjugate the parts, or coins as it were, of the whole, the dollar, and Separate, as Trump would, and does. But We must also realize at the same time that even as that majority of us (U.S.) who don’t live in poverty can Imagine, anyone who instantly needs to make Change attempts to combine and collect those very same powerful Separate coins to form a dollar so that she or he can go buy something and gain from it. So both acts must occur, but simultaneously, One after the Other. This Eternal Process is One of the reasons history repeats itself. That’s a fact, and it’ll remain at rest. And as We Know as a fact, a body at rest will remain at rest! –MIKE EYE
The Bedlam In Goliath by The Mars Volta
[chapter THIRTY-NINE of MIKE EYE’s The Aqueous Transmission]
AL RODNAM SUDDENLY APPEARED ALL-TOO-SWIFTLY ATOP THE treacherous grounds of an astonishing bedlam that had all gone to Hell.
And the nuclear explosion was yet to make impact.
The tragic conditions of Fucked-Earth were far worse than the old man had Imagined; they were not nearly this bad when he had first started holding Fletcher Munsin’s charismatic form at the edge of Bry Dellows not long ago, just after the Thirteen Hawks had had their Andromeda Biodome Truth Revelation. He was totally taken aback and remained in a state of total shock for an elapsed amount of time unknown to him… all Al Rodnam finally decided he did Know after eventually shaking off the bewilderment was that it was indeed more than a short amount of time. And he didn’t miss making the chilling, mental note that this could all just be as he now strangely felt it to be, and Nothing more…
And, as unusual as it was, Al Rodnam Now felt himself Becoming altogether erratic and distraught at his tendencies to become so easily Distracted on his lowly way to the pond of the Aqueous Transmission! The Opportunity Now Given Here, he suddenly realized, must swiftly come to be taken right away. The old man tried thinking of nothing else save for sharp, running thoughts of a drilling sense of precisely how critical this moment was for him. He caught a ripping rush of icy, raw frenzy right-eat straight through him as he suddenly Came to the Awareness of the dire urgency of his willful Hand to Come Out ‘n’ Play Artfully during this mere consecrated Incident. All that he was trying to think about now was how he was to navigate successfully through and past his next obstacle, however horrid he could Imagine it to be, and in but a flash of an Instance. The Wise Godhed swiftly pounded himself repeatedly on the Head with a couple of angry fists as he cursed himself out and shouted aloud to himself to stay focused and concentrate on his destined Final Destination.
It stank of dying things unrecognizable. The guru now beheld nothing he remembered from the times he had made Bry Dellows his Home, indiscernible objects before him all covered in impenetrable filth and caught in wreckage that spanned out as far as the Eye could See. There were uncontained bonfires everywhere. Ash and smoke and heat and dirt all swirled together before the mystic and his mouth remained partly dropped wide open and dry, Unconsciously taking it all in.
Shortly, after becoming able to douse his dilemma of being in a downstruck daze, he shook himself free from his sucked-in stance and moved onward.
Al Rodnam took a few cautious steps forward at first. He then walked not a dozen more paces ahead before he saw…
A colossal drift of thick and heavy, smudgey smoke in the near distance suddenly altogether slowly blew away in a mock-theatrical dramatic fashion to extravagantly reveal a mind-numbing display most Horrifying. And it came scattered with ear-piercing, panicked screeches. The retarded little Loombugs were everywhere, all howling a wild gibberish most enthusiastically as they frantically raced that way and this, not a One of them having a Single clue as to what they were doing or where they were going.
What Al Rodnam noticed next was how many of them there were.
So many of those filthy, doomed Loomy fuckers runnin’ amuck! he thought to himself. What a disgrace.
Scrambling fro and to like terrified, overly erratic creatures of pure madness amongst bonfires burning uncontrollably, the murky, foreboding sky overhead, in mirrored aquatic fashion, was filled with shooting stars that were chaotically shooting to and fro, these unstable astral counterparts of the Bugs releasing entirely the pent-up energies they had been Harvesting for their entire lifetimes in an instance, and flashing ever-so-brightly across the sky wildly. Electro-plasmic confetti blasted about the Cosmos continuously from every direction, and One Loombug expired upon Fucked-Earth for each fiery flash.
The Last Godhed swiftly darted through the mayhem of the far fringes of Bry Dellows toward a bluff by-and-by as fast he could, picking his way cautiously, but quickly, through the looming grey smoke clouds and harrowing odorous smut rolling softly, amicably on by.
And upwards and out of this Godforsaken Hollows Al Rodnam would hasten!
Beyond this Damned, defiled, deathly domain of the despicable, Dark Mother’s Harvest would he catch brief downtime to collect himself, he thought. There, and only then, would he begin using his super-intuitive senses in full glory to Mind the Magical Staff of Lachrylon and straightaway tap into its wet, conductive properties that would reveal to him his way across the Fucked-Earth wastelands, and to the pond of the Aqueous Transmission.
He dashed on, but with a slight slouch about his great wooden staff, onwards as fast as he could through the mayhem of the all-disturbing, most-devastating display of ungodliness all around him, the hi-fi psychotronic sub-space and free-radical holographic interferences of electrical electrons surging forth about him with utmost iniquity, these multidimensional perceptual blocks assaulting hostilely the full-range of the Last Godhed’s neural senses as he stumbled fastly over the dust and death, and in a terribly hostile manner, it would come to be. The old man felt clinging to him an elongated single moment of Sorrow that would continue Haunting him Forever. This was the land he had helped create.
At first, Al Rodnam was having a fairly agreeable time considerately traversing the bumpy grounds of the doomed village borders, but he Knew that this wouldn’t last long. The old man briskly scampered on and over abandoned bulky pieces of slimy, grotesque Loombug body parts, a whole slew of which were ripped apart and scattered everywhere over the mounds of dirt.
And if the old man wasn’t now fully concentrating on reaching that most relevant Body of Water that had somehow reemerged — and nothing else — he may have taken more heed of the unbelievably vile, most extremely disturbing stench of otherworldly rot wafting through the collapsed community. It was impossible to ignore it altogether, however, and portions of the putridity from the acrid Bug carcasses managed to eek their way past the old man’s mindful barricading of his inner nasal cavity. Al Rodnam was able to shake it off, though, as he held in his thoughts images of Lachrylon and the Pond of the Aqueous Transmission. And along with that, and only because of the sheer magnitude of this most sacred undertaking, he was soon able to temporarily shrug off his Intense Lachrymose Emotions tearing away at him and focus on the most dire, necessary task at hand. Which was the compassionate thing to do, he thought. The considerable thing to do. And, in some sick, sad way, free of distortions.
Concentrating so hard on not being distracted, the old guru missed seeing at first, but soon could not help noticing all about him as he hobbled forth, strange translucent crystalline clusters that had abruptly become plentifully strewn about the gore-infested grounds of the Unholy Hollows. They looked like pieces of petrified ruby-colored ornaments of some kind, and they were glowing softly. Their intricate subtleties started to slow the old man’s pace just a bit as fascination took over him. He thought it absolutely necessary for some reason to take a slight gander at these twinkling red items. For a quick moment, the last Godhed gambled with the lives of a race of people, albeit people corrupted, yet people he had promised to help grow and entrust. Seeing what a High Mystic such as himself could See in the aura of all the dazzling red discards that dotted on by his path as he hobbled forth, Al Rodnam was willing to wager the loss of everything he had been involved with, personally, for the last thousand years. Just to see what the hell these glowing things were.
The Last Godhed briefly set aside his haste, took a quick look about himself, and took a knee before a large cluster of the glowing red stones and started analyzing them intently. Picking a couple of them up, he saw small stone tablets petrified inside the ruby translucence and instantly made out a different Runic inscription upon each one. He noticed at Once that the depictions did not look like the Runes he had initially instructed the Mother to work with. And they were inscribed in Stone! During the early days of Bry Dellows, Al Rodnam had fiercely informed the Mother — and multiple times Passionately — that the Runes she was to Apply with her Bugs in her village be etched in wood. “No wonder things took a turn for the worst… the all-seeing guru mouthed to himself curiously with a slight frustration.
This creeping grave dread!
Fascinated now, he snatched up a few more of the glowing ruby clusters to take a look, and each one had a small Stone false-Rune tablet locked inside, the symbol etched upon each One having distinctively deviated modifications from the uncannily similar original Rune symbols of which Al Rodnam Knew and perpetuated. The original Rune symbols he had etched into the Staff of Lachrylon.
He threw down the petrified pieces of the insulting tainted gems in Rage. He was furious! How could he have let this happen?! The old man slowly started gaining a clearer understanding of why shit had gotten so fucked at Bry Dellows.
Just then, a fat, fetid body slammed into Al Rodnam and the guru abruptly stumbled aside, tripping over the very crimson stones he had just dispelled toward the cynical-seeming Earthlands, nearly falling flat on his face. The stumpy Loombug who had made contact wavered slightly, her blank face totally iced-over in a lost confusion. She then abruptly shifted her whole upper body swiftly from the Last Godhed with a schizophrenic steadfastness, and trotted absently away. But before she could get very far, she rather neglectfully fell down in over-dramatized fashion, quickly got back up, paused, then spun back around neurotically. She managed to slip and fall but again was able to easily pull herself quickly back up, this time hobbling away in a tread of dysrhythmia, the shrill of the most piercing of womanly shrieks to suddenly and crudely be released from the Bug’s throat, miraculously assaulting the air in choppy, deep and guttural exclamations most distasteful. Before Al Rodnam could experience fully the aftereffects of a decent dose of Horror from what had just supposedly happened to him, two more expressionless Loombugs lurched up to the locale, bumping into each other as they approached the old man…
The Last Godhed was close enough to see straight into the Loombugs’ Eyes, and for the very first time in the traveled mystic’s long life, Al Rodnam was thoroughly Horrified.
The old man wished he could disappear briefly, or momentarily “stop time,” perhaps, even, or even morph into his native giant air-dolphin identity and swim away at Once! But Al Rodnam Knew that in order to properly carry out his High Duty and accomplish his mighty Charge from Lachrylon, he had to remain in his old-man human-form during this “final gesture” of avoir throughout the entirety of his Last Mission during this Final Fucked-Earth shit-shamble over to the Pond of the Aqueous Transmission. For the first time in history, Al Rodnam cursed himself out in the name of Lachrylon — something he never Imagined himself doing, ever.
The old man halted his hobble after having trudged almost hopelessly at least a mile in the direction he felt just naturally pulled to. He was either all the way out or on the fringes of Magdalena’s Bry Dellows by this point. Panting heavily, with sweat dripping off his forehead, he raised his dark wooden Rune staff up before his bust considerately, and almost didn’t notice — in fact, almost completely missed Seeing — slight variations in the revered Runes enscrawled upon the mighty Staff. The old man Knew instinctively, and without question, that the Runes he had just Seen on his own magical Staff were not the Ones he had scrawled into it during the time of the Founding of the Mother’s Bry Dellows. And he thought he Knew just exactly why…
Keeping the Staff of Lachrylon held out staunchly before his countenance so that he could keep an Eye on the Staff’s Runes as he walked on, Al Rodnam again began moving as quickly as he could, courageously trekking on rather briskly despite the stiff slouch he harbored due to the lack of aid from his staff. On he went, and in the direction he knew was away from Bry Dellows. A staunch, War-grade determination beset the ol’ man’s Eyes and hard lip as he continued onward. —Let’s go.— —Here we go, — was what he said in his Head to prepare himself.
It was not for at least another twenty minutes along his way, Fucked-Earth time, that Al Rodnam psychedelically Saw out of the corner of his left Eye what he had been anticipating. All twenty-four Runes on the Staff of Lachrylon that he still held up before him — suddenly as a quantum leap — had just slightly, subtly metamorphosed back into the original depictions he had First carved into its wood, during that most mindful crafting of the sanctified staff from its original Four Sticks. Al Rodnam now Knew for certain that he was past the boundaries of Bry Dellows.
Keeping his pace while continuing to hold forth abruptly the mighty Staff before him, Al Rodnam was Passionately seeking, as he kept on, a more familial bondage with a growing psychic, magnetic pull he could feel growing stronger and stronger through the magic of the Staff. And he continued to advance briskly onward and further from the Mother’s subtley sadistic Homeland.
Al Rodnam thought this a great instant to attempt intentionally evoking within the Spirit of Lachrylon his Divine presence and purpose at present.
The real Runes that had reformed upon the mighty Staff the mystic clutched most manfully before him gradually started faintly glimmering an organically lucid trans-luminescence the further he got from the Village in Ruins, the pale, High silvery liquid-light of the Runes coming to emit ever-so-keenly outward, a robust rustic radiance that was, to old man’s relief, most reassuring in its ratification.
Al Rodnam paused in his tracks for a sec to behold this synchronous instance of serendipity in Pure Wonder, his anxiety mostly rapidly slipping away, the frenzy of the environment diminishing, its aural assailants dissipating. Somehow, the High Telling Light that now shot from inside the peeling, yellowing core of each of the High wooden staff’s emblazoned symbols — now all clearly correctly marked on all counts — seemed to hallucinogenically shine out from the Staff while refracting its Force straight around and off of the fiery Rune symbols’ swervy curvature with slick, stark jilts of staticky cosmo-logical tinctures that no doubt bore a godly reassurance, Al Rodnam Knew.
And the Last Godhed then almost instantaneously completely forgot about the Wicked womanly High Deception he was then meant to smugly accept and hold dear to his Heart, and without question, during this Doomsday; the pretend ‘purposeful act’ he was then supposedly obliged to elicit upon being graced with the Staff’s Holy Golden Luminescence: an official High acknowledgement that the Staff of Lachrylon the old man had crafted many years ago could now fully function to its Highest capacity, Once personally fused with the potent, pertinent powers of none-other-than… the mighty Lachrylon.
The old man would herein keep to his wise, deep self that he had personally planned long ago that during this Twelfth Hour, it would indeed be the cloaked Force of Solaria, not the Power of Lachrylon Lachrylon’s self, that would seep into the mindful human pores of the Last Godhed via the Dark-brown Staff of hickory he had Once crafted in the mighty Lachrylon’s Honor.
After a while, he could See it — the enigmatic Pond of the Aqueous Transmission shimmering in the distance, hovering peculiarly over the land. His Eyes and mouth wide in surprise, the last Godhed took more haste toward his destination. But as he got closer to it he noticed that it didn’t seem to be getting any larger. He then realized that the pond was already evaporating…
Run, Run, Run, — RUNNN, Al Rodnam! You just run, young man. Run as fast as you can. It all Comes Down to This, man. You must succeed. You must NOT fuck-up! Runnnnnnnn…………
He was within fifteen feet of it now, sweating freely, racing up to the floating wetness as fast as he possibly could, his arms raising up above his head to form the arch of a dive formation. His jaw was clenched to total numbness. He meditated profoundly on his ultimate devotion to Lachrylon. And Solaria.
Even as his arched fingers came in euphoric contact with the Water, he was thinking there was a possibility that only part of his wrinkly, hairy body would make it down and into this fastly-evaporating, most pertinent pond. He caught the grim flash of an Intense Mental Vision that showed the pond rapidly closing in around his thighs, leaving his legs behind… He vigorously physically shook the disturbing image from his mind as he somehow, perhaps mercifully managed to make it all into the pond in One piece…
He was completely submerged.
For a timeless instant, Al Rodnam lent his Reason for Innocence as he floated Underwater in fetal position, caught within the grey Waters of an embryonic murk faintly recognizable and drifting on and onwards to…
He Gave Himself Up completely to the Pleasantness and True Sublime Nature of the protective maternal Watery drift he Now felt ensnared in, so soothed in.
And then the very spine of Al Rodnam’s Essence was altogether yanked out from under the Last Godhed’s phantasmic personal inner control room, and the old man felt himself being commandingly sucked evasively, and everpresently emptily, into a splashy, gurgling tidal rift that fastly propelled the mystic over and into the lost and forgotten, dark, dark, shadowy corners of a Godforsaken crook of the crux of Hyperspace.
The ordinarily sharp, vast Consciousness of the guru that had just been entirely tripped up due to his aquatic Passover, began slowly and steadily returning to his etheric Spirit Awareness in a gradual multidimensional silver-stream gathering of its lost and found sacred holographic data-chip counterparts, Coming Now in a spectacular liquidic spillover, to sharpen the Consciousness of Al Rodnam into the High Union of Divine silvery Hydro-fibers the Last Godhed Now Came to Actualize as his new existence, and he was rapidly powering up with benign electrical charges of High Awareness!
Then the Last Godhed altogether plasmatically liquefied into a subtle nest of Consciousness fibers that brought Al Rodnam not only back into his High Awareness, but joined with his Oversoul Consciousness Identity Once again, although caught in a perplexing predicament within the commanding confines of a very small, silvery enclosed compartment that just so happened to be voyaging throughout the depths of deep-space strangely, suggestively auto-piloted to an endless looped course along a programmed familiar algorithmic stellar spiral.
Source: Synopsis Of My Novel
[chapter TWELVE of MIKE EYE’s The Aqueous Transmission]
MOTHER MAGDALENA HAD BEEN TRAVELING AT LIGHTSPEED IN Fibonacci sequence throughout the Milky Way in her beloved high-tech silvery space-pod during the global detonation, One day prior to her ship going down, the craft now weaving in and out of infinite instances of space, it’s wake folding over multi-layered fabrics of time, creating an intricate, multicolored, multi-dimensional tapestry of existence within the Milky Way galaxy and beyond, grinding the gears of Purpose into ol’ grandfather clockwork.
Her subjective consciousness not yet aware of what had happened miles below her, still hours away from the moment of time in which the unconsciously permitted brash crash of her craft was to take place, the Mother’s Lustful Heart still surged now with great delight due to the still-recent aftermath of her over-joyous, deeply longed-for, sanctified seduction within the Andromeda Biodome of the mistaken Last Godhed on Earth, the as-yet-to-be-revealed identity of Al Rodnam’s Shadow. The Mother perched now over the broken body of the extra-limp and dismembered man with great satisfaction, endowed with a very wide, Wicked smile, her Core glistening as it, at that exact moment, unconsciously broke the synchronous rotation it had had with the man, and the Earth.
The fiendish female, unaware that the man had just in fact Died at that very instant, tightly gift-wrapped his upper body with her dark, decorative tribal Holy bedsheets.
“You’re not gonna wanna watch this, babe,” she uttered with conviction, as she prepared to partake in her trademark ritual activity.
And with much distinguished rapture, the Mother savagely ripped off the man’s cock and balls with her teeth.
Seconds later, the man’s Head blew off from its neck, burying itself deep within the sheets, as his Soul went tumbling down into the depths of his own black hole that closed around him.
* * *
MOTHER MAGDALENA WAS COMPLETELY FOCUSED ON ENJOYING THE feeling that arose within her after she had had her way with Fletcher Munsin. Totally proud of herself in a way that made her feel as if she could conquer the Earth, the woman giggled to herself in overzealous excitement, not yet realizing that the Earth, in fact, had just conquered her.
Feeling fully satisfied with herself, having arose from her seductive poise upon the bed, the confident woman now stood tall, winked at a reflection of her own slightly bloody face, staring at it playfully in a large wall-sized mirror in her space-pod’s bedroom before gratifying herself further by panning her sights slowly down her dark, gorgeous nude body.
She turned herself on.
Before the mirror Lina brought forth her left knee slightly, bending over to softly place her hands around the thigh of the same long, dark leg, preciously sliding her fingers smoothly down it. She was mostly pleased with what she saw, although she felt she could use a tan.
“Time for sun!” she said to herself playfully, staring into the mirror as she began grooming her sex-hair with her hands.
Lina bowed a bit closer to herself as she blew out a kiss and smiled. “You sexy thaang!” she commented to her reflection, which still showed dried driblets of Fletcher Munsin’s blood caked around her mouth. She nonchalantly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, cocked her head to the side, and spat on the floor.
Feeling a great sense of relief, Lina spun around vivaciously, twirling fro her dress circularly, before collapsing onto her bed next to Fletcher Munsin’s body, which was already starting to undergo rigor mortis. She took a huge breath into her lungs happily, and then slowly released it, savoring every millisecond of her joyous sentiment.
“I don’t smell ya rotting yet, boy!” Lina remarked teasingly as she smacked the dead man’s bare stomach with her open palm. She stared down at the dark blood still flowing out from the mortal abrasion between his stubs at a medium pace.
“That is fuckin’ too bad for you!” said Lina, gently swaying a finger pointing toward the corpse, flippantly flinging forth a bubbly bounce of each shoulder for each word she spoke. She gracefully kissed the inner fingers of her right hand and then extended it out to pat the bed sheets toward the Head of Fletcher Munsin, which was still supposedly concealed beneath.
“I love you, babe,” she muttered.
With such a bounty of her endorphins having recently been released into the room like helium escaping a big blown balloon, the woman was growing exhausted. She felt she could use a nap.
She turned to her back and looked up at the ceiling. “Ahhh! Sleep always seems like it progresses faster and faster in hyperspace,” she marveled to herself. “I wonder why that is.”
Lina kept her Head fixed upward, not bothering at all to even glance over at the decomposing Fletcher Munsin. Her Eyelids slowly drooped over her Eyes and she fell asleep without realizing it.
* * *
MAGDALENA CAME TO IN A RELAXED, FAMILIAR DREAMSCAPE. IT WAS nighttime, and she sat under the myst of the familiar crimson-flushed Full Moon that glittered down from the starlit sky. Nearby a small bonfire, she sat cross-legged on the filthy ground, finding herself engaged in simple, stupid ‘Rune games’ with the village Loombugs — those unmindful lively husks of uselessness whose greatest joy was to feed and sacrifice the wretched swine in their dreadful playpens.
Everything took place so ordinarily that she didn’t realize she was dreaming, like she sometimes could.
Lina and the foul female Loombugs all huddled together in a pack of eight, sitting on the ground un-mindfully laying out Rune Stones on the dirt, laughing and cheering all along. Yes, nothing appeared out of the ordinary to Lina.
But soon, the woman felt stark shame scraping outward from her insides, overcome with embarrassment that she was still trying to have lowly fun with her inadequate daughters despite the explicit heeding of Solaria not to do so.
“You girls each been fetchin’ your own Water lately, I see,” the Mother said to the young girls to distract herself, noticing each one taking sips from their own flasks. “None-a you stealin’ shit from one another anymore! That’s good. And settle down for God-sakes, you fuckin’ children are being too Goddam loud. Shutup, why don’tcha!” She took a strident, condescending tone as she sometimes found herself doing for some reason.
The Loombugs did yap there traps quite a bit and would get naughtier and naughtier the larger their posses got; it would seem they functioned much better in numbers. They mostly would play together with their Stone Runes in a manner long since stained in its original purpose and meaning, adorning the ritual areas with their mindless chatter. This would usually occur everyday with the Bugs, for many hours on end, consistently with group upon group.
Perhaps strangely enough, however, when it was time, the wretched Loombugs would always each Feed their own Personal Pigs in Solitude.
Each Loombug had her own sleep schedule, which varied quite a bit from girl-beast to girl-beast, so it was commonplace for them to come and go in and out of groups quite frequently. This variation of daily schedule personally experienced by each girl perpetually resulted in each group continuously revolving affiliates, never containing the same series of girls within them.
And now, the stupid little girls in Lina’s group cowered a bit with implied shameful acknowledgement at the Mother’s reprimands, demonstrating their habitual conditioned response.
The severely deformed Loombugs had the tendency to be rather rambunctious little things at most times, even well into their teenage years, usually fooling around childishly even if they weren’t feeding their filthy hogs, which they always did mutely.
But whenever the Mother was around, they would mostly surrender their mischievousness, behaving as still boards when she spoke forcefully. The Loombugs were most often overly wary of her presence directly after she spoke down to them, the Mother not usually noticing the unsettling aura that would arise from them each time she scolded them, but she now wrote a note to herself that, this time around, she strangely realized that she did.
But the Mother never intended any harm toward any of her daughters; she unconditionally loved them all just the same, for she knew they were but mere extensions of herself, that she lived for them. That that was what she was supposed to do.
Magdalena did not customarily act harshly with her sisters throughout day-to-day life in her tribal village of Bry Dellows on Fucked-Earth. Her wrath typically came to strike out only once precisely every twenty-eight nights, on the very eve that had long, long ago, during a time long, long since forgotten, the Moon would briefly shine full during the only moment it could do so all month long, one of exactly thirteen times of which would occur each year.
During the aquatic times of this story, like all others in the Milky Way proceeding it, the Moon would come to remain Blood-Red and Full forever proceeding the emergence and release of the Mother’s beastly flesh and blood — the hoggish Mandorla. It was henceforth locked into place and would never have the tendency to wax nor wane, this lack of action possibly paying homage to the degree with which Mother Magdalena will have the tendency to illicit instances of Pure Rage in her upcoming day-to-day activities with her beloved Hawk Sisters.
Engaged in the absurd Rune ritual now being conducted by her Loombug daughters, forgetting she was dreaming, Lina glanced skyward for a moment, intending to lock Eyes with her cherished Moon. But to her absolute astonishment, it was gone, nowhere to be seen. Yet, a soft scarlet blush still remained, settled gently upon the brush surrounding her, mysteriously illuminating it. Because of the overflowing of Melatonin in her Head, among other things, the sleeping woman may have then, at that moment, most likely have been able to transform her dream into a vivid, lucid experience. Instead, having thoroughly Lost her nerve, she fell to pieces. With a sharp, panicky jolt, Lina rose to her feet and looked all around for the missing Moon.
“WHAT THE FUCK!?” shouted Lina in an unleashed panic, headup to the sky. “Where are you?” she cried out in great fear. “Where is that glow coming from?” she asked No One, blankly.
Magdalena all of a sudden became suspicious of herself, and her connection with nature. Intense notions of paranoia were setting in.
Confounded beyond belief, and with sweat starting to form behind her neck and on her forehead, Lina turned back to question her daughters with whom she had just been engaged in ritual, but as she did so, the faces of all eight of them were simultaneously starting to psychedelically mutate, their faces transmuting before her Eyes into engorged blood-red bubbles that were slowly expanding, their unveiled giant Eyes bulging forth as they suspiciously stared at the Mother bleakly.
Then all of their faces fuzzed out slightly, and the edges of their Heads shed form as they slowly melted outward, gravity but a slew of forces abruptly beginning to work most curiously. As the Heads of the Bugs kept gradually expanding, their Bug-Eyes spun round and round in their sockets, faster and faster as great big smiles on each of their faces grew wider and wider. Before long, each of their faces all depicted the same cartoonish expression of clownish Wickedness.
Their Eyebrows morphed into profound bushes of deep expression that seemed inhuman as they raised clear off their faces, slanting inward dramatically toward their noses, more and more, hovering above their Heads now, just beside the devilish horns that had promptly spawned from beneath the roots of their scraggly hair. The Bugs were all gaping at Mother Magdalena idly and spoke a foreign language, very rapidly, incorporating new tones and clicks the Mother had never heard before. At least so she thought.
As her sisters’ Heads continued to inflate, their spiraling Eyes growing larger by the second and spinning faster and faster still, there materialized before each one a shiny key. Each sister seized the keys that were each hovering in midair in front of them, lifted up their lower garbs, and proceeded to insert these keys forthright into their vaginas in twisting motions, asexually penetrating deeper and deeper until their puckering labias were soul-sucking their filthy fists.
Alarmed considerably, Magdalena gripped her Head tightly and let out a loud wail, surprising herself with the sheer fervor annunciated in her vocal vibrations. Thrashing her Head about, she screamed agonizingly for a few seconds as two alternate landscapes that were superimposed upon One another swirled together in a blur behind her Eyes.
She focused her vision, finding herself in the bedroom of her spaceship beside the corpse of Fletcher Munsin.
“Whew!” Lina uttered with relief, wiping the sweat off her brow with the back of her right hand. “It wouldn’t-a hurt had my heels clicked together sooner, shit!”
Then her body jerked to the side, a sense of urgency arising within her. Lina sprang up from her bed instantly, instinctively knowing exactly what she was then obliged to do. She came around to the edge of the bed where Fletcher Munsin’s tied stumps were slightly spread apart, his gory guts sinking out through the deep slash in between them. She became distracted momentarily, glancing down at her feet, realizing she was standing in at least two inches of blood.
Shaking herself free of the image that held her, Lina shut her Eyes tightly and hastily reached her arm into the gruesome opening of Fletcher Munsin’s corpse, seeking his pancreas. When she was about as deep as half her arm, she moved her fingers inside his body and felt around. Blood was squirting past her arm out through the gash from which she was permeating, and she grimaced.
“Fuck!” she exclaimed frustratingly as she struggled to locate the organ. “Uggh…” She felt around impatiently.
It took quite some time to locate what she believed to be Fletcher Munsin’s pancreas, took a big breath into her lungs, and yanked on it until it snapped free from all it had been attached to. Pulling the organ out through the hole where the man’s genitalia had Once been intact, she tried to make out exactly what it was she was holding.
Wiping the blood and other bodily residue from the appendage with her tribal bedsheets, she tilted her Head back, and then forth, flipping the organ around to try and determine what it was.
She was no M.D. but she came to realize that what she had extracted was indeed not the pancreas.
“Fuck!” she again cried out. “I ripped out the fuckin’ liver by accident!”
Tossing the organ aside as if it were a used tissue, Lina delved back into Fletcher Munsin’s carcass. She reached around inside, amidst slimy decaying guts, until she felt something she prayed was the pancreas. She gripped it tightly, took in a deep breath, shut her Eyes tight, and tugged at the object with all her might.
A repulsive odor was starting to waft past Lina’s nostrils. “Awww!” she exclaimed with loathing.
The organ she was holding onto did not come out as easily as the liver. Blood was everywhere. She tossed the new extraction onto her bed in disgust, let out an unsettling yelp as shivers flew up her spine. Lina wiped her nose that had started to drip with the back of a bloody hand, droplets of blood dribbling off of it with the snot. She paused momentarily, took in a deep breath, exhaled, and then started examining the bloodied appendage of Fletcher Munsin. She grasped an edge of her bedsheet from one of the corners and wiped some dark blood off of the thing.
“This has got to be the pancreas.”
She soon realized that, it indeed was.
Examining the thing, turning it round and round on each side, she came to notice on one side of the organ what seemed to be tiny writing cleverly etched into its surface. With a hard blink of astonishment, Magdalena brought the organ closely up to her Eyes as she could see that on that side of the pancreas was inscribed a message scrawled mysteriously in the English language:
Of course I suc-cum-bed to your temptation; I was a human man-hybrid from the third seeding. And as much as I sincerely tried to resist your advances, you ultimately had greater power over me. It is Tao: the way. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, my dear. This applies beyond lifetimes. Unbeknownst to you, even with your sly ways, the seed you so desperately sought after will give birth to your demise. It was the fundamental part of a special formula that, Once inside you, my Mother Magdalena, will have released an aligned cluster of atomic nuclear energy hailing from the memory banks of your Lunar storage unit, and directly into Earth. All your hard work, gone! HAH! Kiss your dear sisters goodbye! Cunt.
ZAPPING THROUGH THE DIMENSIONAL LOCK SYSTEM AND SHOOTING straight into the Inner-Earth Underworld in One super surge, a fast grip around the Staff of Lachrylon, Al Rodnam fastly emerged from his safe haven of Personal Solitude in a great rush, up into the serpent domain of elusively illusive aquatic Evil that was the happy dreamland and tropical euphoric playground of the One High Entity who went by the name of Amrita and took more than One form. It was not long, after having become a completely reborn, sketchily recharged entity, before the eely serpent permanently marked her position atop the Head of the Mother and quickly became Used to ‘spending’ her days physically attached to her Head, Now relating to the Mother in quite a different way than she had Once before.
It was more like the Mother was Amrita’s pet now.
(But the Mother didn’t mind.)
And the Mother Magdalena loved it so. The Highest of Hankerhawks fastly became more easy to carry a deviant smirk now upon her face as she went about her blurry days of eternal dusk instructing the pathetic Loombugs in false and forgotten, mindless ritualistic Runic activity, as usual. It strangely brought upon the Hankerhawks a mind-numbing-style comfort that preoccupied them with diversions of a subversion that brought pleasantries of perversion.
Over the course of several generations, Magdalena and her fellow Hankerhawks would disappear every now and again in small groups to venture into Amrita’s world and recharge their High Spirit Identity reserve banks with precious Earthly Manna, a process that always brought with it a certain kind of High all its own, and to each Hawk alike.
All the Hankerhawk women fed on this.
And they all got to seemingly forever physically embody perpetual grace and beauty, and a super-powerful longevity that collided into the Highest, most ironically egotistical standards of living down to a full-on fashion-fail gig-flop, all made-up and flitting around like corny thespians overdone, charred, always seemingly effortlessly all washing themselves together with the Water each time they entered this world, absently letting seep into their slightly sweaty fresh pores the semi-ever-enduring jizz-juice Revitalization of the enigmatic lake of a most pertinent, potent fiery rejuvenation.
Call it an indigenous, territorial female obsession to become enamored with a Glamour most possessive.
A Glamour most possessive, indeed.
It was more than merely remaining youthful and extending their survival.
All this they gathered from the pond like drugs in irresistible drips, the perceptive, subsisting Hawk Women coming to maintain resourceful power in their teacher roles back at Bry Dellows, far above the little Loombugs they pretended to love.
The Hankerhawks all knew instinctively that they were doing something wrong each day by fulfilling those expected roles of them, but cared not at all of that fact, or what it may mean; the women never even talked about it amongst themselves.
Al Rodnam swiftly swam up through the cobalt crystal aquatics and emerged at the top of the youth-keeping pond of Inner-Earth in slow-motion, up and into a big, yellow burst of sated, soothing warm Sunlight mixed with grey dabs of sparse shade that was instantly ever-so-relaxing against the old man’s dark, aged skin.
From within the pond, it felt for an instant to him as if his raw mystical hide were as soft and wet as Mother Magdalena’s skin always appeared to be — such perfectly pure-seeming skin to the touch. The Mother’s skin always had such an enduring glow; perpetually shining subtley with persistence it continued to be, and with electrical sonar pulse ripples that shot curiously outward from her stride. These electrical ripples had a much more profound effect on her sisters, who were graced by her radiance on a daily basis, than they would ever realize.
Not to mention the effect it would have on One Godhed.
The Mother Magdalena was all-too captivating.
Damn’ Distraction, thought Al Rodnam.
The old man sighed in his melancholy reminiscence. Alas, Al Rodnam Knew how Mother Magdalena’s skin felt only through the metaphysical attachment he had with his Shadow, Fletcher Munsin.
The old man, still partially submerged in the Water, almost didn’t realize it was actually heavily raining out. Much to his astonishment, the warm Waters were in fact powerfully pouring down in sporadic spots, separate clusters of perfectly proportioned downstreams most Peaceful and precisely leveled to the flat surface of this mysterious midland, as straight as could be, and not a single breeze of wind arose to blow the rain about so. Dazzling Sun showed through the fluffy clouds in its serpentine patchwork fashion, and around the pattern of gleams waltzed dusky, dark-blue, almost foggy billows that slowly drifted westward, some small curious patches of Air interspersed with the gusts diffusing about the Serpent’s surroundings.
Al Rodnam and Fletcher Munsin, both, each liked to consider himself rather receptive to the Serpent’s World; after all it was he who had first revealed to Amrita that there was something quite powerful and important about her interchangeable, ultra-biological, advanced rate of metamorphosis that held within its biological and spiritual structure the Key to the portal-door of a World she had Once created with a few others of like-character, but had not Come to be Aware of during her time existing as a chiefly mechanically-powered full-functioning, animal-like, sleek-looking robot with feline tendencies who somehow possessed the relatively uncanny power to become strangely affectionate. And Enlightened. But in this moment, the wise mystic felt totally alienated from where he now floated, and for a reason he just simply could not come to terms with.
Despite this absent sentiment he Knew was a part of his Nature, however, Al Rodnam Now found himself lulled to a most peaceful deliberation as he forcefully interacted intuitively with the regional, native energies.
He was soon overcome by an incredibly overwhelming Sadness that slowly seeped into his senses. It strode across his synapses in woe, delivering to the old man deep, inky diffusions of melatonin into his Head. He came to realize that the Melancholy now striking him was bringing about the deepest Sorrow he had ever felt. His throat painfully swelled to a high knot that blocked his breathing rather disdainfully, and the old man’s Lost Innocence altogether Flowed fully into his primary Consciousness in a rush, his Heart literally cracking at One corner as he sharply shed desperate Tears of a crushing despondence the likes of which made his torn, hollow-feeling Heart then shudder in a grey shaded Shame.
After an extremely Intense moment of Self-Actualization, the old man was suddenly stricken with the abrupt realization that he was slipping into shock… but, upon further examination of his body, came to see that he was not.
But it sure felt like he was, he thought to himself. He saw that he was shivering all over.
Then the old man’s Eyesight came into focus just as he was discovering the ever-important relevance of his surroundings — almost for the first time — and his Head was slouched over dramatically to One side. He noticed his legs still submerged in a shallow end of the revitalizing Inner-Earth pond just below his craggily knees, the warm, thin Water goblets from the sky still falling pleasurably all over his body and all around him in warm, straight serene streams.
Al Rodnam was extremely High.
A minute later, still not finding himself completely unmoved, Al Rodnam noticed he was staring straight at an extra-long, suspiciously all-too picturesque soaken piece of Birch parchment lying just aside the stump of a lovely lush Oak trunk that was situated atop the humblest mound of the healthy Inner-Earth soils, over in a shadowy clearing nearby the pond and looking prophetically suspect. Refining his view, the old man could see some sort of inscripture etched into the wet bark.
He stepped out of the pond, softly walked over to his entreatment, and slowly picked up the large, flat piece of soaked parchment and read what was legibly scrawled upon it.
“Al Rodnam — …
Al Rodnam Looked Up Above at the comfortably falling rain that continued to pour down in straight and thick, very soft and sultry, mysty lines despite the heavy shade of the high canopy of tropical rain trees. Two rainbows criss-crossed each other over a nearby patch of shade. The man remained soaked into the very pleasurable, warm temperate of the rainy jungle tropics. He happily looked around himself in psychedelic astonishment, feeling so warm, and as if he were seeing the world for the very First Time… but as a fully grown adult. Passionate Tears continued flowing down his cheeks and neck, blending with the warm rain. The Last Godhed crouched down just a bit, bending his neck slightly downward against his chest, and heartily bawled his Eyes out for a moment most considerately.
He came to with a shudder, suddenly aware of something strange in his Head, a creeping twitch that straight away returned his mind to the most crucial, most necessary task at steady hand.
The old mystic hurried over to the nearby stargate that led to the surface of the Fucked-Earth Ruins of Doomsday and entered it.
Taken from the Damned Pages of The Aqueous Transmission By MIKE EYE
Episode I. / Chapter 8
AFTER SOME TIME, THE MOTHER OPENED HER EYES TO REVEAL THE now Full-Moonlit night sky. It was the rank stench that had awakened her. She propped up in sheer revulsion as she found herself breathing in rancid whiffs of a what she recognized undoubtedly as a lethal concoction of rotting carcasses, burning diesel fuel, and discharged battery acid. She turned to vomit but had no food to spew.
It was dusky out, with a sharp, shimmering sheen from the Full Moon up above that remained fixed over black death surrounding Magdalena.
There were no stars.
It was eerie. She lifted her head, saw that she was completely naked, noticed she had been sleeping on pieces of filthy, indiscernible scraps, and that sludge lay strewn about in disorderly fashion, upon the surface from which she lay, and spanning in all directions as far as her Eyes could see. The whole left side of her body was incredibly sore. She shifted her body in a quick panic. Perplexed as all Hell, she sprung to her feet and pounded on the side of her head with her fist to try and shake this horrid situation from her.
She prayed she was dreaming.
She remembered nothing of the crash landing, or the encounter with Solaria. The last thing she remembered was gazing out of her space-pod and bearing witness through fluorescent lights to massive clouds of smoke rising up from a doomed Earth into the heat of the night. And she could recall everything special that came before that, of course, most recently of which was the sacred milking of Fletcher Munsin, a most masterful performance she had so deviously executed with the sole intention of executing a perfect balance of extracting the Highest possible yield of germ, with the greatest amount of style, with the Highest impact of suffering.
Also vividly engrained in her memory was the ‘gutsy’ act she had ‘pulled’, the rock-solid grip she had had on a certain consecrated viscera of Fletcher Munsin as she ferociously ripped it out of his horrid, everlastingly afflicted carcass.
She remembered that.
Her empty stomach still churning, a flustered Lina grew more and more nauseous, and coughed several times, her mouth watering. Looking around at the blackened wreckage, the woman tried to see if she could spot her ship anywhere. Filthy fumes whirled about around her as she continued coughing. Her Eyes were Watering.
“Okay…” she said aloud, trying to steady herself, the back of her throat filled with spit. “So I made it to the surface somehow.” She fell to her knees, dry-heaving forcefully. She spat.
“Where the Hell is my ship!?” she cried, stumbling to her feet. Looking rapidly all around her, to and froe, back and forth, the woman became more and more frantic, trying to figure out where she was and how she had gotten there. Her mind was a motionless blank. She fell iller and iller.
Then she noticed her knapsack on the ground beside her. “Yes! Okay, there’s my bag,” she said with a smidgen of relief. She snatched it up. Inside, she saw Amrita. Lina dropped the bag down on its side rather roughly on purpose as to awaken the thing from its sleep-mode.
The robot cat strolled out the bag nonchalantly. “Well hello there, gorgeous,” it muttered, glancing up at the woman, its aluminum whiskers bouncing along with its Head as it tilted it up to look at Magdalena.
“Heavens!” exclaimed the android, as it then shifted its glance to look around. “My, my. You were indeed correct. Our surroundings are entirely demolished!” The thing continued to look around. “And entirely oxidized! Lina, I am detecting three-hundred-thirty-three toxic chemicals in the air. You must urgently seek an alternative oxygen source for your own personal safety.” Amrita cocked its head. “I notice you are not adorned in your precious garment, the most lovely glistening drapery of the unique exquisiteness of yours truly,” it overstated with a melodramatic bow.
“MY DRESS!” she shouted, almost forgetting she was still nude. “If I can find my dress, I’ll be fine.” Lina gripped her head with both hands, applying pressure to her temples uncomfortably, searching around frantically for her dress. Nowhere could Lina find her dress, or her spaceship.
Then she knelt down on her knees, coughed, and stared straight at Amrita, deadpan. “Rita! What has happened to us!?” she asked meekly. “Search your memory banks for recent occurrences!”
“Processing,” said Amrita. “Within a past undisclosed amount of time, I recall you severely injured.”
“Severely injured?” said Lina. She looked around over her beautiful, dark naked body. She neither saw nor felt any injuries of any kind. “Really?” she said, perplexed.
“Yes. It was the same day that my circuits felt strangely drawn to a beheaded body upon the bed of yours truly. It had intense energies emanating from the blank space of where the man’s Head had been. Frequencies even I could ‘feel’. They ‘uplifted’ me.”
Lina gaped at Amrita in astonishment. “Severed Head? Whose Head?” She tilted her Head slightly, the confusion she felt intensifying.
“Fletcher Munsin’s Head.”
“Fletcher Munsin’s Head? His Head was detached?”
“Yes, ma’am. It was the most peculiar thing, especially seeing how ‘fond’ of the dead man I had become.”
“How did he lose his Head, Rita?”
“I do not know,” said Amrita.
“Do you know what happened to the Head?”
“I do not, although I remember you searching briskly about for it. It was strange. Although you never located his head, I could… (Rita paused for emphasis) ‘feel’ it watching over us somehow, and it was still somewhat alive.”
“What a peculiar thing that is to say, Rita. Especially for the likes of you!” She shot the bot a half-smile.
Amrita’s face formed a mechanical smile. “You’re beautiful,” it said, “I love you.”
The Mother grinned slightly.
Gazing up at the sky for a clue, Magdalena locked her Eyesight upon the lone Luna up Above, and in doing so, was struck with a most intense sense of déjà vu. She brought her Head back down.
“Rita, what could you logically interpret from Fletcher Munsin’s energies?” she felt compelled to ask.
“A supreme sense of all-knowing wisdom,” replied Amrita. “The forces were insatiable to me.”
Lina clenched her teeth in rage and released a tense growl. “That motherfucker!” she blurted out, kicking some debris aside. “Rita, are you equipped with the knowledge that a male orgasm, if linked up properly with the Earth’s axiatonal and ley lines through Lunar fission, can have the ability to trigger a nuclear detonation upon Earth’s surface?” She barely knew what she was talking about. She felt almost as if someone or something else was speaking for her.
“I have never heard of such a reaction.”
“UGH!” snarled Lina. She coughed. “Look at this!” she screamed, spinning around with open arms. “Everything is FUCKED! It’s a disaster EVERYWHERE! All my hard work—GONE!! WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO NOW!?” Her throat tingled.
Lina plopped back down hopelessly upon the dark, wretched Earth, pouting and feeling discouraged beyond belief.
“What else do you remember?” she asked the feline android after a while, most desperately.
“The next instance I can recall,” said Amrita, “was you stuffing me into your knapsack. A short while after that, I heard you screaming for Solaria to help guide you from the burning ship.”
“What!? The ship was burning?!”
“Yes, my love. But we somehow managed to make it out in One piece. I wasn’t sure you would be able to do it, but thankfully you ‘pulled through’.”
“Okay, do you remember how we escaped the pod?” asked Lina earnestly, more hyperactivity guiding her intonation.
“I am not certain. From that point onward, I went into sleep-mode until you woke me up just now.”
Lina grew more frustrated. She scowled.
“Okay,” she said after a brief moment, trying her hardest to compose herself. “Do you have any idea how long you were in sleep-mode?”
“Okay, well do you remember anything else, Rita?”
“Processing … Oh yes, One more thing, my love. Besides you being all bruised and battered, I vividly remember you treating a deep gash in your forehead that took a fair amount of time to stop bleeding.”
Lina reached up to her forehead. She could feel no gash of any kind. “Really!? When did I have this ‘gash’?” she asked the bot mockingly.
“Just before we escaped,” replied the android blankly.
Lina sat flustered. She coughed a few times. And that’s when she caught sight of her trusty spear laying amongst the wreckage.
“My scepter!” she cried. “I remembered my scepter!” With a slight smile spreading over her face, Lina went over to grab the lance. She looked at its ravished surface in dismay. “Damn,” she said. “I must’ve used this thing for something extra fierce!”
Lying on the ground close to where she found her spear was a dome helmet covered in dry blood.
“Damn, look at this thing!” she said, picking it up. She flipped it over to its front and, feeling déjà vu quickly tingle up the back of her neck, saw three perfectly circular, clear smears in the dried blood caked over the dome.
“That’s odd,” she said as she dropped the helmet. “I wonder if that was mine. Hey Rita, do you remember me wearing my dome helmet?” she asked.
“I do not recall,” replied Rita, “although I do remember the powers of your lucid dress diminishing significantly.
“Hmm,” thought Lina in dismay.
The nausea again overcame her. Lina remained utterly confused. She bent to the side and dry-heaved forcefully.
“Lina, unless you find an alternative source of oxygen, you will die within One hour.”
“Oh, man!” Lina uttered in between gasps. She gagged. “FUCK,” she exclaimed, again falling to all fours. She felt dreadfully weak.
“Hey! I see something glimmering over there,” said Amrita, pointing with its mechanical shiny paw toward a small shimmering light source in the near distance. The two headed toward the glow.
Approaching the surface where Solaria’s gifts lay waiting to be gathered, Magdalena knelt down and paused in wonder. She wanted to examine the items thoroughly before she touched them. The ball of light was glowing brightly, hovering just above the surface, its center as alluring as Solaria’s. The precious stone was about the size of a ping-pong ball, looked dark-red and grey in color, its surface perfectly engraved with an upside-down triangle. It didn’t look like anything too special but Magdalena could feel a fervent force of archaic energy resonating from the stone.
She noticed a tiny hole in the top of it. She reached into her bag and pulled out her loyal hemp cord. She cut off a small piece of it with her dagger, snatched up the special stone, and strung the cord through the little hole like clockwork.
Just as she was about to place the pendent around her neck, Lina watched the hemp and stone slowly vanish from her grasp.
She blinked in astonishment.
Then she glanced down at her chest, felt around her neck, and realized that she was already wearing the very stone she had just examined, without ever getting a chance to put it on.
She then reached out to slowly touch the ball of light and, in doing so, it just as soon opened up and wrapped itself around her hand before encircling the whole perimeter of her body, forming a protective barrier of light two inches from her dark, silky skin. Within moments, her lovable translucent dress had slowly reappeared over her. Her whole body felt pleasant and warm. And the nausea was already subsiding.
“Ahh, there’s my dress!” said the fortunate woman cheerfully. “Hell, yes!” she exclaimed, feeling revitalized. “I wonder where these items came from…” she inquired emptily at the sky, instinctively, yet unconsciously, knowing exactly where they had come from. “Thanks for spotting these things,” she said to Amrita.
“I am happy you have found protection,” said the android.
“So you have no idea at all how long we’ve been here?” the Mother asked her pet, still rather confused.
“None whatsoever. I do apologize, my fair lady. Time is difficult for me to comprehend. Especially when I am in sleep-mode.”
“Believe it or not, it is for me too!” remarked Lina. “Especially when I’m sleeping!” She grinned.
Woman and android began strolling atop the wreckage without having any particular, conscious direction.
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.