Postmundane

By James E

Space spunk

Caustic rain falls on the beings upturned face as it stares at a turbulent sky. It falls heavily, pummeling the delicate ground. It stands in the open. Soaking wet, vulnerable and mortal. A creature of flesh and blood.

Above the view is vaulted.

First it sees the clouds being torn and whipped up by the wind rushing through the dense air. They obscure a moon, its outline traceable through the mist. Distant, inhospitable, beautiful. Then the stars, pinpricks of light, beacons in the black. 

The being will wither and die, It’s atoms becoming everything and It’s brain becoming dead. A sentient mind extinguished.

Equinoxes will proceed.Suns will continue on their rhythmic paths. Every day they will dwindle and fade behind horizons as twilight ensues and everyday they will be reborn, again and again until they too must succumb to oblivion.

Looking up, vastness consumes the creature.

Up beyond the stratosphere.

This is where the silent theater of the universe plays out. A lyrical symphony of birth and destruction.

Galaxies crash together like immense cosmic cymbals. Whole worlds bounce and ricochet from the power of violent collisions.

Fiery space spunk shoots past. Deadly bullets fired from divinity’s mighty gun. Smacking into a super-earth, a rocky meteorite wipes away an aeon of alien history in one sharp shock. On another planet an icy comet splashes lustfully into a primordial ocean, creating a biological soup.

At once the destroyer and seeder.

Gas monsters with dusty rings, toxic atmospheres and ethereal aliens. Stone worlds with iron cores, blood soaked canyons and warring tribes. Silicon spheres with jagged mountains, rust dust earth and carnivorous creatures. Obsidian jewels with mercury seas, monoxide air and amoebic animals. A trillion planets swing around their life giving hosts like delirious drugged ballerinas, caught in times macroscopic, eternal dance.

Ablaze, brown dwarfs, red giants and neutron stars burn tumultuously. Dark filaments reach from their bodies like ghostly limbs. Grasping in the dark. Boiling coronal rain pours down from enormous flares that spark and twist away from the suns surfaces.

One of the stars explodes catastrophically, spreading gamma ray rainbows and infra red fountains across light years of space. Distanced from the event by millennia, an alien astrophysicist witnesses the blast, commenting on the magnificent supernova beauty that briefly lights the sky. Meanwhile, an age ago, the blowing beast envelops it’s reliant satellites, obliterating them and extinguishing a billion lives.

Meanwhile in the constellation of Aquarius, a humongous shape changing mother clutches her young. She is one of a myriad stellar nebula nurserys. Deep within her cloudy womb of hydrogen and ionized plasma, star babes hungrily suckle matter. Swallowing and absorbing, slowly growing……

Grouped in super-clusters, billions of galaxies, each with billions of stars, break up long stretches of vacuous nothingness. In each galactic center lurks a super-massive black hole. Singularities forever scarring spacetime.

Deep within the Virgo cluster, Messier87s supermassive black hole devours  from the inside out. From it’s event horizon energetic bursts spew relativistic jets of exotic matter at a speed five times that of light. In each galaxy, in each inky point of physical no return, there is another universe. Universes within universes. These are the melanoid colours of fractal infinity.

There is a blue and green planet situated on an outer arm of a lonely spiral galaxy. Machines clutter it’s orbit. Robots and space junk dirtied from the shit and piss of a few dozen astronauts, circle the small world perpetually. Radio signals reach far beyond its one star system. TV shows and advertisements, carrying conflicting messages, travel at the speed of sound deep into the interstellar void. This is the excrement of an advancing yet infantile species. These aliens thrive on their little home world. Waging war and love simultaneously. Shaping their environment. They imagine things then give rise to them. Manipulating matter. They fabricate objects and manufacture dreams. A world of psychopathic mini gods and mighty creators.

The being is looking down, watching everything below. The delicate body’s of billions moving around On a vast celestial plane, hurtling through space.

Plummeting through sonata space. crashing through the atmosphere a noise fills its ears. It is chaotic and threatens to burst the beings drums. The wind howls, tearing and whipping at its body as it falls through the night.

  • 16 February 2013
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