Stretched a grey and lifeless, a skeletal remnant of something Twilight walked through, her movements steady but her thoughts disjointed, flickering between what was behind and what was ahead. Snow fell in erratic, uneven patterns, catching faintly on the jagged edges of the mountains which glittered from the corner of her eyes a blurry and brutal cruel mockery of beauty, cold glimmer which vanished as she turned her head away succumbing to the unseen.

“Do you hear or see?”
"Do you see?"

“Where are you?”

Tear droplets repeated
Sepals, separate

And I drown a little more every day
The wind blows so slowly now
The trees are dry dead
Walls to Me they cannot hold back the storm any longer
It will break around us first
When I stand there at the piled blood pyre
Again I flick open the inner eye
If you too open your eyes you shall see
The entire sky filled with weeping angels
The entire heaven filled with weeping angels
And the central sun and sum of all
Celestia too weeping

The fog clung to her, damp and heavy, seeping into her fur like cholesterol sulphured air, her skin, her very being. Each step dragged on further into the embrace of a lover who would not let go. Growing thicker this air, wet with a chill that didn't bite but smothered its occupant. Sigillaria rising.

She passed through valleys that stretched endlessly until she met their ends, and their walls rising high into the white void above. The cliffs were sheer, their surfaces marked by faded diagrams and symbols that seemed half-formed or blown away by untold amounts of time, familiar but unknowable in the faded lines. She stopped to look at them, her hoof instinctively tracing a cabalistic sigil. The lines twisted, almost moving beneath her touch, then transitioned into arabesque patterns, curling and flowing like the tendrils of smoke. They seemed Persian, or from some foreign land she had never seen but somehow recognized and named.

The air shifted again as she moved forward. She passed a Yaodong, its dark opening gaping at her like a wound. For a moment, out of the corner of her eye, the Zebras appeared, silent, elegant, statuesque, sachem, their forms indistinct and spectral. She banished them as she looked away and kept walking, her mind refusing to linger on what wasn’t real or what was too real. Not to disturb their duma.

The walls of the valley pressed closer on from left and right, and the fog grew denser, a tangible thing she could almost touch with a solid surface. Until until she reached the end of the valley, where the terrain opened up into a vast, desolate basin at the purlieu.

Here, the wind was stronger, a relentless force that pushed against her, and the threshold and that is where she froze and stood. Looking up with an epicanthic fold in her eyes. Even through the fog, she could see the mountains bending, carnation didn't grow way up there, as they swayed unnaturally in the gale. Their sheer faces cracked and groaned, the sound echoing across the emptiness, The flies sip at the snowflakes which fell. Her eukaryotic disturbed.

Pebbles and small chunks of rock dislodged from the peaks of the cliffs invisible to the naked iris, falling through the white expanse above and landing with dull thuds on the snow-covered basin below. The ground was an uneasy mixture of snow, sand, and ash, which blended into a pale, ashen mix.

Drogba high in the sky.

When I see the great black light
When I see the grey-black light
That shines in the eyes of animals

Mesopotamia and Anatolia rises the Sun Disc...

Sex with the Sun God Ra.

ผม

The smell here was thick and acrid, the taste of burned knownun and decay that clung to the back of her throat. The oppressive sound of the wind, the cracking rock, and the faint, rhythmic hum in the distance consumed all senses. Hydrogenerate in the basin of a black pan, with venom and military temples. Black wings flying over the grey below.

She stood there at the edge of the basin, her body battered by the wind, her mind teetering between fear and numbness to this. The weight of the landscape pressed down on her, unyielding with its heaviness. And still then, she walked forward, into the wind, into the void. Pressing into the clitoris, coitus.

Her first hoof pressed forward, sinking into snow that shifted like a dream in the state of moment awaken, sometimes a shallow feeling, brushing against her fetlocks, second time no thought at all, other times swallowing her waist without warning or hesititation. Yet, no cold rose to meet her furry skin. The air instead held its chill like stolen valor, a suspended boundary, as though the cold had been trapped instead above the snow's surface.

She stopped, gazing downward, expecting to see its powder clinging to her legs, but the ash and snow refused to touch her. A brief moment of weightlessness, then the snow released her as she moved again. She was alone, and not alone in singularity, the snow itself seemed alive, whispering against her hooves, carrying secrets it would never reveal.

The sharp crack of a rock. It struck her head, a solid thud, but there was no pain, just the faintest dull awareness of its impact. By the time her hoof reached up to touch the spot, the rock had vanished, swallowed by the ashen snow. She knelt instinctively, clawing at the ground where she presumed it had fallen, but the snow gave her nothing, no weight, no mark, nothing. Dissolved before she could grasp it.

Her head tilted back slowly, following the path of what could have been the falling of the rock, and her eyes landed on the cascade of boulders tumbling descent from the white above. Some of them had vanished midair, swallowed by the white void that stretched upward into infinity. Others struck the basin with soundless finality, leaving no trace of an impact crater, site.

Her gaze lingered on one particularly jagged rock as it twisted, spiraled, and then disappeared into nothingness. The mountains groaned above her, their channels louder now, oppressive, where grinding of its foundations echoed from the very core of the earth. Threefold, layered, reverberating, each tone folding into the next, a crushing weight of auditory dissonance. It filled her ears, her chest, her lungs.

She stumbled forward, her hooves were slow to respond, her movements as fractured as her thoughts. The sound pursued her, more felt than heard now, like tectonic plates grinding together in some distant, unimaginable place. A rhythm to it, some dark, primordial rhythm, the heartbeat of the cliffs.

The sky above, if it could be called a sky, started to shift. The whiteness bled into faint streaks of grey, swirling and merging like a great, breathing motion. She stopped, eyes fixed upward, searching for familiarity, for something. The cascade of rocks had stopped, the mountains creaking again, their echoes softer now but still unbearable, still immense as they could of been in prior seeking.

She wanted to call out, to the channels of white nothingess but no words came. There was no one to hear her. And still, she walked, her steps directionless, her mind lingering on the rhythm, the grinding, the echoing weight of the mountains above her back to its lifeless expanse, lifeless husk.

The time slips through her, a gray slush of moments pooling at the fetlocks. The snow is gone, or maybe it’s still there, invisible now or its texture replaced by the smooth, cold surface now familiar basin. Walking through some absence, each step a muted propelling, the air is thin and clearer, less fog to obscure the edges of things and she could see further then the moment she first awoke, the mountains and their jagged edges dulled by a distance, no longer such monstrous objects but hills, truncated by the white which swallows the unsky.

Her eyes flicker down, and she notices the cracks between the stones, the veins of softness which thread lightly through the hard surface. Moss. Colorless, formless, as if it had been drained of its vitality but clung on anyway in lifeless strand, stubbornly present. Without a hoof to touch, she could feel its damp resistance before stepping on it.

Her gaze lifts, drawn upward. Lines, stretched taut overhead, cutting through the sky like scars. Power lines. Nameless to her but she felt them. A faint hum vibrates through the air, through her fur which makes it stand on end, a delicate static which pulled at her scalp, the fleshly skin moved and the snowfall gone, vanished entirely leaving her alone beneath this grid of wires strung like spider silk.

'Neath a protein moon
In a protein sky
Running protein fields
With my protein eye

A chair stands alone, fresh from frozen catacombs, impossibly pristine in a painters world, an artifact of elegance amidst this sprawling desolation. And it waits for her to arrive at its feet. And she obliges, she moves toward it without some quivering question, her movements mechanical, her haul towed by some unseen pull. She sits, the seat jerks beneath her for a nanosecond, the backrest rigid against her spine. Sat like some Ape.

Around her, the power lines thrum louder, a captivated and calculated tension building in the air. They twist and knot, a mascon, too many wires to count overhead, converging in patterns too intricate, so volitional. The warmth rises now, emanating from the wires, a heat that presses against her fur with just a tiny flare.

Then, without warning, the sound comes.

It begins faintly, that familiar whisper of metal grinding so painfully, a low vibration that sets the teeth on edge, a whip kicked in the mouth. It grows. Louder, louder, until it breaches the threshold of comprehension, a deafening stinging cacophony that tears through the air like a string scream. She lowers her head, her hooves flying to her face, a desperate curling of the hooves protectively around her. The chair trembles beneath her, but it does not move its wooden muscles.

The basin cracks.

Boiling owls shriek.

The powder on a chalky bosom rises
And hangs in the air
Clouds crawling through protracted blue
Like souls of insects
From threshing haze
The scent of spider lilies

A fissure rips through the ground, an upheaval, and she feels the surface tremble violently. Pebbles leap into the air, dance, and settle again in repetition. Behind her, the world stretches backwards, pulling towards at an impossible speed. Tectonic plates grind and shatter, moving as unhooked and unmoored from the laws of nature. The horizon recedes, dragging the landscape with it. This field of rape.

And then, out of the distance, it emerges as a giant.

A monolith, Yaldabaoth, its enameled surface gleaming even in the dull light. Smoke churns from its pipes billowing upwards, thick and dark, unfurling in slow spirals that hang in the air uplifted. A power station, its approach inexorable, pulled toward her by the power lines which tremble with the strain, taut and alive, guiding the structure forward.

The noise reaches its zenith, a crescendo and like a coda reaches silence.

It stops, all of it. The cacophony, the trembling, the stretching. The power station halts in the distance, immense but still, its smoke frozen mid-coil. The chair remains unmoved, a static bubble in the aforementioned chaos.

She sits, her body motionless but tense. Her hooves press against her face so strong, shielding her from something she cannot name. One hoof falls slowly to the tip of her neck, the base of the hoof brushes the hollow of her throat. She breathes, shallow and rapid, the oppressive quiet wrapping around her like a second layer of prepuce skin.

The gold
The throat
The teeth
And there, over there
The starres are out

An eye drips, something heavy, something waiting, Leilani, winged.

The sampled voice of God

The sterile voice of God

Adipocere

Author's Note