Wondering God [Prose / Short Story]

The cage of sanity, preserved and solemn sacred space in a mental landscape of shattered cultural remixes, shamanic, shambolic, American consumer smiles, Chinese Tao daydreams, Indian snake oil Spiritual visions, the sacrifice of the Jesus Child, Satan’s self aggrandising selfhood, the whole mother-load of ego baggage and spiritual mumbo-jumbo clambering and fighting for a way in.

The cage of sanity is a refuge, a dim light in a landscape of contradiction and conflict, men could go mad in those waters, and most who venture were never to be seen again, drowning as they do in their own ego visions, blinded to the truth and guided to the Godhead by obscene and trickster lights. Not Morpheus, he had been taught well how to navigate between these planes of belief, how best to navigate the will through the energy fields of the unconscious spheres. Trained well, protected by ancient knowledge, knowledge that preceded even the Godhead’s all seeing eyes.

Ha that trickster Serpent who thinks it knows all men, Godhead, Abbadon – two sides of the same coin. Meaning found in chaos by beings trapped on a 4 Dimensional plane Morpheus thought to himself, silently under the cover of his cage.

Morpheus cackled from above – splintered over his multidimensional form across 3 separate fields of navigation. Observing itself, himself and herself from it’s vantage point in the cage of sanity he smirked, to be higher than the Godhead was a blasphemy he delighted in. A temptation he indulged, so that it may not hold power over him.

He moved silently in 5 dimensions now, his form ebbing in and out of the unconscious cubes beyond the meta-chamber, where the horrors grasp and sway at silent night, gasping and drowning silently in some ghost’s bondage, a sly wink down confirms his passage as they clear, and he sets course for the light in his floating cage of sanity, drifting at past the speed of thought to reach his destination – The Central Godhead Dictatorate.

Faster through the nexus he plunges into the nervous system of the ever living Godhead bastard, faster until forms merge into one universal light, one lightbulb of infinity, like a moth to a flame, floats Morpheus to find his light, basking in it’s glory the fractal Godhead burns in all directions, a light to all who seek answers, beyond good and evil. And then penetrating skin he arrives in the halls of the unknown, surrounded by the endless hills, eyes winking and mouths twitching in twenty different unseen ways.

The Godhead Bureaucracy stares at Morpheus with disdain, the disdain which had become their hallmark – “Desire Morpheus?”, “I desire the will of the sane, and to cast that which is rotten and unclean in man into the depths of clarity, to obtain some sense of reason Lords, I have become so tired on my journeying through the unfettered depths, these metaphysical exertions are burning me out, I tire of the Underground Caverns, the untempered skin chasm, the burning void, I need some sense of meaning, something to will me to continue, some work beyond the great Godhead’s word and will”.

The Bureaucracy stares with mechanical eyes at Morpheus for a second, blinks without comprehension and then delivers it’s mechanical and well rehearsed answer – “You think even the Godhead can give you this Morpheus? Meaning? Meaning can only be found in service, some service themselves, some others, most divulge something from that sublime madness that can be found betwixt waking and dream, search harder and longer Morpheus, and the answers should present themselves, and do not fear the riddle, it is in the mystery that any meaning can be found. Confront your fears and do not run from them, instead run to them and embrace them, cancel them out, what do you fear?”

Boredom, that was the terrible truth, he’d seen a thousand dying meta-worlds become and then disappear, seen aeons of species both familiar and alien all die across the stretch of a billion years, watched as entire worlds burned in acrid fire of storm and ash, whilst others ascended to the stars across a billion light years in desperate search of that which he know stood before, trillions of worlds and lives all sacrificed to this – the Godhead. The eternal abomination that dwells beyond. Mechanistic, yet organic, the meeting place of all contradictions in mind, into this – the all knowing mind.

He responded “It is nothing, I will continue to observe and record as much data as possible to the Bureaucracy databanks, I shall reflect and meditate upon your reflections on a Terra world, and seek to eliminate all contradictions into the unity.”.

The Bureaucracy telepathically projects a smile, and then whirring processing machines rise from the surface of Nova 2, to record this moment forever in the vaults of the Godhead.

Morpheus did wonder then and again, but then what God does not?

It is in the wondering that any meaning can be found, to avoid the rot, now there’s the trick.

IT [Experimental Prose / Writing Exercise]

A short writing exercise in steam of consciousness, written whilst listening to this

It bleeds from every corner, every rune permutates through this ether into the back of crooked eye sockets, bled black rot, insipid virus. It crawls in the flesh, cradles the anxiety. It’s everywhere, creeping shadow, death, rot, Media. Newsreader on TV, blowjob eyes, international conflicts, multiple orgasms, winking porno actresses, reptilian anthrax.

It doesn’t blink when you sleep, what need has it for sleep? It’s the crawling nether of some long forgotten chaos dream, some parasitic violent fever dream of some obscene Noir King on a throne of blades, burning bright and black for twenty eons. Perhaps it is death, perhaps it is void, emptiness, everyone has a different ‘it’, every one assigns ‘it’ a different mask.

It could find you on a cold night in New York, or lounging back in Hawaii . It doesn’t discriminate based on age, gender, sexual preference or creed. It lives deep inside the Pandora’s Box of the mind – the obscene boils of the sewer Queen squealing with delight, the nether Cybernetic fuck mind, the orgies of the queer Pope, consumed and black lining of stinking anus shit.

It boars deep into it’s victim and find host, sublime anti-Christ of the imagination that few men make peace with, or even confront on any level, so they turn from this Toad Lord, on it’s throne of pestilence. It gives each man and women a mask to hide the anonymous alien of surface, spit pouring forth from mouth to free demons that dwell in man’s jet black corners, mood surface light. Death, 25th century Hedonistic death drive towards abomination.

It’s inspired millions to madness, driven thousands to just ‘follow orders’, created mounds of bodies in dust covered wastelands. Some man have called it Lucifer, it has so many names in the tongues of all, it is the broken soul of the creature known as man, searching for stability in the void of infinite space in 360 degrees of crushing void.

It sneaks up on me, I feel it breathe on my neck, feel it’s burning gaze break through membranes into the back of my brain, possess my dead soul and inspire words of blasphemy, inspire a craven image or two, driven to visions of absolute power and obscene hallucinatory megalomania. Demon Burgle laughing on throne of basking bone. Cerberus and cackling hen.

It can be anything, it can be anywhere, any place, everyplace. It does not matter to it, the it-ness is in everything, detached dead eye of Nebulous – a chapel of Bone engraved in human memory, a plague of the death of reason, the opening to the nexus of unbridled violence, the spasm of the vortex, spilling forth into the organic cage of reality. A thousand rolling eyes of surveillance in an endless twisting internal maze.

It’s here now. Can’t you feel it? There in the corner, grinning widely, an invisible grin that hides the malice of centuries, the grin that goaded Christ to accept his fate on the cross, and tempted Eve with the Apple of seeing, it cackles at your failure, exalts when you fall, sniggers when you crash, delights in your suffering. Beast, Man, Woman, Fall.

It is inside you, face it or wait for it’s inevitable crush, there is no middle ground on this one. Until you stare into the depths of yourself, you will remain blind wondering in the Desert, Blinking for a memory of Sun.

It is whatever you assign it to be.
Fear. Death. Sex. Art. Choice.
Choose wisely.