Evolutionary Darkness

Again, I'm walking somnambulist through the dream; again I've slid through the gateway of the ancient myths. Walk along with the blinded memories of time, without understand neither the absence of fatigue nor the infinite path through which I've walked in this wilderness imagined by another being. 

 At last, in a moment came out from the eternity's childhood, what I believed was a mirage, redeemer and stimulant, amid all this nothingness, turned out to be an apparition that populated with horrible figures the reigning desolation.

 It's a gigantic pendulum, its sphere got inlaid the eye of a Cyclops. I've interrupted its distant dream; its eyelids, closed by thousand of years, lift themselves up slowly, and set my being on fire with their ardent and prophetic glare. In the very moment in which the huge eye gets rid of the iron veil that blinded its terrible gaze, the pendulum starts its hypnotic oscillation. The fire-like gleams, casting down by its iron armor, threaten with the evocation of gloomy ages within the halls of my rapture.

 There, in the hunger meadow where the bones become greenish once more after an intense fever, you'll find the Guest's tomb.

  You'll find two footprints carved in the smooth grey dust: they're his. The unchangeable dust is the last effort of his physical matter to hold his captive soul in the vacuum of the footprints. The soul has tried for thousands of years to free itself—but it'll be impossible, as long as the dust sticks itself to the dark glories of a poisoned past. In that same place, collapsed down the Guest —dazzled by the dead. The decay of the body slowly immortalized the direction and place of his last two footprints.

  There, the dust to which he came back has become a terrible sentinel whose mission is watch carefully his soul, so it can't move forward or backward a single footstep —not even with the sickly winds against which he engaged in battle in former ages. Where was the Guest coming from in that occasion? Where was he heading for?... Who was him?

 Floating like a cloud of venomous gas, suspended in a point of infinite density by the spasms of terror. Buried under the threshold of the breath of an apocalypse sent by the cosmic laws. I envy the dark metaphors that will be conceived by the artificial inspiration of the cyberorganic poets in the last intelligent civilizations. Here, only millions and millions of parallel universes within bubbles of bile. A bleak face of the vacuum, sweating a purple loaded with a primitive rage. It blinds the souls, while it bleeds itself in the spirals formed by the dying stars. Millions of destinies connected by dreamy wormholes, through which travel the compatible selfishness of similar dimensions.

  Suddenly, each one of my conscience's sensations splits in many images that stretch out to become infinite quantum tunnels—dreams in different stages of evolution! That light isn't external, it comes from them. Weird, crystal beings show themselves up before me, with bloody hues shining like a hemorrhage of light. They are falling from their huge, crystal spaceship shaped like a cube. They want to scape; they're looking for help. Hurry up! Crystal creatures with a sand's past; come on!—free yourselves through each one of my thoughts; reach the freedom of my madness' universe.

  I left behind me the space, bored because all the expansion. My back behold millions of galaxies exhaling puffs of burning plasma; the black holes swallow everything that once were manifested with animal, plant or mineral form— wedded with the stellar matter. The universe is homesick, its return to the childhood will allow it to get into a new cosmic topography—a return to the paradise... for it. For the energetic consciences that fought so hard under myriads of life forms, it's only a gateway to the panic. All individual energy flees; howling cries that exploit in flashes of acid light. They crash each other in the confusion of their auras—the background radiation increase, thanks to the rage and the impotence!... Disintegration is just around the corner.

  It happened in a deep night forsaken by the moon and gnawed by a swarm of demonic purple stars. With a shudder, my soul felt the wandering breath of the abyss —it woke it up from the dream in my body's tomb.

  Which's the destiny it's heading toward on the wings of the Night Gaunts?

  They drown it, with strikes of shivers, in the universes buried under the archetype essence of H. P. Lovecraft.

  Such universes are placed in the very core of splendors dropping from macabre visions, and marvels that oxidize the time's bones, just before dying in Azathoth's arms. My soul is bound to wander covered by the shroud of a heavy mist through the infinite spirals of this paradise, populated with fears, awesomeness and fascination.

  Lovecraft, my soul is kneeled before your paradise's gates; command  Yog-Sothoth to bridge the abyss that yawns between it and your imagination with the carcass of an ancient dimension. It's getting impatience! Its shrieking darkness is sighing!... Because in your Eden it wants to dwell. 

The corpse was buried several light years ago in a wormhole, deemed jokingly by the foremost members of the long cyberorganic mankind, to lead toward a backward area of the universe, doubtless populated by third wolrd-minded cosmic citizens.

The corpse performanced its own descend into that hell burning with flames of silence, emptiness and, above all... coldness. The coldness stuck on the dead flesh, cooking it at the same pace of the Dark Energy; seasoning it with atoms of hydrogen and helium harvested during the universe's awake. The coldness dug very deep into the organic blackness of the carbon molecules, turning the corpse into a tasteful dish from the very structure of its former life, and now, of its present dead.

The corpse got out not only in a different point of the space, but in a different point of the time. Seemingly, the corpse got through the wormhole's dream; maybe a dream from wich it wanted to wake up being a butterflyhole.

But, that was just a dream. As for the corpse, a hunger gravity was attracted by the good smell of its well-done dead flesh, and began to pulls it. The gravity turned out to be the slobber of a ravenous planet, populated by cannibals.

That night, they celebrated a unique cannibalistic feast. Once finished it, they stayed staring at the fire, wondering why its flames don't cook the dead flesh in such delicious way as this one sent from the sky by the gods is. What kind of fire could do it? By dawn, all of them fell asleep with the hope of dream with that fire... With the fire of the stellar coldness... The stellar coldness of the outer space.