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Time is a luxury we no longer possess

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  Time is a luxury we no longer possess Our battered Subi spacecraft, a relic in the night Flickering erratic, its core a dying light On Primary Trade Lane Delta-Nine, a river of light so grand But cycles bled away, draining across the land BK slumped, pale and strained, JB with eyes closed in despair Time a luxury we no longer possessed, consumed by cosmic air. No stopping in uncharted space No "stop and revive" in this perilous, uncharted space. The Rumour Mill's comfort is a memory, lost to time and trace. The exorbitant demand is a punch right to the gut. Our savings drained, our journey's hope, behind a costly shut. Slingshot into an anomaly But Katcha's mind intertwined with Subi, a final desperate plea, "A predictive model for a slingshot to the anomaly!" "Best case, worst case": a gamble to save everything we hold dear, with a 45% chance of structural damage, battling hope and fear. To that faint, almost imperceptible energy signature, ...

Simulacrum Bark Hut Batwoman

 

Bark Hut Batwoman
Simulacrum
Northern Territory Gothic


Shadows



Poem





Video



Bark Hut Inn Bat Woman Arrives

Brutally dispossessed.
Placed onto a reserve.
And promised rations.

Detering the minority from becoming the majority.

All stand-down when aesthetics enters the room.
Imagined realities.
Perspective from the darkness.
Obsessions, failure, and virtue.
Anxieties, fear, and panic.

How did we know the world?
Our ghosts of opportunity and precious wealth.
Our unspeakable and inexpressible horror.
To evoke and convey our superior taste.









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