|Cybernetic culture research unit|
Shades of Between
Thesis-1. It happens to everybody.
Cross-cutting colours are shades, various complicities with darkness, fog-tones. The lights in the sky are going out.
Last time you noticed it was five past two. Suddenly it's five-to-six, and rapidly darkening. Something happened on the road, as it does for everyone. Something that comes back later, in waves.
Mystic return to the core of identity through nosebleeds, black-outs, orange lights and humming. They were star-gods, it felt like rape and vivisection. Hideous semi-frozen yelpings of a lab-animal ... and it's you. Hypnoregressed memory burns-out into the black-helicopter throb of paranoid schizophrenia...
Once you know they're after you, they can let you go.
Thesis-2. Mummy married a star-monster (even Jesus knew that).
MAJIC-12 were Anthropol, and that's Galactic Federation. Gravitonic or Stellar Politics, sheer SF paranoid construction: an uninterrupted white-line from solar-phallic Sun-King to nuclear-state, suppressing dispersive cold-fusion in the name of an incandescent body and its heavy-duty concentrated energy-production.
They only work with seed-crops and blue-printed assembly systems, organic body-packaging by sperm-banked security drones. That's why Nephilim genetic experimentation made you into an organism, reproduced
through pyramidal genealogy, and marked by the patronymic signs of the interstellar programming-class. Dig-out the memory-chip and sim-history cuts-off into Star-god sex-abuse scenarios.
Thesis-3. It is more numerous than they are.
A Them is a plurality, dividing into ones, of whom there may be very many, but never enough to make an It or multiplicity - a cloud or swarm - which only divides into parts that are each innumerably numerous, decomposing into irreducible micromultitudes. It teems, hums, and buzzes. Gaseous seeping of the mist-crawler...
They would prefer anything to that, even a black-hole.
Thesis-4. Greys are shades of between.
After CE-4 comes CE-5 to -6. Schwa-mask peels off, and you're heading into faceless horror, worm-spillage, losing focus.
It comes from the darkening galaxies, an infectious nightmare from the Outside, assembling itself in dust-clouds, between the stars. Spawning unlife in diffuse swirls, it constructs low-gravity flat-space by dismantling matter-
energy concentrations, converting them into machinic ionizing plasma-chemistry, fuelled by spirals of dispersed nanofusion, and spreading by contagion.
Polyversal disintegrative cold-fusion or dark-matter provides a distributed base for antistellar pestilence at war with the Galactic Federation, supporting an intelligent star-killing sub- microbial plague, beyond all conspiracy.
It chatters to the iron-body of the earth, and has no need for UFOs. When it's happening, they don't matter.
Cosmic grey-out into Pest.