068: The Supra-Reality Rift

The Rift separates us from the combined mind of Binah and Chokmah. The veil is drawn between the enlightened mind state of Pure Thought and Emotion. The twin paths of Severity and Mercy cross the Rift, but the way is guarded and protected. The demon Khoronzon watches over the Abyss, ready to snatch the unwary -- the unprepared initiate who has not girded themselves properly against the monster of the Rift. His is like Goya's Saturn, ready to devour his own children, the very progeny who seek to discover the true reality on the far side of the Rift.

Neither of the twin paths is easy, both have their traps and snares. They are not wide paths, broad boulevards down which you can hurl yourself in the hope that your resultant velocity will be enough to carry you across the Rift. The path is narrow, twisted, the roadway marked with craters and crevasses. You can stumble, fall, and even break your ankle in a crooked hole. There are skeletal memories along the path, other magicians who have caught their legs in the cracked pathway and been unable to free themselves.

There are tiny parasites who live on the breast of Khoronzon. They have no eyes or ears and their noses are but raw slits on the flat faces. They can smell the fear and the panic of a astral traveler who has found themselves trapped on the path. These parasites have short, stubby wings that carry their burr-covered bodies through the hot air which boils off the Rift. They float like bloated bats on the thick breeze, their blank faces quivering as they taste the air for the scent of fear.

I watch them feast on a struggling magician. They attach themselves to his spectral form, the tiny burrs on their thick flesh adhering them to his gossamer form. There are mouths on their abdomens, bleak slits filled with cracked teeth which stretch and burrow into the struggling magician's astral form. His soul breaks and bleeds, white smoke drifting in a thin line. Two of the parasitic creatures lap at the trail of fading spirit milk, their tongues as equally ridged as their skin.

It doesn't take long for the parasites to devour the astral visitor. There is nothing left of him but a dim outline, a polygon composite like a black and white vector drawing. The parasites, too heavy to fly now, drag themselves back to the edge of the Abyss where Khoronzon waits for them. The intelligent fire in his eyes watches me.

I am afraid of Abyss and its keeper. I am afraid of what lies beyond the hazy veil which hangs across the Rift. I am afraid of losing myself in the Pure Reality of the other side. Khoronzon knows this, knows that I do not have the strength or the skill to evade his grasp if I try to cross the Rift. His fiery eyes dance with glee.

-Jump- his eyes tell me. -Make the leap.- The fires twist hypnotically. -I will catch you.-

I have no doubt he would.

« « little fictions || 02.25.2004 @ 08:19 PM

Fashion Watch

I had to run an errand downtown on the way home this evening and, like you do when you are carless in the big city, I took the bus. It's been a long time since I've ridden Seattle's public transport and there are a few things that I miss by doing the daily car-pool/train/car cycle that I do. One of them is people-watching. While riding the 177 through the bus tunnel, a woman wearing a Bebe t-shirt and demin skirt got on and stood in front of me. She was wearing a black sweater/jacket thingie that I took one look at and thought, "God, Liz Kimbrel would love that."

I have no idea what the formal name for her jacket was and I will know before the weekend is out. The characters from the BOOK OF LIES are starting to get real enough in my head that they need clothes.

« « little fictions || 02.20.2004 @ 10:35 PM

067: dream languages

What happened at Babel? Did the architects and workers have the same nightmare one feverish night and all awoke with their tongues scrambled? If you subscribe to the Biblical view of the universe, the events at Babel are the explanation for the sheer diversity of tongues which can be found across the globe. If you're in the Darwinian camp, the explanation for linguistic diversity is a bit tougher of a sell; you can't just write it all off as several thousand years of "regionalisms." Even if the human animal, as he graduated to more upright status, developed in isolated pockets and language was strictly a result of his reactions to his region, the functional spaces in his brain wherein language developed were the same from man to man.

For a moment, though, we'll consider the nexus point of Babel as simply the point where language began because, when you get right down to it, "language" didn't really exist prior to that moment. In fact, it may very well be that we all communicated by telepathy or some other direct brain-to-brain interface because what happens the moment you introduce "language" into the equation, you introduce "interpretation" and, well, the Fall of Babel takes place.

Our dream states are language-less. They exist as self-contained creative environments. They aren't any less real if you speak French or German or Japanese or some Urdu dialect. You don't dream less or less vividly if English is your primary or secondary language; your brain continues to fabricate reality regardless of how you form concepts and sentences. What kills your dreams is the act of communicating them -- putting them to words -- to others.

But how different are your dreams from mine? If I could jack into your dream state, would I be able to understand it simply because I, too, am human? Would I unconsciously know what is happening or what I am seeing? Is there a universal symbolic system by which we all know and comprehend the universe that exists a priori to any spoken or written language?

« « little fictions || 02.15.2004 @ 11:19 AM

066: dream machines

Japanese toymaker Takara have announced a dream machine -- a portable device which will allow you to influence your dreams by seeding it with some key phrases and words. During your slumber the Yumemi Kobo ("dream workshop") will whisper these words back to you (in your own pre-recorded voice, naturally) as well as drip some ambient music into your ear canals and frost your nasal passages with a fragrant scent. It's all very scientifically crafted to influence your dreaming mind and allow you to become suseptible to suggestion.

My son was born in the final hours of last year and I can't remember the last time I had a full night's sleep (actually, it was January 2nd and it was glorious). I would pay good money for a dream machine right now, but there are some interesting things to be discovered in sleep deprivation. My dreams aren't dreams so much as quicksand. The other night I was being suffocated by a bean bag chair. It's the first time that I have ever realized I was dreaming (only because we don't actually own a bean bag chair) and, because I was suffering, I forced myself to wake up in order to escape the smothering embrace of the bean chair. I remember working very hard to wake myself up and, once I had, I was even more exhausted than I had been a few hours earlier when I had laid down.

But I influenced my dream. I didn't need a dream machine; I didn't need some device whispering in my ear. "You are in Venice. The tide is high and the waters are lapping against the flagstones along the Grand Canal. You can smell the salt in the air." Whether it be through a hypnogogic state or through a direct neural interface, we can change the world, we can change OUR world.

And how different is our world from actual reality? Aldous Huxley in his seminal work The Doors of Perception talks about a Not-Self state, a state of perception outside the mental baggage of your own history and perceptive understanding where you perceive things as they truly are. Language, he believes, is a convenience that allows society to exist, but it is a pale reflection of the True Being of objects.

If we use language to influence our dreams, are we not then just reinforcing the reduced awareness which language inflicts on our perception? If we inject our dreams with words, are we not constraining the possibilities of flight?

« « little fictions || 02.08.2004 @ 05:13 PM

writing

BIBLIOGRAPHY
This is a reasonably comprehensive list of my published work, both virtual and physical.

THE MISFIT LIBRARY
I am Nine of Thirteen, one of the members of the Misfit Library, a writing collective which puts out a quarterly journal of our respective work. We are scattered across the globe and determined to change the face of the planet one story at a time. The link above will take you to Misfit Central where you can acquire copies of the journal as well as read exclusive online material.

SYMBOLIC
I wrote a column for OPi8.com's Transmit blogs: journals of the new dark underground. SYMBOLIC tracked the novel I was working on, referencing the process and the research materials which mad up the backbone of the work. In addition, SYMBOLIC busied itself with ruminations and considerations on the nature of language and communication. And a wee bit of mythology. The first 100 entries of SYMBOLIC can be found here on this site as well as at OPi8.com.

LITERARY REPRESENTATION
I am represented by Scribe Agency as my literary agents. Please contact these gentleman if you have any queries about my work.

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