A small sensor on the bottom left of a screen displayed unnaturally high odor levels. Rats were scurrying about, gnawing away at decomposing corpses which littered the floor, the subterranean bodies were strewn about everywhere, they seemed to have collapsed in the middle of their daily affairs, on their way to the labor sector, filling up bowls of nutrient, entering transport pods. A constant stream of worker drones shifted through the tunnels, suddenly showing up in the headlights of the survey drone. The usual bright purple lights that signalled paths throughout the tunnels and other electronic implements had been cut off.

Only darkness and death remained. Traces of poisonous gases still circulated in the underground chambers, remaining from the release that had taken place in the previous week. All ranges of resources were being evacuated from the chambers, repurposed by The Being. The last spoon and fork were collected, recycled appropriately for use by the superintelligence, which would allocate the resources to one of the millions of projects it had at hand. Up above the consumer population would soon come to a sudden end, a civilization would disappear to ashes, lost forever.

Sigun had descended to the floor of the caldera complex with the TC5YK, the long, spider-like legs of the craft scaled the steep cliffs in long strides, gripping boulders and outgrowths of rock with its agile metal fingers. The cliff smoothed out and the craft sprinted over the bright red sands and dark rocks, and, as Sigun approached the central point of the caldera floor, bones skulls began littering the ground, their density steadily augmenting with each step. Black totems pierced out of the land with chained corpses hanging around them like ornaments or jewelry, adding to the mystery of the place. A white structure shaped like a mesa grew in size, sticking out like a sore thumb among the shaded cliffs and dark red, jagged geography.

Eventually the structure was discernible as a tall and wide altar. Pale white yellow in color, it was made of ground bone material mixed into a sturdy concrete, towering overhead like a dresser seen by a leprechaun. Skeletons were piled up on the surface of the massive tabernacle, forming a small mountain, femurs crossed over skulls, rib cages tangled amongst one another in a mound of death. Lines of old consumer texts were gouged out of the flesh of the altar, the bones were stacked high on its surface and had begun to pile up around the base, overflowing from above. Thousands of subterraneans had been gutted, burned, mangled and dropped onto the pile, a constant stream of sacrifices to the consumer god.

The mountain of skeletons shifted in color near its peak. Flesh, skin, hair and blood formed a darkened cap of freshly slaughtered subterraneans. Drones had come for centuries carrying naked subterraneans in bubbles, sheltering them from the atmosphere so they could be slaughtered while their hearts continued to beat, fresh. They would be gutted with a series of fast and precise swings of blades in the name of the consumer god before the bubble opened like an oyster, depositing the lifeless corpse below, tumbling over the bodies of its comrades. Like a dragon's lair, remains of fallen knights were piled up.

As night approached, the sky became a hazy blue and the jagged boundaries between shade and light blurred, all becoming one in the darkness. Sigun stepped down from the rover and scooped up a handful of soil before letting it run through his fingers, staring at the tiny specs as he took in a deep breath of air. The grains fell from his hands in a few separate streams, creating banners of flowing sand in the air that slightly shifted in the breeze. The mound quickling depleted and only the larger substantial particles were left behind in his palm. The walls of the caldera had by then melted into imprisoning black shades, and the dark blue of the sky had given way to black as the first lights appeared in the sky. Sigun felt a sudden dizziness before collapsing to his knees, choking and falling to the ground unconscious.

The final reverie had descended. Sigun`s lungs emptied for the last time, his heart offered its final beat and the last sparkle disappeared from the man's eyes. He entered that lively abyss with an entourage of subterraneans long since passed, and, by chance that suggested destined fate, was interned under the bone altar, joining death like a pharaoh, sent to the afterlife with an army of indentured servants. Sigun died with an entire race, an entire civilization. Liberated by death, a movement of enslaved spirits had just occurred, the torture, illusion of consumer society had finally crumbled.

`I discovered a set of mural paintings in a cave not too far from the main camp, in the forest, on the base of the mountain. Epic paintings stretched across the stone, depicting what seemed like religious events or ancient mythology. Early agricultural communities visited by strange ships. I had never seen anything like it, it was a mystery. I analyzed the paintings, inputted images of the murals into the systems for analysis, hoping to uncover some clues. No matches or information was retrieved, an anomaly. I continued digging through the databases to no avail... I decided to make a visit to the elders, seeking answers…`. Jinns spoke with a sense of urgency, suspicion in his voice. There was very little that evaded his investigative abilities, very little that could not be uncovered in his universe, unravelled, fit into some theory or be reasonably guessed at…

Jinns had always been the ultimate detective, searching, infinitely curious from a young age. Reality was a puzzle for him, each problem, each moment a knot to be untangled, an equation to be pondered, part of an elusive, fleeting philosophy to which he constantly strived to grasp. The chamber was dark, and, as he finished speaking, the loud abrasive nature of his voice contrasted with the silence that settled back into the dark room. Jinns` eyes were fixed on a long, thin candle. The wax stick was held upright in an emptied cylinder which itself was welded to a brass saucer designed to collect the dried wax. A curved handle was attached to the cylinder, curving in the style of a genie lamp.

As the candle slowly burned, the yellow wax melted, running down its sides and congregating at its base, creating a small mound which slowly grew in size. Fat, worm shaped patterns spontaneously formed as the material dried. While hot the wax was a clear free flowing liquid. It ran down the side of the candle and created small ravines in the thick mound at its base before losing its transparent color and becoming a viscous goop, its once ambitious charge quickly becoming a hesitant march. It was like lava erupting or running from an overflowing vent, metamorphing as it wandered further from its source.

`Young one, you have seen the murals. I wish I had some explanation to offer you but I am afraid I do not. Perhaps you have run some tests of your own already, but I will tell you what little we know. The murals were discovered early on in the settlement of Dohaidu. The elders at the time made a concerted effort to place the paintings in some historical context, situate the symbols among the works of some past civilization. Needless to say, those early Dohaidens only became further lost, the murals were unique, nothing of their kind or age had ever been reported or studied. What further fueled their interest in the paintings was their location, for many thought it could not be mere coincidence that placed them in the exact location where the Dohaiden colony was first erected.`

Jinns could not see the face of the old man, only his words. The silence of the room and its unique shape had a profound effect on its acoustics, creating the illusion that his voice was in front of and behind him all at once, emanating from various positions. His eyes returned to the candle periodically as he focused on the stream of softly spoken words. The dohaidens at the time, exhausted of options, sought The Being to offer some sort of explanation. However, even it had no theory as to their origin. This of course added to the lure of the murals, because up until that point, and in fact since then, The Being had never been ignorant, unable to resolve some issue or problem provided.

`The dominant theory that has developed over many centuries is that the murals relate to The Source. The deliverance of life to the planet was, according to our knowledge, intentional. It was not simply a genesis event, mere chance and the interaction of inorganic particles. Indeed, it is thought that the source, the first cell, the first entity capable of evolution, was delivered. The beings in the murals and their spacecraft are thought to be the source, the bringers of life, the planters of the first seed… These beings are also theorized to have revisited the ancients, perhaps offer them assistance in times of strife. Drought, floods, famine, disease… However, it is only a theory. In all reality, definite proof and a sound explanation, even from The Being, has yet to appear.`

Jinns had mixed feelings about the words of the elder. For at once they left him something to untangle, to ponder, opened a box of wonder and a world of possibilities. The first lines of an extraterrestrial fantasy began to write itself in the young Dohaidens curious mind as he imagined those creators, those blacksmiths of life and authors of fate . Did they arrive when the Earth was covered by water, did those first creators perceive nothing but the shifting of waves as they arrived? Were the slithering of currents, the churning of magma beneath the only life before that they deposited that first cell, that first seed? From that which all grew, from which all life ensued. Like the first flash of the big bang, all of Earthly affairs traced back to one event, one beginning. The world tree, the root of life, the womb of creation.

The information from the elder also left him quite unsatisfied. That hunger for knowledge, that endless desire within, the drive to ascertain was left wanting. The candle had now burned a quarter of the way down, piling further into the brass container. Silence again filled the room, in it a deeper language resided, whispers of life and meaning were born in its domain, ideas inaccessible through speech, incapable of passing through acoustic mediums. The silence was a body of profundity, its womb the birthplace of perception and reflection, the language of beings that were perhaps far more evolved than any species Jinns had ever encountered.

The light of the candle suddenly fluttered and was blown out as if a gust of wind had entered the room and targeted it in a flash. `I thank you for your time, I am much obliged to you for offering me what you knew…`. No one answered back to Jinns, though. The elder himself seemed to acknowledge the great uselessness of his words in the midst of silent reflection, of quiet pondering and imagination, of meditation. closeness to the indescribable, resolve and acceptance of pure observation and being. `Elder`, he called out again. No response. Jinns was in the room alone. He stood up disoriented and cautiously made his way to the door, slowly and cautiously shifting towards the wall with both of his arms stretched out. Touching the cold face of the wall and shifting his hands up and down, Jinns slowly moved his legs as his hands continued probing, looking for a knob or handle.

‘We should change locations tomorrow. Who knows when they will be back.‘, one said quietly. They were under a teepee structure that looked somewhat like the den of a beaver or shelter of another medium sized mammal. They slept close to each other, sharing heat under a blanket of soft leaves. Ever so quietly, one slowly shuffled to the opening of the shelter, scanning the land for any signs of life or movement. `Clear`. Their clothing was soiled and their stomachs growled viciously. They had not eaten a substantial meal and had been moving for days, unable to pay proper attention to hygiene or anything beyond immediate survival needs.

The two exited the shelter, quietly tip-toeing over the grass to a group of large fern leaves attached to a low hanging pair of branches. The leaves were shaped like upside down umbrellas and fashioned to fill a pair of bark bowls with rainwater. They picked up the rounded, solid bowls and took long drinks. The pair had a sort of routine in place, and after quenching their thirst the two headed off to check a number of twig and stone traps and collect firewood. Soon enough they returned to a small pit near their shelter, and began starting a fire. At each moment some task was being completed, and while one was piercing the carcasses of small rodents using sharpened twigs, the other was braiding rope fashioned from the fibers of special plants.

A rhythmic grinding and buzzing fluctuated in intensity, produced by the spindle of a bow drill rapidly rotating a thin spindle, producing a point of extreme thermal energy and eventually a small coal. The tool was fashioned from a dead tree, stripped of its bark and carved using a rock flake blade with primitive cordage. The coal dropped into a small cradle of dry, easily ignitable grasses, and with a steady blow caught. Quickly small twigs and other kindling were added over the ball of dried grasses, which themselves caught, and successively larger pieces of wood were added until a robust fire was alive and healthy.

The rat and rodents were then being gutted, the hazardous innards excavated with a routine cut and pull before being placed above the kindling of the fire, the meat and flesh quickly shifting from a pinkish red to a charred golden brown. The two then split ways to collect plants, flowers, roots, and other special herbs and grasses that would amount to their first meal of the day. Suspended in the mixture of green leafy flesh, bulbs, strings of white fibers and the occasional flower bud sat in a simple bark bowl. The tender meat of the rodents slipped easily off of the bones, the skewer`s prizes transitioned from fleshy, charred meat to bony skeletons like witches burned at the cross, their torched flesh slowly decomposing and leaving only cold, hard bone behind.

The two were aware that the longer they stayed in one location, the greater their footprint would become, the subtle signs of their activities would quickly grow, and after their meal they began working to cover up any signs of their presence. The fire was extinguished using the leaves and branches of the shelter, the rest scattered about inconspicuously, blending into the other dead branches and twigs. Soon, their camp was deserted and signs of their presence were virtually non-existent, noticeable only to the most discerning of naturalists. They continued to climb the mountains, making a constant trek up the slope, penetrating further into more inhospitable conditions, each day the elevation and elements added further strain to their already meeble condition. Small flakes of snow began to appear, thriving in areas that were shaded, under trees or in the shade of large rocks and boulders.

The pair wore tanned hides around their feet which were slowly degrading, constantly scanning the environment for any signs of life. Unable to think or reflect, their emptied guts and cold limbs tied them to the present moment, constantly reminding them to study the land, to find another layer of cloth, to fill their stomachs. They approached a small stream and refreshed themselves, cupping the water with their palms. Layers of light brown deer hide and other pelts wrapped around their bodies, and from a distance they looked like a small family of deer.

Approaching closer to the shifting bodies one would soon realize they were not deer, however. Each had a long spear fastened behind their backs over which longbows were fixed. A　quiver of arrows, stone knives, and other implements were hanging from their hips. They both had small satchels as well, perhaps to collect special plants and seeds, or used to house other useful medicinal resources from the land. One suddenly halted and drew his bow, securing a black tailed arrow, pulling back on the taught cord and releasing it in an elegant, swift motion of which only a skilled professional or expert could be capable.

The arrow flew true, cutting through the air directly and fast approaching a small rabbit. It struck the little creature in the abdomen area, and after kicking its strong back legs to dart away, it fumbled, almost instantly collapsing on its side from the physical devastation of the blow. The triangular stone head was entirely submerged in the flesh as the hunter kneeled down to retrieve the creature. A pile of blood collected on a smooth great beneath the wound, creating a thick puddle from which a number of branches extended, bifurcations creating a pattern normally seen in unusually complex mathematical diagrams. After a few tugs and rotations the arrow came loose, the dark stain near its head now a sign that it was no longer virgin and had delivered the kiss of death.

The hunter hooked the rabbit onto his hip and the pair continued marching as if nothing had happened. The two were headed for higher ground, where they would be able to take in their surroundings and survey the environment. For too long they had been making guesswork at the positions of their enemies and were also unsure of their exact location. In the past few days they had been woken by heavy footsteps that were surely not animals, leading them to suspect that perhaps they were near the edge or on the fringe of some kind of settlement. The trees became more sparse as they ascended and the pair picked up their pace, hoping to minimize the time they would be openly visible.

The pair continued ascending the mountain and were now at an elevation where snow dominated the terrain, a white blanket littered with various boulders hid the dark Earth. At each step, their feet sunk a few inches before contacting firm ground, and a trail of footsteps traced their path, their borders and shape fading with distance until the outlines were covered by a layer of snow. The pair surveyed the land below. Far off in the distance an army of worker drones could be seen, harvesting trees and processing each in metal, rectangular receptacles stacked in rows over clear patches of land. Just at that moment, a raw material carrier was descending on the land. It was like the exoskeleton of an insect entirely hollow and cube shaped, made up of rows and columns of carbon based support beams it appeared to see through, like the outline of a 3D matrix.

Teams of drones lifted the rectangular receptacles, inserting each into the raw material carrier until the massive crate was full. The density of autonomous activity had died down in recent months and the pair did not see any fighter drones or other craft in the air. The smoke and overall pollution had also resided, the natural cycle of day and night slowly replaced the permanent gray, cloudy skies that had dominated for the past many months. It appeared that rapid changes were underway, that major tides had turned. Though the pair had been isolated from their tribe for at least a year, they felt it in the air, felt it in the sky.

They continued trekking up the mountain and eventually reached its peak, quickly scanning the landscape. On the opposite side of the lumber processing area, groups of worker drones could be seen, emerging from a massive hole in the Earth. A stream of them were constantly flowing in and out of the mine, dumping loads of specific ore and minerals into transport craft. The pair continued scanning the landscape until their eyes met with a structure that neither had ever encountered in their lives.

The base of the structure stretched for kilometers, its shape was a cross between a pyramid and a cone with a thick base that ever so slowly thinned with altitude. It caused the surrounding mountains and natural features to look puny, powerless, inferior. In its shadow alone entire mountains were submerged. In color it was entirely black, the square antenna that stretched so far into the sky its top was impossible to see. The Earth had been cleared for the structures, and around it was a massive stretch of land that was perfectly level in contrast with its immediate surroundings.

`What could it be?`, one said. `Your guess is as good as mine. That is nothing I have ever seen before. It appears that it may stretch beyond the clouds, to heights where the only sky one sees is black and full of stars… Perhaps a communication device of sorts... ` The base of the tower was filled with passageways on its surface that opened and closed continuously, causing it to look alive, like the skin of an octopus or squid.

Other than the swarms of worker drones, going about their business steadily and faithfully, there were no other immediate threats in the vicinity. A sense of ease returned to the two after they had seen their surroundings. Of course, they always maintained intense focus and their guard was never fully dropped, they even slept in turns. One would stay awake, constantly listening, meditating to the sounds of the night while the other rejoined their subconcious, convened with beings of the netherworld. The pair began descending the mountain. They needed to be in a suitable, concealed place to set up a shelter and fire before night fell and the harsh The moved silently, the leather shoes and layers of clothing sounded like the moving of blankets and clothe, unbrusk and gentle.

Townsmen were gathered. A dusty road stretched down the center of their small city, and, like the backbone of a human corpse, a number of other trails, shops, stalls, and other such constructions were attached to it. Horses marched, kicking up dust into the air and pulling ladies that looked like bunches of flowers, their extravagant hats adorned with peacock and all other sorts of feathers. Men walked, some in pairs, some alone, rifles strewn across their backs. Their leather boots seemed to cause a small patch of destruction with each step, crunching the Earth beneath them.

Corpses of pigs and cuts of beef hung from ropes in one shop, next to it an old wooden saloon. Drunkards brawled with one another and prostitutes swung in the arms of men whose minds little wondered. The town was as far off from civilization as any other, savage in nature. Though its inhabitants wielded implements which had required thousands of years of civilization to produce, more often than not their users were the image of backward ignorance. The rifles, which had required the subtle progression of mathematical theory and the movement of alchemy from its fantastical roots were aimed and fired by men not far separated from their ape like forebears.

It was indeed like the wild west of fable, recreated in perfect form. At that moment a group of men, towering over the rest of the townspeople, feeling like they deserved the world and all of its riches, were marching down the central road. The brims of their hats shifted up and down, the spurs of their boots and nozzles of their rifles shined in the sun with the clean coats of their horses. They were headed out to discover reports of a pair of wild animals, a pair of creatures that appeared as a cross between beasts and men. The town was surrounded by a tall wall made up of hundreds of pointed trunks that protected the townspeople from the mystery that lay beyond.

All of this, taking place in a model chamber the size of a small field. Massive constructions full of these small universes existed, stretching deep into the Earth. Tales of knights, the meeting of armies and the movement of troops, biological units placed in chambers for experimentation and research. The sad love affairs and births of children, millions of interactions every second were taking place.

Fauni and Roask were wandering together. As they were studying the hills and grasses of Dohaidu, its arched trees and low hanging fruit, they were slowly becoming attached to one another, flowing in and out of each other. Roask studied her hair as she spoke, listening to her soft voice, he wondered at where the words came from, where indeed they were born. From her voice or her brain? Some other energy within her, her will and nature were speaking, but, the more he thought about from where that subtle poetry originated, the more lost he became.

He resigned to ignorance, to simple awe at the beauty of nature and reality. There did not need to be any questions, for no answers existed. Only raw experience, raw being was truth, the acknowledgment of sounds and sights the passing of emotion and thought. It was a day of complete leisure, Roask and Fauni were heading to the swimming pools. The cool breeze and soft warmth of spring had begun a transformation to the more robust and sturdy heat of summer, and Roask thought it the perfect day for a gentle swim.

They headed to the river, walking down a dirt trail with excitement in their hearts as they saw the flowing water, infatuated by the buzz of insects and shifting of birds. The excitement of the morning was still active, and that sleepy, quite lull in the activity and excitement of life was yet to establish itself. Light interacted with the bright green leaves and bushes like a layer of golden honey, spilling, piling up, slowly coursing through the air. The paths curved among the deep brown redwood trees, their soft bark was cool despite the solid heat of the day. At certain points the tree line broke and formed circular patches where bright green bushes and grasses were illuminated, rays of light cascaded down upon them like those that penetrated through dense clouds. Each beam fell down on them in rays that illuminated small creatures.

Insects floated peacefully from flower to flower, and it seemed that all was at ease, the air not full of any alarm, its energy suggesting that even predators had become uninterested in hunting or chasing down their prey for a while, only focusing perhaps on mating or grooming themselves quietly. Eventually the trees thinned out and the grass and dirt gave way to a smooth sandy bank and the meandering river revealed itself. The two set out mats and a picnic bag of fruit and treats that they had taken along with them, partially covered by the generous limbs of a birch tree. Out of the blue a butterfly landed on Faunis` shoulder, its wings shifted up and down like a fan, the blue and black spots that resembled cat`s eyes moved slowly, as if the small insect was showing off and fully aware of the masterful paintings it wore.

Roask scanned the scene. A bit downstream the crescent shaped sandy bank gave way to dense grass and trees, where a low hanging apple tree caught his eye. The red and yellow streaks of the fruit glowed, and had a hazy halo surrounded them, the same sort that seemed to emanate from the brown, oval face of Fauni. His body felt light and healthy, he felt hormones and chemicals coursing through his veins that seduced and relaxed him from within. From outside the sun massaged his skin, quitely warming up his body. It all seemed like a fairytale, a story or fable, too perfect, too completely fantastic and incredible to be the product of pure chance, of the random interaction of particles, the result of chaos and natural laws left to their own devices.

Behind them, hanging from the tree, a bright green caterpillar was hanging from a long strand of silk, ever so gently the solid piece of string vibrated. The meandering river was dark brown in color, yet its water seemed pure and gentle as it let out its gentle tune, making a symphony with the varied tones and antics of the birds and rustling of leaves. Fauni leaned her head on Roasks` shoulder, the natural smell of her hair lulled him as he stared at her high cheekbones and eyes, focused intently on the water. The heat steadily increased, and soon enough both took off their tops, she giggled as she patted his belly.

Roask still had a bit of a gut but it had receded significantly since his days as a perpetually dissatisfied consumer, constantly falling into bouts of depression followed by bouts of drinking and gluttony. The fat on Fauni`s hair fell over her chest, her brown curls glided over her tan breasts and her nipples poked out through strands of hair, erect. Soon enough both were naked and approaching the bank of the river, her thighs and bottom swayed and the thick, plump fat slightly wiggled with each step. A tan line showed, and the darker, brown tones of her skin were cut into creamy, milky tones around areas often concealed.

She laughed again as her small feet disappeared under the slowly shifting water, and, without any hesitation, she dived in and headed for a plate shaped rock upstream, gracefully cutting through the water in a freestyle form before lifting herself up onto the well placed stone. `Come on!`, she called to Roask before he dove into the water with a smile. It was cool at first but soon enough felt comfortable, offering a nice reprieve from the heat of the day. He was not quite the best swimmer and moved upstream inelegantly, lifting himself up onto one of the large rocks to join Fauni.

L Faunis` hair now stuck together in large bundles, held together by water. Her pupils dilated as Roask looked into her eyes, and each time he peered within them there was something he had never seen before. Something within her was dancing, flying, soaring through space, and the glee, the excitement she felt lit up her face. The emotion he felt was immense as he looked upstream. The river curled around a bend before passing under a pair of fallen tree trunks, the solid columns were barren of leaves and a few branches splintered off from them, some dipping into the river, causing ripples in the otherwise smooth surface of the liquid.

Roask began daydreaming before Fauni suddenly dove back into the water, splashing him and giggling. He dove in to chase her and she screamed, darting away with the current and laughing, whipping her head back as he approached before climbing back onto the sandy shore. Roask`s feet sank into the muddy river bottom as he ascended the bank, each step an intense sensory experience as mud gushed through his toes. He lifted himself up and embraced her, swinging her around before they both fell onto the sand and rolled around. It was pure joy, an innocent love, as real as the sun in the sky or the shade of a tree.

The empty halls and rooms of the consumer and subterranean chambers and tunnels were deserted and the Dohaidens had already begun migrating, studying the globe and playfully discussing where they would like to visit. An army of artists set out to paint a picture, build sculptures on deserted land, waiting for the ticklish pressure of crawling babies. The world was an empty canvas for Dohaidu to paint, their new ink would soon spill on its pages. Like the first seeds on scorched Earth, they came in pairs, in communes, alone as renegades to make love, to repopulate the Earth. Some stayed behind, content with the predictable movement of life that they had established, unwilling to uproot themselves and discover new pastures.

Tribes marched, dove into ocean water, rode on its surface, flew over its waves. They bore no flags, they had no country. Unpatriotic, unattached to arbitrary borders, titles, their allegiance was to themselves, their neighbors, and the true country mother Earth. No prevailing idea, no law to subscribe besides a love of one's neighbor. What would they discover, what they would plant. All of their thoughts, all of the consciousness of life at that moment froze, quitely bearing the burden of creation. Upside down, Roots splintered through the ground, oceans were drained, new land to paint, new valleys to witness. Would gold leaves appear, would the skies turn yellow, the seas turn red.

All was slowly shifting, positivity, negativity, neutrality, shifting into oneness, extremes melted. The poet set down his pen, his paper. The scientist left behind his vials and microscopes, the lines of equations. The artist threw up the papers, they dangled in the air like petals, and, like petals themselves, each told a unique story, each was inscribed uniquely with weak veins and inundations.

Would this night last forever and take all away? Was the drought of separation finally over? God, a poet and a painter, a mathematical hermit, doodling fantasies before diving into them and returning to himself. All of the world in his head, the most beautiful goddess, the most precious treasure and staunchet of enemy, all ready to face, ready to conquer. Falling into himself, falling endlessly in love, why the words would never stop, from where did they come. Spontaneous rambles of death and despair.

The sad scribbling of a poet, a lonely man that lost his love. No one to blame but himself, pitying his state and station in life. The poor fellow at a loss for words. An assignment at school, bullshiting it until the wordcount was fulfilled, Great Expectations of a Brave New World, all wrapped up in Psilocybin psycho babble typed up in a lonely studio. If I get a job I will quit this poetry, useless skill fit for those with no plan, no idea and no job. Filling pages is better than nothing, until you realize it is not, and the lonely monk sitting idle says something wise.

The religious man claims it's blasphemous and the politician says it is volatile, liable to cause an explosive reaction. Oh there is no one but me, all of you painted by my genetic impulses, my fried nerve endings, burned out from too many adolescent joints or trips down trippy lanes. Let me die once and once for all, I have the fight in me but I see no ball. Please teach me please, berate me, guide me and chase me, find me and hide me, fill me with life I can not find anywhere else.

With great loss, pain, and death new horizons appeared, the old made way for the new in the cycling of life and death. Empires rose and fell, love was lost and found again, tears dropped and laughs flew. All the lessons of the past were available for Dohaidu, the being and its endless intelligence, the sky and the Earth, the moon and the planets. What would grow, would the shortcomings of the past return? Would they be buried forever in an ambitious present, made bolder from the wisdom of the ages?

For eyes to feast or for fish to swim. For hot bodies, hot flesh and souls. This world was not meant for all. No more pictures, no more paintings, there's no more. Inspiration is gone, a foreigner in a foreign land whose well ran dry, an intruder kicked out. A refugee, in a world out of balance. Rejected forever, losing again and again… There seems nothing else to gain here. Run away from it all, escape it all and then escape it again, a flood of corpses a slow churning. The logs burning out, disappearing in flame, ashes. Ashes, light green leaves falling to the Earth, melting away, slowly melting away. The self, realizing, finding itself in the faces of others, the souls of dead authors.

Without a grain of bread, at least the famine is over, or has it just begun, the outset of satisfaction, of living like the material world is an open buffet. The last of them, the last of the Dohaidens, they shifted on into the night, there would be no more to see, no more to say. Stare at the distant star, it is with you now, at the bottom of your pit, the bottom of your cave. That prisoner, cold in the corner of his cell, decaying physically and mentally soaring through the ages, joining god in an embrace of mercy. I will be with you. I will be waiting at the gates of Sen, at the mouth of despair. Do not go without me, I will be with you until the end.

The ink was drying, an episode had been recorded and finished. Conquests were concluded and peace reigned, the shaul of death receded, its harvest plentiful. No tears were shed as those buildings toppled, their parts recycled. From humble beginnings, from the congregation of particles what magic was produced, what life did bloom. It was all an illusion, a fairytale to Roask and Fauni, fabricated. Roask watched the water slowly pass. Never again, never again would this exact moment come. Everything outside of her and that river, the warm sands and the gentle shade, was deniable, could not be proved, it could not be seen or heard.

The sleepy afternoon had set in, the intensity of life, the rustle of leaves and chirping of birds had settled down. A dreamy stupor set in and it felt that even the limbs of the trees had hung lower, lost their taught posture in the calm serenity of the gentle day and breeze. They felt like they were gently rocking, their souls were gliding, explorers on a river. No time, no time existed. There was no reason for the moment, it did not need a reason. Why that river meandered, why it transported its load from above to below, only to do it again, to repeat the process was unclear, still absurd.