The Vuhlkansu Insight

The Vuhlkansu Insight:

There was a chill in the air from the north and for the causes of skies a glow from the badlands that called to Sonok, a tired sound of insanity rang in faded honor by which the hum of the planet faded, a dismal disconnected eerie otherworldly madness familiar now something else. Unable to sleep he entered his closet and took a long coat that stopped at his boots and left his tenament, the humidity and heat unbearable as he marched into the metro subway and boarded, as time was unwitnessed the desire to arrive where unplanned fate would bring the decision to hidden choice, caring for the clock quite less than the next station where little but a refueling unit and an unattended rental dock with recreational bikes. He paid at the cost of wondering what was beyond the horizon a blue unit shining away the light, and in these loud thoughts of habits formed a choice to ride into the badlands until the conveyance was out of fuel, staring at the sky with the sound of the engine still raging in a faded memory the clicks and bops of nature surfaced from the sea of stimulus with predictions and intrigues. Walking for an hour he finds the mountains of Mel'ival, the pathways of abandoned mining and tourist litter were overwhelming with the environ muted by the new experience of wandering the unknown shadows each grain of sand, each crag edge a mountain in itself peaks of light and darkness within the mystery of mazes, the stones a blend of ancient ages and the waste of a Pli-Tchlana, a moth the size of three Vulcans whose threat is in distracting volatility when it knocks rubble on its predators, in the gathering mist moisture drains thru the cracks pulling together the red color it makes into tiny puddles in places. Sonok takes the red-colored residue and gives himself a mask of warpaint before continuing, a break of instinct for a ritual ceremony, a change of face in the fading light. 

Sonok moved away from there with the rocks beneath boots the sound of sand and gravel, the poise of his gait the trembling of cooler air from the north and the mountains as the shadows began to grow against the singing sky of gray and looming light pressing its way into the passage, the ground gives way to soil and forest depleted of short summer months the likes of exceedingly tall trees with broad-leaves already sewn into the soil, the high altitude marsh home to special sounds as all marshes are, a colony of ants marching together where a Tiko leaves them began twitching and clicking luring in the bird that made the discerning mistake. It was time to rest or eat, which he couldn't decide and so gave acceptance and did both, he licked the red paste from the back of his hand before eating a purple food ration closer to powder than paste, but resembling both, convincing himself how appetite had been filled he heard a noise from behind some distant shadowy hillside of trees, in darkness quiet and muddy steps he walked to the source of curiosity where a glow filled him with ideas of curiosity and mischief, a fire and others of the survivalist cloth sat by it, tending to the flames that wash without tide against a cemetery forgotten when the badlands were abandoned for the war, the unmistakable smell of Tlingansu wine and Rigelsu chocolate typically sold for sehlats, the open packages nearby next to broken security locks the group quickly ran to Sonok, smiles and open arms quickly reaching toward him he as quickly drew his phaser, they refused to speak and slowly moved backwards. Slower still stood their leader unlike the hoodlums in their styles of tatters he was dressed much like himself, the hair was pulled back and tied while filled with red moth paste, a breath of courtesy and a long pause as they stared at each other, even slower he gestured for them to back away, insisting on them to back farther until they sat realizing and choice, he says his name, it is Tarm Vorm'kulsu, from the nearest town, despite his boots being clean and issued by the nearest colony off world. The suspicion wouldn't settle as distant fog blinded question and crickets ignoring the need for him to hear himself think as Tarm opened his coat, and sat, before Sonok could notice he was staring at Tarm's phaser being set in front of himself, the open hand pointing to a gravestone seat. Sonok sat, but wouldn't unhand his phaser as they talked. He spoke to them like friends, but held back on topics like subordinates and strangers, describing himself as a trader on vacation but using charm he would slip and use words of bounty hunters and assassins. In the challenging conversation with Tarm, he described himself as a fictional persona, as a bounty hunter himself to surprise and doubts from the others, in a search for theives, the description of paltry desires to assume them to be worth insult, when they didn't kill him he felt the hate jarring sense of shifting understanding, 

They were somehow gone therefrom the morning, in the lot on the seventh number of the seventh force, the terrible fading day of night, the fading night of cloud cover darkens the septenuary coventry month, what would this colony planet take place or placings in the contest of agenting space and where it rests for coasts of dawn and dusk on worlds from space in sights. 

A creature in the dark too nightfallen shades and whispers covet a flying creature clicking as it flies thru the similitude of darkness it held as day, perhaps the midnight had fallen on the other side of the winds of coolness quite contrary to the day which pulled warmer savannahs together for the heart of the two sons that now palaces fortress by treehaven and the occasionally brightmost star in towering furnaces of dark matter and its neglected entropy. 

It seems they must have made knights of ghost in this chambering dimmings and maze of fog, in the quiet languor that sullies wyverns and dragons to sleep, a terrible thought mind dashedly atrait, insomuch alter the convenient paradigms normally assigned to idiosyncrasy, the snow covers moss in the riverbed, the roots above the layer of frost upon that time the layer of fernned mosses, no dread or dreary dare not tread. 

Gone are the days of summer's content mishappily, storn, wrotted slothly, disheard on subjects, this the path of Kolinahr in midsubject, the ruins of culture preternatural as with a face tackled by erossive time, too complete for artwork if titles were ancient names now forgotten. 

The mouth of it in unrequited silence the shores of darkness pay this primary sense now bereft of rifts as memories shuffle with contemplation, what expression was the monolith of broke shatters and smoke matters the infidelity of truth, in the waking glow of fog the makes of mystery and night the Chi of the cave a pouring and crawling fog, what one of many expressions had scorn, the ideation in cypheration into logic. 

Simple vibration sings with the night as the symphony of evening fauna hides the dangerous call beneath, and with roots groaned the dirt to unplaced footing, from the dark comes a face, becomes caping trenchcoat battle weave, becomes walker becomes the men from before, using a great alarming stun siren, they walked with immunity and guns drawn, the essential at obliged step, quicker and quiet run into the screaming trees. 

Behind the bark and noisy vine leaves, thru the dank soil with hints of steps and soft gaunts of gait, the hearing gathers their muted shouts and the time is only to run, each separate along their side, without confidence in escape the chance to take out the gunmen faced here, suddenly mutual surprise the fallen foe point of contact blast, deja vu to the sound of danger and audible footsteps, a second shot and blind from the previous the energy misses one and wounds the follower, five but half for one second, another shot to four, each time the thoughts dwindled, portrayed from notes for final bows the forest became interesting until the final shot silently echoed back, it was the same as the night left inspiration, many steps into the cave there the terminal and communication with the elders. 

Rom sha'lak goh-na'Sturakeh u'ish, pupak s'wak heh tryjarsu. Skek dahik. kya rishan. 

Sitha 4 ek'tra, Vithlu maat. 

Novis Initiis

i close my eyes to see the back of stars, the stars i see everywhere, arguing, not that it's new light, and behind the stars i see the distance, i peeked to see if i can spellbind, that these are my thoughts, no one is sure, to me there they are intrinsic, and temperamental, often not my own, never full to grow out like flowers and fires, but there is the other thing that i'm stalling again, oh great is might, i sense where the keys are and i type, or i do, stranger than fiction, and other things, continuity is so remains the principle theme, has the light finished before it shines on travelled shores, does the light travel to empty planets or does it just pass by them with ease, as choice, as reprimand, as trivial detrour, does it chase around the world after a tail, it becomes many past connection withy the target, but itself to parts, we can record these events, creating new data as more information, and there is the light used to transmit the signals are just pulses of electricity, on, and off, we record, no wait, there are two choices this thought, behind the flashlight, or guessingh who holds the flashlight, it because it seems, okay, scores of people recorded like charted scores on shores of waves of tidal infinite information, just like the water, arguing that water is only made of elements, and thereby as such is earth, but slightly lesser unknown still that it is air and earth, fuel for the living to become channelers of the source, conduits, as exception already, even by the time of this writing it is possible, in a working grid of control, a controlled-environment, one of the missing eye, as often enuf, to know every movement, mapping easily enuf by our toys, if we are here, or if even we are there, surely we are anywhere for a time, this is our singularity channeling the controlled light within us, for i'm uncertain to argue, if enuf than too much, iff uncertain than vigilant, and that so many times without irregularity is its way to know all thse orders and operations of our lives, the stories of gods that play with expected outcomes, and people do this too, and of those that weave time to change where we go, but it is a challenge to be a human for many years after our creation, or until after our creation, my parable seems ponderous, rewriting, it suggests that there is no identity, like voices in his head, there must be more, it must be any, ah yes, the whole report of which we are books in a database cell, but what if it recorded how many breathes a person takes, ho9w many heartbeats, i peeked to make sure it's on the level, on the line, correction is not a thing we can make to history, liek continuous development we mustn't deride ourselves our closest allies, other error checkers, will report to that, beneficially, as much a perfect calculation in sentient space driven by completing authentication at the point of finding itself and its beginning, largely assuming that, like a program checking itself until it outputs all that can be, reathing living cell, i love that universes exist within atoms, and just are the truth of this science, but what if i were to say that it would count how many times a heart skipped, just a larger database, in this infiinite amt of space would not there be without explanation that beyond the grasp of creatures standing under the digital sky endless unfoldable space to hide the writing on the walls, i used to write these with my eyes open, inasmuch, otherwise, et al, i peek to see if i'm blind, where it counts many things, how many cells in the body, how many bodies within cells, equally, how many celsl does the body create every second, would it also count and document the manufacture distribution and collapse of every cell in the human body, that would surely be a great artificial intelligence, knowing where are all these things withing the known universe, a beautiful picture of the mathematicians'golden rule of the unknoweable space and time, if the future is unknowable or by heading there is lost the past, naming every cell in the human body, and knowing where every cell is at all time, knowing where every grain of sand is, like a a map maker of stars, those beyond the scope of time to see them, those which we around revolve, now ready to imagine everycell accounted in every possible moment aside from their order of existence, how and how close each is to the other, knowing how far a star light will appear as a supernova by its lenght away from the view, and the worlds undiscovered within a cell, mitochondrial universes like floating stars, tiny cells, or the complex combustian and renewal within the feiry brightness floating in space, and in the absence of matter the radiation  chaotic and three four dimensional conduit to the fabric of reality itself, like a pattern in the wave tops of an ocean in a frozen photograph, stacked for a motion slideshow of embryonic echoes across the tiemline, in that irradiated space where stars exlode and new shores define them the corners of the universe where we reside, counting the times against each other that someone did not count them for us, when all we have to do is remember thise things again, where everything is






/rant

Aqua Vitae

Merlin: What is the Tao?
Water: Illusion is born in the gap where divinity has been excluded.
Merlin: What is Manna?
Water: How should you navigate this perennial quantum fusion? How does one harmonize this journey?
Merlin: What is Karma?
Water: Entity, look within and synergize yourself. Will you rediscover your path to intention?
Merlin: What is Zen?
Water: Materialism is the antithesis of ecstasy.
Merlin: How should I become part of the new aesthetic?
Water: Have you found your mission?
Merlin: Yes.
Water: Have you found your story? Will you manifest your journey to manna?
Merlin: Indeed.
Water: The solar system is overflowing with molecular structures.
Merlin: Until we meet again.
Water: We dream, we self-actualize, we are reborn.

....a short convo i'd with @nabgbot 


~mjbanks