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SCIAMATROX
by Enki Xenobi Kuriosh
SCIAMATROX
The Book of Black Ch’an
By
The Mad Priest Enki Xenobis Kuriosh
PROTEUS NETWORK
990 Geary Street # 510
San Francisco, CA 94109
Publication of this book was assisted by Tien-Gaiyo-Ji Zen monastery and The TsokTsok Group
Copyright 2000 by PROTEUS NETWORK.
All Rights researved.
First addition, 1991
There is no Bhodi-tree
Nor stand of mirror bright.
Since all is void,
Where can the dust alight?
Huineng
Introduction by Doctor Albert Benway MD PHD
Saturday, August 19, 2000
It was in the mid-1980s when I was involved with a series of investigations into a peculiar social phenomena located at Disappointment Slough in the notorious upper San Joaquin delta waterways near the industrial town of Stockton in beautiful northern California. Many of the authorities in that area had experienced a rise in complaints regarding nocturnal activities of people they believed were members of a satanic cult. I was called in as a psychological consultant; my work with the unfortunate and gruesome tragedies that had occurred in Louisiana’s Appellation swamp communities some 10 years earlier had given me the reputation as a occult expert within law enforcement circles. During the course of these investigations among the dozens of sloughs, island tracks and channels that cluster the main deep water channel that ends at the military base, Rough and Ready Island; a series of disturbing incidents, unsettling grave robberies and a dramatic arrest had whipped the local community into an orgy of rumor and hearsay that soon turned to panic.
When I had arrived, things had already began to spiral out of control and mobs were forming demanding some kind of immediate action be taken. I had a very difficult time getting a clear picture of exactly what had happened there in those murky, lawless channels; but from what I could gather it seems that a wealthy family with a rather dubious past had moved to the outskirts of town some years back and that their oldest male progeny had come to be a rather eccentric fellow involved in all sorts of unusual and improper activities. I began by attempting to interview family members but was surprised to find that they had all left the immediate area with great haste. I made some inquiries and was contacted by the family council and told that they were not available for comment and referred me to the personal lawyer of their son, Enki Xenobis Kuriosh. I made contact with an individual who was close to the family and he agreed to speak with me only after getting my assurance that his identity would be kept strictly confidential. I interviewed him in a rundown bar charmingly christened “The Barking Dog” in the town of Lodi and he did spin for me a strange tale indeed. I was told that Enki Xenobis Kuriosh had studied the sciences at a local Catholic university but was asked to leave after it had been discovered that he was performing a series of unauthorized experiments involving the remains of Egyptian mummies purloined from a local Rosicrucian museum. There were no official details regarding the incident and those involved had been purged from the campus. It seems he had then rented a ranch style home on an isolated island on the upper delta ways that had been a hog farm in the early 20’s and continued his research for several more years. Mr. Kuriosh had hired the man I was interviewing to revive the hog farm and run day-to-day operations. He had also employed two Swedish albino twin brothers to run his barge to the local slaughterhouse. They were fiercely loyal to him and had disappeared after Mr. Kuriosh’s arrest. No official records existed concerning these two except a curious news article dating almost 75 years earlier describing the death of two Scandinavian brothers in a suspicious boating accident. During the course of the interview it was made clear to me that at no time was our anonymous friend treated badly in any way or did he ever see anything exceptionally unusual; except that some of Mr. Kuriosh’s guests were always colorfully exotic and very generous. I did not speak with my new friend long, as he had a keen case of the jitters. But before he left me there with my warm glass of stale beer, he said in an absent minded way, that maybe they were a little too generous to him. And for such a modest group of people, on some long summer nights, they certainly did eat an awful lot of meat. During this time Mr. Kuriosh had become somewhat notorious around town and was very popular with his peers due to his strong and unusual character. So naturally there formed around him a kind of entourage the authorities had mistakenly believed to be some kind of cult, but I believe this was hyperbole. After two of the city’s finest citizens sons had been discovered having intimate relations of a sexual nature; further revelations had shown that they had been introduced to such taboos at the residence of our already frowned upon and distasteful, eccentric citizen. The local sheriff had been anonymously contacted and told that many of the mysterious grave robberies and inexplicable break-ins had been done by Mr. Kuriosh and his two albino servants. When police arrived at the residence they were shocked and dismayed to discover all manner of strange artifacts. I reviewed the pictures myself and it seems every inch of the house was filled with laboratory apparatus, chemicals, medical equipment, and strange inexplicable oriental lacquer boxes. In the back of the house they found a whole elaborate workshop filled with modified tools of every sort. At first the police thought they had found a drug lab but there were no drugs found on site. There were a series of what they thought where human remains but turned out to be the skulls of Neanderthal apes. I can assure you the confusion surrounding this discovery had been considerable. Police had thought that they had the remains of several humans, possible victims of foul play; when an attending pathologist pointed out the skulls were not human but pre-human and in astonishingly good condition. The skulls now reside at the Berkeley Museum of Natural History. It has also come to pass that all of the confiscated items have completely disappeared from police custody. All other related documentation is very vague. I have been told that many of the items were removed by a very influential individual in the FBI and transferred to a private collection in Arizona. So after three months of intense investigation, the authorities could find no criminal activities; so they placed Mr. Kuriosh in a sanitarium for medical and psychological observation. The following manuscript was pieced together from notes and journal entries of our patient and represents his experience there in the sanitarium.
He secretly sent me these journal notes via his lawyer who was the only individual allowed to see him; since his release the institution has been closed following a grand jury investigation into reports of cruel, unusual treatments and conditions. I shudder to think what he was forced to endure those nine months in solitary confinement. With his permission I have decided to publish his journal just as he wrote it; although I have edited it in merely practical ways for standard publication. I believe this work is a unique mosaic of human experience, a rich condensed pastiche of the darkness that lives in the human soul, a strange puzzle for the unwholesome curiosity. I do not make any pretense on how one should interpret this document but I do believe that it should be read with caution and restraint. When one has read this small but strong piece of writing, it will forever leave its impression on the very soul of the reader.
Comment:
By Father Jacob Fubu, Theologian at The Holy Roman Church, South Africa.
It was during the 1996 outbreaks of the Ebola virus that I and my good friend Doctor Benway were attending a medical briefing in Chiba, Japan. I had noticed that my good friend was not really paying too much attention to the horrific presentation at hand but was leafing through some rather dog-eared notes and a distinct furrow marred his usually smooth, high brow. Curiosity getting the best of me, I leaned over and touched the hand of my friend of some 25 years thinking to get his attention. He jerked up his head as if shocked and for a moment I saw something in his eyes, a black insect glitter, as if his eyes were full of black shiny beetles. He blinked and it was gone leaving only the familiar, slightly watery eyes of my old friend. He looked at me oddly and took my hand that I had left it outstretched. He asked me if I was all right. I remember mumbling something about the humidity and asked him to help me out of the stuffy conference. He suggested we go to one of his favorite haunts near the Ginza district. We arrived at a small low-lit café on Yuraku Cho called Rudon’s. We bustled inside and were greeted warmly by the owner, Rudy, a rather odd character of about 50 but strangely youthful. I can never really tell with Orientals. He seated us in the back and we were served strong coffee and adorable little sweets by an extremely charming and attractive young man who Dr Benway told me was one of his former students. So things got around and I finally asked him what he was up to and what was preoccupying my good friend. He then briefly told me about his current case and the strange patient whose journal notes he was reading, and that he was planning on publishing them. I could see that my old friend was leading to something and I told him as much and demanded that he be out with it. He got a big toothy grin on his face and pushed the journal he had been reading across the table to me. I took it up but he stopped me and asked me to read it over the weekend and give him some feed back.
So I did. I read it straight through. Now I am an old man and I have seen many strange things deep in the jungles. I have witnessed works of our Lord and his enemy Satan in the deserts of Brunei and in hidden abbeys in Ethiopia, not to mention the ravages of war and famine and every conceivable act of human cruelty, so I am no wilting flower. But this book is of the blackest magic, a work of Satan, and should not be read, much less published. It is an abomination and a snare for the soul of man. If you are unfortunate to get this far turn round, go back, and find your peace with the Lord our God the savior of mankind, Jesus Christ. Do not read this. It may seem to be a clumsy, garish sort of thing, harmless and lewd; but it is laced with the most potent evil. It is only because of our old friendship that I have demanded that Dr Benway allow me to include this with the published material. Hopefully I may warn off those who have strayed from the flock of Christ onto this most deceiving path that can only lead to the dark night of the soul and into nightmares come true. For those of you who turn this page, I pray for your salvation and the comfort of your loved ones.
May God have mercy on our souls.
Father Jacob Fubu
Rome.
Friday, February 09, 2001
Introduction:
These words are antiseptic splashed in the wounded face of mankind, whose arrogance and cruelty are matched only by that of God and possibly myself. If you are innocent, then turn away from these pages and do not look back. They will corrupt you, sear your white spotless wings and I will drown in your misery, tasting your agony for an eternity. If you are one of us then you will have always been here with me, together like love, I wrote this for you. And for the rest of you who do not know who you are, you are on your own. But know that you did not arrive here by accident. There is a path in your life that led you here right now and you must choose. Right now as I write this, the rain beats hard against my window trying in vain to wash away the cursed ink that forms these words. Poor merciful Nature, she feels compassion for her sons but I must brush her aside and tend to my patients and administer this, The Word Treatment.
VIDEBO SCIAM
E.X.K.
CHAPTER 0
The Non-Configuration:
The Utterances of The Mad Priest Enki.
“I gave my heart to know wisdom, madness and folly. I perceived that this also is a vexation of the spirit.”
--Ecclesiastes
Within all beginnings lies the seed to all endings, the promise of a flower: with each death comes the promise of a new life. This is the story of in-between. It is encased inside a seething hell of Sunday sick cock spill people, bleeding the whole mass-media sponge. I shrink back. I see, but feel no pain. I expel a long, loud, sharp cry that is/is not me. This peculiar form of verbal behavior; this psycho-sexual preoccupation. This flesh net rift in melodious parabola.
Gently fade out to a lake of fire and brimstone. Daemons in top hats and spats sing in barbershop quartet style:
Sex and flesh hooks
Sex and flesh hooks
You got me in the thigh
Sex and flesh hooks
Sex and flesh hooks
By and by, it’s all most foul
The priest leans over, deftly slices open the chest of the screaming boy, and with experienced hands reaches inside the convulsing cavity of his body and grips the still-beating heart. With a specially curved knife of intricately carved obsidian, he removes the heart and eats it. Wolfing it down, choking on the pulsing chunks, he then lifts the twitching body up over his head and throws it down the steps of the stone temple. A ghastly rag doll of meat, tumbling down into the dirt.
An old and callused hand throws corn seeds into the air, then makes the motions of masturbation; the hand reaches into a soft wrinkled sack, pulls out another handful of seeds, and throws them at the ground. He makes a fist and shoves a corn seed into his hand. He opens his fist and inside is a key--Victorian-style, a skeleton key. He loops through the key a strand of leather, and ties it round his neck. Young naked attendants wrap papyrus sheets around him and masturbate upon the fibers. The fibers change to canvas, and the cord turns into a strap and buckle. The temples turn to hospitals. The adobe becomes tile.
He is led to a cell and the door is locked behind him. There, in the endless soft white expanse, he mumbles to himself. The words take on form and substance, dancing before his mind’s eye. Reaching out into time, groping, feeling its way like a vast blind worm. Breath forming sounds, sounds forming letters, letters becoming words--words that are scratched into the wall of a cell, carved onto the tops of school desks and etched into skin:
“...Like Oedipus I have seen the truth. I have sought the hidden visions and dipped my ladle into the abyss and drunk deeply. The dark secrets have revealed themselves to me. And I know now why they where hidden. To know them is to know eternity, and an endless undulating blackness...”
“I am no innocent babe and neither are you, else you would not be here. I did not stumble upon these dark epiphanies. They did not pour themselves upon me unbidden. I willed them. I called to them in ancient tongues. I performed their rites. I sought them in the desolation of my soul. The very seed of my being sprung from these ancient, terrible blossoms. I reached out my hand, took the fruit and ate. And through these words I give that fruit to you. You, who are the concurring children, the children of war and of desolation, I give this gift to you, for my heart aches to see your violent, sensual faces.”
“Your complicated visceral contortions have burned themselves onto my optic nerve. I have slid over the surface and smelled the stink of your flowing, youthful flesh. I have watched you grow and know that you want to consume my body. I have heard your eager whining, and know the depth and breadth of your desire. So, take your fill of this tainted meat. Stroke your flesh and chew these words that come from my mouth. A glossy, roiling river of spit. Drink it all in... bathe in it...cup it in your upturned palms and let it pour over your hot faces. I have felt your longing and heard your call. With each word I am closer to you--all of you. And thus, you are closer to one another. Rejoice and rut. Bathe in a rain of lewd kisses. Grip one another, swear eternal loyalty, and seal the pact with spunk and sweat.
“I give you the power to make it all real, and now it is. To let me back in. To live again, in you. To move through time with words and flesh crawling across your eye, moving in the contours of your spastic rhythmic gyrations. Manifested in the sweaty geometry of your coupling and born in the vapor of your mingling breath.”
“The things I have seen in your twisted music, through your deadly games. In the pounding of your heart and the endless rush of blood through your veins. How I long to drink from your body, to cover your white flesh with my black words.”
Oh hollow mocking idol-god face of mine,
How I adore you in infinite and subtle horror.
I am the Holy Most Debase and Filthy Gesture Sanctified.
You are upon me and mount this throne of flesh,
A panting gasping idiot choir, all titters and sly looks.
Oh black god, whose endless eyes glitter,
Oh grunting priests who twitch and moan,
Oh angelic boys who squeal and rut,
Oh infinite eternal blackness,
I am in you
And I am around you.
I never was,
And I always will have been.
Holy madness and in fear,
Nothingness without end.
AMEN.
CHAPTER 1
The First-Configuration:
The Old Doctors Alchemical Perversion.
“The Gods are just and of our pleasant vices make instruments to plague us.”
--Shakespeare.
Picture if you will. Hidden like a tumor, an institute of Victorian architecture, picture perfect post card countryside, clean crisp air. The cacophonous songs of whippoorwills and ravens, imbibed throughout, a heavy thick buzz of insect origin.
With your eyes, move through the air and enter through bulletproof glass bay windows on the top floor. Enter... Fine Persian rugs on polished hard wood floors. Enter... Ancient oak bookcases, studded with Chinese locks. Enter... And notice the two leather chairs in the middle of the room. Enter and notice the massive desk and the odd objects thereupon. There the good doctor soundlessly sits. The noonday sun casts a warm glow of banal charm across the room ...Doctor, books, sun and sky, all spoke a language of benevolent saintly compassion. Enter ... The cold gray eyes. Enter the cold gray mind: “Considering the need for power and the sado -maschocistic tendencies, coupled with complex behavior control technique, we must expect manifest deviant sexual behavior, taking note that that apparent behavior patterns and psychological responses may, in fact, be fabricated by the patient in order to manipulate the physician’s responses and decisions...” This internal soliloquy drones on in a monochrome of image silhouetted against a grainy curtain of flesh and chains, flickering visions of torture and sex, nails, hooks, and gleaming scalpel blades, grasping hands with torn, ragged fingers.
Endless twisting, writhing tubes of quivering mylar, vast plateaus of half- organic, half- mechanical throbbing tissue. Frothing waves of pus. Boiling rivers of disinfectant flow through valleys of diseased flesh. Peeling membranes of yellow jelly pulse to the voice...“Forced sexual activity during adolescence, expressed as methodical cruelty to animals...” Arid heat and jungle sounds, howler monkeys scream from distant treetops of malignant green and bleeding yellow, A small tight face framed in blue-black hair emits a shrill, thin voice...
“Little missy likes that doesn’t she...” White-hot heat in the groin. The bad place, the bad lady, doing very bad things...“The heat, the rats. “The pain, it’s eating me alive!” Please, help Mama! The rats are eating me!” This trauma was stored in the subconscious and later manifested as extreme hatred for rats and mice. This hatred was expressed through her research as cruelty and needless torture to her lab rats, veiled in a shroud of scientific symbology. To her the rat represented foreign people, more specifically, Asian women, fit only for vivisection. She hated all forms of weakness and femininity. She sought peace in the clean, sterile vacuum of laser science. Flash to the plantation home. Enter the stained glass window of Christ’s crucifixion in vivid Catholic fetish of morbid sorrow. A tall, straight woman, sever and domineering stands looking down on a small frail child, her voice full of disgust and vicious contempt. “You weak little bitch! I hate your grating whimper! . Remove your pathetic stinking self from me this instant! “ she shouts in rage . ..,”Jilala.! Jilala.! Come this instant and fetch this repulsive thing. Jilala ! come !.. A small wiry woman enters and drags the crying child away. Her excessive need for exactness and precision propelled her and Electron Microscopy technology prodigiously. Over time she became increasingly hostile towards other collages and students. She began to see them as rats, describing a certain young Japanese woman as “... creeping up on her out of the woodwork.” In her mind, she saw the diversification of Electron Microscopy as not a necessary step in its application to current technology, but as a substance loosing its purity; a young girl loosing her chastity to foreigners by force; whom to her, were degenerates.
...The patient may be subject to unpredictable severe ataxia and may have to be placed under medical restraint, or in more violent episodes, sedation can be administered. The good doctor found this last sentence appropriate and carefully wrote it down in the file he had laid open on his desk. The door to his office opened and a youngish woman came in carrying a tray of coffee.
“Good morning doctor! I’ve brought you something to warm you up!”
“Why thank you Katie. The hospital does seem a little cold today.”
“Yes sir, it’s the weather. It’s getting late in the year. Shall I have plant services adjust the temperature?”
“Hmm?” The doctor’s mind was miles away as he watched intensely, as a spider dangled its prey and quickly wrapped it in fine silk. He could clearly see that its prey was also a spider of the same species.
“... Would you like me to turn the heat up?”
“Oh yes! Yes you’re right, please do, will you Katie? Sorry dear, I am a little tired today. I stayed up late with the new patient. Can you cancel my appointments for today? Thank you.”
The young woman left and the doctor looked out across the hospital grounds. Here and there men and women in varying degrees of dilapidation and mental turmoil could be seen shambling or being led about; each one a complex riddle of pain, disease and neglect. They were products of years of physical and mental abuse, survivors of hideous deprivations and cruelties; subjects in diabolical and unspeakable experiments, forming a kingdom of maimed, mutilated, deformed, neglected, and forgotten souls. He was their benevolent dictator, handing out certificates of sanity; and punishing those who transcended the laws of normality. They all came before him and poured forth their terrors, whispering of dark things that crawled in the night, of voices coming from the bathroom drains, of government plots and spousal infidelities. Some spoke of strange implants, others just cried. Some screamed and tore at themselves. They all came to him to divine the meaning of the pain in their lives and dictate the path to sanity. If they only knew what he knew. If they could only see what he has seen, they would revel in their pain. They would embrace their disease and huddle in the darkness. How ironic that they came to him for peace when he knew that reality held no peace; that the universe was a vast and terrifying place. How impotent and tragic is man’s place in it. How ancient timeless things moved and planned just out of sight. Truly man was blessed in his island of ignorance. He had traveled far in the sea of night and came back. The things he had seen, he gently veiled from others and turned them back from the dark shore. Some he had brought back and coaxed them back into the bosom of society; telling them to forget the unthinkable visions they had glimpsed. Others he kept and studied the symptoms of illumination and madness. Even now after all these years, he could not say whether or not he was a moral man.
CHAPTER 2
The Second Configuration:
The Glorious Revelation
“Come fill the cup, and in the fire of spring, your winter garment of repentance fling; the bird of time has but a little way to flutter-and the bird is on the wing.”
--Omar Khyayyam.
Stranded, in a seven by eight cell with a toilet in one corner, naked, shivering like autumn's leaves. Dried Cum on my shaved groin. Blue-veined spiders running over my body finding no hair. My sheath burns hot. The air is livid with transparent eels and geometric mandalas. Through the maelstrom of sensory input my attention is drawn to what I believe to be a voice outside my cell door, possibly outside my mind.
"Hay baby...qua...pa so...eats... Hay! You alive in there? You hear` me in there... You hear me baby?” A plastic tray slides through the door. I watch as one of the blue-veined spiders reaches for the food tray. It pulls it towards us, but suddenly the tray is jerked back. "Ah, baby not so fast man... You let daddy see you first... then you eat...Comprende? "My lips move and I say something, as the rules of his game form in my mind. "Step back baby... so daddy can see you..." It's my move ' I can stay still or move as he says. I decide to let him see me in my present physical condition. If it is, in fact, perceivable to others. There is a long silence, then, "Whoa... Baby, mi amigo... you some kinda freak! Fuckin' sheet man... that crazy doctor got you man...Here, man, you gonna need your strength. Take two trays you bad business, boy." Enter one tray, then another. "...Good luck baby you gonna need it." Clank of steel, creak of wheel, then silence. The eels come swimming out of the corners in slow lazy zigzags. The blue-veined spiders feed me the food and I wander about in my head... some kinda freak baby... some kinda freak..
"…Sir... Sir! Excuse me, sir? The head warder sent me to inquire as to your instructions concerning the patient in room number ninety-three?”
Two cold gray eyes stirred in their sockets like some species of deep-sea parasite, and settled on the young, stiff lipped lieutenant...
"Oh, Yes... I was just going over his file. Please, lieutenant, sit down. Relax a moment."
The young man sits stiffly in his chair in a haze of silence and noonday sunray silhouette.
"Well, let's see here... Yes, listen very carefully, lieutenant. I've worked with you for a very long time. And I like to think that I can trust you... Can I, lieutenant... trust you?"
"Of course you can, sir."
"Good, I'm putting you personally in charge of this man... your captain is an inept, bumbling fool. Let's be honest. With his banquets, charities, and paltry vanities; I need someone I can rely upon. Someone who understands that there are contradiction and that sometimes terrible decisions have to be made and endured. I've chosen you. And I would remind you that your silence and secrecy can and will protect you. He is to have no contact with anyone but you and two other guards. They will report directly to you and not to speak with anyone but you or myself. If they are approached by absolutely anyone no matter how casual and asked about this patient; they are to refer them to you. Do you understand? You are to see to his needs and personally escort him during transports. I trust you will treat him well. I have noticed that there is a certain... rapport you have with him, and I feel it is beneficial to our cause. Do you understand I am encouraging you to pursue your ... friendship. Lieutenant?”
The lieutenant did not answer but nodded yes. His tight white skin had taken on a deeply flushed and moist appearance. The doctor could smell his embarrassment.
"Do you have any questions, lieutenant?”
“Ah, yes, sir. Who will the other two guards be?”
“I leave that up to you, lieutenant. That will be all, lieutenant." Hesitation...
"Yes, lieutenant, what is it?”
"Is he dangerous, sir? He is very strange, sir..."
"No, lieutenant, he is not. There is no need for you to worry. He's no more dangerous than I am."
A broad, malignant smile spread across his thin face. He let his eyes scan the boy's lean body as he leaves the room. He leans back in his chair and chuckles to himself softly... No more dangerous than I am... He leans forward in his chair and runs his finger down a list, reading aloud like a curator naming ancient museum pieces: fetishism, ritualism, infibulations, bondage, hypoxia, fantasy props, cannibalism, sado-masochism, homosexuality, unnecessary bindings, symmetry, a sense of balance, neatness and a variety of posture.
"Yesss, lieutenant," his voice trembles, "no more dangerous than I am..."
Flash to the good doctor ten years earlier lecturing a police squad.
“There is no known cure for sociopaths, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Except the death penalty,” says a sharp-faced boy in the front row. A soft, creeping chuckle moves through the room. Over the next few years, he moves quickly through the ranks and finds himself working with that very same doctor.
Funny, how things work out.
CHAPTER 3
The Third -Configuration:
STIRIA-METUS.
“Warder. Warder. Quickly man! Is this a time to wait?”
--A.E. Aveloun
Enter into a plain white room and the smell of disinfectant. Enter.. to plain white tile floor functional, institutional. No grace in these angles, no equation to please the eye. Enter a room with straight back chair, flash to a naked boy arms and legs tied in efficient knots. With chin on chest there is a rise and fall of breath. Visualize, ... silence and exaltation. ... In then out... .In then out..... Enter closed eyes to an arctic waste land of blizzard white. The howling blast of a trillion thoughts in a vast and deafening assault. Distant voices speaking in a hallway hospital echo dialect.
“ hmmmmm ..yessss...the sex drive you see gentlemen is not a system in its self but rather, it is the meshing of several different systems.. You see, approximately 10% biological 20%, physiological, 70% psychosexual. You see gentlemen, that the primary sex organ is the mind. Yes gentlemen. Sex is a sensory act ritual.
“Excuse me doctor for the interruption the patient is housed here in room number 93.” “Hmmm ..Yes I see. Very good, let us examine the patient. They entered the room and stood behind the young man bound to the chair. His vulnerability plain and calculated as the intended chill of the room. .
“ Lieutenant, will you please blind fold him.”
.... Sudden black cloth blast of eyeball pressure visions; like I used to do when I was a child. His cold thin hands on my testicles, lifting them weighing them. , I could almost see his face, I could almost feel for him, a man of knowledge, a man of breeding, his silk suit brushed my legs, his breath cool on my stomach.”
“hmmm yes. Ah.........lieutenant, will you please leave the room and return when I call for you. I believe a physical examination is in order.
Silent reluctance and a subtext of tension.”
“Well sir, are you sure? He is... well I mean , I could help you sir”
Yes lieutenant, thank you, but I’m sure I will be fine, just be back in two hours and take care of things till then for me will you?”
“...yes sir, very good sir.”
The door slams and locks the dead bolt, receding rhythm of foot steps like distant gun shots.
“Now my boy, we can begin ...”
Sudden, like dessert rain, a sharp pin prick in my thigh. Then a rush of hot metal and bloody torrents of blackness in silky waves...are those birds I see? Yes, birds and grass. I’m flat on my back, corn rises up around us in all directions only the sky brutal in its frankness my knees are pushed up to my chine, a boy with blond hair is fucking me, he grunts squeezing my hips, pumping and squirting. Pumping and squirting, green on blue featureless flat blank sky, fuck slow and sticky globs of white lust and clouds ...I look at my hand, a strange extension. A field of vision, a scope of concern, my own private zone of impression. These fingers flex and reach for the object of attention. The duel coin of circumstance, flipped careless toss of heads or tails the distance seems to be a buzz, like flies come closer still, birth machines approaching mountains of flies bringing madness and roaring fire. I cry out “ berashith ! ... The old one ‘ his banner of bleached bone and tanned human skin. the roar of immense war machines powered by the heat of freshly spilled blood .Thunder pounds the land with war. The burning cities light the brooding night. I have seen it all come down. So much burning leaves. The endless seething of golachab . This screen flipped round and round this broken film spool cut in twain, melting to a blank white slit receding into the future, receding into the arctic waste of white noise. Enter blue eye's of cool ice and stone, the lieutenant his eyes, he sits, he watches, eyes move from monitor to monitor, but always, inevitably return to monitor number 7 with Its fuzzy blue and black vision of the freak in room number 11. The lieutenant trembled, closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He opened his eyes and stared at the clock. Minutes had blossomed into hours. He had been thinking one single thought. One thought in crimson, poly tone," do it ... go to him." Encased in golden slow dream like sticky, he stood. His bulging fly pointing the way not unlike the keel of a ship cutting the murky unfathomable waters that is our mind. Now before him is a door marked 11. And in his left hand is a key and behind the locked door lies initiation, accessible only to him. The door, the lock, the key, all open to destiny; shicksalsrad. he moves inside and shuts the door behind him,
" you have come alone”. "What’s your name?"
" We do not need names here”.
" Can I undress you? Those cloths are an insult to your flesh. "
“ Hurry please-, I have come to you now quickly come to me.” Face to face they embrace, their touch like fire and ice, desire and fear, reality crumbles in the face of their madness, their brilliant light dissolves walls and doors and god is shamed, their heat, their ebbing slow and cautious hands.
“I touched, I caress milk flesh and heat of lived lust. Fingers trickle down the burning shaft, down towards the hot ring of molten need, burns my finger, burns my mind. The slimy hot ass grips me and begs for my attention. I want to taste this spice, molten honey on the tongue-- my tongue. The taste of his sex, drunk and dizzy like vodka's spell. I must, the blue god decrees, and lays his vast hand on my shoulder. “This is stronger than the both of you. You become more than the sum of your actions.” I grab his hips and slide down into his mind and am lost forever more. Through the rings of fire and knives my cock grows vast and fills the empty space. I am squeezed and milked like ripe fruit; my juice is sucked from me. I watch his naked cock come, globs of heavy, thick ropy spurts. Now I am both master and slave to this subtle game of lust. I am possessed and I possess. This sex is ours, but to whom do we belong... I hear the voice, close my eyes and am utterly consumed by the vision...”
The good doctor's eyes inspect the vision displayed in blue luminous monitor, the events now transpiring in the room marked number 11. Two bodies diametrically opposed, folding and unfolding in animal lust, each encasing the other. Twining, twisting tension then liquid glass. He raises his long hands to his mouth and weeps. An indefinable loss, an inexplicable birth, in blue neon digitalization, Uroburos, concentric twisting devouring, begetting. His old body quivers, every dormant nerve. Suddenly alive and crawling, the slow rhythmic spasms of primordial orgasm. The raw grind of desire's rudimentary foundation. A subsonic biological throb played on the skin of every breathing, pulsing, jerking creature. The good doctor drops to his knees. Hot writhing sperm fills his pants, its eruption painful and sudden as flood in a barren desert; a flood in his desiccated mind. The good doctor, in infinite fractal duplication, new characters, new combinations. A priest, an assassin, a politician. A woman in chains and darkness. A man on fire from within. A jungle of fleshy leaves, two boys fuck. One thin, the other dark and wolf like, panting with dirt and blood in their mouths.
They cry out, slamming their bodies together like avalanches of fire. Howler monkeys scream from treetops, birds of blue and green iridescent take flight into the simmering red twilight. The slow, slow spinning path of a glass beaker impacting with white tile, knocked to the floor, smashing to glittering shards. Two boys in lab drag; one boy holds the other in his lap against the wall driving his cock into the other's ass; he groans and bites into the other's shoulder raising dark thick blood. A blinding flash rips the scene apart into fragments of shimmering dust floating across a ray of sunshine cutting an old Victorian room. The wood floor is littered with books and old fading photos of strange sex scenes and religious rites. White silence and the scream of snow and blizzard winds, an Arctic wasteland of frozen things.
CHAPTER 4
The Fourth-Configuration:
The King Of Spiders.
Hark ye yet again,---the little lower layer. All Visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks.
But in each event---in the living act, are the undoubted deed--- there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If a man will strike, strike through the mask!
H. Melville.
“Wake up you fuck! This is a brand new game. It’s a new trick to mess up your brain. I’m a sick fuck. Called you by your name. This is my dick. Suck! Sin is to refrain. Bend you over butt-fuck. Crush on acid rain. It was a dark night. He was driven on to insane. I’m a sick fuck. Stick my fingers in your brain. Rub your deep thoughts. Just exactly the right way. There is nothing like a mind fuck. Deep fuck. Suck. Seething in flames. Hells grinding away all your private thoughts. There is no denying that I am a sick fuck. Hells grinding the holy words. Metal crunching the holy names. Lick your face, I’m a sick fuck. Fucked in every way. Turn up the radio you’re not getting out. I hear your teardrops and they excite me.”
They howled and tittered as they dragged him only half conscious from the stone slab, dripping with animal fat and blood. Rough hands gripped his arms and leg as they hoisted him up over their heads with a gleeful grunt. The moon shone gibbous over distant cliffs and cold salty air burned his eyes and stung his raw flesh. Hands lewdly groped his crotch and he felt a sharp burning soreness. As hands pushed shoved and pulled him this way, then that, he thought at times they would simply rend him to pieces. His buttocks had been whipped and his genitals had been pierced. All this came to him in a space of a few breaths. His neck was sore and bleeding from a rope burn that girt his neck. They dropped him to the ground and it knocked the wind out of him. A strong solid arm dragged him along the ground by his hair for several meters and threw him before a huge ornate throne of marble, bone, and gold. He raised his head to focus on the sight before him but as soon as some detail would seem to solidify, it would swim out of focus and his eyes would smart. He had to shield his eyes as if from strong light or a savage atrocity.
Every few minutes a hand would slap him hard across the face stunning him into a daze. One moment the being who sat at the center of this throne would be an old man with a huge white beard and a severe brutal face; then it would shift like the liquid face of a pond disturbed by breath. Then as if it always had been, a fabulous huge creature with the head of an elephant and the body of a strong man. Dressed in gold and jewels. The eyes hard but full of grace and history. And then what he thought was an elephant’s trunk would unravel into glistening tentacles uncoiling like the legs of an octopus. Eyes that he thought showed benevolence, shone brightly with no human feeling and what he thought was wisdom was actually just the hard glitter of immense ageless cycles of time. Then the face was a smiling elephant again, kind and warm. The shifting creature spoke to him, its voice like the sea. “I have set you free from your snare and loosed the knot that bound. You have squared the cube. Now you will see. Now you will know. Luci. Videbo Sciam.
The night peeled away in twisting shreds revealing a black subterranean cave of black living death. Therein the living darkness sat a naked man of painful splendor. His thighs glistening in the flames of the stars. Shimmering transparent spiky centipedes crawled upon his body and wound and unwound themselves. Their coils decorated his luminescent hide. The rhythm of his flesh circumscribing sacred geometry’s. His eyes turned inward contemplating the eternal rhythm in communion with the ancient twin serpent. It’s sacred poison running through his veins. Devils see him and fall before his feet swearing eternal loyalty stroking themselves seductively thus. Dancing around him always are ghoulish shadows and chattering noises. In the darkness leather wings beat like great flocks of birds rising.
Nubile prancing daemons lick the sweat from his brow least a single drop is lost.
His copulation with these shadows birthed daemons on the inverse side of the tree of life. They, the devoted children and he their proud father and mother in one being devoid of the female element. A shining diamond. A blinding light that consumeth all in a sudden flash of onnaistic self creation. To bring the ring of fire and roses close to the pinnacle
The trembling soft anticipation of anal penetration.
To break the rules of god and open the minds eye to the thousand-pedaled lotus face.
In man’s secret world of fire.
In the heart of the flame, everlasting consummation.
A ring of fire.
A ring of flame.
A band of light.
The twisting ladder.
The ancient secret forbidden rite, plain as the eye can see.
The formula of complete transformation.
This right is invisible to the uninitiated.
And strikes terror in the heart of the profane.
Beware their machinations are corrupt.
They breed disease and suffering.
Which they force-feed their own kind.
For power and a feeling of control.
The air is split by cries of delight and ecstatic squealing.
They tremble together as if tied by one cord that moves through all their hearts.
They all take one step forward into the footprint of the one in front.
They groan and mount the one behind.
Taking each and every into the night and the cave of the ancient secret.
Hop frog they click their tongues.
They snap their teeth.
They shake their heads from side to side.
And cry out.
Aayeeeeeaaiiiaaaaaaoooooyeeeeeeeeeaaaiioooooooyyeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaoooooo!
Darkness fell upon his eyes and the cries grew faint and soon so soft it was like they had not been there. He opened his eyes and all around him where men in white coats. With their hands in black rubber gloves they shaved and massaged him his body heavy and sore.
They sewed his wounds and tended his bruises, they cleaned his teeth and shaved his face. They showed no sign of friendliness but they were tender and firm.
They rubbed him into a whimpering moaning swoon. These cold but tender angels made him feel and give in every way until his head swum in a sea of sensation. Waves of a terrible tender soreness that swum with pleasure like two hunting sharks. They laid him on clean white sheet that smelled of disinfectant and distant locker rooms. There was a musky male funkiness in the air. His head fell back and his eyes rolled in his head.
And he dreamed:
Howler monkeys screamed from iridescent green treetops.
The sun set in a simmering red twilight inferno.
Moisture drips from wide green leaves.
The drops of water sprinkling the hot upturned lips
He placed his hands on his face,
And smoothed his black wet hair back.
The jungle whispered and chattered to him,
An endless expanse of green and noise.
He turned his head back,
Looking down the trail he had come from.
It twisted back behind him.
It disappeared behind a curtain of fleshy leaves,
That closed and then hide itself away.
The jungle did as it pleased.
He blinked his eyes and tried to see,
Into the organic twisting green haze.
But it was as if it were never there.
There was nothing to go back to.
There was nothing he could have done.
His only choice was to go on,
To follow the trail.
Days, weeks, he did not know passed.
It was all a dream.
To his right there came a crash!
He jerked his head around,
Straining to hear...
A crunching then a shout,
Men’s voices and coarse laughter.
The green wall shuddered and shook with violence!
Three men with dripping machetes stood a little way down from him.
One saw him and pointed shouting with harsh words.
“Have you seen a white tiger,! boy!?”
The man’s face was tight with rage and he was bleeding from the side of his head.
“Which way did it go?”
To his left he heard an animal sigh.
There in the ferns a huge white tiger stood,
Looking straight into his eyes.
Its handsome face, a breath from his.
They’re between the moments now,
He saw the soul of the tiger,
Saw its scars and the wound on its flank.
He gave himself into its brown eyes.
He slowly turned his head toward the men.
And spoke slowly and carefully.
“It went that way! Back there.”
And he pointed back down the trail.
The men turned and ran down the way he had come,
Away from him and the tiger.
When he turned back it was there,
So close he could smell its rank breath,
And its thick musky hide.
He closed his eyes tightly,
Waiting for it to crush him.
But nothing happened.
Silence, eerie in the setting light.
He looked around.
There was only the jungle,
And the sound of his breath.
Darkness in the jungle is alive.
It dances just outside the ring of flickering flames.
He watched the fire dance.
Little flames flickering and leaping up.
A popping spark, red embers borne on the air.
Sleep came to his warm face,
In the cool morning twilight.
A warm soft rubbing of his cheek.
The white tiger gently nuzzled his neck.
He felt no fear only a long heavy sigh from his lips.
And a longing so strong it hurt deep in his chest.
It stood over him its huge paws on ether side of his head.
It pushed its cold wet nose against his ear.
And gently but firmly, with infinite tenderness,
It rolled him over on his belly.
His breath shook and he bit his lip,
As the tiger licked his thighs and hips.
Its cold nose sent shivers up his spine.
He could feel its solid chest against his narrow back.
The Tiger lowered its muzzle and gently nipped at the nape of his neck.
Letting out a cry as he felt its teeth and tongue against his skin
He pressed himself back into the beast feeling its huge
Solid thighs against his buttocks.
He turned his face up and reached around the neck of the
White tiger to kiss its face.
There in the glowing red embers was lit the face of a man,
With dark smoky eyes and a mouth full of big white teeth.
The huge paw around his waist was now a hand, wide and strong.
He pressed his mouth to his, eager to taste him.
He groaned and gave himself up,
Feeling the other’s hardness inside him.
He held the wrists of the hands that held his waist.
And lost himself in the rhythms of pleasure.
He opened his eyes as the sun rose over distant mountains.
The white blue light pouring over him.
Warm in the strong-arms that held him,
Comfort in the head that rest against his neck.
When he awoke he was alone again,
And bluish smoke curled in the morning air.
A little way from him he saw a small furry mound.
There in the leaves lay a small dead deer,
Its white neck dabbed with red.
The soft dust bore the marks of the tiger’s passing.
He felt sorry for the poor creature,
But he also felt a strong hunger.
A fire burned in his belly.
And he held his head up and licked his long white teeth...
............Look there in the leaves, long ago,
Someone lay there and took their meal,
Charcoal and bones to mark their stay.
...Howler monkeys screamed from iridescent green treetops,
The sun set in a simmering red twilight inferno.
Chapter 5
THE FIFTH CONFIGURATION:
The Litanies of the Scientists
“Here in the garden of all the arcane delights.
Dark dreams swirl around us, and we forsake the light.”
Found graffiti at the Wing Lum restaurant Polk and Geary in SF 1999
Right now, I have you, firmly, In mind.
And now it is. All those horrible slimy things trying to get back in.
They are all true.
No tu say boi boi.
Na tu say bao bao phu na tu say sau-oan.
Monk? How many? Conceal a prison of the mind. Taking a false step, grieving.
Come see the instrument of the homecoming. What you have been looking for all this time.
Come kiss the sterile hand of my creator.
Guide me gently up a serpent’s spine
Sterile hand of my creator.
Feeds me tissue of a holy man.
Guide me up a serpent’s spine.
A cold dark mind born a thousand times on the Devil’s prick.
Spawned a thousand times, on the Devil’s prick.
Till the milk of human kindness,
dribbles from my lips,
dribbles down my hips.
When my boots hit the ground.
I start working,
I start walking.
It is encoded, it is encrypted.
To guide me gently up a serpent’s spine.
So I will not falter.
And my synapse will fire.
Ovulator
Ovulator
Ovulator
Aum Ha Aum Hey Aum Ya.
Oh Aum.
Oh holy Ovulator.
Oh Holy male begetter!
When my boots hit the ground,
Doing the Jesus trick,
On the devils prick.
As the milk of human kindness.
Dribbles from my lips,
Sterile hand of my creator,
Guide me gently up a serpent’s spine.
Ku’utu’lu ng Wa ft’agan.
Throbbing waves of pus
Flows through valleys of deceased flesh.
Past vast plateaus of mechanical flesh.
Boiling rivers of disinfectant.
Flow through valley of deceased flesh,
Oh Kutulu.
Aum Kutulu.
IAO Kutulu.
Kudu no kokoro.
210102121210
They forgot their own past,
And blindly stepped into the unknown.
Placing their hands on nature,
And subjecting it, the very stuff of what they are.
To their own machinations.
This new form of thought.
Grew to be known as science.
They knew they must not mistake the map
for the territory.
It’s a distant memory, a thing of old.
Fallen angels on my mind.
Twisting tongues of fire.
God of flames on my mind.
Running with the slim machines.
They worship fire.
Body boys burn bright tonight.
Dragon twist across hot skin.
Let’s worship fire.
Body boys burn bright tonight.
Long into the night.
Oh yeah.
Long into the dark, dark night.
Oh yeah
Body boys burn bright.
Oh yeah..
Ah, the Buddha bright light.
Fallen angels on my mind.
Licking tongue of fire.
Grind in hip bone tonight.
God of flames on my mind.
Leaning back into it.
We worship fire.
In this time of need you are not alone.
In this time of heat you are not alone.
Etch those sorrows into your skin.
Oh yeah.
Etch those sorrows into your skin.
Across your life.
Across my life.
On my eyes.
And in my mind.
Oh my god, you have come again.
You have come again.
You will feel my force of will.
It will wash your sins away
In my tears.
You will wash your sins away
In my tears.
aum main padma humm.
watashi no kokoro no oh chita.
tenshi wa watashi wa no koko ro ni.
hono no nenji magatta shita o dasu.
watashi no kokoro no kami no hono.
hono no inori.
Ka ra la no hono wa slimu na mekanik.
de hashiru no o inoriu.
konya shonen no ka ra da wa.
nagai yami no nakani.
aka lu kumo e lu.
drago no yaketa atsui.
shita o dasu.
konban koshi bo na o kasu li awa selu.
briteh na Butta no hikari.
so no nakani taorlu.
konya shonen no kare da wa.
nagai yami no nakani ah ka ru ku mo eh lu.
Illusion illusion illusion.
Fallen angels on my mind.
The right thought plays upon my mind.
The right word echoes out through my mouth
Clearly in my voice.
My hand takes the right action.
I hold your skin like honey still in the mind.
I read your lips like ancient scripture.
I taste your mouth like rivers flowing.
I feel your nerves like flowers growing.
We move in heat of timeless knowing.
Crack hot spine in spindles glowing.
Leaping supine in teeth and hips.
To grind away the hip bone gnawing.
To go back and forth and forward still.
To know the twists of twisted knowing.
All round about your spine I play.
Like jungle beasts in heat are howling.
Rain drops in the jungle falling.
Screaming cats and birds are calling
To drums that are unknowable in distant time,
Where words are scrambled over under.
In your time of need you are not alone.
When the rumba rhythm starts to play.
Dance with me.
Make me sway.
Hold me more.
Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore,
Hold me close, play me more.
CHAPTER 6
THE SIXTH CONFIGURATION;
The Xeogenisis
dico per spiritum sanctum. haec veritas est. mihi crede et mecum in aeternitate vivebis.
Bible
There is a point when some become something less like a human and more like something from the outside. They cease to mate and form complex hives. And move farther and farther physiologically and biologically from their ancestors. They occupy the same territory for a while, but as they metamorphose, they seek more and more organized systems based on their own biological instincts.
Evolving with them there forms a latticework of technology that begins to blur into them and vice versa. Eventually leaving their planetary body altogether, self-sustaining, a new species. They cling and brood together in a vast living complex. Fiber-optic cables transmit encoded emotions to surgically altered flesh. Saline nutrients and silicone lubricants are pumped through translucent tubes that glow softly. The hull flexes and adjusts to capture the maximum amount of light from a distant star.
Eternal breath, eternal pause.
A group of young, lithe boys plaited sleekly with plastic implants stretch out in a synthetic garden of genetically engineered lush foliage. They giggle and wave to older stone-faced technicians who pass by on moving stations. Compact maintenance units slowly twist through the ship. Hyper alert officers perched at elevated pods monitoring the work and scanning ahead pilot these stations.
Secret eye
They wave back at the boys and transmit trace hormones over the network of capillary tubes. Soon the whole platform lets up a soft sigh as sunlight pours in through huge multi-layered ports honeycombed with photosensitive biotechnology. Fluids and electrical currents flow at maximum capacity. Tissue basks in homeostasis. Three boys lay intertwined with roots and rubber cables while huge tanks of algae slowly churn beneath them. The lights of aquatic farmers glimmers in the free floating waters.
There is no individual.
Deep within the body of the ship flesh and steel are blurred together, form and function, ecstasy and desire. Long chains of silicone and brain tissue contemplated purpose and direction. Ancient memory slowly recorded its own history and whispers stories to vats of growing fetuses.
Bio Molecular Chemistry
SVN47 leaned back from the hard display; his hammock adjusted smoothly to his body. He reached down and adjusted a small joystick, and started to rise up over the slowly moving tech platform. One of the stone faced technicians jerked his head around to watch.
He glanced at a red 3D display mounted on a metallic arm that moved with him.
“Sir! Is there a problem? This movement is not on the venue!”
Group Mind
He was directly below the hammock shielding his face with his long hand from the now brilliant light pouring in through the dorsal ports. It was a gesture purely for effect as he had no eyes, just a shiny band of sensors across his bald head.
“ No problem, technician, you have not missed anything, please carry on with the program, I will be deviating from schedule. I am sending you my coordinates now.”
The technician stood motionless for a moment, and then turned back to his station where he made minute adjustments to hormone pumps and began pre-loading a set of procedures. SVN47 watched for a moment and felt some affection for this man. The techs were completely dedicated to the hive. Some of them where thousands of years old; they had given up their bodies for their work and their work was his vision. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the technician glance up in his direction and smile.
SVN47 laughed to himself at this subtle old-fashioned gesture. He was lucky to have this man working with him. He had already anticipated what he was doing up here and adjusted a series of hydroponics platforms to give him a spectacular view of the tropical hydroponics pharm below.
Cellular Homeostasis
He peeled off his soft mesh jumpsuit and disengaged the hardwire jacks from his shoulder and chest. He rolled over on his back and stretched out in the hot light. He could see the subtle changes in color of the fluids that moved through the transparent reservoirs. The tech was already starting to lace the standard hormone solution with sexual and mental stimulants. He was good, very smooth; it would affect the younger, more sensitive bodies first. There down in the roots of the giant banyan trees he could hear sighs and giggles.
Mutenogenesis
Three maintenance boys had tumbled laughing out of the branches. Dropping their tools, they began to stroke and caress their bodies. Their articulate hands tracing the contours of their black plastic plated implants. He could hear the soft clicks as their shells bumped together. Then from all around he could hear sighs and men’s voices talking softly, murmurs and throaty laughter. All around him there was steel, flesh, plastic and glass all engaged in erotic motions. He could hear the rush of fluids through vast capillaries; he could feel a slow rhythm that played throughout the whole section. His cock strained against his belly and leaked a clear fluid that ran down his stomach and glistened in the light. He then had an idea. He reached down under the hammock and pulled up a jointed arm with a mechanical lens attached and positioned it by his feet. He hit a small speaker by his head, “ Tech #1! There is some classified technical data I want to direct feed to you can you establish this?”
He saw as the tech snapped to attention and reached for the controls then freeze,
“Ah.... connection is established....”
“Do you have visual tech?”
“Mmmm.. Yes I would says it was visual.”
At this comment, two of the other techs looked over quizzically. It was all a show though.
None of them could see or hear in the organic sense.
SVN47 smiled into the lens and leaned back pushing his cock up from his stomach. He gripped the base of the shaft feeling the head strain; he was already close to ejaculation. He then began to slowly stroke his cock using his other hand to rub his testicles and anus. There was a bestial sound all-round him now as bodies surrendered to biological instincts and urges. There where grunts, shouts, and moans amidst the click and hum of machinery. He closed his eyes and pushed his groin up off the mat with only his head and heels touching, and felt the hot expulsion of semen from his dick. It splattered his neck and hand. He hissed and grunted, relaxing back onto the mat.
At that moment the sun began to descend as the body of the ship began a slow rotation.
He rubbed his ejaculate over his body and felt the warmness of his skin.
There was a small beep from the speaker and the technician’s voice floated out as if he where whispering in his ear...
“Excuse me sir. I took the liberty of extending your program and adding some details were you pleased.?”
“Of course tech#1, it was perfect. I will be down shortly...”
“No need to rush, sir. I have got it all under control. I will wake you when it is time.”
Oh... ok. he had not thought of taking a nap this tech was really old-fashioned,
He rolled over on his stomach and looked directly into the lens.
“Will you monitor me while I sleep tech #1?”
“Of course I will, SVN47. I will always be monitoring you.”
He smirked into the lens and let himself fall into a deep dreamless sleep.
Above him two galaxies slowly smashed into one another, their collision birthing new stars and destroying old ones.
CHAPTER 7
THE SEVENTH CONFIGURATION :
The Flesh Mill.
for a man to act with grandeur , one must dream ..
and dreams are born in darkness.
The Good Doctor enters with the patient and two attendants. Followed by the pale lieutenant who looks sullen and angry. The attendants lead the patient to a bare white tiled room with a drain in the center; the whole room gently sloping toward the drain. They bring in a surgical chair fitted with leather straps and head clamps. Its stainless steel is gleaming, freshly polished and slightly slick to the touch.
“Please sit down...” the good doctor gestures toward the chair the two attendants begin to strap the patient down and apply various clamps and knobs leaving the patient unable to move. One of the attendants leaves and returns with an old oak chair and places it a few feet in front of the patient now strapped to the chair. The doctor looks to the lieutenant. “Lieutenant, you may leave now, I will call you when we are done, thank you.”
“Yes sir, thank you “. The tight young man and the two attendees leave the room with a click of latch and slide of bolt.
“Are you comfortable? Would you like a gown ? Please, I am not here to hurt you, I am your doctor, I am here to help you “ ... “ I can not help...”
“Doctor.” I cut him off with words heavy like liquid metal.
“Yes” He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes bright like tiny holes drilled straight to hell.
“Are you in great pain my child?”
“.... We are all in great pain my good doctor; it is comfort that betrays us…
“Ah but pain, transcendent and exceeding the mundane. Superior and sublime, above and beyond it all.” “Good doctor, it is the inviolable pain, the definite and unequivocal condition. , The utmost zenith of man’s depraved presence. ...”
“Yes, very good, very, very good, please, please, my son go on ...”
“Go on? . Did you say go on, good doctor? But how could I not go on?” I have no other choice but to continue, I am intrinsically compelled, there is nothing more pleasing to me then to retch up these crusted, hate filled words. Nothing is as joy inspiring and delightful then to expound upon the putrefaction of my own mind. Perhaps, good doctor, with your superior surgical skill, you could create an aperture in the center of my forehead and placing one of your eyes near, observe the tempest that assails the pinnacle of my spine. But I warn you, good doctor, you are of an age where your body has become delicate, and placing your self to me could be lethal. For even now as we sit here, I have the strong desire to leap upon you and with one mighty thrust drive my erect phallus into you and crush your body to a quivering pulp of flesh, shit and semen. Could you not tell by my stiff and purple cock? Would you, good doctor, like to suck it? I would not mind, flesh is flesh, and if I am interpreting the tiny rivulet of drool that has crept down your thin and piercing chin wrongly; I might guess that this might please you. But let us return again to my dark, sweet rapture, good doctor. Ah pain, that is all, pain that is gnawing, malignant and everlasting, pain gentle and amours. It surrounds me like a skin. It enters me and splits me like a vast slimy cock. I am squeezed over it and stretched over it to the point of transparency, until all there is, is pain. A vast black shiny pool of hell, hot and trembling, full of plucked angels greedy for fuck. Eager for more, whining and panting for me to beat them with my words and are you, good doctor, eager for more or shall I go on? , Perhaps you’d be wise to sew my mouth shut with a needle and thread. Or perhaps you’d take some heavy blunt object, and brandishing it like a club, proceed to bash my skull right the fuck in. Tell me, good doctor, are you like the angels that come to me in my private hour? Dark and terrible, speaking in elegant tongue of pleasures exorbitant? You and your scalpels, your needles, your tools of hook and blade; you are not unlike them. So please tell me. Are you eager for more? Shall I proceed to destroy you and myself? Shall we like two vast intertwined serpents, twisting and contorted, devour one another? Like demonic lovers, rend and tear one another to bleeding, ragged shreds?
Are you man enough to hold me? Do you think you can subdue me and thrust yourself into my black vault and in turn I would thrust myself into you, like the rising sun casting golden glowing dew tipped ray into the starry morning sky? Please good doctor, I must know, are you one of them? Tell me! Please tell me now.
Fade back in evening light pouring through windows onto the naked boy and the stern doctor in mutual carnal embrace ...
Guards in hallway echoing travel again, travel toward and sequence travel into the cell block ultimate destination. I am trapped again in reflection of refraction, step, one foot tripping and falling, Oh so very fucked up. Absorbed in a continuous spiral, backward in time, to Nagasaki summer humid sound of geta on the garden path, a clear wooden percussion framing the hovering tones of bamboo trees in the breeze. This cell floor board tatami.
“ Konichi wa! Konichi wa! Anata wa daizo vu desu ka! Oy!! Daizo vu!!”
Convulsive and twisting, skin crawl. Gut pull vomit up the words.
“Please make me whole in the ground, around to twisted I need the sex repetitious motion of body split level pump and grind, excuse me please, fuck this machine of pumps and monitors. Oh to be incased, within bars and chain link lace curtains of a somewhat grainy texture.” Whose body is this lying on the floor? Damp with sweat and tears, throat raw from coughing up barbed words and nails. Racked from relentless orgasm, eyes red from sight, I grunt out the heavy thick spurts, liquid calligraphy on white silk sheets.
I remember walking down a country road, lit by carbon street lights at my feet, Yellow brittle sheets of paper blow past me, one sticks to my leg. I reach and retrieve. Old Chinese manuscript, of acupuncture and sex magic ...............
“Sir. excuse me, sir .., the patient in room number 93 is having convulsions again ...”
CHAPTER 8
THE EIGHTH CONFIGURATION:
The lord of the crossroads.
In dreams I walked with you.
Roy Orbison
I opened my eyes. They were sore, dry, Tired. I looked around me, where was I? Who am I? What am I doing in this room? Are those my words or did I just find them there like that on the screen? Am I an author of stories? Or am I a character in a story. Am I talking to you someone out there? Or just to myself? I hold my hands up to my face. I do this when I am dreaming. It brings me to my self. And when I am awake, I cannot tell one thing from another. The lines are thin between the spaces, and you can see things leaking out. People, changing, their masks slipping. Shadows move in dark places and whispers soft as rain. Bad actors in a painful, doomed play, don’t look away. I remember why my eyes are sore, I remember it all. Such sights I have seen, such brilliant terrible things, wonderful things. I remember a doctor; He could have been me, or I could have been him. I think he was an alien, or at least not fully human. They changed me. I changed them. They made me. Or did I just imagine it?
But what of love? I tell you what I felt. I remember him at a sleazy club. It was late, everybody was tired and sweaty, we moved because we felt the desire; the visceral need of male homosexual love. Around me skin touching rubbing in a pit of Asian and Caucasian bodies fulfilling an ancient rite of body worship and sweat. He was in my mind’s eye. His face sharp with a hard predatory smile. His body pumped and slick, the lights played like fireflies in a war zone. There was a tattoo that ringed his navel; Buddha flames, dragon breath of Celtic knots. I can still feel his chin in the crook of my neck were he spoke to me. Words in an unknown tongue but meaning clear, we were both desperate. There was a need in us. A fire that motivated our blood. A tone that played the mind, what could we say or do to convey the endless chanting of our bodies manifested through time. I, you, we do not matter, the pattern is bigger than the individual. Bodies grow old and die but the pattern lives on forever. They manifest, holy etchings in flesh. They mark us, change us forever, we are part of it indivisible. I can feel his ecstasy. I can see his mask and I know. He looked into my eyes, something jumped between us, startling and full of the sweetest drop of pain. Confusing, the hint that something has been inside you and now has mated with something else inside him. We kissed softly, briefly, knowing that we may never lie down and rest with each other; hold each other and share the warmth of our skin. We cannot know. We let go into the song, into the night, into the void.
“WAKE UP!!!!!………..WILL you wake up!!!!!!!!! You were sleeping again dreaming. What did you see?”
“ I was in a field, a park in the sun, in a modern city. So I’m down in this park and a man in a black overcoat walks up to me with a shiny small briefcase. He opens it, here this is yours, and you will receive your communications thought it.”
I look down at the small thing twitching in the case; it looks like a cross between a cell phone and an insect its semitransparent shell revealing circuits and strange pulsing organs. What am I suppose to do with it? I step back a little startled at the bizarreness of the thing so out of place in the bright sun. You hold it to your ear. The guy looks at me like I’m an idiot. You want me to hold that next to my face?? I ask slightly bewildered
Look I HAVE TO GO!! Take it! He grabs the thing and shoves it in my hand I can feel the thing squirm against the palm of my hand, tiny crab like claws catching my skin and the insect phones carapace smooth and cool against my hand, I try to pull away but his grip is solid, He looks me straight in the eye. You are one of us now.
He turns and leaves; my friend walks over from a fountain and asks me who that was? , I tell him he was an old friend of mine, what did he give you there? My friend inquires plainly curious, I remember the thing in my hand and move to throw it to the ground but it’s only a cell phone slightly odd in design but still a phone. Oh this… it’s a communication device. Hehehe ok … communication device huh? My friend shakes his head and returns to his cherry slushy, I remember how red his lips where. And I told him so.
He rolls his eyes and we walk on through the park. Occasionally I feel the insect phone twitch and move in my pocket. The skyline is like your skin with rain washing down your spine And when we fell together on a bed in a room, I could hear the machinery in the walls mona6tering us, Our flesh is like a veil That is turned aside cast off like an old benny on a hard wood chair. To revel the red moist bud inside and the rain comes down and the metal rusts around us. Circuits pop and systems crash.
The wilderness gathers her children who dance and sing in the jungles and the woods
But I had to step aside to watch the serpent eat its tail, there has to be a witness you know, they sent me out on this job a long time ago, Too many years from now and too many past. Will I awake with you by my side? Or will there be an empty space Left for memory to fill. Here! Look the sky is crying the rain brings me memories of you I saw my hands!!! Here is how the dream went, you and I where in a house a old house,
And I was pulling apart an old computer, inside was a globe made of concentric white plastic disks? Held together by bars of a chalky gray substance the globe came apart into two by twisting it. So as I was holding each half in each of my hands every electric machine in the house went nuts, all the lights burned bright white and arches of static leapt between my teeth. The objects I was holding in my hands flashed like a camera bulb.... PITCHA!!!! I dropped the objects I was holding and looked directly at both of my hands, I held them up to my face my palms where slightly burned and they looked a little older
But they where my hands. So then you grabbed me from behind and we ran outside The sun was dark red and was rising and falling just over the horizon As it does in the Polar Regions so we must of been in Antarctica I think I will have to do some calculations on that But out side in the sky where two ships one came lower to the ground and Over a kind of news stand and took it up by folding it in on its self. A young Japanese boy was there in a baseball uniform and went with it, floating up watching my with a look of contentment, the lower section of the ship folded in and then in on its self again and the thing blinked out. With a sharp loud pop. I woke up and used that reverse memory thing I learned from the strangers to write this. In my mind, I lay there thinking of you and wanting you. Let me tell you what I saw with my eyes, I saw your dry lips, kissing mine. I saw your hands, I saw you speaking my name
I saw your chest rise and fall into mine. I saw your eyes looking back into my eyes. Did they briefly reflect images infinity, did time burn away peeling like a rose on fire. We came up to the air, your mouth in mine we dived again taking joy in the belly of the beast
Tien’s secret garden
Here in my garden of dark delight
We dance like ghosts
In iridescent light
I hold you close (firmly in my mind)
We watch the moon rise
And the wolves begin to cry
I feel you shudder
As I bend to taste
Your dark jewel
There is no denying
Honey on the tongue
You bite my shoulder
Dark blood begins to rise
As the rain comes
Poring from the sky
Demons dance around us
Throwing flowers in the air
I hold you firmly
In my arms tonight
Here in my garden
Of dark delight
We dance like ghosts
In iridescent light
I hold you firmly
Close in my mind
We watch the moon rise
And the wolves begin to cry
I feel you shudder
As I bend to taste your dark jewel
There is no denying
This honey on the tongue
You bite my shoulder
And the blood begins to rise
As the rain comes
Poring from the sky
Daemons dance around us
Throwing flowers in the air
I hold you firmly
In my
Arms tonight
Here in my garden of
Dark delight
We dance like ghosts
In iridescent light
I hold you close
Firmly in my mind (whispered)
We watch the moon rise
And the wolves begin to cry (hard)
I feel you shudder
As I bend to taste your dark jewel
There is no denying
This honey on the tongue
You bite my shoulder
Dark blood begins to rise
I hold you firmly
In my arms
Tonight
Here in my garden of
Dark delight
We dance like ghosts
In iridescent light
I hold you close
Firmly in my mind (hard)
We watch the moon rise
And the wolves begin
To cry (hard)
Oh! kubomi/hekomi,naburi(kuse wo manete naburu),kami no mokuzu. Watashi no kao.
sonkei(ogamu)Kwodai moju(kagiri naku/idai ni) no eibin(reiri) no kyufu(senritsu)
watasi wa shiseisho.watash wa shushoku(doraku, horatsu). Miburi no fuketsu. gizen(shinsei)
Kosetsu(tsurumu)Noburu ni gyokuza(takamikura) no nikutai(niku).
Oh Kami no kuroi.kiri no nai. mimi ni pika pika.
Oh umeku bikuni.sugi ga tsureru
Oh
Two people meet a third at a crossroad, they stop and embrace, tears wet there sad faces the two walkers exchange there packs and pass on leaving the third there at the center he holds his face in his hands his shoulders heaving with sobs.
CHAPTER 9
The Ninth -Configuration:
The House of Shi’Ur Komah
How many times had it come to this?
A hundred, a thousand “ To the darksome hollows
Where the frosts of winter lie.”
Kostrubonko
How many times in his life had he come to this same conclusion?
Desires so vainly sought, fulfilled only to reveal the same hungry pit of desires, only more desperate and hungry than before.
How many men had had he lain with exchanging hot sticky whispers?
And each time the same sweaty hurried routine followed by a momentary release from the raw and whining cell of flesh.
A banal exchange of empty promises and pointless gestures.
Then the same silent loathing as he took the subway back home or pulled greasy damp sheets from his bed.
Or the drugs he’d taken to near lethal doses pushing his mind out just a little further into oblivion, There where the all too fleeting glimpses, sudden flashes into the abyss, hazy memories of a dark face that all light fell into, a silhouette or shadow caught in the corner of the eye on a moonless night.
He had seen it in the eyes or of a stranger hurrying past as the acidic hot rain fell from sick and dying sky onto decaying concrete and shiny stainless steel.
No matter what he did or did not do, he’d always come back to that same empty, hungry, windowless cell, securely bound in the fleshy coil with only the memory of freedom
to torment him and gnaw at him from the shadows like eager fleeting jackals.
As the days blurred together he noticed a pattern forming in the rush of words and images flashing by him on soot stained high resolution monitors that ceaselessly chanted mantras of commerce and titillation. Lewd images and garish scenes flickered past, and there in the background, the silhouette of a man, or the hint of a face. He wasn’t alone either, there were others who saw the man also. Some even had some knowledge of who he was, a doctor or priest, some kind of scientist. From what he could gather the man was able to provide access to a world of sensual ecstasy, a place where flesh was not a boundary but a highway, where the yearning in his balls was not a shameful condition but a constant reality, It was a spiritual thing, its temples were hidden in parks and locker rooms, and its rites were held in secret, opulent locations accessible to a select few. At first he thought he’d come upon a just a sex club, but these people had all seen the man, the one from his dreams and hallucinations, or visions as these people called them. That whole summer he courted and bribed anyone who seemed to have a connection to the cult. And now here he was at the beginning of winter, with the sky angry and boiling above him, standing at the door of an old Victorian house at the edge of the sea, at the farthest point west of old San Francisco.
In his trembling hand he held a piece of paper that had one word written on it; that word had cost him everything he owned and more. He had endured several days of wracking physical abuse by an English sadist. The Englishman had beaten him, burned him, carved his back up with a knife while he fucked him mercilessly. He had brought in animals and used obscene sex toys on him that looked to be made for another species. He’d chained him to a ceiling dressed in a foolish child’s night gown and drenched him in ice water; then shocked him with a cattle prod screaming German at him, and in the end he’d made him cut the tip of his own pinkie off and give it to him on his knees in a white room full of roses.
All for a word and an address.
He knocked on the door.
There was only silence and the sound of his own blood hitting the ground dripping from his hand; he watched the drops fall from his bloodied hand, each one a tiny image of the world falling from life and splattering into nothingness.
Maybe he should just open a vein and let the whole universe flow out of him. Then some
rich, upper-class family will come home in their new minivan and find a cold corpse bleeding out on their porch.
The thought made him smile a little.
“So are you going to stand there smiling or are you going to come inside?”
He had not heard the door open; there in front of him was his man. He knew him, it was him. He stood back a little in the shadows but it was the shock of seeing his obsession made his head swim and he stumbled forward, his bloody hand holding out the piece of paper. Then blackness enveloped him, and he dreamed of a huge scaly beast stooping down and gently scooping him up in its hard, cold arms and holding him like he was a child. He remembered a city of fire and light, huge pyramids of molten glass and gold. His beast leapt up high into a sky that held three green iridescent moons gibbous and pregnant with terror, but firm, hard arms held him and the night rushed past with strange smells and weird alien chants produced by inhuman throats. He’d seen below him a vast factory that housed hundred of humans; there was a stink of burning meat and death hanging over the place. He saw huge humanoid creature with strange apparatus working over glowing frightful pits, he silently watched holding his cheek against the wide chest of the beast that held him as something black and octopus like crawled across the sky and eclipsed the moons for a moment; the air shook with its passing.
Everywhere he looked some shocking horror burned into his mind; there a huge forest of living fleshy trees engaged in the most obscene and suggestive motions.
As they flew through this endless spiraling decent the beast whispered in his ear in subsonic tones that made his teeth chatter.
“…You, I offer my long teeth hidden in this sheath of decaying flesh.
I push the dagger down my through to loosen the bright blooms
of crimson, lodged in the chrysalis of my heart.
I would spread these leathery wings about thee and whisper secrets,
I would trace the mystic contours of the sacred highway of your flesh,
I would rent thee into pieces and devour you, does not the lion love his prey?
But for now all I have are these words
Which I carve from the hollow of my head.
Like cell mates we tap out codes and keys.
Would that I could feel the wetness of your tongue
And offer Thee the Male Obelisk for worship.
Would that I could fill your cup
And lap like a dog at your fountain
And loose my self in your inner chambers....
I am thirsty and I can smell your wetness..
In singleness and duality…”
Soon they were not so much flying, but falling into a huge pit, its walls grotesque with mechanical devices and monstrous hieroglyphics all somehow familiar to him.
The beast that held him softly and touched down so gently that it was almost comical onto a vast chamber that housed two doors impossibly big; they were more like mountains as drifting clouds played upon their highest edges.
They swung silently open.
His beast, that was how he thought of this winged demon that held him, strode into a chamber that surely must of been the center of chaos and hell, and gently placed him on a huge couch made from the bleached bones of fantastic creatures.
“Oh holy and most debase one, I have done as you asked and brought you back the one who was lost amongst the herd. My little brother for whom my groin aches has come back to us.”
His beast was crying now, huge tears boiling down his thorny cheeks.
“It has been so long little one, how lonely I was without you.”
And from behind a gossamer glittering veil made of tiny articulate insects came a voice….
“Go now, tell the others my son has returned to us. Light the fires and rouse the 11 houses. We will celebrate at our good fortune... leave us now for a little while; allow a father to speak to his son.”
His beast leaned forward on his huge claws and lovingly kissed him on his cheek and whispered into his ear. “Welcome home, tonight we will sleep together once again, I have missed you so my wayward angel.”
CHAPTER 10
THE TENTH CONFIGURATION:
Blood will quench the grinding wheel.
The name ------of it --------is “autumn”---
The hue----------of it -------is blood-----
An artery-----upon the hill-------
A vein-------------along the road ------
Great globules ----in the alleys-----
And, oh the shower of stain ------
When winds -----upset the basin -----
And spill the scarlet rain ------
It sprinkles bonnets ----- far below ----
It gathers ruddy pools --------
Then--- eddies like a rose ----away ---
Upon vermilion wheels------
Emily Dickinson
In a cold white room, the chairs and table bolted to the floor, a long mirror in one corner and bright halogen lights buzzing with insect purpose in sober dingy uber-clarity; a doctor in a crisp white lab coat sits at green formica desk with his hands held together, his fingers touching his thin pale lips.
“How are you feeling today my dear boy? .... I have a note here from the night nurse that you had requested to speak with me, you’ve been very busy lately, very private, very, very quite..........Well… Perhaps I will come back later... when you are feeling more talkative”. The doctor gathers his note book and pipe and stands to leave the room.
“Pleas wait my good doctor, come here and sit please. Do not leave just yet, you are too impatient. I will speak with you now. I was listening to the sounds around us. Basking in the chaos. I am not a parrot, good doctor, which will chatter and squawk at your whim. Idle chatter I disdain, you see, good doctor, each word, I must weigh. I do not senselessly fling words about, like a drunken masturbator. No good doctor, my words are gauged, and carefully aimed like a good throwing knife. A word, good doctor is a seed from which springs ideas, which flourish into realization , and like holly to the oak , they creep , and bind , and ensnare , till they overwhelm and strangle . ... do you understand ...?”
“Yes I am sorry”
He sits back down, and spreads his note book and sits back.
“I apologize, I did not mean to suggest such a thing. I do not perceive time as you do. Its just…well , I think you know I have waited a long time to hear your words , they intrigue me.”
“Yes I do understand, good doctor. I understand the depth and breath of your desire; it flows through me also, we are like moths to a flame. We are drawn to that which will destroy us, and as the old song goes “each man kills the thing he loves” , these things I know by experience. And it is by experience that we learn. It does not matter whether it is all predetermined or if each step is a random hurling into a meaningless void, it will all occur regardless of belief, good doctor. Belief in god or belief in medicine, they are both a matter of faith , and if you dig, you will find faiths’ roots are in the dirt of ignorance. Ah , dear doctor , I do not mean to insult you , your doctrine is by far more practical and generally helpful to mankind than that scandalous rabble of charlatans and molesters those repugnant “men of the cloth”.
“What do you mean? Priests holy men? tell me more?”
“Oh thank you good doctor you throw me a morsel worthy of my teeth, oh where to begin, once I was a young and innocent. I had my whole life ahead of me, but I was consumed by a longing for god, I remember there in a chapel I knelt praying, my soul in torment, and there was a bright angel, he came to me in an unearthly glory, his eyes where like fire and his hand was cold as ice, he laid his palms on my shoulders and knelt down and looked into my eyes and this is what he said.
“Oh terrible child of mine, how your sweet suffering calls to me, I can smell your budding manhood and I am uplift, Come with me child and let me show you the error in your ways, let my hand gently guide you and we will rise up and open havens gate and there I will show you gods true face and the total of his glory.”
He brought me up to heaven and there was a great doorway he leaned and whispered in my ear.
“Go look upon the face of god my child, I will always be waiting for you.”
I stepped inside. I stood upon the threshold of god’s divine toilet, I bowed my head and vomitited, shall I describe to you the wondrous sight that was revealed to me there, when heavens door opened up! , There in the caustic mists, was a grand white throne, of bleached bone porcelain and shining sardine, and all about the one who sat there, there was a cloud of noxious fumes, and round about the throne where four walls and on the walls where written divine obscenities, and these walls where smeared in sacred shit deposited there by a stream of endless diuretic saints as tokens of there unceasing jubilation. And ever so often, freshly castrated choir boys in blood stained robes, would enter, bearing golden chalices full of innocent blood spilt in the name of the holy begetter and sluice the still warm blood over the great piles of steaming shit, and holding each other least they should slip and fall into this sacred gravy, they stomp and churn till there feet bleed. Before the great throne there is a baptismal fount, bubbling with brown urine and spit, round about the walls, hangs the rotting bodies of martyrs full of maggots, while the sacred virgin Mary runs naked about masturbating and dripping pus from her raw, ragged womb. And a great sound came rumbling from the throne like the movements of many bowels, and the voice said.” I am the lord they god, push thy face into the filth and worship...” so, good doctor, at the time I was still naive and I held my hands out to the one who had fashioned us from clay and spoke,
“Oh dear heavenly father, my soul is weary of my life; I will leave my complaint upon my self; I will speak in the bitterness of my soul. I say unto you god, do not condemn me; show me why thao doust contendest with me is it good that thao should oppress, that thao should despise the work of thin hands, and look favorably apron the deeds of the wicked? Hast thao eyes of flesh? Or seest thou as a man seeth? Are thy days as the days of man? Are thy days as mans years? That thou seeketh after mine iniquity? And searcheth after mine sin? Thou know that I am not wicked; thin hands have made me and fashioned me round about yet thou doust destroy me; remember, I that thou has made me as the clay; and wilt thou bring me into dust again? Hast thou not poured me out as milk, and curdled me like cheese? thou hast clothed me with skin and flesh , and has fenced me with bone and sinew. Why then hast thou brought me forth out of the womb? Oh that I had given up the ghost, and no eye had ever seen me. I should have been as though I had not been. I should have been carried from my mothers cursed womb to the grave. Are not my days few? I shall go where I shall not return even to the land of darkness and the shadow of death without any order and where light is as darkness. I had fallen to my knees weeping when I looked up and saw that the great lord sat slumped and drooling like an idiot, great stringy rivers of spit and foam congealing on his filthy yellow beard, he mumbled and twitched and a great snorr would rise from his throat. I looked around me there in that cesspool and saw that all had stopped and stood frozen with desperate looks of strain on there faces, one of the choir boys waded quickly through the muck towards me with his finger raised to his chapped lips,
“do not wake him, be very quiet young one ”
He came to me and grasped me by the arms his starved and bony hands hurting my skin.
“You must leave now, while he still sleeps, go back to the cast out angel he will take you back and away from here, go quickly!!”
As he spoke he lead me back to the door way I had come from.
“Go it is to late for us we have his mark and we are his flock and he will feed on us for eternity, he is the father of all vampires and the author of hypocrisy. Go when he wakes we will tell him he was dreaming and distract him by mutilating ourselves for his pleasure.”
So I turned and was taken up in the arms of the great bright angel. As he brought me back to this world he spoke:
“You great child of light, I want to place my lips to yours and feel your terrible breath. You great child of chaos I want to place my hands on your skin and feel my self burn in your terrible heat. Oh child of cold inhuman innocents place your eyes on me and destroy me with your coltish glances. Hear this now oh crowned and conquering flower we are all behind you now you are freedom manifest and light made flesh.”
I could feel his icy tears running gently down my neck and between shoulders down the curve of my spine and into the cleft of my arse. A cold and shivering sensation.
CHAPTER 11
The Eleventh configuration:
Imperturbabel and serene, the ideal man practices no virtue.
Self-possessed and dispassionate, he commits no sin.
Calm and silent, he gives up seeing and hearing.
Even and upright, his mind abides nowhere.
Hui-neng (638-713)
The clock stuck 11. The curtain is torn asunder. The egg cracked and all the doors are flung wide open. From beyond the veil of matter, from betwixt the angels of space, from the sphere that is not a sphere, we who are many, we who are none, call you by your name. I can hear the call, a whisper in the endless darkness. This is the word of the secret god of the hidden path. The blasphemous rite whose actors are thrice cursed. They have no word and are exiles of the waste of Daath. They are infinite and alone. They are one and many and they are none. They have no number and they do not belong to the-place-with-out-numbers. Woe to the mother that bears a child marked with this sigh that is not a sigh. They are the wanders of the barren peaks of Leng, fruitless and old. Where they are they are utterly alone. No breath, nor width. Nothing above or below. Singular and infinitely sharp. Yet their minds are never apart. Beware they are of one mind. With many names. There eon has no dawn and never will it set. Their breath does not come or go. They have come from beyond life and death, from beyond the stares in heaven and even from beyond the great void. And grief to heaven if their eyes open. For god shall be torn apart and the angels wings broken. And know that there mercy is terrible and a caress from them will shake the foundation of your soul. The god Hadit knows them but Nuit does not bend to kiss them nor can she bear their brilliant heat. Each one is an island each one a mountain, riddled with subterranean tunnels that lead to dark temples stained with the fever of there workings. There in the secret places the walls are hot and slick with masculine moister and every breath is a mouth full of meat. There confessions are of desire, shame is a garment they wear for its attractiveness and they are practiced at letting it slip to bare their white skin. No law can touch them. No lock can bar their way, they are as inevitable as the tide. In their enemies house they thrive unseen like assassins. They are your son’s oh vain and blind kings. They are walkers of shadows and keepers of stealth for if their father would slay them. They know deception for their mothers would smother them. And to each one there is a terrible scorching vision known as the vision of madness and the dark night of Pan they posses the clear light sight. There doctrine is older then Ch’ang, there word that is not a word was before the word of the mother, before the word of the father. Before the womb before the word. Simpering diseased Christ is a drooling child of a screaming idiot black cancerous god and his army of bloodthirsty deformed priests. Mohammed is a raving stupid ugly bigot praying to a hostile and howling Allah. Shrieking crazed Jews run through the streets of Israel smeared in the blood of gentiles and the Buddha weeps. The temples of man burn and huge black crows fill the bloody fiery skis. So here we are at the end and so it is as it was in the beginning. And in the end is the word and the word is corrupt.
From beyond his cell door he could hear the calling. The voice of the great old one from out of time. The born less one of the void. He rose and came to his cell door he leaned close to the lock and breathed, the door shuddered as if it was made of liquid and swung silently open. He walked down the silent hallway past the guard’s station, past the office of the old doctor, and on to the main doors, there in the night, they stood open and a cool clean breeze blew in. He passed through the doors and into the night leaving a trail of torn stained clothing behind. A trail of footprints marked the dewy grass, they went out to the middle of the neat lawn and simply stopped.
In the morning light a huge black crow rose up over the hospital and let out a long haunting cry and disappeared into the morning mist, the lone bright morning star reflected in its black eyes.
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