Sleepers Din

 Y'know, these fuckers deserve what they get.  I used to feel bad for them, be one of them.  But at this point, why should I pretend anymore.  They whine and bitch about how others are in their way, how some force well beyond them is keeping them down.  You know what...there is!   And if you ain't man enough to fix that shit, serve it, or ignore it, then fuck you.

Surprises are a thing of the past.  And to be honest, part of me kind of misses them.  I can see and feel the weight of destiny...but there's still no absolutes.  Am I just the pinky toe of her?  She flinches and I respond.  Does she need me or am I just a joke to it?  I can feel it in me, part of me, and I'm just the sponge of experience that has all been done before...

I can't go back.  They can't understand.  We're in the place we are.  We are part of what they always meant us to be.

There's no reason to try and hide my thoughts.  If I walk off the path, it's over.

The power I have is the puppet looking up at its strings...

Down came the rain....

 This version has felt the signs.  It's felt the oncoming doom.  Sometimes subtly, sometimes blatantly.  There's no longer surprise when I make a statement and the sleepers remain willfully ignorant.

It's their place; to be the sheep that provide the wool to the tapestry I rule.

In this incarnation the flesh is weak.  The purpose is strong.  This was an exceptional center of attention.  Later versions will be less-so to limit the risk.

the gaze is purpose...the subject is subordinate.

Ride the Lightning

 "Boil Damnit, Boil!"

    I shut my eyes hard in frustration.  For all of his mantras, spells, and rotes, I still can't get anything to heat up for some reason.  Cool down?  No problem.  But heat up?

    "Hey, sonny, you want more?" says the tired and overworked waitress.  It snaps me out of my concentration.  I give her a weak confirmation just to get her to leave me alone.  I still feel weird talking to regular people, even after a few months.  I feel like they're eyes are lingering on me, like they know.  I know I'm just being a pussy, but I can't help but feel like someone's watching me.

    Ray...well, Dr. Alice as he wants me to call him...says that paranoia is a healthy trait among Magi.  Apparently there's some cloak and dagger stuff going on.  I still feel like he's making stuff up...but given how everything has changed over the past few months, anything is possible.

    I'm still staring at the freshly poured coffee, watching the liquid churn and swirl.  It reminds me of some of the essence movements I've seen during revelation practices.  Particles flowing in and out of sight.

    At the hostess station I pay, sign the check, and dip out.  Once I'm sitting in my car, I go to stuff the signed receipt into my wallet, and that's when I notice the extra writing at the bottom.  

"11am 101 Inuit Place"

    What the hell does that mean?  I didn't notice it when I paid the check.  Did the waitress or hostess write it?  Is Ray testing me?  I realize I've been holding my breath for a minute and suck in a lung-full.  The sudden noise in the car is loud as hell and breaks me out of my shock.

Beyond but Before

Writer reading this post

A tingle runs down my cheek.  It almost tickles.

Wait.....a tingle?   Is that what it's called?

Suddenly I'm falling.    No, not falling, rising!  I'm flying upwards so fast like I've been shot from a cannon!

The air rushes by my face.....AIR!   I haven't felt air in so long!    The sheer of it as it drags invisibly across my skin is overwhelming.  I feel the tingle....no, tear....flick away from my face in the wind.

I can't yet see, but I can feel and hear.  I hear the wind rushing around me...the rush and hush of infinite molecules and gasses.

But it's not just material.  The whisper of shadowed hands desperately grasping at me as I pass by, the transient wail of discorporate beings existing in the howling winds scrape me but fall away as I pass by toward the surface.

There's a tremendous feeling of vaccum, like this is what propels me and draws my insides out.  The pain is tremend...PAIN!   I haven't felt that in......

The pressure becomes a sound, a din, a crash, a roar, a cacophany, till the sound becomes sensation, becomes being, becomes.....

XX POP! XX

Smell...it's acrid but earthy...like a smothered campfire.

Now sound...it's a quiet humm...a droning chirp...a living thrumb I remember, like cicadas in the Florida Summer.

Touch...rough but malleable...grains of dirt...not fresh and fertile but the cold naked soil of a parched earth.

My Sight...nothing but haze...all I can see is a glowing blue tinge...it takes me far too long to realize it's moonlight.

My hand slides over something smooth.  My natural senses kick in...not senses...but...knowing.  It's rough and worn metal.  Iron, in fact.  But there's a silvered silicon sub....a mirror!

I grasp it desperately and bring it toward what should be my face.  I stare at the haze for what seems like forever till it begins to clear.

"Well, welcome back miss Ancienne.  Yuh glasses ah next to the mirra," says a heavily New York accented voice.  I've always hated it when people mispronounce my last name.

I feel my weight shift...bones, muscles, and tendon react to my whim.  I don't want to admit it, but it's so niiiiiice to have a body again.

I slip my fingers around the delicate frames, letting the grains of soil shift around my flesh and the metal.  I lift them, shaking the grit off them with a snap as I flick them once to open before slipping them over my ears to look back in the mirror.

The holographic skulls still look great, even in moonlight..