Time Machines

by Miro MM

Rating: mature
Tags: Violence, Princess Celestia, Twilight Sparkle, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Death, Sad, Other, Romance
Length: 16834

"Lapse of reason. Come back to me, in glory, I need you so dearly now."

Relapse. Retrogression.

| . the process of returning to an earlier state, typically a worse one.

Published 2024-12-24 03:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-12-24 03:00:00 UTC

7-Methoxy-ß-Carboline: (Telepathine)

Around me, I stand on the shore
The waters are black and swirling
I hold a black mirror in my hooves
The swastik winds sweep around me
Their arms the nightbreath sleepwalking
The sighing of imminence and ending
All there the waves curl under and over
Around me, I see things coming to a close
The door is nearly shut
As we stare at it the tinylight squeaks out
Slower and slower
I see things coming to a close
The folding cerecloth shrugs down over the windows
The lights burn still but invisible to us now
I see things coming to a close

The purple sleeping form stirred, sluggish and cold and gravity weighed down heavy with meaning upon the foetus form. Pow! Pow! her eyes fluttered open, her lids grudging to part open as the light which pierced the closed kept darkness was blinding, painful of a white which stretched endlessly in all directions, she winced and raised a hoof quickly to shield and tremble with a bore. Her head throbbed in an ache in the skull, a low pulse which hit her which mocked at her attempt to think clearly at a rude awakening.

In breath came her in uneven strokes, shallow gasps which rattled in her chest which sounded hollow of working parts, the air was thin but clean, so clean it stung with the smell, joints aching as she sat up, sluggish, every muscle was resisting her as if she had been cocooned and awakening from a deep slumber, too long to the point the body and mind had forgotten their purpose, a distant echo of something passed far away from her self.

She was lying on a stone path, its edges raw and jagged at points, precariously hanging from angles at the cliff face, surface uneven and scarred with cracks and fissures. Stones beneath cold and damp to the touch, though it seemed birthed of an invisible undefined moisture unexisted. And above her the cliff ascended endlessly into the white void, disappearing into the blinding mist far of in the void.

The void.

It was everywhere she looked and the white pressed in, with an absence with no weight, like a mist not a fog or cloud, just simply the devoured distance the consumed depth which left an illusion of space. Which swallowed the bottom of the cliff far below her, a gulf that stretched downward forever like a chasm disappearing into pale nothingness in a perpetual disappearance. Chorazaim.

Blinking hard to attempt to block the light which clawed at her eyes like spiders, making them water of a silence which pressed thick into a maddening unnatural unwrongness, so pure and so absolute, strained far from sound yet her ears strained for sound for the faintest echo or the softest wind. But there was nothing, nothing but the slow labored breath and thump of the heartbeat.

And this cliff was familiar, she knew it or known it but did not know why, the contours of the rock, the jagged breaking off, the faint shimmer of the past golden-brown surface coated by the waves of a memory stirred hovering just out of reach. This is Calvary.

A metaphorical hoof reached for her thoughts, and searched for the mind that felt hollowed and excavated, scoured clean of flashes or fragments or any threads that could pull, a voice inside her, a mirror of the surrounded surrounding.

Her hooves trembled as she pressed them against the stone, pushing and holding herself up to a sitting position, her body felt fragile aching in ways which seeped beyond the flesh coat of fur, through the bone and deeper into the unspeakable, shuddering at the unfamiliarity of her touch to the faint rhythm of her own heart.

She eyed the stone path extending outward beyond and narrowing into a ledge that curved downward and upward from the ways one looked, disappearing into the white below. Her hooves quaked as she forced herself up fully, and her steps unsteady, silence swarmed her at every stampede, filled her heard and amplified the paranoia which crept up into her spine, creeping, she gazed upward where the cliffs summit would be but it was vanished into the white void.

Above and below, there was only the stoney adjusted land and the nothingness which swallowed everything else.

She grazed the rough wall of the cliff with her hoof to find balance, her hoof scraped against the rock with a dull pain, she kept her thoughts in a rotorvator which clawed at the emptiness of mind, grasping for anything and any memory or any fragment of what had been before here.

But there was nothing.

And it yawned wider the void.

Stepping forward away the precipice finding upon the uneven solid cold unyielding surface of mixture, a step with sent the faint aches through her every time she stood and stepped and she continued to press on, driven to venture into an instinct buried deep in the hollow chest cavity. Onkalo.

The white stretched on, infinite, unchanging, a canvas of nothingness.

Canvas of unchanging nothing in this depthless silence, a whisper in a sensation not of sound which represented a faint tug at edges of the being demanding her presence.

A pause and a catching of the breath, looking down at her hooves, at the pale trembling hoof in different movement, a smudge appeared and she her head, the motion slow and disoriented as though painful to move, a smudge in the form of a name she was certain a name had echoed faintly, in the head mirroring, a grasp in the churning sea of confusion.

A taking glance over the shoulder, her back towards the edge of the path where she had woken, the nothings stretched out there too, indifferent.

Forward again where the path curved down, end hidden from the sight of fog, there was no choice she had but to follow downward. Looming, waiting, pulsing in white.

Standing for a second an hour wrapped in a second, time collapsing, folding in on itself, irrelevant. Her eyes now open wide to the oppressive endless whiteness that no longer hurt or burned at the retinas, but its absence was like a trick and a lie in the tightened chest, how long had she stared down, don't lose yourself here. Where?

Stones darker then before, adjusted to the brightness, hesitating now against the hollow sound.

A negotiation with the ground in this descent, in the air growing colder and sharper in the teeth which scared skin at her exposed hoof where the fur could not protect her, a thought of snow or the smallest flecks of white against the blackened stone, tricks of the light, absence of light. What?

Gaze fell again, grey rocks of dull grey river stones of aching and the grey, the grey of a winter sky moments before the storm comes and rains down, the grey of the reflection of the water which she couldn't drink, bitter with salt. She pressed a hoof to the surface, too rough surely, texture sent the shivers deeply encased in the rheumatic upward groove of the rock which swirled in patterns, ouroboros. Half formed and half erased, pulled back quickly a scrap with a bloodless backward pulling.

A noise. A memory.

A shell of syllables as the heart raced to a turn so quickly in the empty vast unknowable mockingness.

Stumbling into the pebble as she catches it on the small and hard piece of white porcelain rock, curved and it wobbled on the edge as it fell and tumbled into the mist blow, a buzzing faintly heard in the silence, a hum just below the level of sound.

A harsh twice in the hoof, cold which bit down like a bat and creeping into her joints, bones of snow which gathered at the edges of the path, in thin patches and scattered remnants.

Celestia.

The name, appeared so golden and stuck like a stone to her chest, she gasped, the noise escaping her lips. Celestia. The shape so familiar, warm and painful, buckled, against the cliff wall.

Celestia against the whiteness.

The surface of the rocks so grey and rippling and then shifting and then blinking and then still, Uneven bursts of breath, she pressed her hoof to her chest, heart raced so frantic and uneven and out of time with itself. Runic wreaths on the ground-wall.

Downward in steps each slower than the last and the cold biting down harder every time as sharp as knives, eyes then drifted across the path and to the snow and to the cracks which moved when not looking, changing shifting in excellent teleportation. She didn't dare and then it fractured. .

Thoughts which came and went as half formed and splintered thoughts of the name now spiraled and echoed and folded over, who, a name a face a warmth she couldn't face, void pressed and grasped and the silence was now whispering back again.

Scraped and clipped of ichor, pain that wasn't there, growing louder the white in presence and the weight not weight wrapping and it burrowed like a spider into the nest where the path then narrowed and the rocks darkened into pitch dark.

Shivered so violent and numb and further into the grooves shifting and forming, pulsing of a light, time of hollow and the path blurred without the need of vision and she buckled and fell to the ground, right down against the freezing rock.

The whiteness cold unbearable and somewhere the stirring backwards, weightless she lay and gravity abandoned, stone below which dissolved into a sensation less void of blackness that broke the white above and now lost its barely functioning coherence, and all the world seemed to be in darkness, and all the world seemed to be in brightness. Everything even the body drifted in and out of themselves, echoes receding into a canyon which stretched more and more to not let those wretched echoes reach the bottom and back again under a menstrual night and moon.

Head turned like a Maltese cross, the stubble field, a willed to the vast unbroken and featureless. Hebron's vale, now the body of Twilight just a thine in the featureless lively oppression, eyelids heavy and leaden the strain of keeping it open was now unbearable and felt like a fall through molasses so thick and suffocating of the body which sunk so much deeper then into itself.

And all dimmed now tunneling and succumbed to the exhaustion of the clawing of bones through this haze of dark which overtook in the barely discernible against this sea of white of a vast and angular rising of something large and far of a structure an object in the overwhelming presence of looming of a shadow visible in the nothingnesss, edges sharp and the surfaces shifting in twisting of the reconcile to refuse the mind.

Memories snuffed out, flickered through brief and faint, a thread and then the eyelids dropped and so the white was snuffed out, the faintest traces of the structure lingered in geometry that etched into the back, blurry blurriness of the bending of lines and stretching and never arriving through the unlit.

Everything alive swelled and the sensation fell deepened into an intoxicated haze of unpleasant pleasantry of soft and muted which slip beneath warm water where the current took where it willed the body in the foreground and miasma penetrates. A hum to a vibration and a quiet slow haglaz resolve.

And then she slept.

"Sometimes I feel like a swallow. A swallow which by some mistake. Has gotten into an attic. And knocks its head against the walls in terror."

I dreamt
I cannot see
I cannot see
I can no longer see
And nor would I want to
Anymore
Clearblindlayeredlightcolourblindeathcomecomecomecome
Goaway
At the edge of the Rock face
By the pebbles and by the dream
By the post and by the bell
By the dawn and by the form
Formless She Lay and Dreamt
And formless we lay and shall dream
And then the rain

Author's Note

3,4,5-trimethoxyphenethylamine: 3,4,5-Trimethoxy-b-phenethylamine 54-04-6 [RN] Benzeneethanamine, 3,4,5 C11H17NO3 (LSD)

Hush-a-bye
Don't You cry
Go to sleepy little filly
Go to sleepy little filly
When you wake
You shall have
All the pretty little mares
All the pretty little mares

Blacks and bays
Dapples and greys
All the pretty little mares

Heavy air a thickness, sound had died, frozen the stance and the clouding before her excited from her open entrance cave, the cold seeping into her throat, a blade dulled by cuts. The Kaaba floated before her, its smooth obsidian surface reflecting nothing, devouring light.

And then. Motion.

Seven golden lampstands materialized, blinking into existence and arranged in a perfect orbit around the cube. Their glow was warm, but distant, each one shimmering faintly and lit by the sacred flames upon them. They began to move, slow at first, then faster, circling the Kaaba like celestial bodies, their paths traced in golden arcs through the air around the cubeness.

The Kaaba itself began to turn, it's motion weighty with a slow push, in the opposite direction of the lampstands. The juxtaposition of the symmetry divine source. The black cube and the golden flames moved through the bounds of seer nor, rotation ritual, prophecy manifesting.

א

From above, the heavens opened. Anise.

It fell like rain, filling the air with its bittersweet aroma. The seeds spiraled gentle in the unseen currents which caught them and settled upon her mane, hurried into her fur with stains of the surface ground of cracked barren wholeness. Twilight titled her head up, watching as the anise descended in waves, a celestial downpour soft as silk, that as a dream.

Behind her, the darkness stirred and out came.

The mayflies, their wings glinting faintly in the dim light from the star bodies, followed by dragonflies and lastly the butterflies, thousands upon thousands of them, emerging in a wave from the abyssal black. Movements chaotic, massive swarm rising up, a spiral of proportions unknown, as trails of purpureal light followed them in bioluminescence trails. Ethereal and fleeting. Fluidness. The ground drone of flies
And horse flies and chestnut seas.

The Kaaba revolved faster now, it's mass utterly monumental massive anchor to this vision of revelation. The lampstands spun with greater urgency, their flames unwavering despite the acceleration of speed, casting giantess gigantic shadows across the plane. Unfolding in the biblical apocalypse in the sheer magnitude it poccessed. Luminescence.

Then it moved.

The Kaaba surged forward, its monolithic surface bearing down on Twilight with impossible speed. Yet she felt no fear, no instinct to flee, only the cold certainty of its arrival. The ground beneath her of what was once the part of the temple and stairway shuddered and then cracked as the Kabba pushed it away, displacing it effortlessly.

And Twilight rose.

The Kaaba lifted her, her hooves leaving the fractured ground. She met softly upon its obsidian surface, the chill of it cutting through her fur to the skin, a numbing, freezing. She pressed her hoof to the cube, it's texture smooth and endless, like she was touching the void itself.

Above her, the stars began to fall.

They cascaded from the black sea of the heavens, streaking across the sky like a meteor shower, light which exploded out and scattered which illuminated the basin in flashes of brilliance which burned the air with sulfur and moisture.

Around the cube, the swarm of insects moved like a great wheel, a cosmic mechanism grinding against the fabric of reality shaped from the inreality. The mayflies and butterflies and dragonflies rotated in opposing orbits, their flight paths erratic in glancing and precise at the looking, forming concentric circles around the Kaaba. Trails of light followed their wings, overlapping and interweaving like a tapestry was woving in the up.

Wheels. Wheels in the sky. The throne of Ezekiel. Ophanim inGalgallin.

Below all receded, the jagged cliffs and the ruins shrinking into significance as she rose higher, through the stars, through the falling meteors. The ascent was smooth, effortless, the Kaaba moved through a medium thicker then the invisible airy.

Around her ankles, horseflies buzzed in ringing. They swarmed but never landed, their presence an unsettling ringing at the edges of her hoovsies.

Unstoopble ascent, rotations accelerating, wheels upon wheels of colors that rip through light in the shattering of glass, the cube cut through the fabric of the very stars, through the sea of black specks and into the unknownun.

All felt still despite this motion, she was rested, staring wide eyed into the finite around her where the cosmos churned, reassembled patterns.

She did not move. She only watched as the Kaaba carried her through. Whilst her moon eats the day.

ουκετι

Archon.

A float in the still solitary ascent, carried by the Kaaba through the fabric of time, weaving existence together, to main, stars blurred into streaks where pinpoints of light smeared on the clothes of the canvas, benting and folding, geometric prims of reform. A cascade sideways, raining glass sideways, a deep oppressive and calming embrace of defied silence. The hips of the night. Back of the flanks. Through the lunadisc.

A slowed, slow, slower halt across an eternity, sensational, leveling out into an untouched kingdom of time to land.

Triangular emerged from the oil, surfaces unblemished from the oil which dripped upwards to the sticky ceiling of oil, stood in rows and stretching out in directions to no end, sharp dim ambient glow of sources, a shimmering barely reflective oil blot. Frequency.

That black tide surged, flowing in liquid mirrors, rippling of distortions which ate away at the oil, a thinner smoother substance which reflected backwards, a coldness seeping into the fur, oil appearing before the mane touched, submerged upwards, reverse order.

The Kaaba halted below the black waves, its surface gleaming one last time before it began to dissolve, shrinking into itself, piece by piece, consumed by the mirror which showed it vanishing, the monolith disappearing entirely without any sound or ceremony.

The water rose downwards, swallowing her in its reflective embrace to not let her fall.

For a moment, no ground, no air was felt, a sticky black pull of water and black liquid drawing her up, to resist is futile, weightless submersion in the cradle of liquid, a carry and then, a break. In the surface.

Her head broke the surface.

She opened her mouth, not gasping just opening, as she emerged outwards in one of the square-shaped pools which were scattered in an endless deep grey plane, a gradient of reflective black that was clear, mirrored the heavens above, each pool a perfect, an even grid that stretched beyond, dividing the plane into a maze of perfect geometry.

She pushed herself up, her body sluggish yet able to be controlled, and climbed from the pool. Her hooves basking in the grey surface, hooves still cold that were beneath, a polished stone of ambient light, she looked back down, reflection perfecta and clear without a wrinkle, a ripple in the force.

Ahead, an archaic structure loomed, walls of cement dotted along, with small gaps in between sharp slices.

In dragonflies and PussyWillows

šarrum ÉN

A sterile cool air, a deep breath, untouched by time cement, pressing forward into the stone with no marks, grids of pools, alignment offset by the walls ahead.

The black ocean receded into the ground from the pool she emerged, like layers stretched behind, an infinite mirror. Forever.

The copper sun
Tarnishes with the year's tears
The golden golden copper sun
Old eldest dead
Over the blue milky seasky
Loss and lost and losing
Do not weep
All this is passing
All the birds wing and fall
Through the heavens
The cloudy clouds
Of snow of dew and of smoke
A shuddering reflection
Vanishing with the dropped stone
I wait under the spaces
Under the molten starrain

Have you treated yourself to her golden milk?

Author's Note

2-(diphenylmethoxy)-N,N-dimethylethanamine, (DPH)

My Mind kissed Celestia last night

Awake not awake, drifting reality, dream and neither only perceiving, Twilight. Twilight. Twilight. Name floated threefold and unthehered in the expanse, a hollow syllable with a meaning lost on the thinker longer pondering daydreaming, hers, was she hers, hers she hers was. Are you? Are You? are you, are you, are you I hear you calling I hear youcalling I hear you calling.

Black and white a flat pallet devoid of clarity, overexposed and left in the acid too long. A hound in the abyss, are you the one, shadows clung tightly like spiders to the corners of room that stretched far and feared the light and stood and lying down in the wasn't she in the derelict corridor of the building unknown just a corridor at the edges of space which called no attempt at definition to the shifting and disjointed whatever. I hear you coming, I hear you coming, I hear you humming. Cumming. Rattle-

-Rattle outside through the air on the hanged jagged fracture in the wall of waves pulling backward away from the shore curling ever so neatly in reverse and time unwound rewound oner standing outside alone with no sound a motion which sterile and wrong tell me. Are you?

Are you
Are You

Attention to the walking across the mouth of open ground breathing on the other side a shifting figure an ape a monkey and scratched faintly at the corner of awareness reconnaissance. Male and stoic with a slender tie and business suit, eyes fixed on the unseen horizon with broad shoulders hunched over slightly and covered in coat or recognizable features not to the throat or the shaven skin didn't know and couldn't know and only started at it at him the idea, sight with witch which made the chest heavy and drowning in suffocation in the open of the forbidden.

A flatter in the vision of the forest alive not really caught in the leaves of a state of liminal green fragile and drained and no color to all Vitaly colorless to an attempt at remembering spring of air cold not the sharp winter bite the dull heavy cold of the winter-hell creature waiting and paused in position of disarray.

The clouds unfurled rapidly in reverse across the sky, folding in and upon themselves of smoke which pooled upwards from the ground like liquid flowing up into a vessel so fast and breaking and a blink and the thought oh yes uneven stretching of the head slowly turning and slowly the ape the man standing unmoved as everything danced backward around him. Such features like a pristine stallion corrupted into an indifference to the race of species.

Comes from the distance where you can't see and the hoof and gaze dropped unbidden and hers and thought it wasn't and the flesh shifted and so not a hoof but a pen so sleek and sharp and metallic with the black pen fluid inside trembling where she wished she had claws on the shaft of her hooves and it pressed and it broke and wrote and etched into the stone looping and curling in not sense.

“My pain beneath your sheltering hoof”

Snapping and breaking and snapping into fragments of itself again and again with each shared dissolved into the surface of the rocky surface like water which sunk and then dry sand appeared out of it like the hoof as It become hers again like it always had been and for a moment wasn't and then it wasn't and it became and tumbled no trembled and brushed the ground as it claws faint impressions left behind in the stones as she scrubbed away and it all faded of an echo of the memory erased what a conundrum.

Purple stood and lying still at once and she stood and always was and her hooves moved slowly as she dragged through the sands endless before her the beach of cold and grey and not shake and surface laced with pebbles and shattered pieces of bigger stones which were now smaller stones and the gulls that flew overhead silent and so alien those wings cut through the stillness as its syrinx sings in the air like Aquila and Aetos a shoal of birds above the ocean granted.

And its waves pulled backwards here too so motions smooth pulling with not a single around and the silence filled the air deafening and oppressive which made the ears ring in the horror and walking anyway with the bare hoof of fur dragged through colorless trapped sand of the weight of silenced pressed to the thoughts shoulders chest so heavy and damp and uneven and needing replacement were pulling backward here too, their motion smooth and unnatural, pulling in reverse without a single sound. The silence filled the air, deafening, oppressive, of a silence that made her ears ring. She walked through it anyway, her bare feet dragging through the colorless sand. The weight of the silence pressed on her chest, her shoulders, her thoughts. Avian phlegm and guano descends upon her snapping all of time in half.

And ahead the corridor returned yet never left as all edges blurred merging into a bleach which bled into a hallway bleeding into a forest which bled into a beach and bled into nothing and the ape stood still in the distance always watching and never moving and throbbing and the clouds of the head which continued to fold in themselves themselves endless origami folding into infinite center of the stopped walk sudden and stood staring at the black and white ocean pulling and the sand sticking and nothing needed to.

Lips moved but she didn't hear or know what she had said as those words escaped and were carried to the soundless reverse tide of the wind and the breathing breath musk of the world slow and methodical cold all around. A sharp charming jarring turn with the scream which teared the silence in pure agony struck by a divine manner a crash an abhorrence and the noise roaring in the skull which split open, a bang and a smash and a pound again and again and again again again full force louder more incoherent and senseless the rhythm savage and unkempt. Hooves flew to the ears and the sound wasn't outside, inside pounding from within, let me in, a percussion rattling her ribcage and all bones to rattle and fluctuate. Grinding of the teeth a stumble a trip and a fall or a swallowing, a folding and a stretching of the white pulling inwards a whirlpool of blankness, blackness over.

Hadn't met to sit and she was now and sitting on an anachronistic medieval couch with edges adorned and carved in intricate spirals where the fabric thick to the touch coarse and no temperature no weight no resolute to the grinding cacophony that was piercing and reverberating in the nerve of every verse in the corner of the white void that stretched out into an endless gradient piece.

Greyish white all over a lighter here and darker over here to no edges and no depth and the quickened breathing of the rising and falling of the silent panic of the nothings pressed and the oppressive and claustrophobic infinite vastness spectacular.

Hadn't been there noticing the always been there, left and right still as statues and owl eyed and wide.

Zebras.

And so we fall under the hooves of all the pretty little mares... and we see clearly, now

Ⲗⲁ ⲓⲗⲁϩⲁ ⲓⲗⲗⲁⲗⲗⲁϩ

No word not yet she didn't not yet she didn't as its Stars and Stripes stretched across their forms so sharp and surreal and outlines flickering faint not entirely solid and through, sat in the chairs of the angular rounded unfocusable undescribed unlooking yet they were facing her direction at the point in between all points of entrance and eyes closed open no way to tell shallow and cold.

A hitch in the breath no voice to scream found in the persisted unrelenting throbbing and pounding drumbeat that rose and fell in chaotic waves of utter agony, looking left and right and back and forth and back and forth and this and that and this that breathing alive then alive only to know when looking there's some theory about that.

No movement just looming and the presence so utterly suffocating and stripes that twist and ripple and curling into patterns that hurt the eyes to follow and trace an afterimage of the need to not and the blinking and the swimming of the vision void around bleeding forms and trembled and pulled closer to the open court chest.

Nothing came and they had not said a thing and it felt they had shouting and whispering and screaming at different intervals of moments unheard never spoken and silence which pierced louder then a cacophony of faces focused unfocused changed and starting blind and not even there of paranoia blooming in a black flower which opened out her chest on the impossible either side of her trapped all between these things pinned in a void seated on a couch that felt like stone and looked down at the hooves of unreal reality her. The invisible church and the noise stopped and something breathed and the Zebras.

Turned their heads.

Way down yonder in the meadow lies a poor little purple
Bees and butterflies flitting round her eyes
Poor little thing is crying “White”

Go to sleep
Don't you cry
Rest your head upon the clover
Rest your head upon the clover
In your dreams
You shall love

Blacks and bays
And dapples and greys
All the pretty little mares
All the pretty little mares
All the pretty little mares

Twilight stood rigid, a statue carved from her own paralysis seeking. Her hooves rooted in the uneven ground, its black dirt shifting beneath her loose weight, the leaves strewn around her vibrating slightly, brushing up up against each other with a sound like whispers that grew and rose up into an opening channel a scraping and the screaming orchestra of the mundane made unbearable, which filled the ears until the skull could split and burst and dismantle oneself.

And like shutting of some distant door to doorways it receded away and the echoes faded and the whispers snuffed out in a last gasp of bougie flame and the silence which followed in an unreprieve in suffocation and some thick pulsing absence that yearned for rhythm and she couldn't move, gaze fixed down onto the ground of leaves and black dirt an uneven terrain that seemed to breathe way beneath her in some expanse bigger then visible and further then possible at height.

Long and narrow the corridor framed by walls with texture rippling like a mirage, at the far end the window stood a hollow rectangle with light bleeding through it, not sunlight too cold to be to sterile to be just a pallid illumination that fell across the chair. That the light is leaving us all.

And in the chair was, the Ape.

He sat still so slight where his hands resting on the arm rests and engulfed in flames which licked his fingers so slow and deliberate like a predator savoring its stallion prey, and the fire moved in slow motion so unnaturally snow like obeyed by beyond.

Staring caught in the throat his face static animalistic and so unanimal, so unique of a stallion and unreadable and yet perching peeling her apart with his gaze, he turned slow and deliberate with the fire casting long shadows across his face that danced without a pattern to scheme. Eyes not eyes only eyes were they were not known to this period not this thing. Flicker of the flames a slow descent

Behind him a curtain hung and descended so velvet and ancient, color perceived but not perceived at the same time, a deep red that bled into the pale light and he did not move any inch, swaying softly and more violently the current fell upon and the cacophony peaked crashing into her like a wave as the curtain drew shut and sealing the corridor in darkness as the world steered of course lesser then it already had.

First sound and first motion all pulled the chair the flames and stringing and pulling wrapped the waves the leaves and dirt itself the black ground folding inward the beach. The sky.

She fell.

And her eyes snapped open, the blinding whiteness greeting her once more, she heaved rapidly and strong as she was sift and cold to the touch as the ache returned so dull and persistent and settling into her bones she coughed and laid flat.

The corridor was gone. The Ape was gone. The chair, the fire, the curtain, all vanished into nothing like it always had been.

Only the whiteness remained, and Twilight, stranded and shaking again, in the unable dream.

A voice whispers to me
And says nothing nothing
There is nothing

I smell something burning here, or is it me?
I smell something burning here, or is it me?
I smell something burning here, or is it me?
I smell something burning here, or is it me?

Author's Note

2,5-Dimethoxy-4-Ethyl-Amphetamine: (DOET/Hecate)

Though I walk through valley after valley after valley
And find only shadows
Though I walk and find only shadow
Yew
The shadows then lengthen and there again the long shadows fall

The after mirage of a dream, unbearable thoughts circled in her mind, brittle and faint and then gone. The last echo of a sound never fully heard, it all felt like a dream still, or the body hadn't had time to wake, her mind dragging itself forward through the viscous, sticky fog which coated her fur and tainted spots white. Perception distorted. Disjointed. Everything slightly wrong, angles which didn’t meet in mathematical ways, edges that bled into one another. Her motor skills still sluggish but less overpowering, limbs heavy but were willing to obey her for a push and a rush.

All alone
In her concrete cell
All alone
Terrified

All alone
In her nirvana
All alone
In her nirvana
All alone
In her nirvana
All alone
In her nirvana

She pushed herself up, swaying, the ground beneath her unsteady with perception and uneasy grey black and uneven, dirt and rock that compressed into shapes unnatural, indents in the nonexistent existence, patterns left untraced and unchecked, comprehensive tiredness. The aching of the fourteen bones, a rub to the temple of thought and actions.

Her breath was shallow as she took the first step, then another. And she was at the bottom of the path, but she hadn't made the descent, the remembrance lost on her, something else had taken her, haply. She turned, her vision blurring like the white void around her pulled at her eyes, pulling and forcing them wide to beg to view but refusing to let them focus on the canvas.

And before her a threshold stood, an opening in the cliff. It jutted outward in a shortened small extent, natural in the snow which fell soft and constant inward the hole, small flakes drifting down like ash and freshly crushed flies, They melted before they could touch the ground and ceased.

Twilight stepped closer, her hooves unsure on the uneven terrain of the earthen steps to the entrance. The opening which expanded into a basin, wide and empty, stretching far out into the endless white void.

A subtle movement just at the edges of her vision, sight manipulated, the pulse on the screen of a half alive world which breathed rapidly to consume itself in the fog of its own creation. Weightless snow emerging from the fog in a cascade of crystalline fragments to not remain, surface destined to remain barren, black and grey and dry as it never should.

She shivered not of the cold but a discrepancy in the white, a movement at the viewable end of the basin, mind foggy, no movement, the space stretched and shifted, folding in on itself in a way which the senses of the body could not track properly. Her head throbbed. Her chest tightened and caved in. Staring into the basin void, grains of sand slipping. Faaip de Oiad.

There but for the grace of God goes God. She rubbed her eyes, a hoof pressing against the sockets with the kind of force meant to awaken, to bring clarity without fatigue, but it did nothing except double the shapes and fracture the light into ghostly trails that didn't dissipate. Her vision swam trying to focus, a name slid through and surfaced. Celestia. It hung there in the there there, heavy, weightless, important but oh so elusive and untamed, a thread that forbade it to follow to the source. Lingering in an unformed sequence of events, smoke curling through a multitude of holes in the wall.

I take your hoof
We walk towards where the roses once grew

She remained standing for a moment longer the needed, and then she walked. Not with a purpose, not with any solid thought, just to fulfill the purpose of the ground which existed beneath her and the hooves of hers that had to move, one hoof in front of the other, rhymes of something living in the automation of a slow walking, slow waking half-functioning function. And her motor skills grew a little bit steadier with in each step, and in each sip, sluggish still but no longer foreign, her body had remembered itself.

Her mind did not obey this command.

Streamed, disconnected, flowing out, her consciousness ticked and tickled between half-thoughts. She eyed the details around her without truly understanding them. Just looking. Observing for the sake of doing the sake for the sake which go going with no conclusions and no connections, fragments of the input without cohesion.

The grey stretched vast and unending before her, black dirt in a plain of grey pocked with irregularities of eyes which caught on but did not focus on, snowy fallen thinly Koch snowflakes of dust shaken from old worn cloth and vanishing before it met the earth in broken magnet.

A turn and sight of the cliffs which rose on either side of her, barely visible through the fog which cloaked and draped the void in impenetrable through which loomed those colossal and ancient, unyielding edges jagged in cruelness unearthen material stretching beyond far above far away, peaks swallowed by the cum-semen of the cliffs merging with the void to no end.

The size of which dwarfed her into a minuscule ant before her, the enormity pressed against her like the tip pierced her chest in an oppressive weight. But she hadn't stopped walking the entire time. A graveyard dwelled in animal pelt.

She took another glance another gander to her life where her eyes played tricks on her perception and her eyes moved and surveyed the pulsing cliff which bent into contours of shifting shapes that didn't exist, normalcy uneasily returning and glancing to a balance not balanced, a manageable never safe.

There was a brief thickening in the snow, briefly, a flurry which danced in the air and didn't wish to contact with the solid like the fog which grew denser and more intoxicating, eating away at the sightline enigma, swallowing edges of the cliffs and she pondered of nothing and walked not thinking just doing.

And shall I see You once again?
And see the flags of the blackest kingdom?
And shall I turn towards the dusk?
And dream of dust and broken ships?
And shall they sink without a sigh?
And line the deeps and banners sleep
And winds blow still and clouds amass
So with a knife, or with a cross

The insect world is silent

She walked for a while in a moment, time was stretched and pulled taut in one direction all uneven like scribbles and snapped loose in another. Steps slow, now with a steadiness in the action as her limbs were cooperative though the thoughts lagged behind greatly, all in the shadow of the fog in the cold thick air heavy and still and solid frozen pressure in this atmospheric stray.

Then as summoned by the persistence upon the will of the path made in purple trails, a structure then emerged in the distance, faint at the first eye pointed like a mirage was forming in the void, but its outline sharpened as she drew close, a library, a bibliotheca of what was once a vast structural epic.

It stood in the rocky ground, half-buried by the stones, with the sheer will of time which pushed it down and the ash the final nail which sealed it in the coffin. The walls, which were once proud and brown in with the richness of fresh wood, bygones of the grey and lifeless sunken into itself, those wooden slats which had no shine and no warmth, and their grain etched with the scars of abandonment and the perpetual devastation of the lands it now resided in. Unspecified.

She approached, an exhalation of breath which added to the white fog like a ghost that dissolved into the winter eve. She stopped before that weathered wall, so close enough to witness the grooves in the wood, where once delicate lines had splintered under pressure in weight. She raised her hoof and pressed it against the surface.

The texture was rough, raw, like bark that was stripped too early. Slowly she moved the hoof, tracing the unevenness in the jutting planks hampered by the snow, she followed the memory that was etched inside its surface of interior shelves lay dormant.

And she felt it.

Beyond the wooden crust, beyond the layers and the angelic dust motes in the inside of the walls, went in and out and out was the intangible, a scent which ghosted through the mind like fresh wood just cut. She knew it, but she didn't know why.

A came with it a memory stirred, fragmented, indistinct. A fire. Heat and smoke and the roar of something immense and horrible. A library for wanderers. Was it this library? She couldn’t be sure, but the image rose unbidden, searing with a sharpness that snapped in a clear image, and for a moment she saw it, the library engulfed in flames, its timbers screaming and screening as they collapsed downward into the blaze.

And above the inferno an impossibly tall and impossibly thin wooden cross rose from that inferno, which stretched endlessly into the heavens, warped and twisted and grotesque, the surface charred but faintly glowing with some limited passion. Crucified upon it was something purple, undulating with wings, unnamable of limbs, animal and twisting unknown to the the. The vision of it tightened harshly around her, pulling her inward and then it vanished, gone faster then smoke dissipating.

She tried to hold onto it, to think harder, to grasp and pull that memory back to the front of her mind but it escaped and slipped away, dissolving into the foggy landscape of her brain. She was left with nothing but the smell of wood, the roughness eager on her hoof, and the sting of color pressing against her back.

And she lingered for a moment longer, her hoof on the wood before it too slipped away from the weather and silent ruin standing. She turned her hoof to face her, as small plates of snow fell on her hoof, tiny and dissolving into her fur.

In her nirvana
In her nirvana

In the locust storm born out of horses' thighs
Spills flies and totems
Seen the ink spread
Whilst the tombs of great trees
Open again for me and thee
The lilies unfold
Conjured Nazareth out of mounds
The precrescent rain
A maze of breathing samphire
Sunflowers and honeysuckles
Bark of the wooden caskets on ice
Armen eyes
Twisting dandelions from time into tidеs
Naked as the day you were born

Faces of the grass go lengthening The lengthening faces through the ice and the sun Faces lengthen go lengthening faces Into lengthening faces from the branch to the grass With buried heads they stand in full view Eyes sliding of the faces up and up Slide up the faces and up the sun And up the faces go lengthening faces Eyes are sliding above the tall and peaceful grass Faces of the grass go lengthening The lengthening faces through theice and the sun Faces lengthen go lengthening faces Into lengthening faces from the branchtothegrassWithburiedheadsthey stand in full view Eyes sliding of the faces up and up Slide up the faces and up the sun And up the faces go lengthening faces Eyes are sliding above the tall and peaceful grassFacesofthegrassgolengtheningThelengtheningfacesthrough the ice and the sun Faces lengthen go lengthening faces Into lengthening faces fromthe branch to the grass With buried heads they stand in full view Eyes sliding of the faces up and up Slide up the faces and up the sunAndupthefacesgolengtheningfacesEyesareslidingabovethetalland peacefulgrass

Author's Note

d-9-Tetrahydrocannabinol: (−)-(6aR,10aR)-6,6,9-trimethyl-3-pentyl- 6a,7,8,10a-tetrahydro-6H-benzo[c]chromen-1-ol (THC/HHC/CBD)

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

3,4-Methylenedioxymethamphetamine: -1-(3,4-benzodioxol-5-yl)-2-propanamine (MDMA)

If only I could take all of you at once
I would take You for ever and ever and only so
Lose myself in You

And comes Urgaritic
In the bedroom we never loved in
And her Yoni
Opens for me instantly
Baal descends
And fertilizes what cannot be

If then I meet you along the way
Where the laurel trees surround us on every side
If then in a small space I stand alone
And turn my head and you smile there
If then I reach out and touch your form
Where all your silences and your chaos meets
Where everything joins and parts
If I may once clutch your heart
And pull its beauty to my face
There the bloodfall falls, red river cracks
Behind me lies black mountain
The wheel round
Great sign of lust
How much I wanted you
And how much more I want you now
The great pain
The great misery
To look and look
To look and look and look
And look and find
Nihil

And concrete covers all
And I clench with what I can muster
Then I open it and the God I loved is dead
Pages metals and signs allgone

The growl the grip and final sigh
We just have time to swallow

And the old and forced familiar land stretched before her, gaping and no longer bleeding, Twilight moved through it like she always has, the emptiness of it had seeped into her bones and replaced the marrow with memory, a fog with a purpose, the basin wider and so much wider than it had been as seen from a distance, and the cliffs of the valley rose high as they always had and they loomed, she could see, the silent sentinels of their surfaces smooth and streaked with erosions where the curves had been carved and put on like a cap. cliffs reached their end, their peaks visible for the first time, stark against the whiteness that dominated the sky. The void loomed above it all, vast and incomprehensible, but she no longer stared at it. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ground, the rocks, the water, the textures of this strange, shifting world.

By the by she walked a river, it was not one of life-giving but it was simply, flowing almost soundless and unnaturally, where the surface shimmered without any color, currents moved without any force to them, tricks of the light at play again, like usual, a tributary a vein, the Euphrates of the Tigris of Babylon, older than all things.

The rivers of Babylon flow
And fall
And carry away
The Tisza

The fog lingered at a respectful distance now and though it still hung in the air, that soft gray mist that refused to fully dissipate away to stay, and it no longer pressed against her, it moved always further away from her at every step which she advanced, retreating, keeping a bubble of clarity, a gift of a warning.

Steady and adapting to the cold was her body, the cold had not eased but felt now like some part of her, the sand that lay beneath her hooves was finger and softer and spilled out between some of the smooth rocks in pools of pale grit. Which clung to her fur, moving easier than she had before against the rocky and jagged surface of wherever away that was.

A constant cold blistered, biting but bearable, a presence rather than an assault on the senses. As the fluids of thought as directionless as the river besides her, sometimes glancing at the too-smooth surface of the water that looked back.

The valley stretched endlessly ahead, a corridor of muted existence, and she moved through it because that was all there was to do. She let the terrain guide her, through the narrowed in places, and the closed and opened places.

The only companion, her breathing filling the space to trickle in along the quiet river flow, a thought of Babylon, built to no longer hold. Nothing of wildlife abundance in stock. A ugging. She shook it off. Sand and cold, always the white void above, watching.

Janus Rises.

The stairway emerged, pulled from a vision, ancient, unmistakably pony made. She froze, her hooves sunk lightly into the sand, and she stared, her breath hitching for the first time in what felt like centuries, an emotional surprise of bewilderment, a shock she hadn't felt even on the day she awoke. It rose from the sand with an elegance so severe, a staircase carved into the cliff face, edges worn by the weight of time, surface blistered and yellowed, scorched by the white above.

Instinctively she moved to it, tethered to the adrift, the shallow steps, knew the divine shape and not the permanence, texture cold to the hoof's touch, rough like petrified wood, smelled of metal and salt. Semitic below.

Above, the staircase went straight through the cliff face, disappearing into a sliver of shadow before emerging again further up. At the top was a structure, silhouetted against the infinite white above. A temple. A mandir. Heiratic. Suspended in the in between of time and function, undeniable of a collage of things, the spire, wholly no wholly, engulfed by erosion of the wind, not erased. Curved at angles. An uncovering.

It stood waiting and was lost, its colors one rich traces of ochre and emerald, faintest touches of blues etched in long sweeping lines that declared itself beautiful almost visible were the hooves that built it, sculpting its form like pottery with a reverence.

The air changed, like a split in the air when she made it to the base of the stairs, a line drawn to different currents, a cool breeze rolled out, carrying a soft elusive scent of olives, earthy and green in such a barren place, brushing against her face and neck as she passed, closing her eyes for a moment to let it pass over her, a moment of peace as the cold of the basin receded to let the olive fill it for a moment, with a softer, alive. A phallus of wind. And those dreams leaked still.

She opened her eyes and noticed the light which came from the void, but it felt softer here, less oppressive in twisted nature, it bounced off the temple and spilled downward and cast faint pale rays that gathered in an isolate square at the base of the stairs. In this patch of light the air was warmer.

She stepped into the light without thinking. Firm, smooth and the warmth seeped into her fur, rays of light which touched her face, for a moment it almost felt beautiful, heavy and soft at once.

The waters arise and take me finally
And my remembrance is
Nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil

In this golden wedding of sorrow
In this golden wedding
In this golden wedding of sorrow
In this golden wedding

Lapis lazuli swell
That will sweep all of this away

Author's Note

Dextromethorphan; (+)-3-methoxy-17-methyl-9α,13α,14α-morphinan (DXM)

Celestia suffers this anguish and abandonment
Celestia will be in agony until the end of the world
There must be no resting in the meantime
Patripassianism

And I wished to die inside of you
And push up into your heart so violently
That face to face with matrix creatrix am
Inmost

A nexus, a typhon
Arctic
Smudged by the twilight
Made iridescent by the tongue of the sea Bound up in brightness through swallowing gold
The Nimbus pours

She ascended the staircase, each step a fractal, a shard and a paradox of order and chaos. Koch snowflakes fell mathematically, not haphazard but with an excellent precision, in a geometry they cascaded so perfect down an inverted swim, dissolved upon contact with the air near her and fracturing into smaller iterations of itself, the weight of infinity until ceasing, motes which floated in angelic speaks radiating warmth that was so achingly familiar, the touch of a forgotten lover, she reached out instinctively as one hovered before her purplish hoof. Towards the façade.

It pulsed. Not light but an energy, she had felt this before, and perhaps remembrance was finally taking hold as her hoof lingered in the air as the mote dissolved into her fur.

She reached the summit and stood at the threshold of the temple. Its entrance loomed over her, framed by columns that seemed to bend and bow under their own weight, curling like the fronds of a fern. Bleached my time the stones, wind whispered through the cracks and the scent of incense, old and dry, a relic of devotion long since extinguished. Where the olive trees grew.

And she stepped inside. The air changed instantly just in a moment, thickened so quick, weighted, a step into a different world, interior was vast and cavernous, a labyrinth of cultures and eras which blended into one space, the structure stretched high above where the ceiling was vaulted and layered like a pagoda, and rose into levels upon levels until it disappeared into shadow, and the walls etched with intricate carvings, worn smooth and the details which melted into an abstraction.

It was a mandir, a masjid, a devasthanam. None of these, a scared place emptied, surely, reduced to just the barest bones. The remnants of artifacts and statues which lay scattered in the corners, the figures smashed into pieces unrecognizable, wings, eyes and hands and hooves and unknowns all around the floor. Heliopolis.

The dust swirled around her hooves, catching the light that poured in through the high, narrow windows, some cracked and gleamed where the beams entered and sliced through the air, illuminating patches of the Persian carpets that lined the floor. SO intricate, impossibly detailed, but so faded they could barely be seen as swirls and loops that seemed to shift and twist when she tried to focus on them for some moments of intrigue.

The walls, where they hadn’t been reduced to rubble, were painted in colors that had once been vibrant, dapples of gold, deep red, sapphire blue. Now pale, dead ghostly versions of themselves, the pigment leached away by time and neglect and violence. But the shapes, the outlines, a suggestion of grander, half-remembered thoughts. Hold me now. Lumbini.

Above the beams of the ceiling curved inwards, meeting at a central point where a skylight let in a single, concentrated ray of light. The light which fell down onto a circular platform in the center of the room, its edges etched with runes not that she could recognize but understood. All the buddhas are smashed apart, Avalokitesvara’s hundred faces lie shattered, ruined.

The motes were everywhere now, floating lazily through the air, catching the light as they fell like the snowflakes outside in mirror. Dust mingled with them, creating a haze that softened everything out, smoothing out.

A walk and a hard place, muffled by the thick carpets, presence filled where noise would of been, she stood in the circle of light and she titled her head up to look at the skylight. Red plumes nodding between the horses ears.

Vulvaic
The rain stained glass is smashed
The slyly smily sly kiss
Of your sweet heart and face
And your legs in some final benediction

So anyway we fall beneath the waves
And hope to be remembered anyway
Anyway the graven ravens wait over the white cliffs of Ostia
So anyway they too fall
The grass dies
The moss goes
The chalk chips away
Then below that the rocks grain away
This is the sound of the earth dying
So nothing new
Anyway

ⲀΪⲥⲱⲧⲻⲙ ⲁΪⲙⲉⲉⲩⲉ ⲁΪⲣⲁϣⲉ ⲁΪⲙⲥⲧⲉⲩⲉ

Twilight blinked once, twice, the breath in her chest sharp as glass. Her eyes fell from the light above, down to the altar of stone, and she froze. Behold an enormous statue, towering, breathtaking, a mare frozen in time, so beautiful, wings outstretched like the heavens themselves were hers to command. The horn, long and spiraling, pointed skyward, defiant against the void. The marble shimmered faintly, coated in old, the capture of light of the unseen sun, every line and every curve of perfection of divine method.

Her eyes dropped lower to the podium beneath it, where words carved deep into the stone read: "Celestia."

And the world collapsed into her.

Celestia
כָּדֵאשִׁיח

All memories a deluge a flood, an ark that couldn't withstand the pressure, rushed in she couldn't breathe, couldn't hold, and could not stop this toppling. The spells in the dim glow of the bougie, the scent of the old books, of leather and ink, the feel of Her hooves, her lips, her sex, the warmth of her body in the windowless library alcove fo the silk curtains which went around and the hum of the wheel, the basin, the waves which crashed violent with ecstasy and without a sound.

She gasped, her body buckling as she fell to the cold stone floor, hooves clutching at her chest to attempt to contain the cascade of memories ripping her apart like blades. She saw the townsfolk, their hatred, the fire roaring high into the night sky. She saw Celestia punching at the ground, held back by the mob, screaming. She saw her own body, crucified to the pyre, the flames licking her fur away and burning it black and ashen waste, searing her flesh. The pain was back, all of it, raw and unbearable, coursing through her as if she were still there, burning alive.

Her wide eyes shot up again to the statue. Celestia. Her Celestia. And she was beautiful, here, immortalized in stone, frozen in a moment of grace and power. Twilight's mind fractured and reassembled in the same breath, the duality of what had been and what was now colliding inside her like tectonic plates. Theraphosa Blondi.

She reached out a trembling hoof, touching the base of the podium to anchor herself to it, to touch Celestia, a cracking of memories which persisted to not end, to calm down, the Zebras in the Yaodong, the Kabbalah, the Wheel, the grinding of rocks, the frozen sea, the snow that didn't fall, herself. A kaleidoscopic bullet of pain and despair.

The red and black ants mill around
Unknown lighter to kill
And the ants scatter or writhe
I am surrounded by butterflies
Dragonflies and mayflies

Hot against the cold stillness, of an unbearable heat of struggle in flames, hatred and the white left behind and left to mourn and left to suffer alone.

Twilight sobbed, her body shook with the weight of it all, the realization, the remembering. All that is left, of all the great before, In a statue in a memory, in the ashes of a love deemed to dangers and too beautiful for the world to bear.

I look to my right and see her face again
And again the world disappears

And all fall down
All fall down
All fall down I all fall down
All fall down I all fall down
We all fall down
We all fall down

"What shadows we are."

The fire especially especially does not save
The fire only destroys
And though it may purify it takes takes takes
And gives nihil back nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil
Nihil this swansong towards nothing
Nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil, nihil
The stars are so far
I had thought not but nihil, but nihil
The great king is dead
The great queen is dead
I felt I saw you coming over the water
Without you I am nothing
And still I see you
Nihil, nihil, nihil
Bend your face to kiss you said nihil
Bend your hooves to hold you said nihil
And nihil, nihil, nihil
There is nothing there
Nihil, nihil, nihil
Bend your face to kiss you said

She fell forward, splayed on the stone floor, her temple pressed against it as though in prayer, pleading in tears which dripped down, pooling on the cold surface, the silence of the temple that pressed down onto her temple, so oppressive and heavy but she didn't care, so she let it consume her.

And in that silence, Jesus wept, Twilight's cries a hymn of loss and love, pain and remembrance. Stings.

rGyas chos dang tsogs kyi mChog rNams

The empty streets
The songs of twilight
The clouds at rest
The churchbells chiming
The endless rain
In haunted airs
Your loss of hope
The smell of rain
The twilight leaning
Against your lips
Waterwheels turning
The forests brooding
You took my hoof
I waited years for you
Or so it seemed
And stumbled through your world
If i could have one wish
As in the fairytales
I would unmake the death of Purple
Rise her like Lazarus
Stand beneath the oilclouds
And take us away into the forest to live forever
Alas
All good things
I’ll come in glory
End of story

Author's Note

5-Methoxy-N,N-Dimethyl: (5-MeO-DMT)

Yet the bloodbells chime
I do not notice them
I shall not notice them
Yet the bloodbells chime
Yet the bloodbells chime
Yet the bloodbells chime
Yet the bloodbells chime

A basin dissolved in motion, where the stillness ruptured, and the darkened power lines emerged from the abyss in a veiny undergrowth of pale might, and the Ape sat, silent in the chair like a shadow cast against the scene. Broadest shoulders faced away, a profile half-lit, obscured at the half point, and hands moved slow, intentional pull back on his legs, kneading the unseen into the fabric form. The Sound.

An imperceptible low rhythm, the pulse, known, acquainted, baseline filled with tension, rising and rising louder and louder, expanding like a conductor outward, pressing down on all things with a harshness, a heavy heart, a heavy heart, trmbeled at the frozen, watchful and a pause, a hovering. And. Crack.

A single clap of his meeting haired hands, a thunderous valley split the air and everything disappeared.

Total all-encompassing Darkness.

I lie back in the grass and dream of how it once was
The rubbish-strewn streets of Canterlot
Ripe-rising smell of gutters and rain
The fillies abandoned
Recalls the colt in the pool
Pools of saliva coruscates below shifting

The green of the grass and the blue of the sky
Are immense and terrifying
Everything seems so close
So very very close

Silence snapped in the temple of the strum which broke the stream replaced by the growl of the earth as dust rained down in bursts from the arches of the temple. Twilight stumbled backwards, clutching at her chest, heaving, quickly the tremors grew and spread like a fever, the pillars groaned and toppled slowly and smashing into glorious debris.

A flutter before her and saw the swarm of dragonflies, butterflies and mayflies, wings catching and the blister of light which bounced off to the collapsing temple, swarming in chaotic bursts of frequencies, spinning all around her face, hooves, a motion of counterpoint to the giving way of the structure.

But, she didn’t want to leave. She couldn’t, want to. This place was Celestia.But the shaking persisted, and the cracking persisted, and the groaning of the weight above her forced her to move and run, hooves galloping across the colden floors, dashing through the falling debris. Out. Out. Out.

She spilled out into the open air, and stopped against the exterior wall, the unraveling of the material lands, turning and shaking to look out to the cliffs and the valley she ventured through, terrified, in awe as the distance between them was rapidly narrowing. .

The peaks stretching towards itself, bending like molten iron drawn to a magnet, the rocks groaned, screamed in a painful screeching of grinding and the rising, tearing the land in reverse. Epicenter of cracks where spidered out from nowhere, all the fissures deep and wide and their maws lodging, the splitting open to reveal the curtains below, black.

An oozing out into concentrated spots, a leeching, a spreading darkness, force at play and pulling at the fabric threads, and the cliffs neered closer with a violent speed, at points the ground rose up, pushed up from the force, titling and shuddering as dirt and sand leveled into a single plane.

Then came convergence.

The meeting of cliffs and the shattering, throwing Twilight to her knees as the temple buckled behind her, massive chunks fell and splintered and split, disintegrating under the force, she crawled forever, shaking as her hooves tried to abalone against the smooth surface of the stones, trying to find safety amongst the cacophony.

The blackness surging, the perpetual black second, where the glints collide and the veins snaking across this new plane of existence, churning and restless and alive came the ascent into obsidian levels. Squint your eyes to see clearly, blur reality to make it real.

The cliffs were now fused into one jagged mass, and they surged upward, impossibly fast, dragging the land below with it. Twilight clung to the edge of the temple as wind tore at her face, a twinkle of magic sprung from her horn, her mane whipping wildly. The fog returned suddenly, clouds pressing through her, into her lungs, cold and suffocating as the land rose higher and higher, disappearing into the white void above.

The pressure mounted, deafening, overwhelming, until Twilight felt the last remnants of the temple collapse behind her, fragmentation falling behind, in silence she remained alone, clinging to an impossibly gravtional pull. Every passing moment. Stray from common lines.

Rose and rose and rose and rising, mist which consumed everything in a dilation, the sound of wind screening past her ears, weight at all angles of clarity. Ascending with the boil.

And it stuttered into a final climb, the great heaving of stone settling in a sigh of exhaustion made, the purple disoriented stillness in still, pressed flat against the surface of the platform that reminded, cracks widen and the pieces of basin which fell away into a void, their slow descent into nothingness, opposites, the end of something, the beginning of something.

Everything slowed, blurred and uneven until nothing cloaked the atmospheric conditions.

Striking coil for a moment as all oxygen fled, and everything held its breath, no air came, a shuddering, a narrow pinprick gaze and then, crash.

A sound like glass shattering, loud enough to fracture thought itself, echoed across the allness. Twilight clutched her ears, cerebral as she fell sideways and the noise ricocheted, multiplied, folding inwards, sharpness splintered into a muffled hum of a dense silent lecture. All limit lines.

Ears throbbing in suppression effect, an ache in her skull which uncurled from the base of her hooves, the shaking had ceased, and the land was steady. Complex. She breathed the cold, bit her lip, stood unsteady but upright, a wobble. And beyond above stretched a sky of black, what was once so oppressive now glittered in white bleeding, stars flicking in and out of existence, sharp and distant. Hvining sidereal stars fall in thuds.

She turned her gaze down again and she traced the plane that stretched windless ahead, but it wasn't endless, a horizon of block at the far-off edge where a barrier erected, curled inward, bending back down. Something new. Something final.

A departure as she stepped forward, the temple but a shadow, another memory where the air shifted of a presence, a squint out into the distance, where the black sky where the stars seemed to blink, a movement it was recognized, a shape which was descending slowly and steadily from the above.

Its form came out from the instruct backdrop, a cube.

A perfect cube of obsidian black, so smooth, where the precise edges gleamed faintly against the void, rotating slowly around as it descended downwards, lowering itself, immeasurable and intimate, filled the vision of memory at a distance.

The Kaaba.

Tauta grapho humin, Hina.

Hovered along, a hypnotic rotation like a wheel, bent at the presence of time, every moment It got closer, bridging the distance with an unearthly calmness.

Finally, it stopped.

It floated just above the plane, its surface almost brushing the ashen ground, no sound accompanying its direct arrival. Twilight stared, frozen, the air mellowed but felt heavy, a tension inside.

The Kaaba hung there, unmoving, an anchor.

A silence heavy and dense. She approached.

Compelled by the presence of radiation, a welcoming hostile beyondness. Something. I am the last of all the field that fell.

Ingen, Ingenting, ingen, Ingenting

En ta arche

Yesu, yesu, yesu

Author's Note

4-Indolol,3-[2-(Dimethylamino)Ethyl], Phosphate Ester: (Psilocybin)

Of an invisible church born into your mouth, of the vaginal discharge poured in.
Bolted water, funneled and bred the dark night, and would you swim drinking mist?
The sex of stars?

Under the turretted galaxy I smelt of horsies in this moon garden pulled straps onto my lips.

A rung slick ladder she climbed, remnants of oil stained to stick to the surface, her horn glowed slightly with magic around her hooves, ascent up through slicing haze of the sharpened ways in the senses, for the air to emerge from the oil.

She pulled herself onto the black ground, cold and smooth. And then, the lights turned one, illuminated not by light but by the being of being itself, shadows vanished into an omnipresent and sudden glow which froze her, left her blinking and adjusting to the new dark.

A vast and claustrophobic space, of walls of perfect cylinder that went up, which were patterned with intricate of etchings in lines so smooth and picked like ice, curling straight with no change to the perfectly linear pulsating breathing.

Before her leading up in the air, floating, were smaller black cubes, scattered like stepping stones, arranged in an upward leading in a levitated spiral staircase ascending into a dark hole in the ceiling.

A hesitated dart around the thick, syrupy, airless still of air, the hole which beckoned and repealed, intentional.

One step, two step, measure the extent of a dizzying ascent, every hoof that fell upon the cubes, no sound, cool solid weight, acknowledging.

Logo of Leuko.

A step cautious, perspective warped at the receding away in miles of rapid ascent patterns.

‎᯽،̲،̲◜◞ 𑁍

And the little bells go tinkle
And your eyes begin to twinkle
And the joints and sinews crack

Closer the hole grew, closer to sharp surge of apprehension, against the small glow of the room, guided her this far. Where else to roam.

A groan of tedium as she reached the final cube, standing just beneath the dark void, a faint reflection of something could be seen in the darkness, the air was heavy blowing from the anus, where the space beyond was rejecting her, she hesitated, a heart pounding as her hoof brushed against the edges of the blackness. Draining patience, drain vitality, this paranoid and paralyzed act is a little old.

ॐ

Twilight climbed through the narrow opening of the void, she emerged into an unlike uneven and titled surface, a landscape of stretched out of a frozen panorama etched with detail of calamity.

And I still may

I still may

The Tower of Babel rose in the distance, its spiraling tiers in perpetual frozen destruction in defiant glyphs and symbols, shadows cast an oppressive overweight over the scene of a presence that silent reminder of hubris and fall, lay of an ancient city of intimate post-crumbling ruins of intact mid-collapse arrested in the time of ice.

The clouds above in a mid churn and roil, frozen in a tableau of fury, might, the will, where bolts of lighting branched out like trees through the blackened sky, branches of the cabalistic tree, unmoving in the casting of long light which cast long shadows across the jagged ruins in all directions like the light of an explosion which rocked. A single thunder-strike split the heavens, a frozen impact of sharp illumination to view the city in the stark monochromatic watercolor.

When she moved in hesitant steps, a humming of remnants of the sound could be heard only during moving, where the echoes of her hooves was loud, vibrations in the unvibration across this titled plane like ripples in the expanse, an uneven in the ground, angled sharply, where the entire world titled upright, forcing her to lean forward, and strain with each movement she made, muscles aching against the pull of gravity upon.

Fighting the incline, where the optical illusions turned, showing strange icepicks which hanged down parts of this land, where the ground became smaller at angles and the venture she against, reaching out for balance against the pillar like a playhouse, like she was a giant in one place, an ant in the other, a regular mare in the polished touch of warmth memory which retained the shapes of claw marks in the ground of fires.

I must keep reminding myself of this

She glanced upwards where the clouds loomed closer than they should be, she could touch them, their texture dense like wood, impossible, aloft of ceiling chaos in the pierced thunderbolt, which refracted the electric shock back like static energy at a pursuer. Stasis imposed.

Geometry defying, angled and warped, walls which leaned precariously, a pass by the Tower of Babel, small enough she could stick her head inside and see the bloodied light fixtures, tips which vanished into the sky, archways and colonnades of framed pathways that led nowhere to dead ends or dropped of into oil pools in smaller grids, smaller locations from where she emerged with ladders about and there, intricacy.

She stepped forward which caused a tremor across, shallow bursts of breathing, an exhale which reverberated like a shout, a scream, across the base of the Tower of Babel, figures of mares and stallions that were etched onto the walls or outside the walls, painted on the ground like smudged ants or crushed flies, depicted acts of anguish, a mare and a stallion locked in a position of loved, the mounted mighty brave stallion as rocks pummeled him, the mare in one final act of lust.

Twilight reached her hoof, only brushing air, though the tower was right infant, the distance was now much longer, an illusion of compressed movement of stretching and pieces and puzzles interlocking and switching like a machine. Cogs.

Each one heavier than the last. Emanate. Vivid. Bore. Unrelenting. Heart of the timeless tableau.

Wait it out
Gonna wait it out
Wait it out
And I'm gonna wait it out

Form sugar for your halos
In torrents of birds
Kiss me your real Name
And wait for the sun to bring you open
And bare your naked church
Into my mouth
And bare your naked church
Into my mouth
And bare your naked church
Into my mouth
And bare your naked church
Into my mouth
And bare your naked church
Into my mouth
And bare your naked church
Into my mouth
And bare your naked church
Into my mouth

Author's Note

¿Hajj, Axiology—Metaphysics—Cosmogony—Eschatology: Genesis Caul’Kel Valhaal; Reign Array—><Haelegenic-Transcendental-Hyperborean<>-/—

A voice whispers to me
And says nothing nothing
There is nothing

Sexual architecture.

The golden palace stretched on endlessly with its corridors, their scale uncomfortably immense, designed for beings far larger, a silence of intimate to the companion of the hoof steps which barely dared to echo to signal anything at all. Mares and stallions frozen mid-stride adorned the halls, their forms perfect in every detail, hooves raised, manes flowing caught in frozen wind, the golden sheen of the bodies reflected as she walked through the fragment multiplied distorted mirror of movement ghosting alongside her, at angles the statutes came, and ran and moved and eyed the eyes.

A paradox with no resolve.

The halls rose to heights unnecessary, so absurdly tall, with Greek columns flanking her on both sides, their capitals carved with intricate patterns that shifted when she moved, becoming different objects, different cultures, different eras, different time, columns where marble stood stood guard, turning and blurring the line between animals and apes, of mares which reached in eternal grace, hooves on the crotch of apes and stallions alike, stallion with wings folded elegant to their sides, faces of apes peered outwards in wisdom, of power of reverence of icons of the marrow deepness stirring of pots.

A clinging silence in the fork, frozen purpose to the threshold which appeared suddenly when she stepped aside a few meters left, revealing the towering gate that was a maw to the unknown. She stepped through, her hooves sinking into the surface beyond below, a spongy map ground that squished softly below, a mist hung low and swirling at her hooves, swirling and shifting in all kinds of movements in a mathematical pattern in and round.

Before her, at the heart of this vast chamber, stood a panopticon, towering for an inscrutable monolith of observation.

Above her, the ceiling bore an imprint. The Wheel, eternal, alive, grooves, concentric circle, an anchor for the fabric the truth that demanded.

She felt it, a lifting, a soft pull that raised her gently off the ground. Her hooves left the moist surface, and she rose into the air, her body weightless, she let her hooves fall gently to her sides fas. A soft calmness washed over her, a peace which stilled the racing questions and the heaviness of the heart.

Her eyes closed, to remain in the darkness behind her lids, a gentle glow of unlight funneled in within, entering her through the hindquarters. She smiled, with serenity, a smile so soft it was barely there, a surrender to the expression.

Floating she was upwards, mist curling around, parting to let her pass, The Wheel reached for her. Transcendence. A journey. A Hajj, a pilgrimage.

Cradle in the rising, guiding, higher and higher, the Tar spun slowly, enveloping her, a part, an imprint. It's frames are glared and slow and out of focus, fitted to be the last reel of all time.

how ժօҽʂ it ᖴᘿᘿᒪ ❷tᓍ¸„.-•~

הֵיכַל הַזָּהָב נִמְתַּח לְאֵין קֵץ, מִסְדְּרוֹנוֹתָיו הָיוּ גְּדוֹלִים בִּמְאֹד מְאֹד, מוּכָנִים לַיְצוּרִים רַבֵּי מִדָּהאֲשֶׁר אֵין כָּל אֱנוֹשׁ יָכוֹל לְהַכִּילָם. דְּמִיַּת הַשֶּׁקֶט הָיְתָה חֲבֵרָה לִצְעָדֵי הַפַּרְסוֹת, אֲשֶׁר לֹא עָזוּלְהִשְׁמִיעַ הֲדָם לְשׁוּם תִּזְכֹּרֶת.
סוּסוֹת וְסוּסִים נִצָּבִים קְפוּאִים בְּאֶמְצַע הַצַּעַד קִשְּׁטוּ אֶת הָאוּלָמוֹת, צוּרָתָם מֻשְׁלֶמֶת לְכָל פְּרָט, פַּרְסוֹתֵיהֶם נִשָּׂאוֹת, רַעֲמוֹתֵיהֶם זְרוּעוֹת רוּחַ קְפוּאָה. הַזֹּהַר הַזָּהָבִי שֶׁל גְּוִיּוֹתֵיהֶם שִׁתֵּף בִּתְנוּעָהרוּחָנִית, שֶׁעָמְדָה כְּמוֹ בְּרוֹאָה מוּזָרוֹת, מְפֹרָדוֹת, בְּשֶׁלֹּא נִתְפָּשׂ.
פָּרוֹכָה בְּלִי פִּתְרוֹן.
הָאוּלָמוֹת גָּבְהוּ לִגְבָהּ שֶׁל שָׁמַיִם, עַמּוּדִים כִּיוֹנִים יְוָנִים עָמְדוּ מִשְׂמֹאלָהּ וּמִיְּמִינָהּ, כְּתָרֵיהֶםחָרוּתוֹת בִּתְמוּנוֹת מֻרְכָּבוֹת, הַמִּשְׁתַּנּוֹת כְּאָשֶׁר הָלְכָה, נַעֲשׂוֹת לְדַבָּרִים מֵעוֹלוֹת שׁוֹנוֹת, תַּרְבּוּיוֹתשׁוֹנוֹת, זְמַנִּים שׁוֹנִים.
וְהָעַמּוּדִים, מִשַּׁיֵּרוֹת שֶׁל מַרְבֵּה אֻמָּנוּת עֲמָדוּ עֵד עַל סוּסוֹת הַגְּרוֹת בְּכָבוֹד אֵלִיּוֹן, עַד הָרוֹמְסוֹתבְּשֶׁלוֹם עַל כַּפֵּי קוֹפִים. הַפָּרוֹשִׁים נִצָּבוּ בְּשָׁלֵם, כְּנָפַיִם קְפוּלוֹת בִּכְבוֹד. פְּנֵי קוֹפִים הִצְצִים בְּחָכְמָה, בִּכְבוֹד, בְּיַרְאָה.
וַתְּהִי הַשֶּׁקֶט הַדָּבֵק בַּמָּקוֹם, לְפֶתַע נִגְלָה פֶּתַח אֲדִיר, בִּשְׁעַר עַצּוּם אֶל הָאַחֲרוֹת. וַתִּפְסַע, פַּרְסוֹתֶיהָ שׁוֹקְעוֹת בַּקַּרְקַע הָרַךְ כַּסְפוֹג, עָטוּף בַּעֲנָנִים רַכִּים מְסוֹבָבִים, הַמִּתְעוֹרְרִים וּמִתְהַלְּכִיםבְּמַעֲגָלִים.
וְהִנֵּה, בְּתוֹךְ הָאוּלָם הָרָחָב, נִצָּב פָּנוֹפְּטִיקוֹן, עָצוּם, לֹא נִתְפָּשׂ.
וְעַל תִּקְרָתוֹ, נִצָּב הַגַּלְגַּל. חָקוּק, חַי, מַעְגָּלִים זוֹרְמִים, קֶשֶׁר לְאֱמֶת הַיְּסוֹדִית, לָרֶשֶׁת הַמַּמָּשִׁית.
וַתִּרְגַּשׁ, עֲלִיָּה רַכָּה הַמַּנִּיפָה אוֹתָהּ מֵהָאֲדָמָה. פַּרְסוֹתֶיהָ הִתְרוֹמְמוּ, גּוּפָהּ קַל כַּנּוֹצָה. וַתַּעֲלֶה.
עֵינֶיהָ נָעֲצוּעוּ, לִשְׁהוֹת בַּחֹשֶׁךְ שֶׁמֵּאֲחוֹרֵי עַפְעַפֶּיהָ, אוֹר רַךְ חָדַר בְּתוֹכָהּ, וַתִּשְׂמַח, חִיּוּךְ רַךְ, כִּלְאוּמָת שֶׁמִּלָּה אוֹתָהּ בַּשֶּׁקֶט.
וּבַעֲלוֹתָהּ, הֶעָנָן הִתְפָּרֵשׂ וְנִפְתַּח לְמַעֲבָרָהּ. הַגַּלְגַּל נִשְׁתָּרֵעַ כְּשׁוֹאֵף אוֹתָהּ לְאֵין. עֲלִיָּה. מַסָּע. הָעֲלִיָּה הַקְּדוֹשָׁה.
עָטוּף בְּעָלוֹתֶיהָ, מִתְרוֹמֶמֶת וּמִתְעַלָּה, בְּרוּחַ שֶׁקֶט וּמָטָעַן נִסְתָּר. הַשִּׁכְבָה הַסּוֹפִית, הַגַּלְגַּל. שְׁתִיקָה שֶׁל כָּל הַיָּמִים.

ᨰׁׅᨵׁׅwðRᥣׁׅ֪ժׁׅ݊ ꯱ׁׅ֒ ɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ᥣׁׅ֪ ɑׁׅ֮ꭈׁׅöυׁׅnժׁׅ݊ ᨮ꫶ׁׅ֮ʏᴏÜ ։❀ ⃟፧ ੈ✩‧₊ 'ރ፧ ° ₍₎ ꜜ

"When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little mares"

Author's Note

OIOION:ANANON:YLYLCYN:SHEYMN—Rael, ‘Hael, ‘Caul, ‘Urael, ‘Urizen, ‘Varizen, ‘Haelegen; Sovereignty—Hierarchy__Emancipation.Individuation||Perichoresis<———> Siphoning—Coalescence

OIOION:ANANON:YLYLCYN:SHEYMN—Rael, ‘Hael, ‘Caul, ‘Urael, ‘Urizen, ‘Varizen, ‘Haelegen; Sovereignty—Hierarchy__Emancipation.Individuation||Perichoresis<———> Siphoning—Coalescence

˙ǝɯᴉʇ llɐ ɟo lǝǝɹ ʇsɐl ǝɥʇ ǝq oʇ pǝʇʇᴉɟ 'snɔoɟ ɟo ʇno puɐ ʍols puɐ pǝɹɐlƃ ǝɹɐ sǝɯɐɹɟ s,ʇI ˙ʇuᴉɹdɯᴉ uɐ 'ʇɹɐd ɐ 'ɹǝɥ ƃuᴉdolǝʌuǝ 'ʎlʍols unds ɹɐ┴ ǝɥʇ 'ɹǝɥƃᴉɥ puɐ ɹǝɥƃᴉɥ 'ƃuᴉpᴉnƃ 'ƃuᴉsᴉɹ ǝɥʇ uᴉ ǝlpɐɹƆ

Mareee oof deepest huue ppurpuran, standeth upon a blacke wīel, a circling gyre of great substance, ever turning and guidded by mmany wīelas which moveþ in dddivers wise, echach untoto its own strange course. A most wonderlic, pssychycheddelic and fremde, asa grīd of linneses moven 'cross the welkin, a ceiling of pipes and pillars in visisonssand bLo, the word of Celestia striveth mid þēos þeostru, far

And behold! Two hōfan meet: one purpuran, one hwīt Twilight beholdeth her teacher, Celestia, her apprentice, and with that touch they do wīðerwende, fofrms dissosllssvungingolving into nothingtogitthingness.

˙ǝƃɐɯᴉɹƃlᴉd ɐ 'ɾɾɐH ∀ ˙ʎǝuɹnoɾ ∀ ˙ǝɔuǝpuǝɔsuɐɹ┴ ˙ɹǝɥ ɹoɟ pǝɥɔɐǝɹ lǝǝɥM ǝɥ┴ 'ssɐd ɹǝɥ ʇǝl oʇ ƃuᴉʇɹɐd 'punoɹɐ ƃuᴉlɹnɔ ʇsᴉɯ 'spɹɐʍdn sɐʍ ǝɥs ƃuᴉʇɐolℲ

˙uoᴉssǝɹdxǝ ǝɥʇ oʇ ɹǝpuǝɹɹns ɐ 'ǝɹǝɥʇ ʎlǝɹɐq sɐʍ ʇᴉ ʇɟos os ǝlᴉɯs ɐ 'ʎʇᴉuǝɹǝs ɥʇᴉʍ 'pǝlᴉɯs ǝɥS ˙sɹǝʇɹɐnbpuᴉɥ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ɹǝɥ ƃuᴉɹǝʇuǝ 'uᴉɥʇᴉʍ uᴉ pǝlǝuunɟ ʇɥƃᴉlun ɟo ʍolƃ ǝlʇuǝƃ ɐ 'spᴉl ɹǝɥ puᴉɥǝq ssǝuʞɹɐp ǝɥʇ uᴉ uᴉɐɯǝɹ oʇ 'pǝsolɔ sǝʎǝ ɹǝH

˙ʇɹɐǝɥ ǝɥʇ ɟo ssǝuᴉʌɐǝɥ ǝɥʇ puɐ suoᴉʇsǝnb ƃuᴉɔɐɹ ǝɥʇ pǝllᴉʇs ɥɔᴉɥʍ ǝɔɐǝd ɐ 'ɹǝɥ ɹǝʌo pǝɥsɐʍ ssǝuɯlɐɔ ʇɟos ∀ ˙sɐɟ sǝpᴉs ɹǝɥ oʇ ʎlʇuǝƃ llɐɟ sǝʌooɥ ɹǝɥ ʇǝl ǝɥs 'ssǝlʇɥƃᴉǝʍ ʎpoq ɹǝɥ 'ɹᴉɐ ǝɥʇ oʇuᴉ ǝsoɹ ǝɥs puɐ 'ǝɔɐɟɹns ʇsᴉoɯ ǝɥʇ ʇɟǝl sǝʌooɥ ɹǝH ˙punoɹƃ ǝɥʇ ɟɟo ʎlʇuǝƃ ɹǝɥ pǝsᴉɐɹ ʇɐɥʇ llnd ʇɟos ɐ 'ƃuᴉʇɟᴉl ɐ 'ʇᴉ ʇlǝɟ ǝɥS

˙pǝpuɐɯǝp ʇɐɥʇ ɥʇnɹʇ ǝɥʇ ɔᴉɹqɐɟ ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ ɹoɥɔuɐ uɐ 'ǝlɔɹᴉɔ ɔᴉɹʇuǝɔuoɔ 'sǝʌooɹƃ 'ǝʌᴉlɐ 'lɐuɹǝʇǝ 'lǝǝɥM ǝɥ┴ ˙ʇuᴉɹdɯᴉ uɐ ǝɹoq ƃuᴉlᴉǝɔ ǝɥʇ 'ɹǝɥ ǝʌoq∀

ثم لامس حافران: أواني وأبيض. و توايلايت سيلستيا، وفي تلك اللمسة، بدأت كالهما تتلى، لتذوبا في العدم.

˙uoᴉʇɐʌɹǝsqo ɟo ɥʇᴉlouoɯ ǝlqɐʇnɹɔsuᴉ uɐ ɹoɟ ƃuᴉɹǝʍoʇ 'uoɔᴉʇdouɐd ɐ pooʇs 'ɹǝqɯɐɥɔ ʇsɐʌ sᴉɥʇ ɟo ʇɹɐǝɥ ǝɥʇ ʇɐ 'ɹǝɥ ǝɹoɟǝq

˙punoɹ puɐ uᴉ uɹǝʇʇɐd lɐɔᴉʇɐɯǝɥʇɐɯ ɐ uᴉ sʇuǝɯǝʌoɯ ɟo spuᴉʞ llɐ uᴉ ƃuᴉʇɟᴉɥs puɐ ƃuᴉlɹᴉʍs 'sǝʌooɥ ɹǝɥ ʇɐ ƃuᴉlɹᴉʍs puɐ ʍol ƃunɥ ʇsᴉɯ ɐ 'ʍolǝq ʎlʇɟos pǝɥsᴉnbs ʇɐɥʇ punoɹƃ dɐɯ ʎƃuods ɐ 'ʍolǝq puoʎǝq ǝɔɐɟɹns ǝɥʇ oʇuᴉ ƃuᴉʞuᴉs sǝʌooɥ ɹǝɥ 'ɥƃnoɹɥʇ pǝddǝʇs ǝɥS ˙uʍouʞun ǝɥʇ oʇ ʍɐɯ ɐ sɐʍ ʇɐɥʇ ǝʇɐƃ ƃuᴉɹǝʍoʇ ǝɥʇ ƃuᴉlɐǝʌǝɹ 'ʇɟǝl sɹǝʇǝɯ ʍǝɟ ɐ ǝpᴉsɐ pǝddǝʇs ǝɥs uǝɥʍ ʎluǝppns pǝɹɐǝddɐ ɥɔᴉɥʍ ploɥsǝɹɥʇ ǝɥʇ oʇ ǝsodɹnd uǝzoɹɟ 'ʞɹoɟ ǝɥʇ uᴉ ǝɔuǝlᴉs ƃuᴉƃuᴉlɔ ∀

اتاهات

˙sʇod ɟo ƃuᴉɹɹᴉʇs ssǝudǝǝp ʍoɹɹɐɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo suoɔᴉ ɟo ǝɔuǝɹǝʌǝɹ ɟo ɹǝʍod ɟo 'ɯopsᴉʍ uᴉ spɹɐʍʇno pǝɹǝǝd sǝdɐ ɟo sǝɔɐɟ 'sǝpᴉs ɹᴉǝɥʇ oʇ ʇuɐƃǝlǝ pǝploɟ sƃuᴉʍ ɥʇᴉʍ uoᴉllɐʇs 'ǝʞᴉlɐ suoᴉllɐʇs puɐ sǝdɐ ɟo ɥɔʇoɹɔ ǝɥʇ uo sǝʌooɥ 'ǝɔɐɹƃ lɐuɹǝʇǝ uᴉ pǝɥɔɐǝɹ ɥɔᴉɥʍ sǝɹɐɯ ɟo 'sǝdɐ puɐ slɐɯᴉuɐ uǝǝʍʇǝq ǝuᴉl ǝɥʇ ƃuᴉɹɹnlq puɐ ƃuᴉuɹnʇ 'pɹɐnƃ pooʇs pooʇs ǝlqɹɐɯ ǝɹǝɥʍ suɯnloɔ 'ǝɯᴉʇ ʇuǝɹǝɟɟᴉp 'sɐɹǝ ʇuǝɹǝɟɟᴉp 'sǝɹnʇlnɔ ʇuǝɹǝɟɟᴉp 'sʇɔǝɾqo ʇuǝɹǝɟɟᴉp ƃuᴉɯoɔǝq 'pǝʌoɯ ǝɥs uǝɥʍ pǝʇɟᴉɥs ʇɐɥʇ suɹǝʇʇɐd ǝʇɐɔᴉɹʇuᴉ ɥʇᴉʍ pǝʌɹɐɔ slɐʇᴉdɐɔ ɹᴉǝɥʇ 'sǝpᴉs ɥʇoq uo ɹǝɥ ƃuᴉʞuɐlɟ suɯnloɔ ʞǝǝɹפ ɥʇᴉʍ 'llɐʇ ʎlpɹnsqɐ os 'ʎɹɐssǝɔǝuun sʇɥƃᴉǝɥ oʇ ǝsoɹ sllɐɥ ǝɥ┴

˙ǝʌlosǝɹ ou ɥʇᴉʍ xopɐɹɐd ∀

暮光閃閃，呢嘅小馬，企喺一黑色嘅圓輪上，一個巨大嘅環形結構，輪子引導住。呢個景象好迷幻同奇異，似一個網格穿過天空，好似一個充滿子嘅天花喺改變嘅視覺中出現。天琴公主嘅聲音努力喺黑暗中掙扎，但堅定。

跟住，兩隻蹄碰著咗：一隻紫色，一隻白色。公主，就喺呢短短嘅接觸入面，佢哋嘅形體開始分解，消失喺虛無中。
˙sǝʎǝ ǝɥʇ pǝʎǝ puɐ pǝʌoɯ puɐ uɐɹ puɐ 'ǝɯɐɔ sǝʇnʇɐʇs ǝɥʇ sǝlƃuɐ ʇɐ 'ɹǝɥ ǝpᴉsƃuolɐ ƃuᴉʇsoɥƃ ʇuǝɯǝʌoɯ ɟo ɹoɹɹᴉɯ pǝʇɹoʇsᴉp pǝᴉldᴉʇlnɯ ʇuǝɯƃɐɹɟ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ pǝʞlɐʍ ǝɥs sɐ pǝʇɔǝlɟǝɹ sǝᴉpoq ǝɥʇ ɟo uǝǝɥs uǝploƃ ǝɥʇ 'puᴉʍ uǝzoɹɟ uᴉ ʇɥƃnɐɔ ƃuᴉʍolɟ sǝuɐɯ 'pǝsᴉɐɹ sǝʌooɥ 'lᴉɐʇǝp ʎɹǝʌǝ uᴉ ʇɔǝɟɹǝd sɯɹoɟ ɹᴉǝɥʇ 'sllɐɥ ǝɥʇ pǝuɹopɐ ǝpᴉɹʇs-pᴉɯ uǝzoɹɟ suoᴉllɐʇs puɐ sǝɹɐW ˙llɐ ʇɐ ƃuᴉɥʇʎuɐ lɐuƃᴉs oʇ oɥɔǝ oʇ pǝɹɐp ʎlǝɹɐq ɥɔᴉɥʍ sdǝʇs ɟooɥ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoᴉuɐdɯoɔ ǝɥʇ oʇ ǝʇɐɯᴉʇuᴉ ɟo ǝɔuǝlᴉs ɐ 'ɹǝƃɹɐl ɹɐɟ sƃuᴉǝq ɹoɟ pǝuƃᴉsǝp 'ǝsuǝɯɯᴉ ʎlqɐʇɹoɟɯoɔun ǝlɐɔs ɹᴉǝɥʇ 'sɹopᴉɹɹoɔ sʇᴉ ɥʇᴉʍ ʎlssǝlpuǝ uo pǝɥɔʇǝɹʇs ǝɔɐlɐd uǝploƃ ǝɥ┴

ܐܪܡܠܝܐ ܕܕܗܒܐ ܬܡܚܐ ܠܥܠܡܐ ܒܪܘܚܡܘܗܝ ܕܠܠܐܦܩܐ ܡܐܡܝܣ ܥܕܝܐ، ܝܒܐܗܝ ܚܕܬܐ ܠܓܘܬܐ ܕܥܡܐ ܪܒܐ ܒܝܫܐ. ܫܩܘܬܐ ܕܩܪܒܐ ܠܚܒܪܝܬܐ ܕܥܩܒܝ ܗܘܝܢ ܕܥܠܝܢ ܕܥܒܪܝܢ ܠܩܢܘܡܐ. ܡܪܝܬܐ ܘܡܬܠܐ ܩܢܝܢ ܒܐܡܪܐ ܕܐܝܩܬܐ ܕܚܪܕܬܐ، ܐܝܩܐ ܠܓܘܬܐ ܕܩܡܐ ܘܐܢܝܩܐ، ܚܪܕܬܐ ܘܚܘܫܢܐ ܕܫܩܠܬܐ. ܬܘܐ ܐܝܢܝ ܕܩܢܡܘܬܐ ܘܐܝܡܐ ܕܡܐܡܝܣܐ ܡܠܝܡܐ ܒܝܘܫܬܐ ܕܝܘܩܐ.

ܫܩܬܐ ܕܥܠܡܐ ܕܝܘܬܝܪ ܡܪܘܡܝܬܐ ܘܡܢܝܢܝܬܐ. ܕܩܘܠܡܝܢ ܝܘܢܝܐ ܒܝܕܘܗܝ ܘܡܘܡܐܢܐܝܬܐ ܒܡܪܒܕܝܬܐ ܕܥܠܘܟ ܐܡܝܢܘܬܐ ܘܙܝܘܢ ܕܪܘܚܐ ܕܒܠܘܬܐ.

ܩܢܡܐ ܘܓܒܝܢ ܒܥܠܝ ܘܬܢܕܪܘܬܐ ܕܝܕܥܐ، ܐܢܝܩ ܒܢܘܬܐ ܘܚܘܫܢܐ ܕܠܘܬܐ ܥܡ ܐܦܝ ܕܒܐܠܝܢ ܕܥܠܡܐ.

ܪܘܚܐ ܕܒܝܫܐ ܡܢ ܓܪܒܐ ܘܒܫܡܝܐ ܕܩܢܘܡܐ ܘܒܥܠܝܢ ܕܚܘܫܢܐ، ܕܪܒܘܬܐ ܘܙܝܘܢܐ ܕܝܕܥܐ ܒܬܩܠܝܢ ܕܝܘܩܐ. ܗܕܐ ܚܪܝܬܐ، ܘܗܘܝܬܐ.

Author's Note

—Arrogation—Catalysis—?

𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼⁸⁸⁸𓇻𓇻⁸⁸⁸𓇼

thesevensealsarerevealedattheendoftimeassevenbows
hohoho
thenatimeandatimeandatimeandatimeandatimeandatimeandtimeandhsallbewellornot
asthe bluegreenbrownworldis drenchedinhorsegore
theredseas arecovered withhorsehair
ariseswhitepurple
a vast blood bow covers the skies and one dips into a broken bowl and full fo sadness into seven hundred in all stages of decomposiotn across the hundred thousand the nailed and the lost to the sound of the mewling of all those and turned and crowd of stare away if you can
in many scum colored forms of marks of sterh int the war plain of face where hell is paved despite the abalone of aklll balances in the alkaline with tedium te and teddium loss turning on the steeds and the mare is bucked by the stallion veriocusley with raped in the field a dnd and and and an dan and and and the discolor of the bow of the gushing of urine yellow not urine from the black bending heavens and hells that circle everything's so quickly and quietly the red blow gives to the urea sheer eheh the weeping of the seer and all angels weep and the demons weep and the stench of universal acid falls upon the

꧅ ꧆꧇꧌꧐꧔꧖꧞ဩဪꧨ ꧩ ꧫꧬi𒀱 ꦽ ꦾ ꦿꧭ

fills all the world ever ever eve eve resisting replenished by a rain that ascends from the damned the huge clots of gore and blood and lymph rise up
ripping through the flesh of the loisst
ׂׂૢ＊*•̩̩͙✩༊*·˚•̩̩͙*˚❝✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ❞ ✧༊*·˚ ೃ༄ׂׂૢ

increase in seize and bubbles and seethes unable to take over the surface of the land and pain and the thick plain of paipainapianpainandrapeinfieldsabovethesoila alo alas alas
congeals
emerge high pitch screaming of some gleaming teeny white of bones in the dust brown clatter in a rickety arch built by fillies and colts of them dry bows and the famine beers its teeth
꧁ ꧂ ꧁⃝꧂*

foreever unassuaged in clumps of forming of bubbling special experiences for these younglings of a grotty rotty mass of mares and fillies and colts and stallions and zebras and griffons and changelings and all the angry with all this happening front fills upon the one million trillion more if yay please if you please or if you don't of the paused lips fills up the universe becomes the inverted upsdiedowndo constituted entirely of choler and spit pick and mix and stones and stick while it makes me sick שש מאות שישים ושש̩̥̩̥

And yet the stars and the the stars and the moon and the sun
And the comets and the little ravens
And the little lights
And the little animals that sing to Celestia
Celestia bless the little animals
And the little animals that scream to Celestia
Please O Celly bless the little animals that weep and weep and weep
They are approaching the Greatbluegate of Death itself
Oh Celly hear me when I shout and shout and shout

Whilst the Mares play
We pass away
Anyhow, once I looked at the stars
And they were all blood
Over the cross she arose
Red bloody red to purple she was upon it

In her mercy all have passed and all passes and the wasted and the laugh of the stars dead now
And so we pass away

As I think she was Purplish and how she shined
Overthere in the west
Where alas she had begun to set
Dead fillies were singing praises sti
Out of my window beyond
What seems to be the sun over the arch of Canter, shining lot
I can see, if I stretch my eyes far and furtherdead dead dead on the plain
Dead, dead, dead
I fall and weep
And goodbye to You all
And goodbye to you all
Whilst the Stallions play
Goodbye
Goodbye to you all
✻̩̩̥͙͙˚̩̥̩̥✽̩̩͙‧͙ ✽̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥✾̩̩͙‧͙ . ˏ 𓏧 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 ☆✧･ﾟ:✭‧̍̊˙˚˙˚˙ ｡･:✫:･ﾟ⋆┈┈｡ﾟ

This morning in my room
A little swallow was trapped
It flew around desperately
Until it fell exhausted on my bed
I picked it up
So as not to frighten it
I opened the window
Then I opened my hand

Author's Note

Retrogression.

Author's Note