THERE WAS NOTHING IN THE VOID LANDS.
Nothing, not even his thoughts would register as words, concepts or stories. Just his muscles ached and he had a sense. Not a clear sense but a body sense, a dull ache. His muscles did not hurt they just had this same dull ache as his nervous system. Tinny music drones out of a clock radio, some world beat music from Public Radio the man is jabbering like a stoned monkey. Maybe its some sort of Islamic thing, not that Muslims are any more monkey than the rest of us. Indian maybe, its got a Bolly Wood flavor.
Song ends and sitars start to play.
Now a belly dancer winds her way through his thoughts. Green veils whirling and whipping to the now robust Indian music...
Her navel comes into view. Hip shift and how the curve of her breast captures the beat of my heart and my attention falls in sinc with her moves. Only my clumsy fingers get in the way as I try to relate the experience to you. It's like dying and now being a ghost. I'm not there at all. I see it as if in a semi forgotten memory.
Camels sway. The road is open and long...a almost generic landscape of dunes.
His guts ache with a longing. Memories or her haunt him...it was only seconds ago that we were together.
If only I had not misspelled things and tried to correct it as I went...if I only would have left the errors...or even not tried to relate it now...to this reader.
You the reader. You might be IO or you might be a Chinese robot. You might just happened to have opened this spam and find these words captured your attention for some uncanny reason. You might exist somewhere in the future...a connoisseur of strange fictional magicks. You are the author right now...and you wonder why you are doing it at all.
Cold Ash.
His distorted metallic face. What the fuck was that. Where am I, anyway?
He played me a recording of Ikipr today...calling to offer help...but then he showed me that Ikipr would rather have Titan than Jimmy Crump. Laughing at me the whole time that Ikipr was the only friend I had left who even had the slightest idea of how to get in contact with Titan. TITAN? That's fucking stupid.
Played out nonsense. What the fuck?
Yes. Some sort of breakcore influenced noise has some through the sitars...and now the sitars. Beats Antique?
The wave again. Like being slapped with a feather pillow that weighs more than an elephant...this shadow hand of such violence. A defeat beyond description. But not failing we persist in a stiffled gloom of angry reserve.
Ocean waves pound against some sort of glass enclosure.
A mermaid.
purple spangles, along the sides of her long tail with long hairlike fringe sway like serpents in the ripped and waves from her undulating motion. She speaks of the goddess of Syria...
Soft deadly warning songs. Almost sweet until you hear that she is taunting and cursing the dead.
Oh vain children of Abraham. She is so ancient and her song is one that is hard to resist. Your self righteous rebellions are evidence of the failure of your Clerics.
The water washes up along an ancient sea coast...the earth seems to be uninhabited.
Bonus Aries.
Beams of red and yellow disco light shoot through the smokey little club. Your body is taunt, tired but drunk and eager for the sex you know is to come. The tight red silk dress presses hard on her erect nipples.
Santa Maria. August 15th is coming.
A subterranean tunnel opens up and a small delicate figure, black with a purple shimmer, winged, beautiful comes and beacons.
The author wearies of the writing but is excited about this prospect. Opis, that is the name that finally formed in my mind. Opis. I think she is the wife of Saturn? In the Strega she is celebrated on the day of the Assumption of Mary.
Two large UFO's appear on the horizon.
I am reminded that I have been given an assignment to attend an event at a local gambling venue that is hosting some activity...
I wonder if this has something to do with the Reemergence of Chris Titan?