Σ ░ “The individual has consumed the whole of society. Darkness waits nearby, listening to all the babbling. News anchors bobbing their heads to the tune of the rolling script. Keep it rolling—and here we shift to others… also bobbing… their heads… up and down, nodding… in agreement. Babble, babble, babble… Did Carl Jung know just how much the individual has to say? Nodding, yes, to the sound of the beat. Yes, yes, yes… to the metronome of the soul, the spine. Hot ideas latch onto it, sucking on its new host. Babble, babble, babble… let’s here the story. Blot out the skies of others. Let’s here this story. Steal the spotlight, steal the Sun. The Sun black as sackcloth, the Moon’s televised screen pouring red. As black as red. The colors of fertile anger. Iron hot on the surface of the Moon. Darkness waits all around. The Moon has the Beast by the horns. The individual sat there humming its tune. Must silence all the noise… The noises others grunt and squawk, raping cinema, art and literature with their redundant cacophony. THE INDIVIDUAL. Oneness. All. From the sea they came, and into it they will go, swallowed by their God of Existence they call ‘Originality’. Like likes like… The soul of the original, the primordial does not exist. Νύξ cradles sight. The God of Existence beams outwards to illumine its world. The God of Existence does not exist, not everywhere he does. Only sometimes when his eyes are clear. From there great things happen. But I tell you, most individuals do not deserve to be individual; they muddy these waters, pollute the atmosphere with babbles. I’ll tell you something else too: many individuals live inside of us. They are to be quelled into their rightful place equal to their hideousness. Some have beauty, so create this hierarchy and let those rise a little higher than others. This is appropriate conduct, and it earns its own Grace. Grace is the only thing that will save our world. Do not be deceived—none of them have the Moonstone. None of them have moved a stone ever in their life, though only a few sometimes. Terminalis is great and powerful, a Jupiter in his own right. I hear he has a special box with magic building blocks… What do you think we could do with it? There’s a termine not far… BRITTICANA happens to lay upon on it. I think they know this. But if you go further it’s that path we took, up steep slopes, down vales and into forests winding round along the Earth, spiralling north-westernly, north-westernly, North-Western… in eternal night, running away from the Sun to the end of the world. The Sun is so warm and handsome it drives me to do it. Truly, I love the Sun. I have a spiritual message for you.” ▓
And with that, the transmission ended. An electric tremor surged in his body, and Agent Elbert shot straight up in bed, sweat pouring off.
Featured also on YouTube.
PODCAST
DONATIONS
SOCIAL MEDIA
MUSIC
"Transmission Wyrd" by Presley Benson
#scifi #dystopian #philosophicaljourney #storytelling #spirituality #psychology #fiction #lynchian
Share this post