/052198/
The prophet had lied. D-Day had passed. What was left? Out of the desert, dfeiler rode in, covered with dust and ash. Blood and oil streaked from his eyes and ears. He had seen too much etched in the wall of the Red Canyon, where his teeth had been ground to powder and his spirit hung on barbed wire. Yet he hadnt lost his sight, bite or concubine. Even though internal landscapes are often the most bleak and barren, the desert taught him that rifts and rivers are real.
/103102/
(unintelligible static)...lost in a bureaucratic maze of white paper towers... (hissing waves) ...have some leads. Ive managed to restring... (white noise and bleeps) ... programming and deprocessing has... (grinding screeches) ....the hand of a strawberry blonde... (squalling whine) ... dance goes on, with connections, lies, networks... (swelling feedback) ...conversation with the threads of microwaves... (silence) ...think they are listening. I heard a click...
/011406/
The swamp reached into the office through a crack in the window, grabbed my collar, shook twice, and slapped me in the face. Fever leeched in through my open wounds. I tried to keep them sutured, but they kept smiling their raw toothless grin. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed the splintered gin bottle licking the atlas on the desk. New oceans developed, crested, and burned as they communed with my cigarette. Light hit smoke and I saw my reflection in a road map of crimson. Scrapbooks were left charred and scarred. There was a corkscrew embedded in my arm. I dont remember how it got there. The sound of breaking glass and nails leaked from the elevator. I realized that far away someone was screaming. We were melting together.
---(in a whisper) The lord of the manor had returned. He brought back three hands of Seraphim. The buzzing of flies was deafening as they heralded his accolades. He had been gone for some time.---
We are still trying to decypher the encrypted chip pretaining to the Witness received in [an unnamed Tunisian] Market
-The Sister's Lament-
I awoke in a convent of no typical sort, knowing the colors fresh crimson and spent sienna from blood splats and sinful fluids encrusted on an iron cross.
As memories peeled themselves slowly away from each other, I saw modern day rubber accelerate through burro carts carrying meager yields of mint and coriander, while a burning yellow sign attached to a dilapidated, pink and paint chipped building read, “The land of civilization.†This scene framed yet another pile of rubbish and the day’s leftovers, greedily devoured by emaciated, yet god-like cats.
I sat alongside an old woman; face otherworldly in the translucence of her furrowed crevices. She divined a seed under fig tree shade, in this desolate, dung-filled oasis. It was then planted. As a last handful of dirt was patted over this slimy, living seed, obtained from the innards of one unfortunate who partook of its vile fruit’s sweetness, a whirlwind commanded the sorceress’s curse through blinding, shadow-sand.
The virulent, silver, finger cap needle pricked my jugular and sent pain reeling through my now sluggish body as she scryed my name in a drop of blood and sang it to the gods in introduction. "You have traded joy for wisdom and you shall forever be Tormented." Emptiness sprawled and brought visions of demonic realms while corpse-like stillness vibrated with hapless voices chanting in lachrymal polyphony.
Eye, incapable of light, seeing all pain, felt a great void. In this foreign land, a ringing longer than all eternity, layered with static and screaming lips, hung in the space that was air, penetrating the ears of all who listened, tormenting their now vacuous souls.
As I put on my coal-smudged corset and lengthy tattered habit, I remember how I lay in the monastery, forever in my eyes and ears, the hungry wailing of hell bent faces, my heart stamped with the impression of ultimate sorrow, my soul, forever squandered for dark knowledge. I stand here now, singing my lament to you.
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