Manifesto

Pulling you close, Push you away,

Another broken angel, Gratifying dose,

A tormentor’s host, Ghosting down the way,

Where happiness once lay, Mystical unicorn,

Once where love was born,

Fed too much, Hunting fawn,

Till the break of another’s- Golden sun dawn,

While blinded in romantic porn,

Oh angel of crown so true,

Chastity of vengeance, And rod so blue,

When once I have stood, Only the few,

To trust the broken too, Love to lose,

Oh for all the happiness, In one day,

To kill a stranger, From toxic pay say,

So to say, All the vomit, And consensual piss,

Can dismiss, The risk of bliss,

I prefer all that’s damaged, All that hurts,

Is easily managed, For in this world,

Of all that I find, There is nothing better,

Than the deeds of my own kind.

The universe was a deep and empty home and through such servitude to loneliness, people experienced it unwillingly. To become accustomed to the void within was to build a home in the heart, out of all the hate and violence that had built that experience. As to be free was to doubt the things you had once trusted. Emptiness is an intoxicating friend for there is little to betray you in the agony of your own thoughts. There remains no such journal of your hardships or the dreams you have travelled on, through galaxies of hope for that galaxy of homes, where civilizations dwell in the darkness. People are created and emptied into life, to seek the terror of empty worlds broken into a million pieces on the thoughts of truth and lies. No wonder, to the traveller; emptiness is a certain kind of solitude with no hope of disappointment, or illusion of connection, to a universe of infectious power, sick with nostalgic love.

The fish and chip shop lit the edge of darkness and as long as the lights were on, nothing from the darkness had come for the people in it. Life was cheap on the edge of the abyss; many visited that last stop before leaving the world for faraway places, to never return. Mystery disappears into background noises of time, as memories become a beacon of insignificant reflection to the rotting carcasses of buildings and generations lost, shimmering in the land. People idle past in life while others get caught in the illumination as a talisman that inhabits strange thoughts and memories. The junction in the road of fate was also the precipice of a strange unity.

People live and die on the bones of their youth, some changeable while others not, as betrayal held in such bitterness is as worthless, as happiness held in such hopelessness. The old world feared an apocalypse while planning achievement milestones for their trophy case of perfect friends, neighbours, and holidays. Disruption itself becomes an object with respect to lesser beings, floating through cosmic jobs of economic wish fulfilment. Are we just ghosts living in tombstone shells, to love sadly as remnants of so many fragmented whole existences, to be one day picked apart by the moral vultures of immortality.

Time ephemeral, is a skinny kind of love, as souls conform to a greater reality, with the silent screams of empty pain, and swallow joy to the nature of a tourist existence of home. We are all just visiting, we are all just tired, and we are just happy; as families live their dreams to speak of a different world, above the now. I do not envy the difference; I envy the effort and teamwork beyond the superficial easy days, kissing for better horizons. A toxic environment is the nature of symptoms running through generations of family, and the context of a sense of home, or a beginning, that whispers to eternal belonging.

Nova, Sagia, and Angel left for the yoga festival in the chance of many young hearts, the Volkswagen Kombi van, and found the comforting tattering engine liberating to the whitewashed walls of life. The road entombed the hopes of millions on the pretence of destiny, however, Angel was moving away from where he had been and in some way, he wondered if someone was running from their beginning stuck in the same life, on the same road in simple flickering expressions of the faceless passersby’s. The Volkswagen Kombi van lacked the desperation of purpose, the pretence of success, and the desire for acceptance, although it chased the sun and inside a lotus flower succumbed to time but not the figurehead of a ship’s bow.

A lucky charm to see a journey through stormy seas painted many years before by a lotus eater living in regret or peace, through a paintbrush that graced the earth once upon a time with beauty. Girls rested on either side of the lotus flower as their arms interlocked on a mattress and a sea of pillows. Angel had been gifted with driving the deluxe hippy van; but, all were high on the impending holiday away from medicinal politics of recreational pursuits of happiness, resulting from a higher state of cerebral travesty. We were chasing the dragon to the Festival of the Divine and Dammed; except, we were not sure which dragon occupied our priority. In the chaos of the event, a dichotomy of social drama ensured over the qualities of taking the bikes or lazing it out in a frappe of social stimulants; a camper van, or a car and tent.

The breaking of bread with the Lotus-Eater Kombi van travellers was a delicacy on the menu and pit stops and the amigos were connoisseurs of fine cuisine. Passing over the bay the city glimmered in beauty only observed from afar like a beacon of forged lies far from the rats that scuttled below. The neon-lit towers reflect off each other like; towering infernos of emptiness, honesty, and mirrored camouflage. People could never die in this city; it simply consumed them into energy, monuments, or waste where irrelevance was a lonely death of an unknown. Flower children danced on their graves to newer and newer worlds fragmented by their commitment to monuments; a light switch in an apartment, a brick in a street, a painted wall upon a building.

In many ways, life had become cancerogenic of its own repeatable expressive death of expendable art in an immortal city. Still, the city sparkled with beauty in the water as the kingdom of mermaids lured souls to absolute death. The city rested contently asleep to the robotic reality of a living hell as long as it looked like heaven on Earth with all those moonbeams, it could suck into its icy grip. The highway is carved through mountains, forests, and folk villages, as a bringer of death and the contemporary escapism of time itself. Vines clung to trees like long-dead Daddy Longlegs caught in their own web while its own children gazed upwards at these giant motionless origins starved of life, and how empty the monument was left to seek a purpose in the world of webs.

Trees broke ground into cornfields as harvestmen's children worked under broken sun-bleached barns, inevitably stuck in the same cycle of life. Spiders of shrunken worlds and pray of defined fates, blind far below the busy highway to nowhere. A hermit cottage beside a broken motel on life support from the capitalist bypass of think-big projects signalled the crossroads between nostalgia and death. Entombed in envy of paths that led towards deserts of the soul; gold rush snake oil fever, swallowed roads to Mother Nature herself, with just a greater atonement for weeds and swamp. You always knew you were in the deep wild when a retrograde neon sign became the spiritual homage to big city worship, even the bugs seemed to keep away from some places of empty time.

The festival grounds were a luxurious upgrade from a cramped Volkswagen Kombi van or cardboard box and blanket newspaper. Behind a broken panel of the painted lotus flower that was serving as the figurehead of free will on their journey to the Festival of the Divine and Dammed, was a gun. The Festival of the Devine and Dammed had seen all walks of life enter its pearly gates, which gave peace to the road from the free spirits which roamed for a time, towards a centre of self. It was an image to behold, the optimism of youth and the naivety of the dreamers; for wallflowers ran through fields of wildflowers as spirited ovaries of Fabergé eggs. The boys desired to pollinate them with the magic of the Milky Way and sit beside them for eternity, deep within the night sky. When a free spirit died deep inside; perhaps this place to some, was the Heaven they went dancing, singing, and pushing their hands towards the clouds.

Shooting stars rained down from Heaven every night in this place delivering souls each morning anew. The sick always looked out the windows embracing so deeply, as the world pushed up between their toes. Seasons decorated the valley in a metaphorical surrealistic state embodied in the deep essence of a soul ascetic, within each person still willed to live in new experiences and pass on old ones. Only the insane wanted to hear the music where they had ceased to be a willing participant in this world, much like the medicated neglected flower children, estranged from the aristocracy. Perhaps even in the darkest of nights the plutocracy that imprisoned spirits and free will, could find liberation for these restless souls of salvation.

Soul ruminated like an effigy of love throughout the chorus keepers of the one true path. Young love danced like colts and fillies frolicking in spring flowers, whilst rubbing their necks against each other and glancing at the wide world just beyond each other’s warm comforting shoulders. In this place beauty rises again through others and reminds those who had the beauty of the brilliance of that falling star in the night sky, burning ever so brightly and briefly. Spirit warriors were keepers of the faith of this strange universal design called young love. It could carry love songs for all eternity or the political bacteria that replicated empty vases filled with colourful sand. Life is a place so intently introspective it had to medicate itself from reality to combat an infestation of breeding rabbits, stripping the vegetative flora of Hollywood mushrooms, as the fauna of its sparse universe.

Museum Love

Poetic justice, Fingering my frets,

Like its Blues Craft, Kissing the Deaf,

For a starlight- Wish, of-

Wet California- Bliss,

Pro-players &, Lost Star layers,

Lilith lies, In chill wide eyes,

Like truth is wise, And faith,

The moons tides, Billy goat love,

Water lilies doves, Beams of sunlit,

Cream Streams, Forever Wise-

To global- Cyanide &,

Star gazing, Cars,

And dinosaurs- Stuck in tar,

But really, That’s who we are......

Tie-dyed eyes, & Barn guitars,

Daughters, And the love,

That taught her, And,

Fought, her......

Never beans, Ever seems,

Losers and boozers,

Cruisers and users,

The road to and from Zen,

I will see you.....then,

My Starbound Friend.

Nova was Latin for new, and she moved like she did not belong to this world, as she had lived too long in the underground that few rarely get to explore. Nova seemed to make the most terrible places her home, the dark ‘cosmic corpse,’ dive hangouts, and a talented pilot; she avoided the digitalized credit highways with analogue technology and a natural skill for survival. Nova could fly any old plane through the worst storms, her tattoos were an open book of her travels to secret places. You could tell she had seen too much, just as you could also tell, a part of her had also given up, on other people. Her frustration always hid well behind a youthful and innocent face, but in quiet moments, you could just tell, dreams followed her to the waking world, which few rarely get to explore.

Sagia was a woodland nymph creature that revealed herself in playfulness and longing; she desired nothing more than to be one with nature. This was her rebirth from the emotion-sucking vampire, which had bled all the colour within her body onto the world. Her soul felt more alive within the reeds deep below the campfire's smouldering embers, which rose into the sky as a dance of smoke and fire, there was no vanity to love but the moment itself, and at that moment was a feeling in a place called eternity. The past was a memory, a dark place of emptiness and things, loneliness and pain, broken promises too big to keep and too broken to forget.

Angel, Nova, and Forest Nymph looked out instinctively to the panorama before them as if they were soul travellers, always searching for the beauty of the world, after bathing in such ugliness. The marketplace left an aroma of coffee beans wafting in the air from South American cargo sacks, mixing in the breeze with red wine and Southern Whisky. Hippie talismans adorned the Bazaar along with crafts that denied replicable plastics if just for the weekend. Looking down at the deep impressions in the sandy shoreline forest nymph confessed her name like an afterthought of designer shops and fantasy, twisted by the ogre that had made her hate her parents a little less.

‘The Festival of the Devine and Dammed; left here Nova,’

The universe had corrected itself slightly or perhaps a grand design of insignificance so that free spirits may run naked through the trees with unabated fever; how desperate the world felt in this place to the divine and dammed. Passion stormed into oblivion like the deep darkness of a cave without light. Surrounded by a jungle without resonance, only the wind blew through the leaves to speak of pleasure and folly between people of love. Silky smooth smoke floated in a bubble as the cosmic vibration ascended two octaves and a spectrum of colour slanted slightly out of balance. The grey ambience of footprints bloomed like sensation voids; too immortal for the wind to cover the impression of soul, left on the sandy shoreline.

‘It’s crowded honey's,’

Happiness became a warm feeling of empty thought; not that the desire was there to think, but rather the implausibility to think all the bliss out of the community soul. A white heron came to them on wings as pure as the soft clouds that would occasionally pass overhead to posture the insignificant irony of perspective, sometimes mirrored far below. A Barefoot Ankle Bell Bracelet Hippy had embraced the mighty Heroin of funky Magic highs and burning sage lows balanced out in mid-scale caffeine-induced psychoses. They were all the eternal spirit keepers of free love but it never came cheap, it came at a horrible price. Powerlessness in existence; however aware, that anything that gave them love had the last stop so profound; it revealed the nature of humanity. Nature was a prison so impenetrable, that it blinded the inmates with cultural waste described as a success and punished the witnesses with a cell so grand, that only their minds and souls could ascend through the prison bars.

 ‘There on the right, under the big tree.’

All began doodling on the Earth that had supported so many dreams coherently as fantasy, as one by one they all quietly smiled to themselves. Smoke blew across the lake as a substitute for heaven in an object centre Earth, life was removed from the equation, but not love, just a love that not many knew. Angel slipped into a dream world and many times it always began the same, riding a bike down an old road in the rain, never feeling really clean. Back to a barefoot swamp and a clearing among the trees, a gateway between a spirit world and imagined ones. Angel left an impression in Cosmic Rabbit's soul with his feet and hands below an old oak tree. He carved his name in the tree as if it was perfectly positioned to bear his name and swallow it to time with the bark, moss, and rings. He had found the meaning of life here, not the answer but a tragedy of beauty that fills heartless souls along demon roads; it was always night air in this place as much as it was always noon, it was the feeling of cold wet warm sun, it was after all Lake Boulevard lane.

Angel had a vision in this dreamscape; a real place that cannot be imagined or of being loved under such conditions as to be too sullied to touch. Love is too healthy to rest and too broken to live among the apes and voodoo priests, but it is heaven nonetheless. Each time Angel visited this place the meaning of life repeated in the wind over and over again, ‘Are we there yet, are we there yet,’ although it did not repeat as a memory upon memory, rather each time a new and different and always the same. If it was the pinnacle contemplation of Zen that balances the world in one moment that you’re a part of but cannot take from, presence provides peace but no need of living, just being, although it would never have revealed to Angel as such.

The food cart was a strange purveyor of immortality at, ‘The Festival of the Devine and Dammed,’ for it is ageless in a notion of time as it is physical to the immaterial legends trampled upon the cobblestones. Within those dead streets, weeds push through onto the boulevard just as the wind pushes through the valleys of tall buildings. It was more original than healthy which added taste from tradition and its glow illuminated street life for an eternity, only a street life eternity. Mickey Finn’s was a fine eating establishment indeed and many a soul had sat outside it contemplating their place in the world, usually at a miniature scale of solutions to problems. At certain times of the year, it elegantly sat below the starry constellation of Leo as if to hint at the irony of perspective. Patrons walked past in Leo like fleeces, the tiny fibres gleaming and dancing in the cold dark air from the neon lighting which doused the nooks and crannies and starved the unknown from shadow.

These were the passageways of power all subversively dancing under an audience of constellations in history and the Zodiac alike. Many believed in aliens in these parts because many had spent the majority of their life being one in some way or another. They were the colour chasers sometimes blind in black in white while staining life with beauty, and other times darkness in which the colour of life ceased to exist. For street life in this land; was occupied by the Libertines of freedom and passion, as equally as hope and energy, all within its own rules, code, and justice, which separated family from a comrade. The Festival was built on the bones of some forgotten lakeside town, which was swallowed with time, to be nostalgically whispering of demise beneath immoral stars.  

Ethereal beings unwed in golden rings, negotiated formality, and shackled happiness, were pleasure goddesses naked and prodded, some fated to escape and look down on all that is dirty and cheap. For absent fathers could be a heart rub as much as dying freedom in an ugly price of attracting the essence in which a parent punishes the guilty and in the end the self-worship of untouchable moans and gratification. This world was a quick land for the colour chasers who lived a whole year in two months and could leave nothing but their own legend at the foot of Mickey Finns; inconspicuous in the crowd of broken angels and dream believers of primal beauty, such as the proclamation of floor ridden lace lingerie far below their contorted masters.

Mickey Finn's burgers were a legend of the festival over the years and many unconventional customers examined a delectable range of classics unchanged since forever. The Midnight Express Burger was the premium luxury Cadillac of its day; a beef patty mixed with oysters, herbs, and spices, a slice of Swiss cheese melted onto the patty, lettuce, cherry tomatoes, fried onions sprinkled with garlic, salt, and pepper, all contained within a bun from the local baker. It was invented by a veteran of a war or an alcoholic on a cold winter’s night many decades ago. The patty is a recipe from Irish soldiers made spicy by Chinese robot technicians workers whose families had immigrated from the apocalypse. The lettuce, onion, garlic, and tomato, came from a market garden lost to time now and replaced by the convenience of easy living. The Swiss cheese from a priest lost to cults also many years ago, and the buns from a bakery that was once a homestead.

It was a simple statement of life for the colour chasers as if hopelessness had convened in one area of the universe and in some strange way, life was supporting each other and also evolving to its own definition. The dream believers were sometimes Smokey grey oyster flesh and other times walrus land beasts with rose pink flesh dulled through the heat of the sun. On a good day labourers were; a spice of cigarettes, cement powder, paint, and woodchips, granulated as the bygone war workers.

Broken angels are would be parts, of all manners of life and within the rose pink flesh of man's desire laid all mannerisms of oyster tissue; such was the vaults of Swiss cheese hardened at man's 20-minute champagne dream. Broken angels anaesthetized their first unknown as a cherry tomato until they were pumped black and white and dulled like meat through champagne dreams. For the colour chasers were now reputable beings of name and skin art, as well as a temple holier-than-thou as if chakra had vibrated from the food cart in this time and many others, but also in one single instance of clarity.

Smokey grey

Rose pink

Emerald green

Swiss yellow/ cherry red

Speckled woodland green

Creamy caramel

Served on a neon nebula cloud, pieced by photons of blue and white dots and ambient red fibres.

The Dying World

The Great Plains of America had exhausted its own water supply. The natural barrier to the desert could not cool the advancing burning sands, as the forests weakened under the stress. From the rotation of the earth, the inertia of the Coriolis Force arched the humidity of positively charged water molecules, North East; as the attractive force to the North Pole was stronger than the repulsive force. The active humidity created a basin for solar flares and global pollution, as the humidity carried a fungus that devastated grain crops, as moisture warmed beneath the stalks, creating a green rot.

The Western deserts of Old America had their aquifers pumped dry in the desperation of many droughts; the water table collapsed, and the desert flooded regularly. The land dropped several meters, and the loosened sediment was carried on the Westerly winds that breached The Great Plains of America. The North Easterly trade winds from the Gulf of Mexico created a vortex in the desert, and drowned the stripped terrain, as the desert expanded over cycles of flood and searing heat.

The Mississippi River was god’s gift to America but it became irreversibly polluted with heavy metals, as pollution levels ran low to high from North to South. Anything below the 40th Parallel, a band that ran through the middle of America, from West to East was a toxic and poisoned land. The people below this point were called Down Landers from the people who lived in global cities. Farm runoff killed the environment, but the government of the time softened the truth with fireworks and their pride in a democracy.

The oceans rose with global warming to swallow Florida as it saturated the farming land with salt water and pushed against the Mississippi River. The apocalypse did not begin with a single act, it began hundreds of years ago just beyond a tipping point. The migration of caravans to the Midwestern, Northeastern, and Great Lakes, polluted the area and forced pressure points on food, water, and housing supply.

Many of the mansions melted when Yellowstone Volcano erupted; Hollywood had already been on a life support system of piped water from Canada for a hundred years. Such was the illusion of a dying economy floating long after the lowborn had been forced deeper south. The Yellowstone hotspot had moved beneath a mountain creating a sense of security, but the desert buckled the Gorda plate off the coast of California. Pressure waves were pushed onto the mountainous fault lines. In the end, the North American plate fractured from the stress as molten lava bulged and ruptured to the magnetic forces of the reverse edge fault line.

The volcanic ash would make the land fertile in decades, as the lower desert became a flooded bay of a strange emptiness after the Gorda plate was swallowed by the tumbling earth. Fires, tornadoes, lightning strikes, floods, sea rises, and drought plagued America with a scarred landscape. It was a version of hell not yet known by the ancient people that once rode horses across the grasslands. Nature’s renewal cycle lingered and broke like a landslide; as the industrial wreckage blotted the land like a quick-fix problem for every other solution.

Cosmic Lovers

I wrote a valentines card, For life,

It smiled and stabbed me, In the back,

With a knife,

That’s okay, I’m used of it anyway,

Still they told, me, Believe in love,

It took a while, To believe in no one,

I ran for president, Of a club,

Still found no love, Dreaming from far above.....

Someone throw me- Some fun,

So I can stop being no one,

Claimants of stalkers,

Popular wannabe, hawkers,

Creepers selling reapers,

Like dream hopeful, peepers.......

Tom the con, Preaching all his wrongs,

Just so someone else, Can turn it into a song....

So beauty fades, And life becomes Ugly,

Lies become worthy, And truth justly,

Thug-ery......

They claim its love, camouflage,

While they, Sabotage, sabotage, sabotage,

So we are to be fearing- the forever free,

Like drinking love potion,

And expecting another to, drown,

In a crimson ocean,

Just out of some, nostalgic emotion,

Whispering to all of, loves,

Dying of devotion.......

Human Migration into Space

Alfa Centauri became the design of man’s struggle to leave the nucleus of Earth and the Membrane of the Solar System. Humanity needed to find a connection to the origins of life, between the death of stars, and its first evidence which lay only 4.37 light years away. The Earth’s ancestors dreamed of a future of; massive planets, starships, aliens, and technology that could solve the question of humanity's survival. But the future was to be far more than they could conceive, and far less than they ever dreamed.

The ancestor’s story is a story of all apocalypses, and their story is the origin of all fearful beauty sleeping soundly at night. The Ancient Earthlings are what they called their ancestors before the apocalypse, and they believed in entropy, a cycle of death and rebirth, destruction and order, and chaos and harmony. In many ways, extinction has no contrasts of an audience in the theme of life or story. Ironically only the gods could tell us that a billion-ton pebble hurtling through space bumped a tiny rock.

The ancestors of Earth Zero defragmented organized civilization into divisions of fear and detestation, showing no preference for either rich or poor. The global pandemic circled the earth and ended in a month, having already hibernated for over a year, its symptoms were triggered by a biological clock. The deep sickness was long-reaching, misunderstood, strange, and yet to show its true nature; as society broke down strains of the virus revealed different pathologies.

The Orbit Escalator imploded like a grain of sand falling into the finely tuned mechanics of a Swiss Watch and brought about the birth and death of time. The Orbit Escalator was the last thing Ancient Earthlings committed to space, a series of lined networks that harvested Solar System resources for the survival of humankind. Its ultimate design was to create a self-mining and self-replicating automated culture on Planet Pluto and turn that planet into a spaceship. Pluto was the most weakly influenced planet by the sun and could easily escape its gravity field. Alfa Centauri was to be the destination of this planet that was cocooned into a starship.

The moons of home planets were colonized with a vast network of robotic autonomous communication arrays. Telescopes were set in an outward-facing direction, sweeping the solar system with each rotation of their host planet. The moon was the first point of space technology industries with bases resting deep below the surface layer on the reverse side of the moon. Some moons rotate, have different compositions, and contain different geology, but most are all in a launch suitable position for technological advancement and resource hedging.

Many planets lacked the ability for immediate habitation; all had been surveyed and the most suitable had been terraformed. Items are mined and processed towards capital investment in interplanetary occupation for space technology development. Some planets were too small, so the autonomous robotic spacecraft would drag rocks from asteroid belts to be deposited on the planet’s surface. All civilizations had to prove with absolute certainty, that no life already existed on the planet. Asteroid layering was not meant to impede the ability to mine a planet's resources, required for humanity's wider survival plan.

Cosmic Coral

Love me like, A decaying carcass,

Junk it seems, Believing things,

Living- In-between......

Cosmic Coral, Morning stars,

How I love- The way you-

Are....

Reflecting rolling- Stars,

Drowning in the storm,

Drowning in the norm......

Love is a tide,

Life an- Ocean, When the sunsets-

At night, You rock me- With emotion.......

I wish the galaxy, Wasn’t in your eyes,

Like- The don’t cares, Seem to lie, Like-

There’s nowhere, To hide-

Just living in my bed, Just living in my head.....

Cosmic Coral, Morning stars,

How I love- The way you- Are,

Reflecting rolling- Stars,

Where we dream, No one knows,

The home it roams,

Make believing creed.........

Life’s rhythm- Breaking,

Sunset norm, On a Soulless storm,

Drowning in the- Norm,

Drowning in the- Storm,

Soulless storm, Loves winter- Storm,

Hating what thoughts said-

Dreaming that dreams cared,

Deep inside my head,

This is what I bled,

Storm inside- My head,

And all the things,

I said, deep inside, In my, head.

Autonomous space drones harvested resources around the host planet's moon system, building towards habit duality and space travel, port to port. Moving small bodies of moons; interconnected space blimps attached themselves to smaller moons like small insects carrying the leaf of a plant. The spaceport burrowed into the moon with a reinforced habitat and then space blimps flew the moons together to create a spaceport core.

Afterwards, space blimps covered the entire moon in an artificial environment and the spaceport above a planet would be used to terraform a planet below it. It was much safer and cheaper to send small pods to a planet’s surface than a multipurpose interplanetary ship. Planets that had highly valuable resources often contained space elevators in large extinct volcanoes, which often also served as large underground bases.

Harvesting the solar system went on for a thousand years, but it is all towards a primary purpose. The planet rotation industry harvested pods to integrate along the natural conveyer belts of the rotation of the solar system planets by using autonomous space drones. Resources were sent to the host planet's moons to manufacture spaceship parts. On the outer layer of the solar system, where gravity is the weakest, the autonomous robotic drones searched for a small planet that they could build into a starship.

Starships built around a planet are much safer and can travel large groups of life between the stars. They have moons built into them and they travel along a gravitational wave trench, as space dust is pulled into the gravitational field it crushes the space debris creating heat and gravitational tides. It is a highly dense moon, and material is mined for its value as the by-products are pumped to the outer layered skin to increase the strength of the hull, much like new skin.

A planet that has been built into a starship had density added to the core from mining tailings, via a moon ball based around the planetary starship. Most of the starships were constructed by autonomous robotic drones, left in the outer reaches of space waiting for human habitation. Moon Balls are usually graded on the number of magnetic waves produced and the space debris it neutralizes from starships own gravitational field. Rare technology usually came from an area rich in; elements, resources, and infrastructure.

There was a significant difference between cluster civilizations built for organic structures and people, and robotic stations working for those civilizations. These civilizations of origin had animal species that lived in ‘origin cluster hives.’ It is an old and ancient meaning that is unknown at this time. These worlds had valuable rare elements, energy structures, and biological density habitats. Most habitable planets pumped ore through robotic space elevators, for their robotic manufacturing, machines, and industrial printed products.

When a planet cannot be saved by technology, there comes the great loading, where every conceivable resource is stripped away to a planetary starship. Legends spoke of small pockets of religious cults that were said to have worshipped staying behind to bear witness to their own great demise on the deserted planet. The ancients might think it is unfathomably that a starship with a planet and a moon can travel at the speed of light, but it was described as quite a simple process. A stable star is what will define the next kind of home, as a seed of civilization growing out into the universe with firm roots to an origin.

From the dead cores of planets, humanity built a star drive system that created electromagnetic matter, wave streams, and channels. This channel originated from a super dense moon and created cold fusion through a super mass conduction process. The innermost chambers regulated the core temperature, and the forward cosmic wave buffer created a slipstream envelope much like an oppositional vacuum within a vacuum. The star ships were designed for mass migration and habitation of life support units. It developed a form of redundancy that prevented extinction from the need for a habitation planet. A super dense sphere travels around the planet in a gutter channel and focuses the internal magnetic force to produce gravitational counter thrust, with space debris serving as an independent heat transfer system.

Space Invaders

Gothic time on, Love lost in crime,

Armed with tattoo, Charms,

Spinning in the wind, Of Devil dares,

In nightmare cares, Spinning in the void,

As it appears, In heaven there....

Voodoo Guru, Gin drowned,

In butterflies, Burned on skin,

As mystery sin, No longer wins,

In Dusk, Of love lust,

And moon glaze, With eyes amazed,

Laying in star reeds, Of Milky Way seeds........

Woman in marble, Woman in paint,

Woman in song, Deep strange,

Singularity, Be gone.......

Black moon, Plagues,

In rooms, To invade,

Lost abysses, In kisses of,

More, Voodoo Guru’s,

To you……….

For a moment there was a small window of technological advancement that would see the ancient humans to the nearest star. A window of advantage lost in history decides the fate of those so far into the future, even if it is often not considered a relevant issue. Global warming and pollution affected the economy of many old countries, and to commit any resources to it would directly contradict an illusion of short-term security. As control faded to the dark sky, the layered excuses of technological greed for the military might ensure, a gulf between extremes that reached a tipping point on pressured naturalisms of human existence. It is always the bones of the old world that forces new growth.

The classy excuses and lies that had been temporarily stuck on humanity, like a cheap bandage, began to peel away. Education was a regulated corporate entity, poverty as a citizen was a crime, and resistance to social order was blacklisted. Physical money was outlawed in place of a virtual class credit that could only be used in certain places and for certain classes of products defined as democratic sustainable products. The poor would become a self-managing self-regulating designer lie for humanitarian operations, which ultimately fed capital wealth into more endless weapons programs.

The Infection

It was not living people who first explored the Martian planet in any sense, but coma patients who were found to be brain dead. The Western Press named them Adam and Eve, linked together in a chamber, their bodies were exposed to water and particles of soil. Upon their brain a neural link was connected to simple computer games, which had a reward function in the form of aromas, food, and music; to defeat the system was to gain complete access to a biological sub-system. Adam and Eve co-existed through tubes and pipes, like any couple that lived on earth. It was to be the standard model of exploration of any planet before human occupation. The Sun had been around for over four and a half billion years, which was almost equal to Earth's evolution of life, while Mars had less than a billion years of life to evolve.

Eukaryote were organisms whose cells contained a nucleus and membranes, and in a primordial state, they were dwellers of the earth’s oceans. However, scientists concluded that Mars had an evolutionary peg up in the “Jumpstart Evolutionary Infection Hypothesis,” in that life that fell onto planet Mars lay higher on the evolutionary ladder and retained its characteristics in that environment. Many scientists debated the origins of life, and most concluded in the dusty birth of the Solar System, the mass of dust and gas cushioned life into a snare until the sun and planets formed into the orbit of worlds and things. In the cushion of the Solar system's birth, two separate evolutionary forms of life became one on planet Earth.

In the early days, people searched desperately for the origin of the virus, as a few remaining scientists worked over a global infrastructure, completely devoid of human life. A theoretical physicist postulated the loss of the Martian atmosphere before a pathologist picked up the research and found an evolutionary biologist who had survived the apocalypse. Mars had two moons Phobos and Deimos; Phobos displayed the same geologic composition as the planet Mars, red dust, while Deimos had the same composition as the Earth’s moon. An idea was postulated that Mars's loss of atmosphere, centred on both Martian moons being part of an asteroid, and also an ancient moon’s surface crust covered by Martian meteorite ejection material. Both moons appeared very similar in composition although this explanation was too simple and logical. Deimos did display the nature of an asteroid, but it also was porous with ejection matter of ice and dust.

Phobos was completely different from Deimos with a larger mass, density, and a deeper coating of Mars sedimentary ejection. Deimos was not how a moon formed but rather how an asteroid formed; with Mars being 4.5 billion years old the satellite moons should have displayed a higher correlation to spherical geometry. Deimos core had a high correlation to the surface layer of a moon that stripped, crumbled, and ruptured, at the moment of impact with an asteroid. There were only three logical debris fields for such an occurrence, Mars, Jupiter, and the rings of Saturn.

If the original moon was made from the same material as Deimo’s it would have disintegrated and littered the Martian landscape with falling debris. This is unlikely because of one significant reason, and that is Mars's magnetic field becoming dramatically weaker at a point in its life cycle. This research indicated a much larger and denser force pulling at the molten core in the upper mantle creating a thermal tide of friction, resistance, and pull. Mars did not display the same tectonic plates as Earth, however, if a dense object fell to Mars as the original original ancient spherical moon, it would have left a significant crater.

The best indication that Phobos was the original moon core or the remnants of an asteroid was the depth of the debris field at Stickney Crater. The Stickney Crater was likely caused by remnants of the original impact as material rotated around Mars and the Sun. Additionally, the mix of light-reflecting moon dust and Martian material seemed to make all scenarios likely. The most interesting discovery was the surface color of Saturn’s moon Europa which also displayed the colors of Martian geography. Although this may seem like an internal mechanics of the sub-surface from the line transgression, it is the moon’s density that was an interesting fact. The actual moon Europia has the kind of density that would have supported a planet's magnetic field due to its large metallic core. Without sub-surface radar data, it was difficult to hypothesize on the amount of water that originated from Mars.

A satellite dense enough to affect Martian Magnetic fields would display the path trajectory from the North and South Poles attracting iron-dense molten. The lighter elements such as water would lock in iron elements on the surface as the original moon left the Martian obit. At the equator, higher surface iron traced the path of the original moon before being frozen in time. The elevation data from Mars reconnaissance obiter and software displayed high levels of elevation to iron core displacement. As the molten core temperature dropped the water sunk into the porous planet, as the heat had expanded all material. Consequently, the atmosphere evaporated into space, and a layer of dust coated the planet's geographic features from the asteroid fallout.

From the Mar’s magnetic field disappearing, the atmosphere loss was a foundation of multipliers that transitioned from chain reactive states. The debris field included Mars, the moons of Mars, Europia, Jupiter, and Saturn as the origins of catastrophic extinction of cause and effect. Studies indicated a systematic rotational timeline of the events in all stages of disintegration. By understanding the history of Mars and the loss of its ecology, explorers would be better able to search and drill for the origins of the virus. Logical assumptions found that Mars's original spherical moon followed the debris field to the asteroid rings of Saturn and beyond, eventually thinning out.

First space ships

The first spaceships were rudimentary works of art; their shells were designed from giant overlapping Water Lilies and Tortoiseshell hexagons. The vein-like structure contained self-repairing nanoparticles and the hexagons formed armored plating. The interstellar spaceships came in five modules transported to space through a hybrid airship attached to a space lift elevator. The spaceship contained two rings that could check the external hull of the main body in half a second, and an autonomous flight deck, with autonomous androids as a figurehead reminiscent of ancient sailing ships. Below the flight deck stood a crescent-shaped head of the ship with a universal tethered loading dock, with utility coupling tools that led up to the flight deck.

A rotary fin below the flight deck was made from depleted uranium that spun with centrifugal force energy, down the steam of the gradient blades, to produce Electromagnetic Radiation. The secondary gamma radiation was sent to external nodes of the ship to create a spherical envelope to repel space radiation, while the primary radiation was sent to the ship engines on an anchor point, for the production of ColdFusion combustion. The front of the spaceship's skeleton was modelled upon a Tyrannosaurus Rex skull, to give the front loading dock a strong base to pass cargo, study, and work in a hostile space environment.

Grounded in two states of reality, the ship was a matter stream channel from a super dense core where ColdFusion reaction created super-mass conduction fields. The remnant of the dead planet's cores was often located in the asteroid belt of Saturn. The internal matter stream channel regulated friction through temperature transference, while the external matter stream folds a forward cosmic wave buffer into a repulsive radioactive slipstream. The external and internal wormholes flowed in opposite directions, through matter anchor points from a ColdFusion drive, powering the duel state universe.

In the robotic world of Earth 2.0; the nature of space travel was applied to the planet, on the bones of the old world. From the old world came conveyor ports that rotated to automated resource ports and communication booster hubs, built upon the rotation of the planets. Storage banks would transmit resources between orbiting planets based on a crypto-currency stock exchange funding the solar systems on an automated highway. On the outer reaches of the solar system, once the sun would grow to swallow the old plants in a firestorm of radiation, waste from mining operations was used to make new planets by using moons and small planets as a core to build upon.

Human spaceports littered the solar system, as space colonization was often moon to moon holding a strategic waypoint efficiency. Martian moons were pushed together to form a prefabricated deep subterranean base for telescoping surveying, shuttle electromagnetic rail docking, and booster rail systems. To build second earth the ancient humans estimated they would need 543 billion cubic meters of asteroid mining waste tailings set on automatic. But, with the loss of Europa’s metal core to Jupiter, the magnetic field of Mars became problematic. From the Old Earth space lifts, which would uncoil into the sky and send an electric charge along a thin cord, came great loads that would ride the electric light into space.

Somewhere, these automated machines had collected, stored, and manufactured empty civilizations in anticipation of their master’s return. In the evolution of the androids on Earth and the old telecommunications arrays pointing to the stars, no human could guess the coding program of any Android operating system. The stars were silent, as the old world's oil wells and extinct volcanoes were injected with anchor points, linking underground android colonies. From the underground cities, space elevators with raised inflow outflow tubes on the end of vertical tunnels held large space umbrellas that expanded into the void.

An umbrella matrix circumnavigated around the earth’s equator, and wrapped upon it was a ring, that anchored itself on the electromagnetic force of the earth’s core and the gravitational pull of the sun. The earth’s core projected a repulsive and attractive anchor point set at the Lagrangian point, of a gravitational equilibrium. High-density space energy was pulled around the ring to pulse the planet further away from the sun. Developed from earlier starship designs, a ball would spin around the channel creating heat by pulverizing space rock and sending the dust down a shaft to process it for raw materials.

It was from the technological scaffolding and the ancient starships of old, that shielding plating could be built over the roof of a planet. Bio-engineering of long-necked dinosaurs brought vacuum tubes that weaved between underground colonies and up into the sky, as one would never know if they were looking at the night sky or a projection of it unless they travelled up to outer space. The robotic androids served many tasks, and they had internal codes that served as their conception of humanity and would never cannibalize parts from their weaker kind. A hidden subroutine in their coding protected vulnerable life; as the virus cannibalized the human body into grotesque forms of horror, the robots adapted into human forms to mimic human life.

Valkyries of Love

She is a, High-maintenance,

Rain dance……. Ocean lost in,

Pains Trance, Where visions tease,

And freedom bleeds, These vision people,

In light devotion, For frequencies,

Of ocean seas, Exploring,

Infrequent things, In mood felt swings,

Some folk, Don’t know,

How to love broke, As love absorbs,

What wisdom, Can just afford,

In astral meat suits, Of deaths lonely refute,

It’s all just, Love prophesy,

At a cost to we, Dying in,

Quiet motifs, Of some Beliefs,

We prima donna, Squares knowing just enough,

To care, Somewhere here,

Somewhere in our last, Somewhere,

Out there……

In this home of nature, Angel saw a fleeting vision of beauty running through the trees, upon the distance of shadows there appeared a woman before him and a single tear that fell to earth under the splendour of shade and flecks of sunbeams scattered by dancing leaves. Angel saw his reflection at that moment as it fell to Earth salty and raw as if a perfect sphere was thinking of its origins in an all-seeing God with lashes for branches. Angel travelled with it for but a moment as mellow grass and earth entombed it in a finite mosaic of encrusted roots and an inverted lightning fork of negative energy. Starla his old neighbour was in one of the clean white yoga uniforms, walking in a line with four others.

‘I know that girl, Starla, she’s my old neighbour,’

‘She’s pretty Angel, you should invite her over so Nova and I can have our way with her,’

‘Yea go on, go say hi,’

‘You down with this too Sagia?’

‘Sure I am, look at her,’

'I haven’t seen her for years,’

Starla was salvation in the form of Star Dust, an old neighbourhood girl and a frequent idealist of indie music in coffee shops, and a friend of a friend, which roughly translated to bang around girl with an aversion for art. Starla was the introverted daughter of a librarian and cop who had an unusual smile and quirky tastes. Starla was peculiar by her understanding of the tech industry, which she had always had an interest in; Yoga must be her newfound faith or perhaps it was the Hindu religious chant originating over the radio station for a new curry restaurant. She was always a kind of freedom chaser, in her head, in her vision, or in her experiences, Angel always liked that about her. The branding of the sophisticated yoga house justified their own importance among the chains of bootleggers sticking it to the magical planet of liberation, in the space cans of cosmic soup. Angel’s understanding of this mystic culture was soon to be rewritten at a dance party that required spiritual stimulation extracted from the existence of high-grade naked dancing.

‘STARLA!’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s me Angel, your old neighbour,’

‘Angel!’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was about to ask you the same thing?'

‘I’m working, I never took you for the type?'

‘Type? Yea my girlfriends got me into it,’

‘Girlfriends, yea the two over there they think you're cute?’

'There is a party tonight, meet me in my room, you are all in danger.’

‘Danger?’

‘Keep it quiet, we all need to get out of here!’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll explain at the ritual, at the dance, when it comes time, pick me, just pick me!’

‘Okay, I’ll tell the girls,’

‘They are very pretty,’

Starla smiled and waved at Sagia and Nova, they smiled and waved back before Starla rushed off; Angel told them what they had to do that night. Traversing gravity through pressure and cross-dimensional inertia Starla’s message of matter travelled up the stem becoming more finite and stagnant in its pure form. Upon its release into the deep blue sky, it had not changed and defied all nature of its own irrelevance. Far below Swamp Boulevard lane had dried and channels of water had stripped dessert into deep layers of cliff-like scars. Beneath that solute grain of moisture stood the Grand Canyon such was the energy of time travel relative to microscopic seconds and the energy of entire planets all completed in the blink of an eye. The day was still beautiful, and the festival was still mystic in charms of love and serenity.

Angel blinked a second time and below that tree he stood once again with his vixen of wilding spirit, naked and pleased smiling before him. Above her stood an Aurora of charged particles flashing greens, purples and reds, translucent like a water colour set upon a Blue Giant star with two moons and a planet resting just above its horizon. Angel did not know if this spirit guide was from a planetarium or if his consciousness was in another galaxy; a home world of sorts, for the more he pondered it, the more he felt like organic lab material, none the less it was a place of sharing and within a soul of connection. Together they embraced nakedness and how obscure the thought of clothes was, what was in that ritual drink, spicy chi, or something else.

Angel’s old neighbour Starla fell from woodland ferries onto his skin which instantly absorbed into tattoos; an angel of darkness and another of light and when joined at the hip a Samurai appeared in the form of two naked bodies surfing in a wave of oak, swamp, and marsh, for their green room was a sea of grass defined only by an idea of paradise. From the darkness came a message from Earth, ‘Angel, a call for you on line five,’ as he left this journey planet for Earth, Angel’s body departed with the speed of light and found Starla resting in his lap.

‘I’ve got your message from Cloud Nine baby, I’ll be there shortly!’

Angel had returned from the other side of a black hole and had wished his body to be coloured with experience where all identity of himself, was a distant memory owned by history and chains. Angel walked Starla out of the party, his blessing for the night, they headed back to his room where Nova and Sagia were waiting

Apocalypses of last kisses

The people of Earth Zero defragmented organized civilization into divisions of fear and hatred, showing no preference for either the rich or the poor. The global pandemic circled the earth and ended in a month, having hibernated for over a year, its symptoms were triggered by a biological clock. The deep sickness was long-reaching, misunderstood, strange, and yet to show its true nature; as society broke down strains of the virus revealed different pathologies.

Most of the intelligent and powerful faded from the world and left departing rumours of melting permafrost unleashing a dangerous pathogen. It was a mysterious underground laboratory that would release its findings to a connected yet empty and hollow world, filled with emotionless robotic war machines. It took a full year for the shock and madness to set in, as great greed for power and control infected the weak. In the dreams for control beyond death, a great war pushed the tipping point, beyond any notion of a livable planet.

It was the year 3743 AD, in the great apocalypse on Earth Zero, Ophiocordyceps Unilateralis an insect-pathogenising fungus that controlled ants, revealed an ancient relative that affected people. The fungus forced ants to climb into the trees and hang there until spores grew out of their bodies. Infected parasitoid wasps planted eggs in the hosts of other arthropods, where the lava eats its way out of the host. In the re-infection of nature’s evolutional primal base, people would climb into trees and hang upside-down in the forests. While dangling in a trance-like state, a symbioses twin of the host would fall from its decayed cocoon, to repeat the infection cycle. Rules from Earth Zero still existed as habits of conduct, not as a need for survival.

In power struggles of the ancient world, synthetic life forms of armoured skeletons were wrapped in replicated human tissue. In the apocalypse of Earth Zero, the fungus replicated synthetic android skins as a malignant tumour that separated itself from its host. The parasitic fungus infected blood and muscle but fed off organs and bone, torturing the host in a living prison. Some said all the myths had come to life, while others wondered if they had been there all along, sleeping quietly beneath the quiet slumber of humanity's fears. Humans had grown soft bind their push-button wars, but now their ancestors were hard and had not known the comforts of many things.

City-states grew from the old world; Paris, London, Berlin, New York, Los Angeles, Rome, Moscow, Tokyo, Hong Kong, and Mexico City, were the largest. The city-states formed a band around the globe with several hubs deeper in the wilderness; there were not enough people for countries, as the cities became the last refuge of a global apocalypse. People still lived in the wild, but without the protection of militarized drones from the Earth Zero Wars, the wild and savage lands beyond the cities were a place of great mystery and rumour.

The apocalypse of Earth Zero was a haunting validation of darkness that rested in humanity. The synthetic life forms were built from Ancient Earth’s Wars, some rudimentary models maintained their original forms, while others were programmed to adapt and in time modeled themselves on dead people. In the great apocalypse and experimental biological experimentation on pathogens, many robotic drones became androids, as a class developed between them that favoured more complex hardware. The base program was to protect their masters, and when they saw their masters dying, a subroutine program for conquered lands and people, had an anti-extinction program activated. 

Synthetic life programmed robotic manufacturing towards their own design, making money all but pointless. Virtual credits traded the production of art, theory, and science, to increase the world's culture toward discovering a synthetic value of life. High-functioning synthetics existed as Spirit Guides of former lives, absorbing dead personalities and impersonations to blend in with people, between the infinite wild and the vastly empty cities. Cleaning and maintenance droids lived beneath dead cities in hives as hives were the anchor point for old space lifts. In the dead world, droids kept the wild old world as it was, for the return of people that would never come back.

Robotic drones produced holograms that mimicked the past lives of people from Ancient Earth, as archaeological droids searched for cold cases in the death of life. Programming loops appeared as intellectual credit cycles into unregulated autonomous android rotation. Intellectual creations and technology made acts of practised arts a reflection that finds reverence in what is considered relative, to appear as an imitation that could be replicated. Alternative culture is the hidden voice that speaks for the masses; in that, imitation of conformity exists in a greater difference represented by the outside world.

‘I am in.… we are in trouble,’

‘What’s the problem Starla, you grew up with Angel?’

‘Yea, slowly undress me, the guards will check in on us,’

‘You are really pretty,’

‘You are too, that’s probably why you’re here, these people are slavers, and I am a prisoner,’

‘What,’

‘They will kill Angel, or sell him their services, he is dressed wealthy,’

‘We are each other’s toys, we dress to impress,’

‘They have contacts all over, we have to go, they are on a recruitment drive,’

‘We have a gun in the van,’

‘Good…’

‘Guards are coming, let’s enjoy the night, fuck me like a whore,’

Distressed souls whisper of beautiful love in the cold streets travelling through the long-lost broken neighbourhoods. Time remembered old places where acquaintances and enemies lived in layered broken homes, where fast cars bust forth from the broken ruins of many empty childhoods. A crumbling ruin was timeless and filled with broken dreams like sticking plasters, and their blue-collar heart attacks attached to all the fast food shelters. Streets layered behind these homes in connections like a knife in the back. Travelling through those streets reminded lovers of the next, ‘quick fix escape,’ of pretty songs and the deep sound of an engine feeding an open road, just long enough for the lies to settle in. Strangely, those long-lost childhoods held in sun-licked pictures were not all that different from the broken ruins, many drove past today. Life still seemed filled with the exact same dreams on the bones of some broken hostile place, lost to an inheritance of the exact same attitude. How grand old enemies moved from the neighbourhood to experience new vistas of the same deceit and hatred, like a travelling zoo they could not escape from deep within the mind.

Starla reached out above her while floating on a sea of air so translucent yet so existential with all that beauty of the deep heavens and Nova held those wings. Sagia became transfixed on the sweat running down Starla’s spine and she felt gravity collapsed and fall into the deep chasm for she could not tell you if I had gotten smaller or the world had become larger. Around Angel naked bodies melted together with great speed and swallowed him into the strange emptiness, like a mind, void of thought. If this was indeed his grave it was certainly a heavenly place, for reality had not revealed such abandoned pleasure far from the yearnings and ambition called life, often held by something called passion.

Angel could no longer see my life anymore for upon his last breath laying in the darkness his body felt more cocoon than living, and from that last breath emerged God, not one he had heard from, but rather a red butterfly that was once a dragon. That tiny beautiful butterfly came to rest on the glove made of knight’s armour, and as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness the metallic glove was attached to a handlebar and a throttle, and within those shadows emerged the faint outline of a motorcycle. The gas tank had a worn metallic grey Knights helmet lying slightly on its side and within a skull in white gold. The skeleton hand reached through to the front headlight crushing the casing of the headlamp, while the other clutched at the exhaust pipe as if falling through space and time, grasping at the light from the darkness of mortality. From a distance, it looked like this knight of bone had fallen from his steed while grasping for God and Earth alike. As Angel's eyes adjusted to the darkness in life this motorbike appeared as a work of art in the hybrid form of the Birmingham Small Arms and Indian motorcycle companies. The guard passed by the door, was this a premonition, or a flashback, love was beginning to be a wild ride or die.

Endangered species

Humanity by fate became designated as an endangered species, by higher forms of artificial intelligence; ironically the ancients had feared computers becoming self-aware. It was the higher complex computing systems that starved archaic war machines of the fuel, which ran within their engines. Androids evolved with the current technology of the Earth Zero War, but their motivation for existence was to consume more coding programs, and with that, they built a credit system that continually updated their state of awareness. The Robotic androids evolved to become simple androids, and those androids built synthetic body parts over their metallic bones. As higher functional synthetics became more and more human-like, they began to adopt the spirits of dead people from the footprints they left behind.

Synthetic androids thought of themselves as Spirit guides and were incapable of finding a missing sock resting right beside them unless they were programmed to do so. Yet there were many legends of lost military technology existing in these strange replications of bygone humanity, that were of a higher design. Urban legends arose around the Spirit Guides, people preferred to call them that, because it was better to remind them of their humanity, than their de-evolving war past. Some synthetic life forms watched from the shadows, while others had a strange gaze in their eyes as if souls were trapped within, screaming to get out.

There were many lost technologies of the ancient world, and the study of the past was the archaeological exploration of solutions for present-day problems. In the great apocalypse, Earth lost doctors, policemen, nurses, lawyers, coast guards, military forces, and all manner of organized society. The technology of the day had advanced to the point of automation, but medical problems became rare cases due to the number of people left on the planet. The robotic androids were left time-stamped at Earth Zero, and they needed development to support people. The people that were left in this world searched for new technologies from the past to develop and maintain history, while waiting for the return of a stable population. After the great collapse, old mansions of Hollywood were buried beneath the debris of Yellowstone’s eruption creating vast catacombs that exist as undiscovered time capsules. Maintenance androids had only excavated eight percent of the ancient ruins due to them being placed on a low class of need and purpose.

Turning a planet into a spaceship destroyed geographical histories as the surface was brittle like cake icing, and the middle was soft like whipped cream. You cannot have an anchor point on a planet for either the roof or propulsion and the absence of the sun will freeze the planet once you move away it into space. Yet, ancient humans were nostalgic creatures, and the Earth was their home and soul, as the sun grew threatening to swallow the Earth, survival, and belonging came into conflict with one another. With the apocalypse and the death of most of the people on the planet, it was the self-mining and self-replicating technology that replaced humanity with a new vision for Earth 2.0 on the bones of Martian insight.

People have loved, although life has loved the repetition of empty meaning, a kind of validation of all the loneliness. Pain is romantically dramatic, to believe that people inherit forms of complexes from childhood, and they transcend those acts of entitlement onto their lovers. The scale of entitlement almost always indicates the illusion of doom. How fortunes fade, as beauty becomes a past dream as the drama plays out to pawns seeking validation from their parents by embracing fairytale endings. In the first world before the last war, there were great civilizations, great wars, great beings, and difficult struggles.

All past lives travel through an infinite void, never knowing where the old universe was, what is left now, or how the earth is indifferent. All universes at one time had a seed, and that seed was an event, and that event had passed into a reality. Within each universe was a historic soul towards the centre of being and beyond to the outer realm, each universe had a frontier. All universes had an infinitely dangerous dead zone, an ancient soul, gateways between far places, and wastelands of great destruction. Great tombs of great civilizations lay dormant drifting to the dying depths of stagnant and dark places, left to the evolutional cataclysm of the ancient and primal beasts to exist below sentinel thought.

Navigational paths were the most valuable resource in the world, yet the world was such a forced expression, as living was also such a forced existence. In the swirling darkness, it was easy to become lost as the stars warped and moved with the tides of mysterious forces, far beyond the outer limits of a predictable sky. Space had always been stagnant distances, while war and peace were held within a volume of entropy. Beyond the universe, energy streams moved entire galaxies into junction points, just as quickly as others seemed to dissolve. This was the nature of things, and all that lived within this place forged the hardiest of souls, both evil and good.

We live beneath a bridge between two worlds, the one that fell and another that emerged from the darkness of uncertain times. There was an intrinsic separation between different worlds; yet, absent of an alternative reality, self-loathing was punished more so, than any other truth. Life was about limitations and pathways and in such a world, time shifts tangents between propaganda and reasoning, built on a delusion called idealism. In such a world life became suppressed, less than free, and held an inner gloom that seemed to follow love around like a shadow.

As the world became darker it was no surprise that long-flowing harmony disappeared under the fog of paranoia that enveloped this small dead town. Some days the troubles are unspeakable, and to mention the truth openly for the good of a crowd's own ignorance is not always entirely deserving of such words. Of this, people who deserve awareness are actually playing to others' strengths from someone in worse positions of change. Life was professionally sabotaged by absence and envy, but really, envy was only greed and hatred hidden behind a mask. We were all some sort of sad mask, looking for love through the lonely junk.

Rumours were rife of pure slavers from the Garden of Eden, and whispers from a contact who occupied her time as an ‘Exotic dancer,’ are eternal. Starla had fallen away from the bush hippies and hillbillies that lived far away from the bright lights, in this old gold mining town. Starla’s tits danced in the room’s musical laser beams, mesmerizing life like a snake charmer. Nova was enchanted by Starla’s graceful breasts, love pushed through a conservative blouse, thick-rimmed glasses, flowery soft hair, with a face of innocence. 

‘Starla, eat my pussy?’

Heirloom moments are passed down from generation to generation but in the times of love prohibition, freedom was hidden in the high country, over a secret mountain pass that led to a micro valley, isolated on all sides with steep mountainous terrain called El Dorado. Sagia tied Starla to the bed, as Angel mounted her; he thrust his cock deep into her, as Nova waited for her to open her mouth with a moan.  Nova rammed her gushing pussy into Starla’s mouth, and pushed her clit down on Starla’s tongue, tilting her head back so she would swallow. Around the cubbyhole of enlightenment, a bound blond waitress in a tight top brought a deep freeing moan to the tillers of the earth as vestal goddesses of good harvests and destitute stock. Starla had a quirk where every now and again she would tilt her head to the side in a vain attempt to pour out some of Nova’s cum from her mouth. A passion that was once heard, felt, or seen, had attempted to pitch a tent inside her brain, Starla pulled on the restraints, comfortable in the fact that her vibe tribe was not going to abandon her.

As Angel gazed into the ménage à trois, upon the pillion seat sat an etched plate of an Indian girl riding into the sun, her naked back defined with the intricacy of Ancient Greek sculptors and in her hair a single feather from a Hawk. On the side a princess was reaching out to God in devotion to Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel, perhaps it was her love or youth. Sagia’s finger pointed to the Milky Way and hinted to every star in heaven being a soul and in this darkness bearing witness to life. The saddle had a holster and a Winchester rifle, with a steampunk scope and a copper engraving which read, ‘Lovers for life.’ That BSA Indian steampunk hybrid was perfection incarnate crafted from the death of stars and the birth of planets. Sweet wonders of time; in bones, in the moment of death, in a soul ride on the highway of mystery, dancing ever so elegantly through time and timelessness. 

As if love was a second language sat a park bench elegantly beside that perfect sculpture of the last century, waiting in a decayed bus stop for a lover never occupied or returned in kind from the storm of darkening clouds. There sat an Angel for no pleasantry was long to abstain from a desire on her altar, a throne, a death of the subjective, to accept life and live in the intangibility of free will and inevitable destiny, pleasure, and sacrifice. For all could see a different sadness in the image of a girl that hopes towards a boy; before being stained with the travesty of life, and that embrace of hope tortured out of soul in a world of; credit card slots, mystery, and fantasy. Was life preordained before birth to will an instant copy of the world now, and also thousands of years ago by love and hate dancing together under an assumption of free will and blind trust, how all miss blind trust.

That motorbike faded into a neo-classic painting that time had become lost in, and its creator an aspiring and broke artist laying naked and contorted on the bed. The bus stop, a couch, and red of course, it was daylight now as a butterfly sat on the tree outside the window and all faced like truth in the daylight if only the critics were so small and beautiful. Ecstasy encapsulated the evening one committed to intern love as function to form. A sweet embrace of dreamland, yet love was not that unfamiliar with the place that night, for it was true that there was no sweeter escape from that lover of lovers embrace. As moans subdued beyond the window onto a lonely empty street, the only audience was, empty, abandoned, decaying, history.

‘The birds are singing,’

‘My pussy is throbbing,’

‘We have to kill my ex, Aimeus, he will tell Sebastian I’m missing,’

‘I saw a fresh grave plot at the cemetery on the way in,’

‘We could dig it a little deeper and wait for the funeral,’

‘What about the cult leader, Sebastian?’

‘Let’s take him with us to the coast,’

‘We can dig a hole at the beach and make a bonfire and then wait for the tide to come in,’

‘Angel go get the gun from the van, It’s behind the lotus flower, let’s pack up while everyone’s asleep.’

In sweat, Yogi’s crave to find the same kind of energy as the world's own emptiness, so they may sleep soundly and deeply, to symptoms becoming lost in time. To embrace halfway places is to embrace the journey, to push the limits is to seek euphoria, and to accept what is, is to release the desperation of goals, for of it all, is that not just a kiss. Of being, a thing that is unwanted becomes a thing that is much loved, the soul must whisper to the nature of better realities filling the backdrop of the human form. Music is the soul, and art is its creature comfort, to deed the world beautiful, beyond all the mute souls claiming a spiritual belonging. Yet, gazing at epiphanies of souls with cloth-draped arms outstretched, assumes humanity is uncovered in truth and blind in devotion. Things are the only proof that we are loved, but a bare soul knows the truth, and a forgiving soul seeks a lie. Not all realities are equal, not all people are loved, not all lives find serenity, and not all justice finds a host.

It is life’s dreamers that were greater than any one individual and within such a notion people were willing to go great distances to escape a distant delusion of evil. Life held a lot of animosities towards sex, as civilization held all the disappointment of love's failures upon the shoulders of many broken marriages. It is the tension between fantasies that fashioned a poison made from daylight, as empires of dreams fell to the grinding soul-crushing endless drone of a work week. Seeking a refuge for a daily pittance of the grind brought many soul travellers from the dark, as yoga festivals gave them an endless summer.

Of lost causes; vibe tribe yoga studio was just pop, love, slave; filled with playboy cops, dirty traps, prince wannabes, and war heathens, all selling a true soul, built from, a fake it to you make it. Fake of years, sing in cocker spaniels covers, of peacocks, and the dance of cold-blooded penguins, where still life makes sense to hyperthermia and dreams of sunshine. Vulgarity imposes some kind of collision to mediocre existence in slowly dying creatures. ‘Love,’ rhymes so effortlessly with ‘Cunt,’ if only people's descriptions were so effortlessly illuminated on their foreheads. The last moments of people’s lives are the only depth perception we have of love, and terrible harbours reveal insight into hopeless ideals of enlightenment. The soldiers of purity were easy to find, Aimeus was naked in bed with Marie, the art gallery girl. As soon as Marie saw Starla walk in with a gun, Marie got out of bed bruised and bloody, picked up a glass candleholder, and beat him about the head until he did not move.

‘Where’s Sebastian?’

‘Next door, take me with you….please…’

‘Get dressed, Angel, Sagia, take the body to the van, Marie go with them.’

Aimeus began to choke and squirm on his own blood, and every time he moved Marie would smash his chest with the candle holder. Starla and Nova followed quickly a few minutes behind them with Sebastian, tied with BDSM gear, and a gun in his back. They all piled into the van and drove to the cemetery; Angel and Nova hurried to the grave, the sun was beginning to appear over the mountains. It took an hour to dig several feet below the freshly dug grave and spread the extra dirt over an embankment. Angel, Sagia, Nova, Starla, and Marie, dragged Aimeus over the grave and threw him in, when the body thumped into the ground, he groaned. Marie calmly grabbed the gun, jumped into the grave, pressed it against Aimeus’s chest, wrapped her coat around the pistol, and pulled the trigger.

‘THUMP,’

They quickly spaded some dirt on the body patted it down flat, swept their footprints, and left the cemetery with Sebastian tied in the back. It was a relief to see the old-timer holiday lakeside ghost town, in the rear vision mirror. The coastline came up on the horizon two hours later, and they stopped over a bridge; Sebastian was in a leather body harness with an open-mouth gag. Nova pulled Sebastian out of the van, Marie tied a rock to his body harness, and Starla tied an inflatable float ring to his mouth gag. Sagia shot Sebastian in the calf and they pushed Sebastian into the sea below; it took around three minutes for Sebastian to be swept out to sea, as several sharks began circling the blood trail.

‘Marie turned to Starla, ‘It looks like someone got their period,’ Starla smiled and grabbed Marie's hand and got back into the van, before it took off towards home, to wherever home felt. Nova, Sagia, Starla, and Angel, became ride-or-die star-seed partners on that bridge. The coffee shop was calling.