The City (pt. 1)

The way before me is steeped in shadow and absurdity. The road continuously shifts, either widening or constricting, as merging paths feed into what is evidently the main route into the city. Capillary sidewalks and makeshift bridges funnel all manner of noise and agonistic miscreants toward me. The deeper I wander into the city, the more I am victim to the flow of newcomers shuffling in the direction of the assumed terminus: a squirming mountain of laughing, screaming corpses in the distance.

West-Kamokuna-Lava-Skylight

 

w  h  i  s  s  s  s  s  

s   s   s

this
THING
is not
a city

s   s   s

s  s  s  p  e  r  s

 

The ground is soft beneath my feet. I smell wet iron, salt, fresh mint, putrefaction, bile, ammonia, and sulfur. Every breath is acid on my languid tongue. This is a landscape woven of vibration; although I cannot hear the raucous banquet around me, I feel deep reverberations wash over my skin with every new step.

I can hardly surrender my senses to the orgy of despair: scarred nightmares wander alleys groping wildly at empty darkness, contorting and smiling with madness, or lust, or both. Skeletons vomit in the shadows of monoliths that reach up, up, up to the blistered sky. Atrocities breed new atrocities; together they piss, bleed, cum, curse, and howl at the feet of the stone gods around me. A new sin blossoms down every hallway. Every new sin is worse than the last.

“Pprrik-Ta!”

 

A dolphin-shaped creature with four very large bloodred eyes wobbles past on legs thicker than my waist, shouldering me off the side of the path and nearly knocking the egg out of the satchel.

 

Watch it!

 

The creature unfurls two hidden arms from its backside and gestures crudely without a glance.

 

 

Oh, shit.

Did I say that out loud?

 

 

Pause.

Holding my breath. Waiting to see if—

 

 

 

No. No, I couldn’t have. The creature warned

 

 

 

 

You will be Separated.

 

 

 

 

MOSHED-2018-5-30-14-39-58

 

 

 

 

My throat is choked with dust and stench. My eyes dance between the maze of endlessly converging paths and the creatures that blunder unflinchingly about me.

A parade of riders squirms past, close enough to raise alarm. Their begrudging mounts are shaped like oversized dogs but are largely human in form; long folds of skin hang in loose sloughs around the jowls of each beast. Their heads droop, save for one or two of the braver-looking ones. The riders have had less than a trophy hunt, it would seem. Many of the poor beasts look as though they’re not sure if they’ll be fed or eaten come nightfall.

Stumbling wayside and to the rear of the party is a gang of half-caged slaves, chained at the ankles. Most of the creatures have a single arm or leg run through with spiked chains. A few of the more unfortunate ones strangle and spit blood through rusted cages around their throats.

 

 

What is this place?

 

 

 

to   the   surface   and  die

m

i

 w

s

The words

 

a s

 

 

a

 

 

 

c h o r u s

 

 

 

 

a r o u n d

 

 

 

 

 

m e

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

r e s p o n d s

 

blank space for blog gaps

S_____E_____N_____E_____C_____A

 

 

 

blank space for blog gaps

 

 

and all at once, every fiber of my being sees her

 

 

 

 

guardian 1

11:23

like the black hole-bound galactic tempest sweeping across eons of empty space receding through time, atavism that I am. I am that. I am not not that, that that I am; not that I am not-not. I am-am. I am seven billion billion billion empty atoms bleeding through a fucking pinhole, the percolate ocean seeping, current-swept cephalopod suppurating pus, darkness disembogued like ejaculate in water, wash of wavering welkin dust in light in color in sound in incalculable infinity.  I am everything. E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. Eve, writhing.

 

I am time mE i aM iT

 

time tessellates threescore, temporal tides touching, a tryst I witness, wreathed in sound. What will betide? Tumbling untethered, thoughts tattered, torn tittle.

F o l
d
, g n i

falling.

Fermenting fractal shifting shift shit, oh shit oh god oh Jesus fuck the gobbing geometric gyre groping, giants gangbang glad for gore a game going gonzo go GO nonono

no

time is gone I am gone i.e. go ego-free we go, no know we nowhere why? Know now. Without form, impassive.

Discontinuity.       Disc

aunt

igew

us

planar

partitioning

of plumbless

perfection,

perchance

that this

is all

a

dream?

 

l              lolling

a
z

i

l

y

 

in lambent, lonely emptiness. Waves of nothing.

 

n     o      t      h      i      n      g

 

No.

 

 
Not nothing. A river. Waves. Tide. Sound. All around me.

 

MOSHED-2018-5-5-5-0-4

 

Systematic entropy. Echoes. Everything echoes. Everything. Echoes. Everything. Echoes. Everything echoesechoesechoeseverythingeverythingechoeseverythingechoeseverythingechoeseverythingechoeseverythingechoeseverythingechoeseverything

I hear everythingiheareverythingeyeyearaverythinkihurrynothinghereivory

Again and again and again, electronic ether innerving my exhausted eardrums, exciting exaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhhhfffuuuuuuuuuuuck

roiling rhythmic rape that HURTS harmonic hatefuck hollowing have I heard my last?

Regressing. Redshift. Regurgitating radial roundelays, ruminant RAPE resonances descend bite ANH ANH ANH gnawing feeding on every last molecular iota convalescing, disassemble, reassemble, deteriorate, design, rebuild, decay, dissolve. Dee’s table eyes. Distally destructed.

 

I am nothing, deconstructed by Sound itself. Almighty the rhythm, the shaking

 

F                                                 C

 U                                                   K

 

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

 

The floor opens. Darkness shines, swallows the last pinhead of light gravitationally. Kaleidoscoping buttresses of noise evict my consciousness the way an airstrike evicts a family from a thatched hut. I flee from myself, rapacious for freedom from sound good FUCK

 

 

 

My head

 

ExplodesImplodesExplodesImplodes

Stops.

 

 

Returns to form. Goes again. STOP.

Return. Go.

STOPNONO

Spinning. My body takes the shape of the sound, a wriggling, flaccid thing. Floating, libidinous volleys of noise, exeunt! The universe escorts me politely off the stage of existence, dizzy, dysphemic. I do not belong. “I” is a dirty word.

 

Breathlessness.

 

 

 

I don’t even NEED to breathe

 

?

 

 

Where

 

 

 

 

is

 

 

 

 

when

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

when

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

what

 

 

 

 

 

is

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

why

 

 

 

 

 

 

is

 

 

 

 

a

 

 

 

 

 

 

bridge

 

 

 

 

 

 

text-eye

 

 

 

 

 

holyfuck I see it. Death is just a misunderstanding with Time. I understand.

Even better.

 

 

I’m standing on it. A bridge. The bridge, as it were. As it is.

I’m standing on a bridge is a bridge existing below me?

I am only eight years old. Eight eighty eight hundred yearsssssssss

White mist rain smothering my neonate skin, rubbing raw. Exposed, I press forward. Into the fog. White on white clouds, corded clamshell ruffle clouds, warm as vaporized sweat against my neck and                did I just hear

 

?

 

No. Couldn’t be.

 

Nooneherebutme

 

I heard I know I heard

 

the universe
reborn

 

 

 

 

 

cannot be

 

 

 

 

 

a quiet

 

 

 

fucking

thing

 

 

must be

 

 

 

 

 

 

the birth of a universe must be sound incarnate.

 

 

 

 

Is that what I heard?
 The sound of Existence.
Capital “E.” The voice of

 

 

 

what…

 

 

 

 

god?

 

 

 

 

still

 

 

existence

issssssss s s  s  t      i     l     l

 

 

sinking. Sinking,

sinking.

I let itsss

i

n

k

 

 

i

n

 

 

 

The tunnel-bridge shifts, is shifting, is moving like a creature through water swaying, almost—more like—breathing. Fuck that is sickening. What is this thing? Where is it taking me?

My heart is out of rhythm. I feel like throwing up. Feel my heart every third beat, throwing itself against the wall behind my sternum.

My stomach turns. Throw up. I want to. Just thinking about it makes me gag. Ugh.

makesmhhhvv

V

O
O
m
m
m

i
i
i

i

t_____________________

fucking everywhere. Covered. Shirt, legs, arms, finger sticky wet warm marshmallow goo warm and stringy something solihhhhhh

h

h
hrrRnnn
n
n

n

n

ohhh god ohhhhhhhhhhhhh

hot hot hot gag fuck. It’s already cooling against my clothes. Stale. That acid smell. Cold. That was fast. What happened? When did I eat last?

Glue between my fingers. Spread them out. Acid glue, little specks of brown phlegm, snot and food drying on my palm. Feel it dangling from my nose. Wet on my leg. God, that mephitic fucking smell I’m standing in

 

Wait.
Something changed.

 

The chair.

The chamber.

 

I was

where?

 

      a b r i d g e

I was standing on                             above a river.

 

 

 

not a bridge
not a river

 

I’m surrounded by them—both of them—on it and under it and over it. All at once. Above me is an ocean of white. To my side, both sides. Front and back. Above and below. White fog whorls and reaches with skeletal tendrils like the rangy fingers of some osseous phantom, stretching at me, begging come closerrrrr then dissipating. But there’s something else. It’s hard to say.

An emptiness at my periphery. Darkness skirting the edges of my vision. Like—

if I look over

THERE

but there is just more ashy snowy static, a river, for lack of a better word. The bridge-tunnel swims around to receive my steps whichever way I turn. I can’t look at this whole shifting mess. It’s making me  hrrnnnnnn fuck

 

What is this?

 

The mist dances and flurries, not like water. Niveous. Like snow. Static blazing, like tuning to a dead frequency. The bridge moves through it; a tunnel of it—static? Or is it ash?—and I am surrounded by the tunnel-bridge, so I guess this is my ride for the foreseeable. I’m in a whale made of pure noise.

MOSHED-2018-5-18-10-24-50

Assess. Stay calm. Get your bearings.
Query=See/Taste/Smell/Hear/Feel?

See: Static. Tunnel. See §: (aforementioned) Whale, Noise, Swallow.

Taste: My own gag.

Smell: Same. Also, something more rancid, perhaps. If I am being eaten, and it stands to reason that indeed I am, then surely whatever this thing had before me will be digested in here.

Test:

Scream as loud as I

 

I am deaf.

I. Am. DEAF. Either this place is silent like the chamber or I am deaf. From the noise of creation, most likely. Exiting, transitioning, existing. That horrible adenoidal screeching. The closest thing I can call it. I remember

Crawl. Get away. Crawl stay on your belly stay low stayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy fuck

shaking. Earthquake. The earth broke apart, swallowed me up. Resolve to lay supine covering my ears on a bed of not-snow, not-ash, devoid of being, consumed by sound?

A flashback: popping. Something—inside. A sickening crunch. Convolved spiriferously, bones crunching under the weight of the wave. To the point that at one notable moment (I cannot actually believe I remember it? Although I feel like I do. Am I fabricating this now? Is my mind compensating for lost time?) I lost control and gave in and

I existed as a wave. It took me and I became a literal, real, wave. I became sound.
Rolling upon myself.  ouroboros

Then: pain. Mordant, awful agony. Surfeit and rote. Unspectacular. Just. Fucking.

Suffering.

As I’ve never before experienced it.

itisalwaystherealways

Realization: It’s a war, and I’ve been caught in the middle. No-man’s land. This is it. Bombs on either side, a vehement hailstorm of decibels, playing for keeps (this time).

Oh, yes. The war of AM; of Being. Contrasting ideologies between the sides. “IS” and “IS NOT.” They both want the other to be false. Subatomic ionization for control of what?

My soul?

What the fuck do I matter, anyway?

I want to scream it. Scream into the belly of this beast. But I cannot make a sound over the forever G R I N D I N G against forever endless erosionless friction. A pulse. Seething, deafening. Breaking me down. I’ll be digested soon enough.

Consciousness is a pulse, one of many, lost in the main. The open ocean.

A wave.

Sine.

 

 

 

jya-ardha

 

 

 

 

jīvá. Living.

a-live

That is, generically speaking: a wave is a living thing. i.e. “Signs (sines) of life.” It all makes senseI know what the cicadas were saying.

My chest feels odd. Something off in my lung. Maybe the lung itself is off track. A wet sensation; the way fog is wet. Pressure. Soreness in my ribs. I feel…

P  u  l  l  e  d .

My skin shakes against the bone, rubber limbs quivering like tuning forks rapped against the stone jaw of God and stuffed inside a wet meatsack.

Break my neck to look at my watch. Correction: watches. I’m wearing three.

Neon green seaweed lines dance across the void, vibrating softly, sultry as sirens calling from the darkness beyond the bridge.

 

Thomas Roan | DRIP - A psychedelic mixed-media narrative experience that goes beyond the page to transport the reader beyond death.

 

I think I’m gonna be sick again.

 

Grasp the edge and lean.

 

L E A N.

 

Déjà vu.

Am I leaning out or in or

Close my eyes. Fuck don’t let go

 

 

 

 

Where…
what—was I?             And now?

What is this place?

Remember. I need to—

Listen. I can’t hear but I can feel it. The flow. Soft lacustrine roar, dim but powerful. Don’t let go. Hold tighter. It can have you if it wants you. You (ME, I) have to fight. Remember: “I.” Remember.

Me. Time.

The essence of nature is flow.

Impossibility is the birth-place of life, of existence, of I. It is Mother. It is the source. Energy and null. Diffraction and atrophy. I see the shape of all things

 

Thomas Roan | DRIP - a psychedelic mixed media web serial experiment that goes beyond the page to transport you beyond death. Thriller, Mystery, Suspense, Trippy, Hallucinatory, Dark, Surreal, Surrealistic, Bizarre, Bizarro, Trailer, Teaser, BIG Creative Designs, David David Katzman, A Greater Monster, The Wasp Factory, Smart, Intelligent, Brilliant, Genius, Complex, Intricate, Puzzle, Theory, Conspiracy, Tiered, Narrative, Experience, Immersive, Innovative, Interactive, Fiction, Web Serial

is endless

 

 

 

How did I get here? Open my eyes, watch the rolling spinning whale screaming through eternal

 

 

distant:

A     R     E                           Y       O       U                       T   I   M   E

 

nothing—what?                                                           what’s that?

 

Yes. I am Time, I tell the far-off voice. Of course. I believe we

 

 

No. That’s not what it said.
It—they—said. A voice. Said.

Turn. No, wait. Don’t. Just hold on. Static plays nasty tricks. Don’t look. It will go away. Whatever it is. Just stare into the fog. But with your eyes closed. There, that’s better. Breathe

 

“…TYING…”

 

and relax. Goddamnit.

The voice, louder now. Reaching. Loud enough for me to feel the vibrations when they speak. A noise just beyond my ken. Batted back by sucking, sibilant static. The river isn’t even loud anymore. I just feel it more than I hear it. My jaws ache. I’m grinding my teeth. My skull is vibrating with the continuous roar of the static, it’s doing something to meeee

 

The bridge undulates, sharing soft vibrations with my feet. I need to move. If I don’t move now, I’ll never get my sea legs.

Gentle, easy does it. There, that’s it.

My toes kindly transport the static waves up, beyond the shins, through the knees, thighs, abdomen. It ends in my jaw. Just hold tight. You’re hearing things. You need to get a grip before

 

 

“…TOOTH UHH SSS…”

 

 

I can’t make it out. I look around. Nothing.

 

 

“…REE-YOO…”

 

Spin on my heels. The river groans in my chest. Turning slowly, trying not to vomit again.

It sounded like it came from

 

 

 

t   h   e   r   e

the fuck?

 

 

 

 

 

W  H  O  I  S