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The Mass
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In a world where the beings are not nano-tech or other silly things but simple cogs and gears possessed by a living soul of pure emotion and ecstasy in the form of a thick white fog when disembodied – but to be without a body is to be dead you will exist yes but only exist not live. You will feel true fantastical joy and explicit sorrow. Your now soulless husk of a body will obey any who command it with dark sullen eyes. And you unable to even think as you are in essence pure ecstasy can do nothing about it. For this world resides within the mass on the brink of reality and dreams. No need for planets or other things of that nature – they take to much space. This is a collective of universes within and without of each other and you may never know where you are headed but I assure you `tis all the same place and all the same physics, workings, and low-tech resources. For these will bring you to a world that will, for the most part, be the same. For now you must journey into the unknown….

On an island centered in unending oceans beyond that lies the end. The brink of what is real and the gateway to other worlds. The water spills, there, over the edge and into nothing ness to be there on the brink mean either to die or to be born anew in a world of unimagininity. But I pull you back to the island for there is something I must tell you: there lives one who dares tamper with nature and destiny. One who creates abominations out of living things and threatens to control the plausibility of the mass. One who dominates but remains scared of what he has done and what he will do but this does not hinder his quest for science and knowledge albeit a , sometimes, grizzly one. He cowers alone, with the help of the demented creations he makes (for these things cannot be called alive. These monstrous creatures) mostly the ones that have been ‘successful’ (if you could such a term to describe their grotesque features and shear animinity), in a great fortress in the center shrouded by jungle with trees greater and mightier than your pathetic red-woods. All here is dank dark and rusted. All is mechanic – in a way…

| December 21, 2009, 2:58 pm
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