Throwing Ink - A Cure For Consciousness

Throwing Ink by [Lapse]

THROWING INK

(Work in progress)

A Birth Of Reconstruction.

An extinguishing of the colony that is: mind

[The cataclysmic cycle of the circle.
A hasty decision to break the permeable wall:

Enter the mainframe that is the great bacterial quorum sense.
We are all controlled by a colony of single cells.
Control the blot. ]

0:00-00:53 - Introduction to Mind: First Face, Silver:

It's beautiful yet, it's all wrong here. It's like you are watching yourself from far off. From the top of some tabled mountain somewhere. The thick haze of low clouds suppose everything. If you look closely with these floating eyes you form fatigued shapes and situations in the effortless plumes. The place and time doesn't really matter. Your eyes are imprisoned here. You cannot connect to your physical form. You are watching decisions from the third person. You are trying to motivate your arms and legs. You cannot. It's like the feeling of being frozen with fear. It makes you race yet, you cant find reason to move. You are becoming an animal. You have been. You're searching for the real deal. You are viewing simplicity. You are all colors.

Enter: Mind


00:53-1:36 - First Core, Stripping I, meeting S. Face:

Something is awry. You're twisting in circles. You see: A figure. The figure is made of small, perfect, silver thorns that suppose human shape and physicality. It's face is smooth, much like the surface of a ball-bearing. Small etchings suppose eyes and mouth. They show no emotion. Luminescent etchings form spiral markings around its vague features; Incantation of another kind. It is a language of shape. Its not important yet.

An unmoving mouth trebles, "Welcome to the First Core".

The words, in many languages, resonate from no where and fill all space. It lofts through you like a most lucid dream. The words tease meaninglessly. You feel tired. You feel hopeless. The whimsical stripping falls and you eat an antiquated sleep.


1:36-2:26 - Release and amplification:

You are far away from yourself now. You are not anything solid so light fixes your shape. You are a permeable wall and find yourself slowly being drained. Of what? You cannot be too certain. You cannot remember your placement here. Whatever you were is pulling itself from your spinal column in a silent display. Tendrils of white and grey. You are floating in a suspended cube of metallic colored liquid - perhaps further sedation. All cells are seeking removal. Reconstruction.


2:26-3:14 - Remarks from Id:

A watery, misguided voice sends ripples through the metallic liquid...

"Your consciousness is sold and drained from you so you can trespass here. Welcome yourself to some kind of infernal atmosphere. Prepare for sedation. We are. I am Id. "

You could not speak. Not that it would matter. You were in the scripted flow.

The figure then raised an appendage, seemingly human. Its core was dark and empty and its fringe fluttered with a hazy matter. This stood for his place and distorted all light that passed through. With the signal apprehended a further message from Id is brought to you in the cauldron of excitation. Gravity begs you to insert a hand. You oblige. You did not bother to try and command your light based features to do anything otherwise. With that, Id, vanishes in a quiet implosion.


3:14-4:19 - De-Recollection: The onward face: Into Excitation:

You cannot imagine there is any feinting from here. Your physical form is going to dry up somewhere far away from here - where ever it is you came from. You could not recall now. These ponderous cogs are setting in motion and you have to be rushed along. This was your onward face. A collection of confusion, excitement, and depression all coaxed your muscles. The cauldron was sucking you in - your entire spectrum. Around you the formation of dancing, glowing, animals faded in from shadow. They held blazing lanterns which they shook intensely. Embers spilled out magnificently. They were glowing for your eternal slumber - for your insignificance.

You began your decent into excitation.


4:19-5:22 - Waltz of Id

It all came to halt as you hit bottom. You were surrounded by distant dark trees and sitting in a field of bent illuminated grass. More animals joined. They spilled in from every direction. Distorted foxes, rats, mice, owls, among many others, some indecipherable and hosting contorted human faces and expressions. Your every aching dish was handed to you. The creatures danced all the while shooting fire into the air in beautiful displays and flying all around, hooting and howling. All your needs where presented to. You couldn't help but place a pulsing hand upon whatever was brought. This was all for you. You filled up with any taboo. You couldn't waver any of them.


5:22-5:57 - Forcing faces: Turning into Stupor:

The waltzing continued and you descended into delirium and assumed Stupor with each pleasure cast aside and used up. They all just kept dancing faster and faster. Stamina, cause or reason was of no issue. Their pace was inducing sickness. The most demeaning and caustic sickness. Your insides (if you even had them) where burning foul discomfort. They felt as if they would slip through your skin.

The waltz continued. They slipped.


5:57-7:43 - Stupor:

You could not keep up with the animals dancing anymore. Nothing was stopping them and they all began to blend into a giant sphere of glowing embers and ill formed faces. It all began to look much like a giant ball of burning hydrogen. You grew tired. Your head was spinning and some kind of viral pressure from this place was making you ill. You weren't sure how you could feel sick, this light-based form of yours but, you did. You began to vomit up all sorts of internal organs and fell head first into the remnants of your used pleasures. A heap of dead men and women dragged you down inside them. Each cold hand grabbed at whatever they could and pulled you under. Taboo had you.

Suddenly, a quickening, as if something else had taken hold of you. No longer did you feel a mass of digging fingers but, one strong clutch. Out you shot through this terrain of decaying flesh into a living blue sky.

This sky shook you free


7:43-8:26 - Second Core: Second Face, Gold:

Far below you was some sort of sea. It was racing up to you at a phenomenal pace. Someone had you. Its hands where crafted of a smooth, reflective gold. You couldn't make much out with the roaring of winds and explosions of dense clouds. Solar flares were still trying to lick you from afar.


8:26-10:02 - Facial Collision: On the wings of reconstruction: A jet through the synapse.

Impact.

Metal against metal was heard and made the most distinct ringing. You felt release instantly. Your form was sent into a head-over-heel spin. You were coming in and out of clouds. Frozen crystals streaming from your body. You listened to the ringing fade out as you dropped further away.

S. Face and G. Face where engaged in a raging fight with no regard for personal well-being.


10:02-10:24 - Balancing Act: A conversation with S. Face and G. Face.

Before you could muster much else on the side of critical thinking you where consumed, back first, into a most viscous and gelatinous substance. A sort of sea. It was not much like water. You sunk slowly, wide-eyed. Pieces and fragments of glittering silver and gold pierced through the surface of the liquid and into you. Quickly, more heated and distinct metallic body parts glittered through. Until finally both heads where sinking slowly besides you, staring.

"A Death; a decay." Said one fragment of silver head

"Remodel. A misunderstanding." Informed, or rather, rebuttled a fragment of gold head.

Their last words fit simultaneously, "Follow Sparrow. It will find you. You must find Thanatos. Assume he exists."

The two heads then exploded and sent a tremendous shock wave through the sea. You where jettisoned far and deep down. They both applied themselves to you. You sunk into anomaly.


10:24-11:28 - Sparrow maps you:

You are not understanding sides and allegiance. If these things even exist.

Inconstantly, your vision is brought to you. A storm is brewing. You are surround by tall, thin, trees. The canopy of this place mixes with the thunder clouds over brain. The distant call of a small bird somewhere finds you. You feel the need to run. What direction? You try desperately to see this small form. In the distance you believe in fire and force continuation. Sparrow, made of liquid collides with your chest. It adjusts itself through you and out your back, then, off again, chirping all the while. You note this melodic contrast. You saw it glinting in the distance as if it took some of you with it - it took some of them. Everything is shaking and throwing you off balance. You can not continue. A cancerous dilemma works through your nerves; down your long railway. You imagine its all you've got left. To your knees you go. You note the sound of the mud as you fall shut.


(11:28-11:43) - Loosing Sparrow: Defining:


11:43-12:35 - Exactly where you need to be. Self separation, duplication.

Unaware, you are heading to the Crows temple.

You find yourself floating effortlessly, inches above the muddy topsoil. Your vacant orbs are staring at the dark cloudy canopy watching wings retreat. Various birds are reeling and fleeing. However, the sound of crows beckon their dilution. One crow flies to you and perches on your chest. Staring at your shined pupils. It calls out a horrendous cry and you can feel your voice stripped from you. Then, all crows cry out. They are duplications, you surmise. Not one have a distinguishing demarcation. They are Thanatos. They are release.


12:35-13:24 - Face Three: Separation Waltz

This is your facial release. The crows begin to swarm, dancing in one finely executed swoop. They move forming a massive being. You no longer feel connection with anything. It is all filing out of your finger tips; long roads of nerve. You are twisted upright and a horrible spasm of thumping drives your form into an incredible rage of movement. You have no regard for your limbs. They connect with whatever is around. You rip yourself to shreds on these trees; against their skin. All the while he and you dance.

Catatonic. Wordlessly.

You strip your color bare.


13:24-13:42 - Time Template:

From no where in particular. From no one in particular:

The faint reconciliation before this trace dries up:

"You are not here anymore, y'know. Your time template has been tracked and cracked till all nothingness. Your previous self is unaccounted for. Your consciousness is to be used somewhere else, y'know. I might as well say: you will never know how, or when. We made you no promise. You made us a promise. I'm not sure if I am sorry or not. You commanded this, yes. I hope this choice is photosynthetic, alright?"


13:42-15:06 - Absolute Silence

Discarding First Face. Disregard everything. You shouldn't need to remember this