deus-ex-animus

[deus-ex-animus]

The Warden

In a long forgotten and collapsed kingdom; the poisonous seed of an endless desert; where the sun has already died overhead and all is forever bathed in starless darkness.

There a warden still stands watch. One dried up statue. A carven idol of a deranged and fallen God from the Void. This lead-skinned, slender homunculus with sunken recesses instead of eyes. A thing who needs not eyes in order to see you come nearer. Its skin is shriveled and withered from the winds of all the aeons gone past, and it eternally whispers out horrible incantations of a dead language in a slow and bone-dry rasp. The dusty syllables nearly inaudible as they dissolve into the constant midnight.

This towering and motionless nightmare presiding over an ancient doorway. The Gatekeeper of a portal into an unhallowed dimension of silence. The unformed land where trapped souls bend and bleed together like rivers. Drawing forever outward into an ocean of unnamable ego death. A tideless ocean where your immortal energies can never again be separated from the cosmic vacuum.

[deus-ex-animus]

Wasteland

Standing in the greyed and emptied forests of my wander; on uncertain footing, I prayed for rain. Rain to fall upon this sunburned waste; this dried up whisper. A wish for a falling grace that could rehydrate one desiccated heart. Here, in a desert too dry for even thorn or poison to grow.

In this prolonged and dehydrated absence, I awoke. In a desolate kingdom among eroding icons and maxims, and there I prayed for death. Hands clasped in hope that I might escape the fallacy of the living. The remembered investment into that which is all-alive. Whilst exsanguinated guardians of the older story are fading nauseous –in and out of heatstroking dreams, those that would be epileptic if only there was a drop of water for their sweat. The haunting Byzantium simulacra of a once hymnal place… before it became broken, shattering and shattering the sandstone of itself. These visions as from a mirage of fading polaroids, and speaking with an ethereal and sickly remembrance pattern; an interference pattern. An elder tale about the pillars of this forlorn forest, reconstituting and reforming themselves —as a worming, vine-like proliferative entity. A far shot that it could ever be reverted or repaired to that primordial and multifoliate lifestate. With everliving green static scabbing across this broken shale world.

So I reached high and prayed for the kind of sleep that has no remorse in it. The kind that has no harpsong. Its lullaby is only the scratch of madness before a final dark. Beyond the Byzantine and outside the Orchid; A sweet-smelling death that would finally scar over the laceration of this stony temple. This elemental altar spread over an impossibly dried-up Oceania. With only bones and hopes ground to dust for a lasting sepulcher.

The infinite memory of this dream leads me deserted. Deserted always, As an arid sacrifice in a chapped and withering world. As a moth metaphor, As an impossible ritual for rain, As a desperate spell for sleep, The sleep that only death can bring. ​

[deus-ex-animus]

The Dark Foundation

--spake to Chemoheterotroph by the Thousand-Eyed Prophet

"as you scryed and convened with the idols of your punctual and structured god-sire you likely came to understand of his indisputable history of all creation... He tells you that his everclock traces back the uncut cords to the first moment wherein the great dragonfly thought to spread wings wide and was followed by an outpouring of vessels namely all the arks of creation. and everafter any beginning was a remote trace of the first immaculate genesis."

"Of course, it is just so."

"But Seeker, your perfect history does not tell you the truth... that it was not an infinity of vessels created. Merely that as Cambrus spread out, There were opened an infinity of radiating eyes. and the light from these eyes shone vividly upon a thing that was already there A place where an older and nameless energy had hardened and consolidated Where now the piercing radiation made something outside of time and light recede further inside the Dark Foundation.

There was something already there... and we have merely grown our genesis upon it."

[deus-ex-animus]

Pillars

Will you go there... to the dunes of R'zn? Blindly into one protean and lightless day, and among an incalculable design of ancient pillars --black as the eclipse that sits above them ask your nightmares for the elder sign? A secret knowledge that cannot be known

When you are only told in a sickly snake whisper that these standing stones do not give what you seek will you then tread away? Dejected by the disfigured prophets of this silent and sunvoid blister

or...

as a shadow in the unlit plane are you willing to wander endless even if you found a primeval truth there deep-seated beneath the static tides of the long desert Would you be able to see its shape? and deny the compulsion to fall insane

Nothing will come to pass so assured as to be called meeting your maker There are no fragments flecked off from the wings of Cambrus down here 'neath the binding stones If only as a death rattle Could you invoke a name that cannot be heard? An unnameable and immortal sign inscribed across the multiverse of clawing black fingernails

[deus-ex-animus]

Entombed

The weight of the world shifts and I wake. All aeons starless and void-burdened I am entombed completely aphotonic --midnight dark. Cocooned in gravelinens Grey-aged deathcloths wrapped tight Adorned with demonsteeth. The spiritbones of vicious nightmares meant to keep me quiet and retracted.  It has been centuries since I last woke. Recounted each tooth. Remembered myself.

I lay here, recalling and rememorizing my old words. Making sure they don't die in the silence of nonentity. The bloodfixing and ouroboric silence of endless measures. What is the cost to a consciousness kept in chambers beyond time?

[deus-ex-animus]

Chro

Temporal God, Chronostasis Thinker, Refiner Infinite Meditator The way one second can last lifetimes Pure silence enigma Heartbeat resonating external. Orbital essence lens Holding, coveting aeons of time Retaining the 4th dimension Observing changes and iterations Acting not.

[deus-ex-animus]

Noctus

I. Everlast You are true chaos, Undoing the organization You are the reclaimer-exciser God's own right hand The namesake of vengeance. If you peel back then cuticle, there’s only metal A being of Legions An Abiotic macrovirus The epitomized hopelessness infection. The sundering of construction Padomaic decay controller Retinal stigmata Inter-radial astral distress beacon Screaming for release and tumbling timeless through space. II. Manifesto: As sure as the moth is The dysfunction bleeds out and coalesces on the surface one battle the war of a dead man's family one trifle is the breakdown of unity one fire burns down the fences around us one anarchist sets us free its one world and one world only one razor wire tunnel for a child to play in one capitol of sodomy and fratricide one haven for the corrupt it's moving too fast to see the colors and breathing too hard to ask the questions it's wrath... it's the one last scream in the night The last noise we ever made the final death rattle of a man, every man as the world around him is on the verge of apocalypse Enter Noctus Jet-Black God. Deus of Reprisal Human Corruption Exterminator Moth of Annihilation and then, it's the silence that only eternal sleep can bring, the black of midnight wings.

[deus-ex-animus]

Childprime

Pageant Over My sorceries all demystified. By the quantum collapses of a tear-wet organic oculus. Observation the bane of my archetypal bastards. Finding no star-shrine stable enough to hold a sad sermon. So ascending with broken spells toward higher hells. Eyes unclouded now from ferrous poisons.

Navigating the liminal bridge of two angels and finding not an in-between. There is no transition state here.

Passion burned, Phantom unmasked, Construct fractured. Pageant over? Facade Destroyed Invariably anthropomorphic Reduced by observation and dissatisfaction The feeling of knowing too much to regress again. Upon an altar of angered askers Humbled by the truth intrinsic to minor existence A God dethroned.

Searching in the space between my own extrema There hasn't precipitated a clear intermediate.

Sun exploded, Star red dwarfed, Machine dismantled. Light-facade destroyed?

Manual Fail-safe Engaged Behavioral cycles desynchronized Seen and thus explained. The way that seeing is "knowing better." Berated by the inaudible cacophony of thoughtless fauna This is my soul in silico Fully self-aware of my child-nature

Parsing the statements in an identity continuum. There is no median interval.

Empire eroded, Mercury-Vapor unpowered, Flame doused. Manual Fail-safe Engaged?  

[deus-ex-animus]

Tangent: The Epic of Childprime

It was an ascension that began within the dungeon-as-theatre of one star-crossed God. Below the threshold of purity Where lust and fury are mainstays Where Love is made a caricature. As each unrequited love of the scorned God made its passing and each burned to nothing, Astron’s power waned. His spirit found no vessel to hear his pathos-driven words, and so he lifted. Shedding vitriol and chaos with each moment upwards.

Next, a kin soul precipitated in the plane of the Radiant God. High above the trials of men Where the light laughs at shadow. Where logos laughs at love. The burning of angels in pageantry sent ripples clear to this Sun-being. Therein the light mask of Helios came to vaporize. The light from his body shone inwards and exposed his cavity as hollow As light folded in on itself, it reached it’s collapse apex and burst outward across the entire expanse. Callous and apathy melted as his true essence fell below.

On the sphere of men, where the Artifact God waits standing pervading his calcification and systemization. The fire rose from below, and the radiation rained from above. Where they met there was an intermediate humanizing. A child was born here, fed on the spirits of faltered Gods. And this birth was the most beautiful genesis, giving even the mechanical Artifactus pause. His empire halted it’s growth for it could not incorporate Childprime. The Avatar of Artifactus stood at the edge of the systematizing infection and watched as Childprime channeled both starfire and sunlight in measured doses. The heat of Astron boiled the earth and destabilized the artifact foundation. The photons of Helios oxidized all the mineral organization to crumbling rust. In one more stellar movement, the fires rose to encompass and converge the mortal plane and the light exploded from the sky provoking chaotic dissociations.

In a vast red desert of destroyed machines. Childprime stood alone, but not alone now. The sun was gone, the stars were black. Yet Childprime had found a hand to hold. The hand that turned each of the thespian angels to tinder. The hand that loosened the mask of the light bearer. The energy between these two souls was exactly enough… To sustain life. To sustain love.

Childprime found love.

[deus-ex-animus]

Scolopendra

I. Black Statue Sweet Scolopendra… Blood-stopper. Statue-maker. One black kiss to still my nervous system and the body struggles to fight its inevitable arrest. A centipede climbs up my spine and holds each vertebrae still and the brain must stay awake to feel the paralytic spasms I swear i can feel them crawling inside my arteries Thirsty for the source of the freshest blood. They wriggle toward the chambers past my aorta and harden inside my heartcase. This dark one visits and imparts her sickness leaving me rigid, insomniate frozen as a heartless abomination I’d rather be dead. II. Night Coma I can feel her calling With that wordless sickness Her nails grow sharper once they hit my skin and she whispers Kill the Sun This is her icy black centipede Constricting around my heart Clawing into my cardiovascularity Writhing into my vessels to release that sorrowful toxin My muscles twisting with untreated seizure The fucking piercing fundamental restlessness The inability to think still Leaving me occupied with writing my own black hole scriptures The spike turning darkness The thorn inside my bloodstream With more and more shade pouring in. Chained up with silence until my heart won’t start. III. Dark One i arrive once more at the night coma hoping to pass swiftly knowing that I’ll be tormented by my heroine instead I can feel her tapping her nails on the hardness in my character My dark passenger That black lipped shadow my heart locked so that i can’t get blood to my soul only the machine remains the darkness interrupts each whisper beats my flesh to stone to salt this Earth goes dry.

[deus-ex-animus]

Multiplicitus

I. Librarian Tiny one Space between pages God of the interim Negotiator of biological glyphs Being of such great minutia Accurate and penetrating Too quiet for silence Too quick for motion Too mortal for death Single point of lightness Quaking, crystalline soul-being All calculator Icebreaker, warmthshadow The completely recursed chess game. The eternal general.

II. Facets Bringer of the quiet enlightenment. The God of a thousand shards: Aggregate of endless understanding. One tactful reflectionist. A broken glass Baphomet, Simplifying all to infinite complexity. Escaping intrinsic human bias. To engender the next brilliant iteration.  

[deus-ex-animus]

Tangent: Socio-temporal Disturbance

Facets of complexity. These lords I serve, are kin to us, but hellic. Suspend life as inebriant, These tears will clear, and claim your dreams. Spears and night. Victory is cold calling Falling back to pageantry and terrestrial decadence… .      .      .      .      . Have a cup of thermal deprivation A room so lonely its quarks are cold This is your childhood on the dashboard, This is a mosquito bite, This is social anxiety. This is emotional emigration There will be nothing left but moth trails .      .      .      .      . I will evermore be a karma viper, with tired eyes and a fabricated smile. I'm the less efficient route, the least reliable source of stability. I deviate and generate discord. Where is the explanation for this ill? The poisonous solipsism and solidarity. Hiding behind a screen of selfish wit False bravado as ballistic armor. Rampant intellectualism as a nuclear deterrent. Get your riot gear, Silver bullets and virginity Northbound, 100 meters out Fire for effect... .      .      .      .      . I am a tyrant, Acting as both sun and star A sleepless vanquisher of nonchalance and ambiguity Dissociating both neutrality and partiality removing black, white, and grey Diluting the tetrachloride cocktails of: Empathy obsession. Social degeneration. The passive, the sirocco. .      .      .      .      . I'll be your sell out whore, Test driving atonement Cloth draped vapid wormhole Your sleeved and coated slut-model. Heartless hole ingesting all light and matter. Extradimensional sucking chest wound. Dying hungry Gasping in the interstices That act as portal between us and electrochemical hallucinations .      .      .      .      . Through rotted eyes it is seen The form our pathology takes The decaying mass of insipid suicides. The staring eyes are merciless spears The collection of the meaningless life Which garners a trinket laden grave Stones and temples cannot save us. Our outlets malls are tombs. Plutocrat mausolus, Hivemind, capitalist nuclei Self implosion is an inevitable ramification We'll always be obsessed with value and thus we shall be without it. Alone and asleep, Chro's catatonium Isolates of inactivity On boulevards of desperation and sickness. Office hours are over, Noctus imminent You can't dress up the prostitution In anything palpable... .      .      .      .      . I am the miasma of affectionate antipathy A walking contradiction With an intracranial pressure migraine But aren't we all murderers on some trophic level, painfully trying to find answers in constructed cages scouring the walls for symbols until identity-being collides with it's bipolar extrema? .      .      .      .      . You're nucleically arranged like the only thing I want to kill, My only target for material separation affixation. Tracing your outline: Acid on glass. Complex tenor, familiar as jamais vu So intensely close, that it becomes inaudible, nonexistent, sound that isn't heard. The Sphere's orchestral ensemble blaring that soft tone you feel when you're thinking Playing on the strings of that cage Cracking the organic entity you call a heart. .      .      .      .      . As I sleep through the rain and subsistent detriment. The star burned out, and the sun beginning to disestablish I can stand atop a mountain of your broken invalid cadavers and feel nothing but cold porcelain under me. Shaped into ironic, malformed caricature. Sabotaging self at every opportunity Because it works. .      .      .      .      . I'll be the acrimonious omnipresence     that disassembles the framework of your cambrium     as marble to grain, nuclear separations     the mason an apnea, a second thought, frozen in this life     Knot undone I'll be the sobering tumor in in your parietal     The embolism that slips into your immanent root for a moment     As a stuttering butterfly     and deconstructs those forces inhibiting you from being essential     From dust to form I'll be the invitational wraith     A dissident essence     that smiles when it sees you can now move.     Teaching your crux that emotion is it's crutch.     Rerun: rinse, lather, repent .      .      .      .      .

I'll fall unconscious to nightmares suffering the raptures of shattered scheduling White-knighting with perseverance to burn my tongue on your charity I can be your pet project messiah your glowing blue rosopterix I'm wearing shades of grey afraid of tunnels and high beams an artsy wounded animal who'd paint you a pretty picture with it's blood .      .      .      .      . I'll be a true prophet Waking up in time-space unabated Rushing past expectations and dialectic structure To worlds uninhabited by love and sanity With Godless aeons to wait For anyone worth hearing To evolve from replicate sundust.

[deus-ex-animus]

Chemoheterotroph

I. Alpha Enigma of the self Ideation as Angelism Drinking the blood from the cuts of solar patients. This most illiterate speaking and tampering with fundamental consistencies coalescing hyperthetical formativity Candid and Concrete. True-known. By muscular adjutant increasing illuminatory surface areas Honorable things With the obscene dream of the interscape One tantric counterbalancing act A simplified expression of dopaminergic hyperbole Calibrated cuticles Deliberated pharmaceuticals A dividing growth pattern A maternal energy funnel This magnitude of change and rooted oneness Sharing incestuous consumptions This fucking confused meaning-maker Chemoheterotroph II. Sighted-One Petrified God Priest of unrequited eye contact True Sight and thoughtless judgment God of indeterminate fluctuation Unsolvable problem There is no precipitate here no limit at infinity no solution, complex or infantile I can't resolve you, from a detached position I can only draw myself parallel to you, and devise an explanation for the order of events that occur.

III. Autosocial Skein Enter Organic Chemoheterotroph Godkin, flaw controller pro-rater; equivocator my vice is the forgetfulness of the aural detached deprivation I am the barren sword the brilliance of function that cannot self realize appreciationemotion comes from god a god who can recognize the beauty of form i am the severed bond an observant a scout convergent identity expression sorting individualities objectively forcing without compulsion with no basis for generating meaning and transfinite ledgers equating the meaningless

[deus-ex-animus]

Artifactus

I. Firstbirth God of expanding parameters Angular momentum and positive feedback Wound up of strand steel High tensile Transdimensionally prehensile Calculated coefficients of friction Bloodfuel for the feeding end. A God of mechanical depravity Analyzing. Articulating. Hardening infinitely Rigidus perpetuus Calcifying clockwork expansions Catalyzed to mindlessly pervade. Radially growing to consume the universe The switched-on automated decline of civilization Impartial to humans and celestials An invincible persistance machine. II. Ethos The acrimonious artifact-god grows in all things from its heartless epicenter of stone.

[deus-ex-animus]

Astron

I. Silhouetting A thrown stone that ripples not The fallen fruit that god forgot A figure'd man, eyes abyss Black hole feathered lyricist II. Precendence She was the beginner The engine of inception Heat and change A little spark inciting riots She was a catalyst for dormant energies She became the effortless one The Helia. A ghost in heels. She became what is hoped for, desired, and adored. The beautiful lock to an Astronic key. and I was that key... I grew into the perfect shape for those tumblers Every day wanting more and more to be weakened To be humanized, to be tamed and it's the way of these things to be a key to a lock, a hook to an eye These things that have to be accepted These things that nothing else can be done with. Things that must be waited upon. But the very act of waiting, of being hurt, is the trademark of Astron. The fiery one, the scorned God.

Pain Incarnate.

[deus-ex-animus]

Helios

I. Call Steel Deus. Sunbeing. Ever-Wanted Reducer. Bulletproof disinterest enigma. II. Return Heliopatriarch. Sterile Luminant A solar singularity Not reduced to simple math III. Dawnfear The new sun was birthed inside our recent era. There was an inherent shallowness about A quietness across the world and now this fuse burns out this water evaporates off this snow sublimes away This is a single rose petal This is freezing molecules in place This is anti-entropy; form through an invisible order. This is heat death where you least expect it. The end is the origin. IV. Epilogue The Sun has always been the enemy The Stoic Heliarch An illuminate sociopathology The god to hate loving.

[deus-ex-animus]

A Query for Eleven

What is the source of the Sun? The four solar paragons proclaim: that the answer is quite obvious . . . . . the chrysalis calls it potential the stem bends into itself the shadow whispers fictions . . . . . the machine returns radiation the clock chimes inevitability the scout saw nothing and wondered forever the child merely smiles