Light Projected Beams
|
Posted:Mar 8, 2021 3:19 am
Last Updated:Feb 11, 2022 9:51 am
2969 Views
|
Strangeland II
Mr. Deadhead's eyes turned like safe dials.
You are the pure of heart. He said to me. I do not see many such as you. I think you know that I am a secret keeper in a world of secrets. The place you are looking for is like a surf Mecca that the locals protect...
As the head lights illuminated the last turn, an electric anticipation circulated my veins.
We were taken by the current of the road, into a realm of darkness and depth.
The landscape was as he described, an open field, leading to a wooded abode.
Upon entering the woods, I clicked on my flashlight, revealing a large scale matrix of banana spiders.
A psychic connection began to form between the four of us, in response to a fight or flight impulse.
We arrived at a brook, as transitory clouds transitioned into mercurial moonshine, which etched strange hieroglyphs into the water's surface, as a water moccasin swam past, drawing attention to a moonlit opening in the trees, where there was a circular valley, surrounded by trees.
I was instinctively drawn to a specific tree, which seemed to have an essence of shadow, underneath which was my first encounter with what Mr. Deadhead referred to as: the little people.
And people they were, if people was meant as a substitute for... Entities.
They began to emerge, out of seeming nothingness, here-there and everywhere.
I called my comrades and I ceremoniously administered them to each of us, after which we removed the bags from our pockets and proceeded to harvest the entities.
I do not know how long we were there. What was time?
Somehow, we synchronously filled our bags in the same amount of... Time.
As we departed the wooded abode, I was starting to feel kind of... Strange.
I looked out at the field, opening before me.
Suddenly appearing, like the enigmatic entities, was a light projected beam.
I suddenly knew what to do.
I handed off my bag and removed my shirt, and I began to run down the surface.
I don't know if I ever felt so free...
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
A Clockwork Shroom
|
Posted:Mar 3, 2021 1:52 am
Last Updated:Mar 7, 2021 6:51 pm
3922 Views
|
Strangeland I
was me; that is, [Vault of Stars/VOS]; [Vagabond/V], also known as The Guide; [Alien Jordan/AJ] and his girlfriend, [Nordic Goddess/NG].
The headlights of the Jeep Grand Cherokee merged the lonesome night like secret search lights across a misty ocean's surface.
Every point on the road, in a consensus sense, is merely a point of coordinates, longitude and latitude inputs be input into Google Earth. Certain of these, however, are perhaps different, instilled with the imputed meanings bestowed by We.
This particular point of coordinates was a location, on an ever unfolding, prophet's scroll of a map.
The night before, I engaged in profound, philosophical conversing with a seasoned deadhead. I talked to him about Nietzsche and music, as it relates to the unseen undertones of the societal matrix. He seemed to dig this vibe, offering me sacraments, which I accepted, to show no ill feeling.
It occurred to me that he would be the one to know.
My friend, said I. I am a fugitive in the wind. When I arrived in this Strangeland, I heard about a special place of all gorgeousness and gorgeousity.
Go on. He said.
I was never much of a Shaman, to begin with.
He interjected. What we always were, we were always meant to be.
I looked at him and nodded, solemn. Go on. He nodded.
was a half day of school. I had a wrestling meet that day. I was a junior, second year team member, that was supposed go against last year's state champion.
I would say that I was starting break away from convention, if I was ever really a part of the conventional. I never really wanted be like anyone else. Normal. Consensus. How could be otherwise?
Yeah. He nodded.
My friend and I had acquired a special commodity, from a fugitive, in a dark alley somewhere or nowhere. We determined that this half day of school was a perfect occasion.
He had a real chill spot. A sort of... Magickal laboratory.
His lair always permeated with the sacred. He was capable of producing alchemy in the form of sound, taking fragments of completed works and creating a new form of completion. A real genius.
In a wooden box was the merch. Neon green in color.
I'm starting to feel... Strange.
I'm not totally shore how I made it back to the school, or why I am eating Laffy Taffy in a sound-filled gymnasium, all neon like.
Today, I attribute it all to the self- mechanism that guides a tribe of shape-shifting jaguar hunters in the jungle.
And so began.
And, as though the universe sought memorialize this moment, a year book photographer snapped a pic, my last HS activity.
He casts a glance of knowledge.
So when I arrived in this Strangeland, having heard of the special place, I naturally sought it out...
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
To link to this blog (Ultraviolet_Sol) use [blog Ultraviolet_Sol] in your messages.
|
|
|
| Sun |
Mon |
Tue |
Wed |
Thu |
Fri |
Sat |
| |
|
1
|
2
|
3
|
4
|
5
|
6
|
7
|
8
|
9
|
101
|
11
|
12
|
13
|
14
|
15
|
16
|
17
|
18
|
19
|
20
|
21
|
22
|
23
|
24
|
25
|
26
|
27
|
28
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
