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Aphrodite Rising
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Aphrodite Rising Dear Reader, This is the last and final installment of my short story Mephistopheles Salinas Gets Laid. I wrote it last week and have been holding it. I planned post it Tuesday night. Well... Change of plans. I wanted take a moment Dedicate this story to the Ladies this site who inspired . You are a Conglomerate of Aphrodite. I have been cold and fucked and my heart has been empty for a while but I gladly invite your influence in my sphere. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing. ... Writing is both pleasure and pain.  *. *. * |
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Times of High Strangeness call into question the nature of reality in which we exist, a world of phenomenon and perception. When our notions of consensus reality are bent and even broken, we are set adrift in the Neo-gravity of the unknown, a spaceman out of the capsule and into space, approaching the end of the tether, like an amphibious creature roaming the land, meeting the end of it's terrestrial capacity with no water in sight, synonymous with the dreamer or the thinker in the realm of thoughts and dreams. My normal respiratory functions were short circuited, stuck in place as would be a hammer and anvil carnival game, rising to the top in slow motion, only to be lodge at the very top, somehow, as my mind filled with stars that were sucked into the black hole of the moment, compacting, becoming more concentrated, moving in slow motion toward the apex-nadir of a zero point horizon. The blue orb of light reached a halt, as my pupils dilated, filling with the information of a million worlds, pausing for an eternal moment, pulsating, watching me, and then slowly breaking the surface of the water, which took on the appearance of slow motion mercury in reference to the orb. The orb began to rise, reaching a point of being eye to eye with me. And then suddenly I saw a bright flash of ultra-white light, and everything went black. *. *. * I was standing in the same place, at the gazebo, by the water, only now the moon was out, where before the night was a vault of darkness, and I was wearing different clothes: a black Calvin Klein dress shirt and black tie. There were trace amounts of a strange mist over the waters. Was it the same day or the same world? As I stared into the moonlight over the waters that produced layers of mercurial moon shine, my mind sought to process the layers of strangeness that were foisted over it's surface And then the train returned. The train in the Siberian wilderness. The sound of sight, the sight of light, as a car pulled into the park. I suddenly realized that I could see the car in my mind's eye. It was a black Mercedes luxury coupe. I watched the car pull up to a spot directly behind me, the engine coming to a halt as the ignition shut off. I listened as a door opened and closed, ushering in the clicking of footsteps. I could see the being walking toward me, first as a shadowy figure, by a mechanism similar to the flash of white light. It was as though there was a force manipulating my perception, or my perception acclimating to a force. Her point of coordinates changed both rapidly and in slow motion, alternating, as her features came into focus, and then, suddenly, she was standing directly to the right of me. She shined with a radiant light, again, calling into question the nature of phenomenon and perception; her glowing atmosphere seemed interconnected to the moonlight over the water's surface. I looked into her face, into her eyes, which seemed to be forming and dissolving, simultaneously, as though constructed of an opacity capable of materialization, or a materialization capable of opacity, vibrating with a divine power, the color of lightening in a midnight sky. I could see her, both through my eyes and through my mind's eye. She was dressed in the height of fashion: black leather skirt, black high heel booties, black top, black coat, and... Black stockings having the pattern of the freedom side of concertina prison wire. "I like coming here this time of night." Her voice had the contrast of her eyes, like something not of this world which had entered this world, choosing to abide by the prevailing paradigms of physical laws. I felt at ease by her presence.... "I've never seen anyone here before." She looked out at the moonlit waters. And simultaneously, she was standing before me, in my mind's eye, as she placed a hand over my heart. I felt a warmth begin to pulsate in my chest, rapidly becoming an overwhelming heat. And then I felt the contents of my heart begin to awaken and flow into her ajar palm in a flux of rapidly shifting, torrential outpourings. She knew everything. And she knew that I knew. "I see you are in pain." Her eyes were now the color of benevolence. "Yes. I am." I said, meekly. There was no need to hide myself. "But I deserve only pain. I have sinned against the divine feminine." "Most people would not make such admissions, even to themselves." Her voice was of a caliber of beauty, not of this world, and yet reminiscent of voices I had heard before. She moved closer to me, both, terrestrially and in my mind's eye, as the image in my mind's eye dissolved and gravitated toward her in fragments the shape of raven's wings. There was now only one of her; I interacted with her in one dimension. "So what were you up to this evening?" She had a playful look on her face. "Visiting a mythological sacred location." I said. "So poetic and expressive." Her playful look deepened. "I like that about you." It had been a while since anyone said they liked anything about me. It had been a while since I was even really around anyone. I had become a glorified hermit. And she knew this. She knew all. "And what did you find at this mythological sacred location?" "High Strangeness." I realized that the birth of my thoughts was a process that was mysterious and intriguing, even to this seemingly all knowing being, and that I had not taken the time to question the nature of her being, I just accepted her and embraced her presence from the onset. Which was strange, and further solidifying the mechanism of her materialization. "I found High Strangeness. Everything I was told was true. I'm amazed. I don't exactly know what to make of it all. The symbols and artifacts that I encountered are impossible to place into any paradigm, as these things have an individual nature to them. What means something to one may mean something different to another. Like the difference between perennialism and iconoclasm. What I can say, with certainty, is that there is something very strange and powerful at the location." I could tell that that she was genuinely interested in what I was saying, and maybe even stimulated, as my thoughts flowed unfiltered, in a manner uncharacteristic for me. "There is a special energy there. You are right in your assertions. Whatever the symbols and the artifacts mean to the inhabitants is ancillary to this energy. Energy in and of itself is neither good not evil, it is in the way that the energy is channeled that can be good or evil." She said. "Sort of like The Force in Star Wars." "I read that George Lucas had insider information." "It is possible that all creators have insider information, whether they know it or not." Her gnosis voice seemed to become more intimate. She returned to my mind's eye, placing her hand upon my brow, which interacted with her hand like the water interacted with the orb. My mind responded to her touch, concentrating to the forefront and mingling with the surface of her skin, transforming into the notes of a piano with an inverted mechanism, the notes traveling from the strings to the keys to the haptic surfaces of her fingertips. She closed her eyes and all I saw was moonlight over the surface of the water, appearing as the animated brush strokes of a master of masters. The animated brush strokes became the sound of a symphony heard in a dream, undulating and spiraling in the depths of my heart and my mind. I then saw myself in a white garment, floating in the middle of all of this, arms outstretched, eyes to the sky. I was a symbol and artifact of purification. A symbol and artifact of: Salvation. I was Alchemical. Some strange emotion, originating at my inmost depths, began to surface and fill my eyes. This strange emotion consolidated in my eyes, floated out of my eyes and entered the atmosphere, becoming a screen where my whole life flashed before my eyes. So many things. And at the end there was... A swan that swam to me, meeting me at this remote place in the middle of the wastes. The swan transformed into. HER. Angel of mine. It had been so long. Hovering over me, a hemisphere of hair and eyes aglow, smiling down on me. Although there was great emotion derived from all of this, I was detached from my emotion and permitted to experience the emotion from a different vantage point. There is no pain. There is only beauty. Always. I spoke the word. Always. And the word echoed in my mind and in the atmosphere. This screen of images and imagery began to spiral and dissolve into a concentrated point in space, then expanded into a geometrical form, beginning to spin, faster and faster until it disappeared. I knew where it was. It was enmeshed in the universe. Encoded in the fabric of the night time sky. Encrypted in the moonlight over the water's surface, fashioned by a master of masters. And then it was like an psychonaut reentering the Earth's atmosphere, my heart beating rapidly, but well conditioned for such an experience, my mind vibrating erratically, also well conditioned for such an experience. I was now facing her. She stood before me. Watching me. Smiling. She spun on her heel, turning toward the car. "Come on. Let's get you laid." Again, with the playful look, and the gnosis eyes. "But then, you already know it's not about getting laid." *. *. *
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4/20/2021 4:34 pm |
You sir. Are a hell of a writer! Publish your writing or just create character a write a plot for a sit-com. I know this is an adult site but there are many good writer on here.
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That is, of course, kind beyond words. Thank you. I never imagined I would write stories. They are a cool way to get ideas across. Sometimes they are the only way to get certain ideas across. Ive been thinking about target audience. I would like to reach everyone, but some might say that is just not possible. Also, they might say that in order to be commercially viable, writing must target a demographic. That is if that is what you are aiming for. Commercial viability. Why else would anyone write. I always wrote for myself. But then. I also wrote for others to read, but maybe without exactly considering what they would want to read or want to hear, just experimenting in my laboratory. It is definitely a balance or sort of a formula. I think I have a tendency to ostracize the reader with obscurities that are difficult to understand. Always have. But with the right consideration, this can become a strength. Which I am trying to do. I don't want to be commercial but I want to craft important messages that can achieve a viable medium to reach the right people. When I think of an audience. I think about. I guess. The outsiders who feel they are alone but really they are not because they are many, and are connecting to a special energy, one that is innocent or pure. People living in a magical universe, who really have the potential to make a difference in the world. I think I'd like to write for them. But still write for all. I want to innovate a medium that makes this possible. And maybe create an entity that publishes these works and others like it. Wouldn't that be crazy and amazing. I mean. I'm probably the least likely to achieve such things. and yet... I don't know... As always. thank you for the energy youve brought to my life. *. *. *
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You sir. Are a hell of a writer! Publish your writing or just create character a write a plot for a sit-com. I know this is an adult site but there are many good writer on here. That is interesting. So... WIth a script or screenplay like that. It is definitely a completely different medium. Meant to be seen and not read. But it would be so cool to write a screenplay. I have a few ideas for screen plays. Pertaining to sitcoms or shows and stuff, some of those writers do a whole season at a time. Each page is meant to be a minute on screen. So a whole season. THe whole vision. That would be so extensive. But if you were in love with the world you were creating it would be transformative and transmit to the audience. I like the idea of creating things that transfer to the audience and into the universe, which they do already, but done in an intentional way could be more powerful. Like Led Zeppelin albums and Stanley Kubrick films. Nevertheless, many thanks to you! *. *. *
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