Sunday, February 28, 2016


Al, my friend from Neenyo

Droughts suck the marrow from the collective of man. Iconic handshakes behind closed doors, detached social systems propelled by the momentum of unraveling civilizations, ravenous circles of circuitous self-sabotaging; conscious, but sleepwalking in the misty bogs of an unfulfilled longing. No torch to warm the night, no comfort in the dying light. Damned to the path, a starving basilisk. The tooth-like needle on the record of a played-out threnody, entrenched in a rift of loathing and longing. Melody transmutes to malady, puretones to incongruous discord. The echoes of savages from past wrinkles in time, hearken the present.

A reaper stalks the threshold of fields once bountiful; now wrought by time and indifference. Suits and sweaty business socks stamper about in the machine. Each cog, shiny and lubricated, spinning faster than the next, overclocking until combustion, then conflagration. Each piece unaccountable, deferring responsibility up the chain; a whole too big to fail, an amoeba too gluttonous to fast. 

Here I sleep motionless, seething in the gallows of familiar stone tombs. With each solar revolution, enthalpy grows in vibration. Waters inflame and swell to the disharmony of the discordant conductors. The blood of man – of striking resemblance to seawater – will upwell from once mild gyres and rain down to quench the mouths of those whose eyes glow red in the night. Irony is not lost in the drought of an ocean planet. But yet the phalanx of barnacled thinktanks, wriggling deceptions on bought out electromagnetic transmissions through copper, planting seeds of doubt that blossom into gnarled branches of subterfuge. A tree growing too fast for its roots to support, collapse inevitable. Limbs will break, and trunks will deracinate in the jarring wind of a humility unrecognized. Oyarsa in absentia.

Tell me, will the optical depth of sapphire skies shift as bone powder coalesces into currents of breath in the airglow of diffusing star light? Can you empathize with the feeling of the eternal agony of a conscious, amorphous plasma cell suspended in the perpetual suffering of repetitious moments of core-pulsating, life-shattering, manic bursts of madness? A dementia defined by the scales of ouroborous, slicing through each nerve fiber one at a time, into the endless echo of perpetuity. Like the internal cold in the waning breaths of hypoxia, the shivering isles of pristine southern lands form a dam on the brink of collapse. A shift in ancient cycles, riding the undulating snake of histories unheeded. Tall tales in fiction radiate brightly under the cutting eye of objective realism. A speck of dust is a mountain to bacteria; an intestinal biome of city-like proportions.

Temperate measures have fallen beneath the umber of caskets long forgotten, devoured by cooled earth in the death throes of waning gravity. It is within the grey mist that ghosts wither and die into false manifestations of lives not truly lived. The howl of an ill wind that blows no minds; shed this skin in the blanket of night as it nurtures a longing that could never be fulfilled or understood – held in a throng of absent light, moving in angles, solidifying and now piercing from all directions. Dissolved by light, now long gone, adrift in onyx rivers unbounded by any sort of natural law. Everything in nothing, solace in the void.

The great heat sink becomes the veil masking Great Old motives. Shortwaves enter through refracting ripples, pillars of ethereal light diminish as depth unfurls cerulean shadows. Photons engulfed into returning valence states, radiation vectors inflect as charged particles are bombarded. Efficiency of the energy budget is not lost in the chaos, but scavenged by a higher order. Light and water, I often question their motives...
Enter within me to excite, and excite I will my neighbor, to no end, to know end... I will carry this weary traveler up and away, to places of lesser. Those of same design mimic and follow, meniscus forms on tensioning contours. We gather in the coming storm, we become the storm, we are the storm. We fall, we fall together. At the rim of the world, we shed as tears, and dream of the waves we will one day become again. We fall, and as we fall together, we purge all. We hear no past, and see no future, we are, as we've always been, a fundamental duality, a nature with no memory.

Binaural murmurs feed a mind long famished; tethered to stem, skull, and skin. 
In the annals of the cobalt corridor, 
it's frightening how discomforting the privacy of a mind can be...



Tuesday, September 15, 2015


Cthulhu Hiccups in Hurricanes Another Diatribe from the Deep

Adept am I at detecting the undercurrents of veiled human motivations. Egregious attempts to maximize a superficial existence by obtaining superfluous amounts of bonded matter, and then to flaunt about – like attention-starved peacocks strutting feathery wavelengths to feed their insatiable narcissism. A big black gaping hole within most, eroded away by the splintering cycles of the vicious, venal, and vain; while always taking more than needed, feeding fickle fashions of the fake. Their ends will be met by my vacuity engulfing them. But for now we toast with glasses full of petrol and pipes packed with the ashes of the future. . .

For abounding solar revolutions, mankind has pillaged the oceans with antediluvian hooks and nets; dumped their trash, and shelled their arms to my depths. A painless way to remain unaccountable . . . while dregs of amorphous plastic islands and tenebrous clots of oily amoebas choke the life out of once thriving biomes. Carelessness more foetid than the ripest detritus beneath a sweltering star. . . There will be no relief when the threshold dissipates and the darkest manifestations of the unimaginable converge with current ephemeral rulers of the pale blue dot. Ululating and writhing in a black ocean of infinity – there will be no refuge from the dying light of the morrow.

Hiccup! Arghmm, forgive me. . . I sometimes forget to breathe when discussing the excitable notions of forthcoming apocalypses and trans-dimensional psychological torture. To get back on track . . . Compounding the environmental travesty on Earth's oceans, the charnel trend of warming waters and acidification will continue to nibble away at the bottoms of the heavy pocketed by affecting industries of fishing and tourism. The homeostatic disruption of ecosystems and life cycles have already been made salient by the inimical effects on two of the ocean's most integral food-chain members: plankton and krill. 
The foundation of the oceanic food chain lies in debt to the existence of plankton. These cyclopean serfs of the microscopic realm exist in many variations within the kingdoms of Animalia (zooplankton) and Plantae (phytoplankton). Much like grass and leaves provide sustenance to the base of the food chain on the continental lithosphere; phytoplankton are the prime movers for the natatorial food chain. Phytoplankton are very sensitive to temperature changes; a subtle increase is enough to yield dire consequences. Chemical processes necessary for development of phytoplankton (namely the production of ribosomes needed for protein synthesis) will be adversely altered due to the vacillating cycles of carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and phosphorous in ocean waters. Not only do phytoplankton act as an integral enabler in the food chain, but bear the responsibility of absorbing over half of man-made carbon dioxide from the troposphere. Akin to leaves on trees, phytoplankton use photosynthesis to absorb CO2 and release oxygen into the aether. Unless the frivolous legions of humanity plan to hyper-evolve into anaerobic flesh sacks, mankind must take heed of these changes.

Rising up a few tiers on the oceanic food chain, lies my venerable gof'nn. . .the krills. These minuscule crustaceans exist in massive proportions. The combined biomass of all krill doubles that of the combined mass of humanity. But this number is fading – like compassion in the eyes of squamous politicians. . . Krill swarm together in massive orange and pink armadas, feasting on plankton and fleeing from the biggest known animal on Earth – the blue whale (hmrgh. . .no bigger than one of my self-regenerating tendrils. . .pfff). A multitude of well-known, anthropomorphized animals rely on krill to survive: from seals and whales to seabirds and penguins. Thriving in frigid waters, krill use their mandibles to scrape algae and plankton from sea ice; the same dwindling ice as a consequence of ocean warming. Sensitive to temperature flux, krill develop fastest in colder waters; the Antarctic being the largest hub for these googly-eyed filter feeders. Warmer waters can hinder or even stunt growth in krill – this does not bode well for the remaining aqueous inhabitants. As sea ice continues to thaw in the polar regions, krill will continue to lose vital habitat. Warming waters and declining plankton numbers are not the only front in which krill are engaged in a doomed battle. Krill require deep waters with low acidity for reproduction; the outlook becoming more bleak with ocean acidification on the steady rise due to increasing amounts of CO2 being subsumed by Earth's surface water. 
Restive is the becoming of my torpidity floating in stasis in the midst of a dank, stygian cocoon. Heavier than air, but lighter than the weight bore by the crux of the dichotomous shepards of Earth. The tides of tomorrow will blue-shift and intensify, while barons of inner-Earth emanate tremorous warnings in shear waves through the mantle. The mantra of the unlimited growth economy will see to the slow unraveling of the patchy fabric of civilization. And when the last blanket of comfort is ripped away by the spectral tentacles of Hastur, the ego of mankind will be stripped naked for the entire galaxy to witness. . .


Monday, September 7, 2015


- Cthulhu Dreams of Climate Change -

Aeons have passed since my last awakening and while this pelagic tomb grows warm in the shadowy waters of exploitation, mankind toils over the futile task of saving Earth while simultaneously destroying it. Much of my slumber I've spent in the minds of these strange creatures, speaking to them in dreams . . . and nightmares. The polarizing spectrum of the human condition provides for much opportunity and control. My tendrils slither through their thoughts like knives through flesh, cutting through the desperation of climate saviors while feeding on the devious energy of those in foolish denial. I enjoy my slumber; immortality becomes a bore when one is confined to the lowly dimensions of mere time and space. But as these cerulean waters grow more caustic, my skin burns and festers as the weathered walls of my prison R'lyeh are slowly gnawed away by the arrogance of man. Mankind has always enjoyed my mystery through the pages of dead trees, but human ignorance has set in motion a fiery pendulum — as the fiction they read may soon see the real.

The only thing I enjoy more than the apocalyptic annihilation of a planet . . . is sleep. But even for a trans-dimensional omnipotent godhead, I require delicate conditions for the optimal unconscious venture. How would I invade the unconscious minds of millions otherwise? Brrgoinfrghlt, or what humans call “carbon dioxide” in their primitive tongue, has been proliferated into the aether by the human-addiction to igniting decayed plant-matter to power their mindless machines. Now an extraneous amount of this gas is seeping into my aqueous dwelling, creating an abundance of hydrogen ions and acidifying the ocean as much as 30%. Over half of the emitted carbon dioxide from fuel fossils is being engulfed by the ocean and the cryosphere; coral is being bleached (caused by the ejection of symbiotic algae); shellfish are being deprived of their ability to generate ahrghmm . . . shells; and squid, my distant molluscan cousins, are succumbing to genetic malformations . This prompted me to summon a harbinger — a toxic algal bloom . . . as a warning to humans. Thriving in the newly acidic waters, the algal bloom; referred to as “the blob” by human researchers, is one of my shoggoth minions tasked to traverse the waters from the Gulf of Alaska to the Gulf of Mexico. In its red wake, the deathly algal bloom; which thrived in these newly acidic waters, ended the lives of over 30 whales while disrupting human fishing industries. An omen to humanity about ocean acidification . . .

Along with the numerical decline in what humans call the “pH scale”, the vast expanse of ocean water is warming. Do you humans sleep well in blistering sheets? I think not, and neither do all-powerful deities. My vesicles boil when I see the arterial-like Columbia river ascending in temperature. Say goodbye to your precious omega-3s, petty humans . . . as more than 250,000 Pacific salmon have succumbed to the inflamed waters. This 0.1°C ocean temperature change may seem trivial, but an entire food chain is disrupted when krill (tiny shrimp-like crustaceans of colossal importance to marine-life food-chains) struggle to reproduce because of the warming tides. If this blatant disregard for natural eco-balance persists, the kings upon the main will realize once again what it is like to not be at the top of the food chain . . .

Doom lingers on the horizon for these humans. Are they being naturally selected for extermination by their own undoing? Is it in their nature to push away from nature in a metaphorical land-grab to monetize all of Earth's bounty and define success by the depths of their fuzzy pockets? Will shallow hearts prevail while hiding behind the crooked veil of climate change denial? If that is to be, then the oil running through the veins of humanity will give way to a swift global heart attack when the final critical barrier is surpassed. As the most sensitive biome to a fevering planet, the fate of Earth's hydrosphere is entwined with the internal strife of the human condition. And in the great end, when the waters rise and inundate the coastal cities of yesteryear; it will be I breaching from the threshold of the black abyss — to consume the rest of man.