Most recent post

Obsidian static the puppet master

-
Image
  Obsidian static, the puppet master. (Verse 1) The crevice opens like a silent, dusty lung Air thick with minerals and a thousand forgotten years I'm rappelling down the sheer black into a chasm's memory My boots crunch on shattered polymer No sound but the suit's respiration But the stillness is a stage The jagged walls, they lean in now (Refrain) The Paraknowing a cold spike of dread at the base of the skull It’s not a thought, it’s a wave Static buzz. Who's the puppet and who is the master? High-tensile wires disappear into the light The tightening the silent pull above the gully (Verse 2) The godly face, brittle stone work It emerges, eyes blank and unseeing But it broadcasts a sharp spike of loss and profound love My logic stutters, snagging on the input An effigy , a sentinel or just a mirror I turn and see the audience waiting Small, white figures, balanced stone totems They are all part of it (Verse 3) The strings pass through my wrist Not from me, but through...
Post a Comment

Full Moon Walk Nightcliff

-


In the middle of the mind's shadow
Appearing perfect in the void
Shine and shine
Celebrate and feast
Bask in divinity
Worship fullness
Take the time to board your chariot
To journey throughout your heavens







Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Kepler Kiss

-
Image
  The Kepler Kiss A Cosmic Coffee Experience Imagine stepping into a bustling café aboard a deep-space station, where the air hums with the gentle vibrations of starships docking and departing. As you make your way to the counter, your senses are immediately captivated by the aroma of a futuristic beverage—the Keplar Kiss .  The Visual Delight Served in a matte-black ceramic mug , the Kepler Kiss is a sight to behold. Its rim glows with a turquoise light, casting an ethereal glow that accentuates the coffee's deep, cosmic allure. The drink itself is a masterpiece, with its surface shimmering like a miniature nebula . Swirls of indigo and violet dance gracefully, interspersed with flecks that resemble distant stars. As you gaze into this cosmic concoction, wisps of steam rise elegantly, forming spiral patterns that subtly mimic constellations. An Atmosphere of Retro-Industrial Sci-Fi The café is a harmonious blend of retro-industrial textures and high-tech sci-fi ambience. The...
Read more

Podcast 03 Psychological Anchors

-
Image
  Psychological Anchors The characters thus embody the classic dichotomy between logic/control (BK) and emotion/instinct (JB), a tension that becomes central to their survival when their advanced technology fails and they are forced into the realm of the psychological (the anomaly). They represent two vital, yet opposing, parts of the human response to existential chaos : the attempt to catalogue and talk through the terror, versus the primal urge to act and accept the turmoil. Psychological Anchors video What's the real story behind space tourists BK and JB ? Their identities are in constant flux—changing race, age, and form. Host Alex and guest Dr. V dive deep into this "multiverse" concept to explore the two constant, warring psychologies at the heart of the Subi crew : BK: The ultimate planner, driven by logic and an internal narrator .  JB: The ultimate instinct, driven by raw, non-verbal emotion and anxiety . How does a logical mind handle " Paraknowing "—...
Read more

The Puppet Master

-
Image
  Puppet Master The narrow, high-walled passage swallowed the sound of my boot scraping a broken cobblestone, the echo sharp in the dry air. Above, a sliver of unforgiving sunlight cut down, carving deep shadows where the damp, mossy scent of the gully was now replaced by the smell of dust and ancient stone. I paused, looking not just at my gloved hand—the leather scuffed from my descent, but at what was attached to it. Thin, nearly invisible lines, like high-tensile wires , stretched from the articulated cuff on my wrist and disappeared into the air above the path. I tracked them with my eyes until they converged on a small, stone figure standing motionless in the centre of the walkway. It was a crude marionette , barely a foot tall, carved from the same pale, cracked stone as the surrounding walls. Dressed in a simple tunic, its blank, oval face held a radiating sense of expectant waiting. Its arms were held out, palms up. I held the strings. Yet, the feeling was not one of cont...
Read more