Whispers at the
“You divide yourself by a process of reflection from me and are ever empty,
searching, desiring. Revert, then, to a time before divisions – a time of
wholeness and joy.” (Liber 369, Book of Anubis)
The air was thick; heavy with fog and the discontent of too many souls lost in their own petty illusions of existence. My cigarettes had gotten stale on me and I knew it was time to head home. I flicked the remaining remnants of my cashed-out square into a puddle that formed under the solemn boughs of an old live oak. I hesitated a moment before I left my seated position upon the French’s bench like headstone. My attention was led to that puddle. Slightly, I slid my shades down the bridge of my nose. My eyes barely unveiled by the top of the frames, drawn to that pool of rainwater. As I watched, it was as if time had crawled to a near standstill. The droplets of water hit the surface and rippled gracefully across the outer skin of that delicate
and temporal sea of rhythmic distortions. I was in awe of the serpentine patterns that unveiled themselves to me, pulsating with a life and vibrancy hidden from the mask of common perception…A procession of primordial energy that nobody could ever notice locked in the limitations of three-dimensional, gross awareness.
“Perhaps I have journeyed too far with my fungal vacations and rides through ‘Cid town’, I thought. “In any case I should get home. I have work to do”.
There was a chill in the air. The waning winter sting drifted towards that mysterious place that holds the memories of yesterday; where tomorrow waits in utero. It was early March and God only knew what the coming months and years would bring. The nation and world alike were being ravaged by a crumbling economy and the horrors of tyranny and bloodshed. The reptilian corpses, garbed in human flesh and fine suits ran the world. With a sly but none the less iron fist, they’ve been at the helm of all wars and destruction that has plagued our humanity and this island of Earth for ages. It seemed as those around me were in some sort of catatonic mental retardation. Unbeknownst to these misguided fools, battles raged in the desolate wastelands of irradiated deserts, giving the denizens of this Earth the progeny of malformed and broken houses of immortal soul. Meanwhile, in the lives of sheep, the drum beats of their anointed overlords ushered the sick masses to their nine to fives and their slow but steady journey towards an impending date with non-existence; a fate worse than death or damnation. Still, the social architects could not help themselves but to rape and enslave us on our guided journey towards dreaded oblivion.
“Soon enough…” I said under my breath, “The poor bastards will see it.”