World of Decline

Nightmare of a Dying Civilization

Posted in Uncategorized by isochroma on April 23, 2009

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I really loved the older ones. Looking down a hill in a vast red-orange desert to a city-sized scrap-pile of rusted steel twisted into every unimaginable shape, pipes, chains, sheets. The absolute horror when I understood what it was, I mean its spirit, the twistedness of its soul. It was endless insanity physicized, and to walk down that hill would mean forever entrapment in a hallucinocycle of toxifreakness.

My beautiful nightmares have shown me that there are entire universes far worse than death. Places of inversion and decay, rusting away. Like the ancient dream of the killing place, which I stumbled upon while running away from something terrible. A place hidden in woods, so many huge white flat stones. Very clean white, yet my dream-vision showed me all the scenes of its eternal and lengthy history. That place was used to kill and more than just physical bodies. That place was where souls were liquidated forever.

Then there are the tunnels. So many different kinds, from simple holes big enough to walk down into, dug into the earth, to concrete-staired boxways filled with pipes. From the more modern ones I could hear the sound of machinery – pumps and furnaces – from where I stood at the entrance.

The sound would always be just loud enough to hide any evidence of what I knew was also down there. The thing that was waiting for me. And I could never stop from walking down those stairs. Always I needed to squeeze through those claustrophobic spaces, into a tunnel tighter in order to somehow emerge free on the other side.

Sometimes I would run back, slamming doors behind me {never enough time to lock them} [it is coming]. Reaching the top I would slam the door shut, lock it, but that wouldn’t stop the silent horror which was chasing me up those stairs, no door could stop it. It was the worst evil I could ever imagine, because its invisible presence would lurk there, like it was itself not just in those crawl-holes, but that it was them.

Every night for as long as I can remember, all I dream about is nightmares. Horrors chasing me from every possible thing. Zombies, runaway trains, evil people, horror-crimes I have committed, and of course the vast overarching knowledge of the dream-world’s dying civilization, dying world, runaway world heading toward a lethal wreck. Prominent also are lethal infections and their still-alive vectors, entire populations driven insane and after me.

One item which is pervasively present through all these dreams is the absolute certainty that there can be no change of course by any of the existences of me which play the actors in these dreams, and that there can also be no changes in the other parts either.

The reason I know this is true is because the dreams simply reveal the prebuilt archetypes which in the dream world I am perfectly aware of because they are the true creator and cannot be changed. I was born already a particular and nothing will ever change that; in all eternity I am a certain thing, just a unique pebble on a beach.

The hells and tortures are impossible to escape and are bound up and a part of both me and the world which I was created to witness the endtimes of, which is this world and that world. They are the same but different only in their skin. Ours makes an effort to pretend; it has a sophistication. The other doesn’t care and pretends only if it wants, which isn’t often.

My archetypal mission is to watch the world die. My personal mission is to bring my nightmares to life.

I want the world to see the rotten underflesh of the lethally insane existences which sprout from every sub-nanopore of this universe. They are waiting to be born and I am the midwife.

There will not be time to run or space to run to; the monstrosities are already inside everything. Everything is already infected with the transformative plague; it is inherent in their nature and the next step in their devolution. There is no escape from such things: their reality is already preprogrammed, predestined and predetermined.

Which is why I’m so entertained by the externalization of these nasty things in real life. It is made to seem that they come from outer space, they come from a swamp, the ocean, meteors, earthquakes, tidal waves, volcanoes, rapid climate change, even from our incompetence, short-sighted greed, etc. A real laundry-list of avoidance, a grand façade of clever artifice. Being outside, the horrors could be defeated. Outside horrors are a nice fantasy, but what actually exists and is waiting to be born are the inside horrors.

Such tactics are efficient to prevent true awareness of the nature of the nasties from reaching conscious life. A terrified population which has seen what is waiting in space and time all within and around them won’t be able to serve the productive machinery. They just won’t be good cogs anymore. They will be freaked-out and likely running for their lives, nowhere in particular of course, because there is nowhere to run {remember, there is nowhere to run}. Escape is impossible by definition, only eternal sleep of the higher perceptions via certain mechanisms known and unknown, manipulated and unmanipulated. But time is remorselessly advancing. The ticking clock is, like some infernal water-torture, drop by drop gradually eroding the thickened doors of perception inside innumerable minds.

As the outlines of the future become every more apparent {ever more undeniable} the fragile loom of sanity spins patterns ever more resembling those of spiders dosed with psycho-drugs.

To be endlessly chased by the insanities, horrors, worlds of death and eternal misery, touched by them, infected by them, twisted into something else by them, and finally to even create them is my destiny. To see those worlds has made me those worlds, and what has been done cannot be undone. They are my lovely places, my own paradise whose full birth my other self awaits. I am so very happy to have been given the vision of those places and times. It is the true destiny of all worlds to fall into those places; to become them and live eternally inside their enclosed and twisted spacetimes.

Hell is coming silently.

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