the geshetica

The place is like an organic womb, warm, sheltered, dark, the walls dripping with substance that is like reading an ancient text, visible yet obscure. Initially there is almost no light, and even with the optically enhanced remote viewer I can barely make out any significant features aside from the dripping substance that seems to be present.

I say seems to be because at one moment the datastream from my instruments seems to indicate a plethora of information and the next it is entirely void of any information, almost as if the sensors were not just off, but non-existant…. even in the off state the sensors should record no information, and that is information in itself. This is the utter lack of anything, even the negative of anything isn’t registering… sometimes. It is vacillating between the states of a highly unusual amount of data and what I can only describe as the inverse of that. Highly unusual.

I suspect that the sensors need tuning, and so I send calibration packets downstream to the instruments. Finally, after seeming aeons of time, I am now getting consistent, if not reliable, data.

The colors surprise me, rich vidid cataracts cover this void that I can now see is much larger than my data initially suggested. A lot larger… It’s almost like the entire area suddenly expanded exponentially. Actually it is… Expanding… Rapidly. The dousing probes can’t possibly be reading it correctly, but the visual data seems to agree. The probes glide into the void across a surface that shimmers like heavy dust blown by a feral wind. The shimmering twists and billows almost as if it has sentience, curious sentience.

There is a kind of sound that the probes are detecting, not real sound, as the void is a vacuum, but sound-like. What my instruments are decoding is something akin to… music…?

I need to do a full diagnostic. What I’ve been interpreting as data is in all likelihood just a malfunction or a series of malfunctions. A cascading error set that is rapidly eroding the banks of the datastream like a flash flood. Logic quickly crumbles when unobserved error(s) changes the data collection, interpretation, or both.

The calibration I thought I just ran is reporting it won’t run. It hasn’t even started. The probes are still indicating the void is rapidly expanding, and the music, well it sounds more and more like some abstract music created by a mad composer being fed into a ravenous recycler. Not quite noise, as I’m discerning a vague pattern, and it is oddly cloying, like the scent of death… initially attractive and then quickly repulsive.

The digital augments that decode data beyond my usual purview are hammering against my enraptured consciousness. There is a message here. There is a message, hear.

My species is far more adept in the visible spectrum than compared to the audio spectrum, more so when there shouldn’t be any audio spectrum in the first place. As the image starts to coalesce my lagging auditory decoding is finally making sense.

I do not recognize this word, geshetica…. I have no reference to such a word in over a hundred million languages…. but I understand it.

Welcome… and now I am no more….


Bunker Of Descent

It comes every solar cycle, when the cacophony of autumn fades to a dull din and the gray eats at your psyche like a ravenous wolf, tearing small bits from what you think you are, the fading light disappearing through the spaces of its blood covered teeth. The call, the summons, the need to delve into the Yin, embrace the dark and be consumed by it. A time to listen to the dwellers of the deep, those things that wear darkness like a comforting scent. Their speech takes me awhile to adjust to, you have to hear it without listening, the words pouring like a song from a rusty pail swirling with possibility.

So I push aside the heavy door to the other place, the Underworld, Diyu, Náströnd, Naraka, the Outer darkness, Mictlan, Duat, Erebus, so many names across so much time….

Fear is left on the plane of light, it has no place here. There is nothing to beseech, beg, cry to for mercy, or to pray to for salvation. This place simply can’t be bothered with human frailties like fear. What is here is so much more than fear, it is the depths of indifference, of the inconsequntialness of the self, the utter lack of every choice you have made, or ever will make, mattering…. The Tao Of Darkness, for the Dark does have a way, a place of just being, formless, blind, ignorant of everything including the self that has trodden the color of spaces to arrive here, nowhere.

Bruce Lee once said, “Simplicity is the key to brilliance.” By focusing on one objective, one goal, other aspects of your life improve, often without any noticeable effort, in an almost magical fashion. As the Long Night approaches, as the dark creeps in, as the ignorance of choice is revealed as neither truth nor deception, the goal is simple: to listen, to wait, to do without action, to be without form, to reveal all that is and is not, in harmony…. Once there is neither good nor bad, fear begins to be tamed, to be revealed as a choice. To be free of fear is to be guided by the moment, for fear only lives in the future, the anticipation of what might be, or what might not. If fear overcomes, all is lost. In a struggle to survive, fear convinces one to give in, to being devoured, to stop fighting, fleeing, or otherwise saving the self. It paralyzes action into inaction, voices into silence, hard work into a meaningless paycheck. Simply remove fear, face it, name it, call it out for what it is, and then fight back, shout loudly, protest, create, thrive…. for in fear there is no thriving, only an acquiescence to a deceptive belief, keeping one bound with invisible bounds stronger than an anchor chain of a star. Simply don’t engage fear, but be, that is the goal. Embrace all that is fearful, know it or un-know it, and walk in the darkness, into the unknown and the unknowable, and from this place, know thyself just a little bit better.

So, for now I descend, traversing the darkness in delight of all the possibilities, yet prostrate and humble before the immensity that my frail senses perceive. The fear that hovers at the edge, soon dissipates, impotent in the face of my simplicity, of my being, of my desire to look deep into the dark well of the self to find all the possibilities that teem in this place of the long night….

In the coming days, new thoughts will form, and form shall be given to that which is formless, only to dissolve back into the lake of plasma, to be reformed and rethought, again and again. And thus, new sounds are on the horizon, an ode to the long night, to the seeking within, to possibilities that do not avoid fear, they simply can’t be bothered with such frailties….

Your mileage may vary….

Eye Of The Magister
Eye Of The Magister

I had known of the demon for some time… although I never thought much about it one way or the other. It was one of those things you see from afar, like a mountain, not realizing the immensity of what it is up close. So, it was with this demon. I had dealt with many of their kind, in fact I’d lived among them at one point in my current existence. Most are exactly what they seem, not that hard to work with once you understand their basic lack of any sort of integrity, accountability, or responsibility. Although, to be fair, they have excessive virtue as long as it has consequence. I befriended an old imp once that was on a journey of ten-thousand years, to bury the carcass of a whelp. The imp was unshakable in it’s resolve to find the burial ground, and only when enough time had flowed would it find its objective. When I inquired why it showed such a steadfast adherence to its task, when so much of demonkind revels in misdirection, lies, and a complete lack of accountability, it answered simply, “break this promise, forfeit my dream….” Dreams are a big deal to most demons….

I wonder, as I look upon the immensity of the great demon before me, huge slabs of stinking flesh, rotten and sloughing off with every movement, the whole thing alive with myriad other entities just below the surface of its “flesh,’ what dream does it hold dear…? What “consequence” would such as the Magister Of Filth honor? Quite a quandary as I really needed one of its eyes…. That’s not as momentous as it sounds, the demon in question has several, and it can more or less create new ones at will, so it’s not like I’d be taking anything of real value with respect to its “eyesight.” That said, regardless of the lack of value one eye has to this behemoth, the value of this ocular trifle is great to me, it is necessary to see the pitfalls along the Path Of Least Resistance, a path I must trod within a fortnight. Should the Magister Of Filth surmise this, no doubt its price for the bauble would be high.

I posit to be sublime, to speak with two tongues is no simple task. In a song I sing of the depravities dreamed, were I only to look with an eye that could see. Into the dark cesspools filled with fecund mysteries I might wade, could I but see through an eye in which such things gleamed. Soft putrescent glows wafting across my sickly vision, wasting their glorious scent on mere human ocular tissues. My mind is suddenly awash with ochre color grinding against my nerves in a cacophony of sickly shapes. I see! I see!! I see…. and I dream.


The Wyrm descends....
The Wyrm descends….

The skies boil as their fires scorch the air. Rarely visible save to those who shall see no more, you can sometimes catch a glimpse from afar, a curved sinuous plume, or a long neck stretching into the sky… But today you can see them everywhere, they are restless, perhaps hungry, or maybe it is as they say in ancient tomes of forgotten knowledge and they are again migrating. A pang sits solidly in my belly that I never knew of a time without these creatures, even though as a youth the air was breathable, even refreshing, and nearly all lived above ground… but that was long ago, and today we hide from the dark smoke, the burning skies, and the acrid air.

We were listless, apathetic, and even though we saw it coming we did not understand the implications of the Great Migration… we were so secure in our knowledge, in our superiority and arrogance, and so we watched in disbelief as the world we knew, the world that old dreams had been built on, crumbled. Assumptions of weaknesses were dashed and exposed for the gross underestimation that they were. We had roused a great force, one we saw, but never believed was coming, even while watching its slavering jaws consume everything in it’s path. At last, sitting amongst the ruins of a world devastated by ignorance and disbelief we learned the cold reality of what we had allowed to happen, and worse, what we had done.

It would take us years to come back from that brink of near annihilation, years of desperate struggle, years of bitter battles fought as much with ourselves as our adversaries, to finally begin to venture forth again, to learn how to live again in this new milieu… and we did… It is a new world, to be sure, one which we helped to create, we helped to define, and for better or worse, a world we must adapt to or die. Even now, our kind infiltrate the lairs of the Others, we have become so much like them, nearly identical except for the fear… And we fear aplenty… but as we lay down amongst them, as we lay with them, we hope the offspring of our union might usurp the throne of ignorance we have built, to become the Children of the Wyrm….


What place is this…? Forlorn and bereft of color, a place where the changed now lurk in their hovels of dust.