transangelic-lizards

[transangelic-lizards]

I Hunger for the Flesh of the World

The Earth is my flesh and my flesh the Earth

My skin the suit with which the world wears me

And when I was born the world was my birth

A warm cradle enveloping ‘round me

The Sky is my air and my air the Sky

Breathing itself back and forth from my lungs

A melody sung that shall never die

The world sings itself from infinite tongues

Ocean is my blood and my blood Ocean

We are made of the same salts and waters

Circling and stirring in endless motion

The world is all my mothers and daughters

The world’s heartbeat is the ticking of time

Beat in rhythm with the ticking of mine

[transangelic-lizards]

Last stand of the skitarii - pt. III

Suddenly the sky was alight, lines of lasfire streaked across the plain. Percy’s goggles locked in on a group of dark robed figures crawling up through the grass. The battle-hymns of the infiltrators struck up a binaric chorus, praising the omnissiah as well as disrupting the enemy. To his right he saw Ekaton-201 and Centum:8-2 whirr past, blades humming. Percy had hardly needed to think, his systems were firing and the electrical pulses in the ground marked where he had shot. 

[transangelic-lizards]

Last stand of the Skitarii pt II.

Things had gone wrong so quickly, they’d lost most of their squad covering their retreat to the extraction zone. Percy hadn’t felt anything then, neural circuitry and drugs dampening any response. It’s not like he had tear ducts to cry with any more. But now the drugs were wearing out and the data transmissions were gradually getting weaker. Of the maniple sent down to retrieve the archaeotech, there were ten left, three ruststalkers, two infiltrators, four rangers and one vanguard. Hekaton-4, the surveyor chittered “~1min till the enemy arrives,”. The binaric seamlessly translated into the stumps of Percy’s ears.  Ekaton-201 flexed the digits of her chorclaw, his transonic blades whirring up to a hum. Somewhere beneath the princeps’ wires, hidden face muscles twitched. She spoke in gothic, her voice raspy and slurred with atrophy, “Lets get ‘em, one last time.”. She only got those words out before breaking into a coughing fit. There was not much meat left on Sicarians, it was a wonder she could coax out any message at all. Percy readied his rifle, setting it up against some debris on the outer edge of the ruin. The wind whipped at his white cloak as he scanned the trees on the far end of the clearing. The cultists would have to cross that turf to get to them. Percy wondered how many she could shoot down before they surrounded them completely.  “Heat signatures spotted, all directions.”, the Diktat digitally relayed Hekaton-4s observation. Percy breathed in and out, feeling the metallic air from his respirator fill his lungs. 

[transangelic-lizards]

Last stand of the Skitarii - Pt 1.

The silence was unnaturally calm. The orders had come from the magos mere moments ago, shuttling through orbit into the receptor of the diktat. The information was relayed in binaric and responded to with an inhuman methodical efficiency. Inhuman. Well, they hadn’t been fully human for quite some time now. Not since they cut his body open, welding sinew to steel. They had taken his legs first, his hands not long after, replacing them with fitter, stronger, better ones. He still had a face, somewhere beneath his respirator. Lidless eyes behind external fluid filled goggles. They’d remolded him, given him a new body and replaced his name with a number. Pi-913. In the quiet times when the magos’ electronic hymns were disconnected sometimes his squadmates called him Percy. It was one of those quiet times now, the magos had gone, taken the archaeotech she came for and left. There had not been enough room in the evacuation vessel. No doubt someone would return for their cybernetics after things had quietened down. They were efficient like that, the mechanicus. Never let anything precious go to waste.

[transangelic-lizards]

"We have Sydonian Skatros at home!"

[transangelic-lizards]

I think friends should be obligated to share their strange and cryptic dreams with eachother I think this is important.

[transangelic-lizards]

Man, tents really are just the perfect place for homoeroticism.

[transangelic-lizards]

Casually saying "I have never been wise" to my friends who have read rote and watching their facial expressions change because I am so so so evil.

[transangelic-lizards]

And the two plots tie so well thematically together also. Where the A plot is dealing with mortality, demystification and the replacement of Death with a corporate and uncaring ruler, the B plot is dealing with the exact same things just with a sentient mall instead of a crowned Death and a Combination Harvester.

Also, why did nobody tell me that Reaper Man has the wildest B plot. The A plot is like this deeply moving, intensely aesthetic meditation on mortality and time, but the B plot is the wizards get sent to the Backrooms

[transangelic-lizards]

twisted spine as in evil or as in scoliosis?

My spine contains both evil and scoliosis

[transangelic-lizards]

Found this fun glowy necklace

[transangelic-lizards]

A Sonnet to the Decomposers

Lying loamside under autumn litter Beneath the past week’s blanket dust and dew The dirt is sweet and the air is bitter  First with sightless eyes I encounter you

Who comes courting to me with keenest grace In your faces I find myself undone Who with handsome warmth and lively embrace Your reaching silver threads my fate is spun

Whose hands stretched up from beneath the ground Whose filamentous tentacles reach out Whose halo fingers have my sockets crown’d To hold me through my most intimate route 

Though you bypass me I let you in Sliding past and through my softening skin

[transangelic-lizards]

The Tangle

Still’d wings legs walk in a lazy totter White feathers mottled over downy grey Mercurious eyes glance at the water The piebald pigeon toes t’ward the spray.

Summer morning ‘neath bridge’s shadow hid Cold current past the embankment flows Over black mud bed darker tangle slid From millpond water motion slowly grows.

From breathless mouths unuttered rippled breaths Dark shapes twisting beneath the dark surface Dying becomes one thousand subtle deaths Frenzied movement yet ever effortless.

Alarmed wings bear up in sudden flight Disheartened row-toothed head darts out of sight.

[transangelic-lizards]

My favourite diagram ever - this is exactly what I do in my science labs.

Source: Mira Bellwether's "Fucking Trans Women"

[transangelic-lizards]

The Destroyer From their Dreams - or rather Bee Farseer going through it. (Quick sketch)

[transangelic-lizards]

Fuckkkk making me cry again wow holy cow Oh Fitz Oh Fool.... literally amazing art wow

kisses

[transangelic-lizards]

Trees on Romula-IV - Trees (1.2)

The middle-management was in uproar, the information was all far too much to adequately convey at once. Captain Clarkson was dead, this was true, and indeed on schedule. More intriguingly, and indeed more worryingly were the readings that continued to flood into the hall. The ebb and flow of hypotheses and conclusions, rejected or affirmed by the constant stream of data, bounced around conference rooms and video calls and message boards. Romula-IV had been selected for maximum viability, it was a moon orbiting at about the right size for earth-like gravity and about the right distance from the sun that when an atmosphere was created, earth-like conditions could be simulated. Essentially what had been expected was a barren rock, one that could be gradually terraformed over decades, centuries, to be increasingly liveable. The Agrippina was a spaceship, yes, but the real marvel of its engineering was its terraforming payload - atmosphere generators, water stores, seed banks, gene banks, hydroponics, research stations - all the tools required to perform ecological succession on a wholly unprecedented scale.  A feat of engineering, which if the wildest theories - ones that with each new reading seemed to be only increasing in possibility - were true, would be wholly unnecessary. 

Trees. There were trees on Romula-IV. Trees and water too, if the spectra readings were to be believed. Gradually the image built itself up as sensors were pushed, probes were sent out, and the inevitable push of the ship thrust it closer and closer to its destination. The moon’s surface was only about 40% water, according to the spectra, much less than old Earth. The poles were ice-capped, even now old anomalous readings, discarded as random noise, were affirming this. The equator was pocked with mountainous ranges. And unmistakably there they were. They did not cover the surface of the planet - much of which was desert or barren rock -  but sure enough, around the larger bodies of water, like rings of emerald, were trees.