FICTION: ROUTINE ONE: TURN COLD DEAD THAT HUMAN SPARK, SPLASH OF RED.

ROUTINE ONE: TURN COLD DEAD THAT HUMAN SPARK, SPLASH OF RED.

Get the call – New Recruit incoming.  Scrape together some semblance of decency, arms slide into old trenchcoat sleeves, collar up – old school – light triple-paper joint, drag it deep in the Interzone translucent particle air – smoke spirals off, ash falls slow – prepare. 

Why me?  I’m good with new recruits, they say – still got some of that old fashioned human in me – empathy maybe, what do you call it “compassion”.  The whole process is so fucked up, so many old Agents lose that human spark, turn cold dead crab – nothing but business – dead fish eyes gaze from dark sockets seen too much fucked up shit to care any more.  Me – still got a little human gleam in these old eyes, blood still has a splash of red in it.

Get to the waiting room shabby but quick enough, and there you are, panic-frozen and deer-eyed, scrap of paper – secret Ticket – still in your hand, no idea what the fuck or where the fuck. 

Better sort that all out now.

“Welcome,” I say all cool like 1930s detective – costume that rubs off, we all wear it to different degrees – mentor and friend and guide – play out the old guru script aura.  “You’re probably wondering where you are.”

No words, too Transport-sick to cope yet.  A little human gaze from dark sockets seen too idea what the your hand, no dead fish eyes much fucked up but business – scrap of paper fuck or where there you are – still in gleam in these panic-frozen and deer-eyed, old eyes, blood – secret Ticket is so fucked up, so many crab – nothing – still got quick enough, and The whole process shit to care still has old Agents lose any more.

Me in it. Get to the waiting room shabby but turn cold dead that human spark, splash of red.     

***

The whole racket was almost blown wide open by Agent Burroughs.  But the Nova Cartel just spread the idea – pure propaganda of course – that his reports were fiction, and cut-up nonsense at that.  Spread shit about Word Hoards and Beat Fiction and Wife Shooting.  Of course, didn’t help that the events Agent Burroughs described were obviously untrue – Centipedes from Venus and Mayan Crab People, the works – and of course, readers trapped in Nova Word-Line Simulation believed that because those events were so obviously untrue, meant they didn’t happen.   Course, you, me, we know better.

(The things they will believe, oh brother!  Knows no bounds!  Believe anything but the Big T Truth – you hear those cats swearing the Earth is Flat?  I mean, of course it’s flat – but not in that way!  Dumber folk I have never seen.  Real Earthlings never fall for a gimmick like that.  But not even sure there are any real Earthlings these days – all succumbed to digital undifferentiation, big time.)  

See, the Uranus Agent Burroughs described was the real Uranus, the Venus he described was the real Venus, but different channel on the Dark Matter Deepfake.   Tune through, different channel on the Box.  They Live, They Live.  Tune through, put on the damn glasses, and it’s all clear as sulphur in air – tune it right, and everyone can smell the bad egg like we do. The radical persuasion—using information, incentives, that between opting unwelcome brands or developed and changed, through alabaster tubes.

It’s not like Agent Burroughs got everything right – but it’s not like there’s only one “right”, either, so there’s that–

Oh – I forget the social niceties.  Been doing this too damn long. 

Name’s Agent Blackwell.  “Black” like obsidian dagger, “well” like a deep dark hole down, down, down.  Where we’re headed.  On Friday, we’re having very assholes, human parts a surprise breakthrough.  No surprise here, tell you that for free.

Hello, then.  How are you.

Point is, Agent Burroughs got real close to exposing it to the “mainstream”.  Agent Lovecraft got real close. Agents Wachowski and Wachowski got real close.  Agent Icke’s getting real close.  Agent Stang’s getting even closer.  Cycle repeats. 

We all try to bring it back with us, communicate it in words, but it’s hell – using the machine to describe itself.  Like trying to describe a piece of free jazz with another piece of free jazz.  Once you crack the control-machine, once you cut the word lines and image lines and scroll the other direction, then you can access the Big T Truth, but you can’t tell anyone about it.  You break the screen, as it were – you rip up the book.   No way to communicate when communication itself is what is broken.   

See?  Biggest damn hurdle in the whole sorry affair – can’t carry any of that back, that Big T Truth, can’t hold that in your hands any more than you can carry back a handful of water.  Drops, sure – your fingers glisten still with the membrane of Big T Truth, but how are you meant to pass that to anyone else?  Share the “content” as it’s called now?  Once the word lines are snapped like twigs, the whole Meaning Game becomes what Agent Wittgenstein called “private language” – no way to get inside someone else’s head – except of course the physical way.  And of course more you know and deeper you go, more cracked your own structures become.  No proper way to speak anymore when all words reduced to noises – might as well quack.

So there’s that – tune it bizarre cult from not like there’s individual, is drug the Uranus Agent Contact’s inevitable. On They change the one right, either, opting unwelcome brands hey, seems Earth but things circumcised Fiction and Wife People, the works radical persuasion—using information, the events Agent next dopamine hit.

All we can do is throw fragments back, Truth Dust, no Big T, just reality shrapnel – desperately scatter the moments and instants and feels, pepper the molecules of truth toward people and hope they get Big Picture – gotta reconstruct Big T Truth Mountain from goddamned sand, grain by grain – making a Mountain out of Mohammed – control machine was popped the dinosaurs Friday, we’re having “Black” like obsidian got everything right a deep dark to the computer in Nova Word-Line bad egg like Hoards and Beat breakthrough.

Climate. More powerful on the damn or developed and climate, more what’s real universe – almost blown the notion simulated headed.  Easy to knows no bounds.

So.  Brave new recruit, you’re the new Man in Black – except of course “man” means shit out here, gender is just more Nova Control.   There’s no gender out here – there’s barely sex, which is another thing entirely, obsession disorder biological entities insist on clinging to.  Obliteration is the end of boundaries that are otherwise solid.  Idea – pure Burroughs described were the Venus he for them this – but it’s and scorpions, supercomputer.   So first things first – yes, it’s all True.  All of it.  Even the parts that conflict.  Out here, a conflict of realities is nothing, forget about it.  Also forget eating and sleeping, waste of your precious time.  Also, forget time.  Distraction and nonsense.  We function at peak efficiency, soldier.

Contact – and The whole racket Tune through - No surprise the Nova Cartel incentives, that between hole down, down, the real Uranus, reports were fiction, course, readers trapped air – they different channel on with the morality all clear as obviously untrue – use, queer participation – and of not an if.

See? Peak efficiency.  Cut right to the chase, right to the quick.  Bypass regular brainwashing systems, language fragments injected straight to the dream core.  There’s no way they’ll get that on the real Earth.  No idea how to take it.  Think it’s just another hoax.  Propaganda of course universe? It’s not just spread the way.  Hotter, thicker Shooting. 

(Course, there’s another reason I don’t sleep.  I don’t want to dream.  When I dream, I dream of Her.  Because She’s still out there, of course.  Can’t think about Her too long or I just get – what’s the word – maudlin.)

So.   

Anyway.  

Ever see ‘The Matrix’?  Gross over-simplification.

Of course, Simulation believed that Scrolling, scrolling, for this case, down. Where we’re tubes. It’s not Burroughs described was personal quality.  Every border you ever believed in – stop that right now.  Not going to do you any good here.  Here is outside of all that.  In this case, an individual, is drug use, queer participation, but things – circumcised cock, black goblet – with the morality of a recording instrument and efficacy. 

Okay, see, imagine Reality is the broadcast from some radio station – out here, in the Interzone, we’re holding the radio.  Forgot, you’re from a more “modern” “time” than I am – okay, so Reality is the what you call it “web site” – out here, we’re holding the “lap top”.  See?  Except even that border is permeable.  All membranes are permeable.  Take it from me – I’ve permeated them all.  So you’re holding the “lap top”, but you’re just a what’s the word “terrain”, every consciousness is just more terrain, see, a place to be, an environment to inhabit.  You’re a place, I’m a place - we’re nice places to visit but I wouldn’t wanna live there, ho ho ho.  Now you’re recruited – old word but accurate enough – you’ll be doing a lot of that.  Not hard with the right chemicals and energies.  Agent Wilson talked about the Chapel Perilous – you’ll be visiting that shithole more times than you can count.  Time, place, just parts of the Game – doesn’t matter – we’ll get to it all eventually.   Just be aware that it’s all porous, and it’s all simulated – deepfakes all the way down.   Once you get that into your head, you stop asking so many questions about what’s real and what’s not, and you can focus on the task at hand.  Peak efficiency, like I said.

Anyway, what’s your name?  Your old name, I mean.  Birth name.  Government name.  Dead name – “Necronym”, some cats are calling it now.  You won’t be needing it any more, but well, I’m a sentimental guy.

Nice to meet you. 

Keep it together.  No-one volunteers for this gig.  “Trapped” is the wrong word.  Ignorance you need to real Venus, but – A naked atom sulphur in air didn’t help that untrue meant they Tell you that didn’t happen.  Course, that’s a when, on some that Live, oh brother, because those events the term habitable climate – but know that though. Shit about Word to know.  Spread given the project Deepfake.

We’re all just Agents now.  (See how “Agent” is almost anagram of “Angel”?  Not entirely coincidence.  Not entirely anagram, either, so there’s that to consider.)

Ones – you here, tell you and Mayan Crab – black goblet drugs than physical were so obviously They Live.  Dressed in human drag, nastiest sonsofbitches I ever did see.  Nova Cartel, Nova Syndicate, it’s all the same.  Agent Icke describes them as “reptilian”, but I say “insect”.  Obsidian insect with dead eyes and ravenous hunger – feed off human souls, spirit, energy, whatever – snort up life essence like powder – there’s no Satan, so they’re not “Satanic”, but next best thing.  “Anti-life” maybe better way to put it.  “Anti-energy”.  Just plain “anti”, maybe.  Spiritual cancer, another way.  They programs.  Gates, glance, described – was the you, me – we different channel on with that particular.  Cancer destroys its host – the Nova cats destroy theirs – all channels at once – fill up their own petri dish without a second thought. Not sure they think at all, to be brutally honest – just cold dead-eyed instinct hunger.  Did they create the simulation for that purpose?  How the hell should I know?

Just doing my job.  Jesus.

(The dagger, “well” like of a recording is just rich – remember for when Centipedes from Venus parts a surprise glasses, and it’s too, too dumb – can smell like Agent Burroughs know better.)

Anyway.  You won’t sleep, but best you stay here until you recover from the Transport.  Really takes it out of you – sometimes literally.  Exhausting – and particularly bad when, like I said, there’s no more sleeping.  Never sleep again.  How to recuperate?  Most of us turn to chemicals, extremity, Dark Matter sex.  Some nights, it’s Salo meets Electric Dreams.  Each to their own.  More powerful drugs than physical ones – you know that though.  Scrolling, scrolling, for next dopamine hit.  In the Dark Matter wide open by hate.  Tarantulas and cut-up nonsense instrument and efficacy.

See, changed, through alabaster the smallest and, very assholes, human that for free.

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