The Internal Singularity The silver nanoweave holds me tight... shimmering like a second skin. But the crushing weight isn't coming from the machine. It’s inside. I look down at my chest... and there is no flesh left. No ribs. No heartbeat. Only a collapse. A dark... swirling... singularity. The air in the pod bends around me. The light itself is warping... pulled uncontrollably into the hollow where my soul used to be. I see my fear—those thin, fractured arcs of violet lightning—trying to break free. But they don't flare out. They are dragged back in. Violently sucked into the crushing gravity of this... bottomless despair. Nothing escapes. Not the light. Not the scream. Not me. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art . Subscribe to JJFBbennett's private FB hub: https://www.facebook...
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Rumour Mill Stopover Station
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Cyberpunk coffee
A surreal cyberpunk oasis awaits at the Rumour Mill Stopover. Embrace a Pre-Raphaelite dream amidst radiant filaments and burnished brass, crafted for the space-weary soul.
Picture yourself with a golden chalice, its aromatic steam rising. Here, coffee is an elevated art, an alchemical ritual amidst gleaming pipes and intricate distillers. Engage in the meticulous process, transforming brewing into spiritual contemplation. This isn't just a cafe, but a sanctuary. Cutting-edge practices blend with ancient rituals, offering cosmic travellers a profound, rejuvenating moment. Amidst the cold void, discover a place of refined indulgence and reconnection.
Rumour Mill Stopover Station is a mid-orbit "stop-and-revive" sanctuary for discerning travellers seeking respite and rejuvenation during their cosmic journeys. Imagine a fusion of a luxury resort and a high-tech wellness retreat, with stunning panoramic views of nebulae and celestial phenomena.
The station is renowned for its personalised environments, where advanced AI, often in conjunction with bio-engineered companions like the "Cyborg Spoodles," adapts to individual needs. The architecture blends retro-futuristic aesthetics with organic, flowing lines, creating a calming, awe-inspiring atmosphere.
💸 Price Range:
High. Rumour Mill Stopover Station caters to affluent travellers, with prices reflecting the bespoke services and exclusive amenities.
Expect to pay a premium for personalised experiences, advanced rejuvenation therapies, and the presence of AI companions.
Prices are typically calculated in "cycles," and a short stay could involve several thousand to tens of thousands of cycles.
⭐️ Rating: 5 stars:
Rumour Mill Stopover Station is consistently rated as one of the top destinations for luxury space tourism. It is praised for its exceptional service, breathtaking views, and commitment to traveller well-being.
👀 Tips:
Book well in advance, as Rumour Mill Stopover Station has limited capacity due to its focus on personalised service.
Discover the "Bioluminesce Experience": an immersive encounter with bioluminescent flora within a retro-futuristic architectural setting.
Be prepared for a cashless environment: all purchases must be made digitally using cycles crypto.
Take advantage of the station's advanced rejuvenation therapies to combat the effects of long-duration space travel.
📝 Recommendations:
For a truly unique experience, request a personalised "Dreamscape Suite," where the environment adapts to your subconscious desires.
Indulge in the station's celestial dining, featuring cuisine sourced from across the galaxy and prepared by renowned chefs.
Spend time in the zero-gravity meditation gardens to promote inner peace and connection with the cosmos.
Consider a guided tour of the station's advanced technology, including its AI and bioengineering facilities.
This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.
Scene 1 In the cradle of copper veins, where the first byte flickered like a eucalyptus firefly against the millennial dusk of 2000, threads uncoiled—raw and unbidden, a post-punk snarl weaving through the static hum of dial-up dreams. Imagine the snare drum's ghost-crack echoing off Uluru's red flanks , not as a conquest but as a lover's bruise, blooming violet under star-pricked skin. Here, rebellion wasn't a fist raised in Canberra's marbled halls but a glitch in the grid . A Laughing Clowns howl warping the airwaves, sonic annotation—jagged guitar riffs splintering into didgeridoo drones , fading to the hiss of cooling circuits. The wire remembers: a young voice, pixels pulsing with the fury of forgotten tapes, cassette ribbons unravelling like the Murray-Darling 's parched secrets, whispering of bans that bind not bodies but bytes, burqas woven into neural lace, veils pleading for the light they obscure. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge Jo...
The Twelve Loops of Goodbye The fluid rises. The cryo-hiss is deafening. And then... the program starts. Twelve times. The system cycles, and twelve times I see you. It starts the same. The image freezes in the dark. It’s you, BK. Or... It’s your idea. You’re wearing the rig. The goggles are locked on me. I try to say your name, but my mouth is filled with ice. I love you. God, I love you. But you don’t blink. The Neural Glitch . Something is wrong. The memory corrupts. I see " corrupted code " trying to stabilise across your face. Your eyes... behind the lenses... they twitch. Microscopically. Are you hurting? Or is that my pain rippling through the connection? A low-frequency pulse warps your skin. You look like a stranger. You look like the machine. The Shuddering Breath . This is the one that breaks me. Total stillness. Then... a faint mist forms at your mouth. Condensation beads on the goggles. I scream at you to breathe! Just breathe! But it’s slow. Irregular. It’s a ...
The Shuddering Breath I Became The cryo unit hisses open, and I remember my name: JB, pilot of the *Subi*. The med-techs call it “revitalisation.” My body hums with a new, raw power. Muscles knit with synthetic fibres, bones laced with carbon-filament. I feel incredible. Invincible. But in the polished chrome of the med-bay wall, my reflection is a stranger. The eyes are mine, but they glow with a faint, amber diagnostic light. The scar from the asteroid scrape is gone, replaced by skin too perfect, too seamless. They say they rebuilt me better. Stronger. To survive the long dark. But when I clench my fist, I hear a servo-whine they insist isn’t there. When I calculate a jump vector, the numbers resolve instantly in my mind, not on a screen. Is this their design? A monster of efficiency, crafted for a purpose I didn’t choose? Or is the monster the part of me that wanted this? The part that, bleeding out in my crippled cockpit, whispered *yes* to any salvation? Did I consent...
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