Ice blue frozen glass exploded blackhole retina, terminus maximus; FIN. Consumption over. The thinnest rim of colour dancing time immemorial hidden within the unfathomable infinite abyss of the ineffable mirror.
“Poor sod” Blake Fatel whispered to herself in the cold hard neon luminescent chrome night club of the dead. ‘Expunged. Void. Redundant. Tragic divinity of lifeless flesh and bone…..vessels’ Blake eulogised to her self in the restricted area of Libertalia's morgue. Her nano laced faux leather trench coat and Fedora hat dripped, soaked through from the schizophrenic weather systems of New Antarctica.
The movement of skin and gritted teeth sucked tears back up reverse mourning ducts reunited with watery offspring; the only physical manifestations of weakness trauma buried deep in the battlefields of life’s epic blood history. A raging fire of atomised existential loss burnt so hard within her breast it brought crimson to her cheeks. Her hands trembled Thomas Adès 'Arcadiana' - O Albion at the peak of cum. Her eye lids pealed wide searching could not blink only her head moved typewriter ding scanning left right ding for clues ding. ‘Too much mess’ she realised staring into the charred mangled remains of her extinct friend Jan Lee ‘The First and Last Custodian of Libertalia’.
Right there and then she took an oath to honour her dead friend; Blake promised that when she found the red thread she would pull it. As she always did. No matter where it took her. This was always her cross to bear, her major malfunction; she never looked the other away. She would not pretend like most. A spine connected to integrity, honesty and independent thought comes at a great evolutionary cost to the individual. There comes a time in so called polite or civilised society where you simply give a knowing wink and a nod and just carry on sailing la de da down the river, cocktails and Qabala hand in hand; head first into the eternal gnashing teeth of Armageddon. If you have read the room and still don’t comply, still continue to persist in wondering at the staggering cognitive dissonance experienced by those around you as we all bear witness to the cataclysmic decaying facade of the televisual show: REALITY. Soon you eventually find yourself liberated to the fringes of a niche mosaic of stained glass lead lined narratives that nobody cares for. No more invitations to gatherings formal and informal as the silent malevolent winds of maladministration haunt the thriving tombstone planet Earth.
Faded scent of unsolvable mystery the ancients of ancients sniffed the immanence of our looming destruction and rebirth time table scheduled cosmic case of time and matter and smiled in union with the universe CUT TO: Hysterical fear of nothing a fabulous way to dictate & fertilise historical manipulation accompanied with regular pruning. Trees ripped from roots. Flowers starved of water and Sol.
Many initiates seek Kether. Many disappear lost far far away never to return drifting out to sea on ill made rafts circling the drain. The willing initiate follows the threads imbedded within the externalisation of our collective expressions of Lux Occulta, a decalcomania of this us, of what it means to be, within our literature, art, history, music a detailed mapping of essence, nature, soul sign posts surviving the filtering process of Empires. Symbols that could not be eradicated or erased by authoritarian totalitarian censorship, inquisitions, crusades, digital apocalypse. Carve it into stone, it WILL last longer. Alone on the less untrodden path leading oneself further away from the herd content to graze on contaminated land. Venturing into unknown territory the foolish brave push on understanding that the rewards for selfhood cannot be compromised. Death or Glory. The negative veil of existence awaits. The primordial point calling is the light that pulls.
The tops of Blake's lips rose to meet the florescent neon sun of the morgue and then vanished leaving the impression to any lurking remote viewer of a gentle ripple generated cause and effect by a submarine’s periscope appearing from below a calm surface, Goethe's rainbow, the albatross, infinite oceans, before the smile slips back down into the depths from whence it came, back beneath the viscus, back into stasis.
Omnipresent technological hum of Urizen cloaked Libertalia in a shroud of fear and hope. Blake closed her eyes inhaling the potent wash of disinfected frozen dead ‘calibration 3, 6, 7.... Ready…OPEN’. Staring deeper, pouring her gaze into the deconstructed disfigured tech enhanced skull of the Custodian she puked luminous green gunge into the remains of the dead man’s violently mangled face, shattered bone and leftover brain soup; the vomit slurped and oozed and tangled with the implanted nano fibres which laced and weaved throughout the lifeless cadaver; tracing the network of synthetic streams and rivers and tributaries of fibre and veins and vomit ploughing deeper diving into the meat disappearing heading directly back to the source towards the thing that can not be found; the empirical ghost. The elusive shadow. Not even the silky black blood of Nanoglobin could wake this dead man’s sleeping heart; NO bleeping machines NO blinking lights of augmentation NO grinding of bone and stainless steel NO zipping bio electrical charge NO lightening bolts from the Gods could restore this corpse. Jan Lee The First and Last Custodian of Libertalia was well and truly dead.
“CUNT GET OUT CUNT" raged a voice from behind her...