[{(p7)+VII}=sd]
A pitiful, in vain self-paean to preconceived slain divinities has ended, and an ages long in pain of manes has passed. The blasphemers of lemures have been quieted, ushering in the immaterial present, and closing a frozen portal on the physical past; only floating ghosts of supposed gods on a colourless freezing ocean of emptiness remain. A metaphysical ballet opens on the orbital plane, contrasted by a supernatural waltz of the extramundane; and with these lingering apparitional war dances, it is as if the old dark astrochemistry is still there. We experience momentary flashback, pulsar-imprint memories in an electromagnetic haze of resentful goodbye waves, and suffer overwhelming, quasar-dwelling recollections in a black hole of strange love and familiar hate. I am the disinclined numen of the afterworld stratum, performing alchemical rites of airy translucency, in order to dilute your spiritual darkness. You are the pale wraith-like, nightmare vision in ashen wight skies, insubstantial, yet a shape-shifting, extra-terrestrial monster of the icy deep, seeking to drag me down into the murky depths of chaos, to rest eternally in a more enduring death bed. We are superlunary, vaporised entities, clustered around a levitating surface conduit, with our brittle skeletal hands squeezed tightly together in a petrifying seance trance, amidst the stench of smoke and mirror’s glare. You, the unwelcome visitant, as opposed to I, the welcome revenant. You, the arch fiend, as opposed to I, the natural spirit. You, the bad omen, as opposed to I, the good omen. You, the fear-inducer, as opposed to I, the calming influence. And like a creaking ghost ship, masked in an eerie fog, off-course and unrightable, we drift on the uneasy dead calm of chilling, nocturnal open seas, smuggling away our ectoplasmic cargo, that none shall seize, while dragging chains that bind this ghoulish crew, all you, all me. Yet, pay heed now, as there is a humongous squall of the void ahead, so make haste to the lowering of the boats of life, and the highering of the boats of death, for in this meteor shower torrent, I will be the blessed survivor, and you will be the damned drowner. Abandon Argo Navis! Wreck to be! No gold standard for us to claim, just rusting keel, rotting deck and tattered sails; Carina, Puppis, Vela fail, swept up in asteroidal tails. We are in this for the long haul, rising on dramatic crests, falling on breath-taking swathes, coming down hard on the other side, seeing no sign of land in sight, and there is no getting used to the tedious centuries of sickness, oh, mal de mer; your evil revels in it, my belief sees beyond it, but it all seems never ending, until a converging trajectory towards a Stygian non-event horizon transpires.
Courtesy of Astro-linguistic Translation Equationary Codex (ALTEC - Alien Technology)
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