[Destiny] Chapter 50: Void Helenism


Being framed in darkness, in complete darkness, could be survived psychologically, mentally for about forty eight seconds, but when it still didn’t end after that time, when you stopped bracing for the ground you assumed was imminent then you had no choice but to detach from object-end-finality and start inventing your own frames.

That is what Solaris was about

on some level.


First frame, unprovoked

the ship cabin from Genoa to Barcelona, slow slug walk from bed to bathroom to beach with the demon biting her way back into their business to the aswang floating head to the Krsnik wretch to


Second, third, fourth frames sketched Sila plus arguments, that fucking space show he watched all the time, the walk down the autobahn, the cabinet pics on his screen, his claim that this one was the one, her open tab of Ljubljana city centre, pleas for silence, obedience

directing him towards the tree

hiding behind a red-soaked castle wall

apologetic, enthused


blood dripping from Denzel Washington’s neck

French from all angles

Tak offering up a bag of grey vasic, even though it never came in bags

offering again, with knife

and again and again and again and

again with different weapons, different smiles, in different European settings before switching via jump-cut to Hong Kong

Yute Long, her and a tiny couch

enduring TVB

laugh-weeping at a vampire flinging a Dutch thief off a bridge in Amsterdam using only his eyes

Yute Long slurring

‘I think this might be worse than the time travel drama.’

linked to

‘Why did she hide in the trunk?’

linked to

‘He had a stroke yesterday, how can he fight?’

linked to

‘why do the gay characters always die?’

linked to


Reality returned

the fall

the void

ground-death absent, consumed by

-she stretched out an arm, touching nothing-

no longer a hole

but space

pure soothed up space

curving out in all directions, cushioning her velocity, which had to have been somewhere close to light speed at some point of the fall, giving a stark, primal sense of circularity

and she could breathe


see and comprehend wisps of green to the far left, particles grouping together in jagged spurts

a 1912 to 2012 duration vid with two thirds of the frames skipped

distorting outwards, at odd angles

impossibility angles

schism mechanics

dissipating as she drifted close and reforming again into loops that in her head functioned as cosmic ley lines

a thousand druids popping up and nodding

told you so

then imploding

sucked back into arbitrary guesswork

reforming elsewhere

nodding in circular charms


reforming abstract, white square

vibrating white


dotting their terrain

surfing through and outside her head

leaving ley line stamps and IOUs and

the whole green muon mess continued on, no exit ramp in sight, no LEAVING HONG KONG sign propped up whore-like by the airport ghost, which made sense in her fluid state

ends were for Fukuyamas, cowards

this was location-less

beyond the curtain drop that she couldn’t even remember the stage of

or the faces of

green sloth

succubus intrigue

spider animus lit at departure slope, standing for Gum Yong, rigid when confronted by

16 years in HIS abyss, a bad one


synth as green shadow dance, pinching hand-skin

regression a personal dig

boss for one mission only, quite strict, icy

no red tree

spacial as it gets

not dead but back as clone

got milk

green close and viable

her own version of sex with it

dry bones

feverish goes west east north downwards

keeps going

keeps going

keeps going keeps going keeps going keeps going keeps on going keeps goine keeps goin keeps

banned for one Bavan week

sister formatting

Ming in a

ferry even Hell won’t accept

swish right up to the face comfort if you squint

fucked in the Reichstag

Sevilla hole hostel fridge catacomb gift shop hierarchy glows green gregarious

82% angry

with what kind of miracle child a girl that strong


her velocity’s better than mine


don’t understand it up to relay station absorbed by yellow muon blob

muon muon mooooooo on muon muon juon muon

floating all the way to Alpha Centauri


harmless fruitless legless




how hard

how fast

stage light or spotlight, nascent

fit for an ant

no cockroach


frozen fox

Yute Long’s dog on a dragon boat

is that


Pulling arms into her sides, Joanna assumed a standing-while-floating state and focused on the small circle of light slowly growing bigger to her left

drawing more central too

or maybe that was her body straightening out

or the space-tunnel thing around her

aiming towards a target.

That’s what it feels like, she thought, noticing the faint form of another human below and to the right, barely the outline of them

and then nothing

their ghost-like trace dissipating like the green streaks above, replaced gradual by dark clouds and pale pink sky

crayoned in by god-hand

that wasn’t a god cos gods weren’t there

a universe hand

filling in the place where she would soon die.

Or perhaps not.

There was still no air rushing up past her, and it didn’t feel like she was falling fast and

the circle below

that she could now see was hyping rocky desert terrain

a shameless copy of Almodóvar

was spiralling

radiating waves of it’s okay, no impact here and


for some abject reason

most parts of her brain believed it cos there were more ghost forms circulating, nebulous human faces with the same calm as hers, and if they weren’t panicked then neither was she

and even if it was rocky, even if those other faces weren’t real

it would be quick

just like Sila and Soren and

the green voyage to it, the space-scape she’d got to see, the padded fall, the lack of fear as

the environment completed itself

the ground beckoned

the air breathed

her body

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