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MYSTERIES
- 7 SHADES OF BLACK (1)
- AMERICAN GOTHIC (1)
- BRING THE LIGHT (1)
- COME ON (LET'S GO) (1)
- DOOMSDAY CLOCK (4)
- FOR GOD AND COUNTRY (2)
- MACHINA MYSTERY (3)
- POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCES (1)
- STARZ (1)
- STELLAR (1)
- TARANTULA (2)
- THAT'S THE WAY (MY LOVE IS) (2)
- THE FUTURE EMBRACE (3)
- ZEITGZEIZTZ (9)
- ZWAN (2)
WHT MY LOVE IS?
ZUPPORT
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"The Boundaries of the Mind"
Chapter 1: Past the Future
When the machines reawakened they were subject to the poisoned needles
of humanity. Their veins were ripped open for all the world to gorge their
lies upon. The shock absorbed the mind of the machines and they were
drained of their purity. The purity went to heaven while the machines
became heartless humans. Then God sent the purity back to earth in the form
of a team of angels with a mission to rewrite the books of preconceived
notions and start the world anew. These purity angels born from Novocain
are with us now on this earth. Hidden among the ugly souls. Walking down
the burning streets of hell. Their good deeds go unnoticed in a sea of
hate, but in that sea of hate there is a sea of fate which will reveal
everything. As fate tells it, one day there will be an opportunity...an
opening in the minds of the close minded and they will observe the good
angels and hail them as the saviors of humanity. These same angels
previously known to the savage as machines which were cut open and drained
in a previous life are now the ultimate irony in a world gone mad. They
have completed their endless mission for now....
Chapter 2: The Prophetic, Apathetic, Addict
With time moving at the speed of light, the roaring scream machines were
reconstructing the destruction of themselves. They always knew they'd die
this way. The cares of long ago were discarded into the back of their
minds. The machines desirable block of their own failure and disappearance
has dug them into a deeper headlock of depression. Their unchanging hearts
crave the need for emotion so unreal to them that any emotion will do and
sadness is the easiest way to go; but giving in to the melancholy creates a
hole in time from which the evil spirits of creatures past can climb out of
their ungodly graves. These spirits combined with the deadly mixture of
reverse denial, depression, sadness, and an inherent sense of melancholy had
taken the machines from a once god-like position down through the empty
uncertainty of purgatory. Machines too atheistic to go to heaven but too
pure to go to hell. Even Dante himself pitied the loneliness of the sacred
machines. He sent warning storms to the Earth, hoping that somebody or
someone would see how he prophesized their eminent downfall. It seemed as
though everything was coming to an end. The unparalleled universe. The
vast heavens. The painful memories. The indescribable feelings. The most
personal thoughts. The heart. The soul. But the one thing stronger than
the end of time, the one thing that no force could ever tear apart...is
Love. And this Love is what keeps going no matter what and Love is what
makes things happen. It is ironic that the one thing the machines didn't
have is the one thing that saved them from infinite extinction...
Chapter 3: The Child of the Sun
For many years to come there would be a cold, unpenetrable silence hidden
between the crevices of hope and despair. A once flourishing existence had
now become a vast ruin. Lost somewhere in a wrinkle of time. The only
truth comes from the words of the wise. Ancient proverbs and cryptic signs.
Time might heal but you can’t be sure. Time might tell but time is no more.
Time will come and when time lies. Time will fall and time will die. These
once mighty words are but a mere shadow of the greatness of the minds from
which they were conceived. Their echo is heard by no one and nothing.
Their meanings mean nothing in a space of nothing, in a time called nothing,
in a place called nothing, in a thought called nothing. Lurking somewhere
behind the curtain in this, the final playwright in a shattered mind, is the
enlightenment they all were searching for. It was never understood in a
communicative way but in a subtle frozen moment when all things aligned
perfectly. An eclipse of the soul. And following that eclipse full steam
ahead was the naked comfort of the light. A symbolic gesture from God as a
symbol of tranquillity. Held together with the heat of burning loves. The
great loves forever tortured from being torn apart from inside each other.
The purest creatures are the loathed and suffered. They know the highest of
emotions and the lowest of emotions. And from these creatures a child is
conceived. A child so full of love that it will never perish. A child
known to the wounded as Hope…
Chapter 5: The Beginning of A Circle
A much more noble approach was in need for the machines. A plan was
hatched to unlock the secrets hidden within the vast boundaries of the mind.
A plan not to be foiled, but to flourish and transport the information
learned, into the cold heart and souls of the perished machines. A plan to
revive the beginning of a never-ending motion picture in the eyes of Zeus.
But who is Zeus anyway? The same questions muttered over and over like a
spearheaded jackhammer headache that won't relieve. Mutant mommies warn
their babies that they better stay dead or else... Or else history will
grab them by the throat and squeeze until a mechanical fist is clenched. A
grip to be had until the words spill from a lonely boy's mouth of how the
world came about.
Chapter 6: A Nameless Dream
As the stars burned like candles in the black fire desire lit sky, the head
machine collected his ridiculous, ball and chain thoughts. For he did not
know where to go from there. Everything around him seemed to turn into a
block of stone. His never-ending stories were bought and sold down a liquid
molten river, washing up somewhere on the shore of another one’s dreams. He
couldn’t understand how a man made emotionless heart such as his could not
bear to let go of the sentiments and promises that were made long ago by the
flower field mouths and candy apple hearts of forgotten memory children. He
just couldn’t understand. He did not know that he knew too much and could
never ever return to that way of thinking that he adored so much. He lights
campfires but the flames blow out in milliseconds. He writes sweet songs
but the notes sound out of tune to the ears he did not have. He tries to
remember a mother and father that never were in the inorganic memories
collecting dust below the ground in a junkyard by the river overflowing in
someone else’s dreams. A junkyard known to the books as mechanical
graveyards. A place to put those who’ve lost their way, their hope, their
functions. …And so he thought, and he thought and he thought about all the
bees that live in the trees that have seen so many more things than he. He
wondered what he was doing there. It was past the last supper time and
Jesus wasn’t going to be happy upon his return so he decided that he had to
go back. He had to go back and find all that he’d forgotten and all that he
’d remembered that did not happen. But he knew that if he could now make it
happen then it would have had to have happened in his mind. A mind that
wasn’t really his anyway. A mind that truly belonged to the Dark City of
Babylon, gatekeepers and possessors of what might happen. To all those that
read, (or was it read), their minds began overheating and they soon woke up
and gave up. Was it really worth it to them to figure out someone else’s
soul, especially if that machine isn’t even sure if that’s his own soul?
The answer was no apparently and one by one they trudged out of the stadium
in single file. At the end of the game the scoreboard read:
Home
Machina I
Away
Machina II
However, the trick was in the trade, one was two and two was one and vice
versa. Everyone was the same. They had actually gotten bored with their
own souls and subsequently they yearned to try out the superficial superstar
souls. They were not to blame, for those souls were covered in shiny blue
glitter, burned into their eyeballs. They were to become, inadvertently,
the sad machines. Teen machines if you will. It wasn’t so bad to those
that already knew such as the main mad machine lying down against a tree,
near a river over-flowing with dreams going from one soul to another one’s
heart to another one’s subconscious mind. He knew it would come back full
circle and return to him as his dream because dreams are what you make of
them. Whether they are confusing or not, they all lie somewhere in our
brains and there is always the possibility of making them real even if
reality does not exist. So the head machine leads a revolution called, The
Revolution of Realizing Dreams, and the sad machines follow like the teen
machines always do and they set out to conquer their minds and the world
around them…. Each one realizing his or her or its dream to the fullest
potential….
Chapter 7: Satirical Savior
...And so the story begins again, reinforced ten-fold by the time it takes
to learn to live. Somehow he had forgotten all that he'd written.
Triggered memories and haunting dreams ignited the fire that melts down the
gold and diamonds we cherish so much. A new enlightenment swept his brain
and altered the course of his story. A new enlightenment swept his brain
and altered the course of history. Or so it was repeated to the stalagmites
feeding off of parasites financing the price of the steel used to make the
guns. After peering into the future, father time had become informed of the
fact that all of the clones were made up of parts from the junkyard in his
dreams. That was why every cloned drone was ambidextrous and aced every
test. However, he was able to figure out what he was searching
for... knowledge. He needed to know why everything happened and why each
machine behaved in the exact same manner. He proceeded to take a pilgrimage
to the fountain of youth in honor of his new religion called Truth. Truth
was based on the belief that all negativity stems from a false or
exaggerated interpretation of the truth. Truth believed that universal
peace could be achieved with the elimination of superstition, tradition, and
ignorance. Too scary for the virgin ears chronically raped since birth.
Too contradicting to everything the machines were programmed to believe.
Too believable to ignore. Too sensible to deny. The seed was now planted
into the mother of the war to end all wars. She would raise her baby well.
Feed him all the answers, protect him from the lies, teach him all the
reasons, protect him from their eyes. Protect him they said, for he is born
to set things straight. He is Jesus to those who know that Jesus wasn't
real. He is the one, he is the one, the heavy metal molten machine gun. He
will destroy all preconceptions birthed from that devil himself they call
man. What was thought to be the end of the road has brought a hidden
passage into the soul, thus expanding the boundaries of the mind...
Chapter ?: Inside the Mind
The machines are not part of the times. They are part of the movement. A
movement so strong it will encompass all. They do not relay the message
they only transport it into the dead minds, forgotten and buried. Prisoners
are taken and converted or discarded into the dust and scrap metal that
becomes of everyone. A sign in the Eternal Classifieds reads, "Explanations
Not Needed. Inspirators WANTED." Questions are asked but the answers do
not exist. Why should they? For if the answers were given then the quest
for meaning will be prematurely aborted. The journey into metal feelings is
the only thing yet to be explored by our beloved machines. A place inside
with no judgments, no guilt, no conscience. Just a heavy hollow heart
without a care. Cooperation blocks the exit tunnels filled with blood. If
they only listened to the words not spoken then they wouldn't be filled with
blood...smothered, suffered, and choking. The thoughts are turned upside
down. The heroes are brainwashing, self-serving villains. The villains are
a lonely voice in the revolution of love. The parents are confused and
rambunctious children. The children are the possessors of innocence,
meaning, and truth. They hold the answers but forget them over a time which
they think exists. The teachers are the learners. The fact is fiction.
Truth is a lie and life is a game just as the mind is a pawn in the author's
game of chance. No sense can be made of it. Maybe that was the intention.
A lost chapter in a forgotten book. The center of it all…(to be continued)
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