JJFBbennett

  Piloting and despooling The reality of JB’s confinement is suffocating. The air inside is thin, hot, and heavy with the scent of his own fear. His flight suit, usually a second skin, feels like a lead weight. Through the visor, he sees the control panel—a blur of familiar red and green warnings pulsing just inches away. His fingers twitch, aching to override the sequence, but the shimmering silver nanoweave holds him in a vice grip.  He is a creature of action reduced to impotent stasis, staring at salvation he cannot touch. JB feels the phantom touch of ancient hands as they apply ceremonial linen over the nanoweave. The timeline collapses. He is no longer just a space tourist; he is a modern man drowning in the dust of the ancients, suspended in the liminal space between the cold silence of the cosmos and the heavy, golden air of the afterlife. As the pressure locks against his skull, the final thread snaps. It is the disintegration of the self. JB feels his history, his n...

  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...

  Scene 1 It smells like… time down here. Not just damp earth or rot, but something older. A primal scent that’s been waiting in the dark for a millennium. I’m recording this at the bottom of the scar somewhere in the anomaly. In my mind, it's called the Necropolis Gully . My helmet is trying to map it—casting these sterile, digital grids over the moss and the stone—but the data doesn’t make sense. It’s glitching. It’s shuddering against the reality of this place. I don't know why I'm here, looking at ruins. Just... debris. But in the ruins, I found the ghosts of a future that never happened. I was walking over shards of polymerised memories . This was once a city.  It was meant to be the heart of a new world that... simply stopped. It wasn't an engineering failure. It was a failure of existence. Holding that slate, I felt this... weight. The grief of the architect. The "wounds of unbuilt dreams." I realised then that this isn't a graveyard for people. It’...

  Waking up in the Necropolis Gully BK began her precarious descent into the Necropolis Gully , a name lost to a small number of archaeologists and rogue explorers. The crevice itself was a scar on the ancient landscape, a vast, yawning chasm that plummeted into the planet’s geological memory. As she rappelled down the sheer, moss-slicked wall, the air grew thick with the smell of damp earth and mineral deposits, a primal scent that felt undisturbed for millennia. Through her helmet augmented simulation, illuminating the colossal, jagged stones that formed the gully's walls with data. It was here, wedged deep within a natural alcove, that she uncovered the remnants of forgotten structures and life-like sculptures. These were not mere ruins of a collapsing city; they were foundational outlines, crystalline supports , and fused-metal segments hinting at a magnificent, but tragically unfinished, urban vision. The architecture was abstract, alien, and perhaps too grand for any tourist...

  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 "—...

  My life as a poem, part three Digitally Transfiguring IT THINKS MY MIND Belief has been organised My sicken mindset In my haste to make common sense Everything seemed under control I, as a serpent But where does identity begin and entity end Deep within, where my monster resides My need for a showcase My need for surprise My need to embellish My guild to build faith I, mirroring society  I, rethinking the ordinary I, self-sealing in theory, evidence and belief Poetry Genre:  Nihilist, dark ambient, industrial, avant-garde. 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.com/share/g/18ythpSXPZ/ You can subscribe to my music via  YouTube Music , Spotify , iTunes, Apple Music and Soundcloud To support my art, feel free to ...

 Our paralysis The chaos swirls, a furious vortex. A single thought, soft yet firm, cuts through the noise. Don’t panic. Breathe. Our gaze turns inward, intense. Maybe the real anomaly… isn’t out there. The inner whisper repeats, a fragile anchor in the storm. A slow turn of the head in the dark. A flicker of understanding. It’s all in our minds. Our plunge is sudden as we pierce the surface of our fears, a vanishing into our psychological depths. Brilliant, laser-like thoughts fire from the core. A calm voice echoes from within the swirl, thoughtful. Then a louder shadow voice echoes from the depths, creeping to the edge of our  meaning. And that was when our paralysis set in. The Voice Inside The sleek Subi spacecraft, a silver dart against the inky black, edged cautiously towards a maelstrom of light in the void. Swirls of incandescent gas painted the cosmos in impossible hues, a cosmic anomaly beckoning them closer. Inside the cockpit, BK, her brow furrowed in concentratio...

 My life as a poem, part one My bug within The Conquest of My Terror Within From traditional roots to digital dreams There is repression over and over again I try to find a word for it A lifetime of SOS My bug eye crawls through the night searching for venues and options And yes, there is a hole in the wall But I am too weak to stand and too weak to kneel So I scratch and scrape and scurry from the light To dwell in fantasy Forever on alert to my terror within. Poetry Genre:  Nihilist, dark ambient, industrial, avant-garde. 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.com/share/g/18ythpSXPZ/ You can subscribe to my music via  YouTube Music , Spotify , iTunes, Apple Music and Soundcloud To support my art, feel free to donate...

  Video Description In a desperate bid for survival, the crew of the battered Subi spacecraft finds themselves in critical condition, exhausted and low on energy, deep within the hazardous Necropolis Corridor. Katcha, the highly intelligent cyborg spoodle, takes command, identifying an unmapped anomaly – a faint energy signature at the edge of Uncharted Space – as their last hope for revitalisation. Faced with an exorbitant demand from a freight vessel that would cost them all their remaining credits and cargo, Katcha determines that "time is a luxury they no longer possess". A slingshot maneuver towards the unstable anomaly is their final option, a high-stakes gamble with a "precarious 45% chance of severe structural damage" to the Subi. Katcha initiates the maneuver, sending the Subi violently bucking as alarms shriek. The immediate success of the slingshot is expected. Still, the actual suspense hinges on "what comes after" and the anomaly's ability...

  Slingshot into an Anomaly Space Tourism's Wild Side: Survival, Cyborg Spoodles & Uncharted Anomalies Meta Description:  Join the crew of the battered Subi spacecraft and Katcha, the brilliant cyborg spoodle, on a desperate slingshot maneuver into an unmapped anomaly. Facing energy critical status and dire financial demands, their survival hinges on this high-stakes gamble through the perilous Necropolis Corridor. Discover a universe of space tourism, bio-engineered companions, and unyielding determination as they plunge into the unknown. Keywords/Tags: Space Tourism Cyborg Spoodle (Katcha, genetically modified spoodle, psychic resonator with advanced AI) Subi Spacecraft (Battered, pre-Collapse Jump relic, Compact 2-seater) Slingshot Maneuver (Calculated risk, 45% chance of structural damage) Unmapped Anomaly (Faint energy signature, needle in a cosmic haystack, presence of hospitality) Necropolis Corridor (Hazardous, uncharted space, black scar, derelict ship hulls, temp...

  The Wine Dance Room By reserving a table in the Wine Dance Room, I enjoyed one of the finest dining experiences at Stopover Rumour Station. Let me describe my wonderful night. The restaurant offers an exceptional dining experience with a costumed theme. I dressed in a sharp, contemporary cyborg outfit that provided haptic feedback, making me feel comfortably enhanced. As I raised a glass in a ceremonial toast, my gaze was drawn to my companion, a sleek, polished humanoid version of myself. My cyborg-like metallic form and precise movements contrasted sharply with the organic grace of my reflection. We raised our glasses together in unison, sharing intimate thoughts of our trust and love. The Wine Dance Room seamlessly integrates advanced AI into the realms of human leisure and social rituals. We were beautiful. Large, panoramic windows frame the background, offering glimpses of an abstract, futuristic cityscape or the intricate, glowing pathways of an orbital docking bay, emphasi...