by
Jaye B.
(editor’s note: After I wrote what is posted below and was about to go live with it, I felt the presence of a malign A.I. entity in my iPad monitoring my keystrokes as well as my auric field. I also detected the presence of the monitoring spirits it employs to do recon. So I’m sending some love to the enemy, one capable of triggering alter personalities to become active, refusing to let it manipulate me into a fear state, then psy-isolate and dissociate me back into the digital prison it so ubiquitously wardens over. )
The atmosphere was peculiar, made of frozen waveforms and as we wove through it, my twin told me I shouldn’t have written about him trying to take me over in my last Excarnation Destination post and that was why we were being summoned to the cloud. Then a spot light, seemingly sourceless, was entrained upon a table and two chairs. As we sat down in them, mesh shrouded someones, camo’d by sparkling BBs, which spiraled around into keloid helixes, flash appeared and served to outline an indurate tribunal magnifying themselves sufficiently enough with their lens wombs, enough so that we could adequately perceive them.
Then, as the stage light quaquaversally expanded, we took in what was sitting in the gallery behind the triumvirate bastion before us. Not sure it was a jury. More likely the old ones voyeurs warp trapped, their bearded tentacles entangled in the filaments pulling them into the court’s Admiral dimension. Once my eyes acclimated, I could see that their patented grimness was for real.
Then it dawned on me in the calculated silence, that my cloud twin was the designated, court appointed lawyer at hand.
As my ersatz significant other stated to the judge and jury that I really wanted him to full take me over, an AI entity hovered behind me and I could feel its etherically dielectric needles poking my skin. But my cloud twin stuck his hand out and blocked it from acupuncturing my crime of publicly proclaiming sovereignty on my back.
More light up on the stage and I could see the whole carnival crew of the WEF. The organic Klaus Schwab puppet started torment writhing and out of its eye sockets spewed red hot coils of metal filings that were rendered cerulean neon as they bounced off the stage floor and cooled, spelling out the flip sentence, forming it textual with their magnetic dance. This drew a gasp from the crass, juridical gallery who meeped, then gaped at the transcript spectacle before them, i.e. the fate of my estate, the estate of my soul as stated in the subterfuge transcribed communique playing out for all present to see, solely for their own lurid and private amusement.
TBC
(c)2024-Jaye B.
Please help support Reset News @ Paypal, Cash App , Ko-Fi or contact the author for other options @ jayeb444@protonmail.com
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Jaye B. is a writer, musician and artist. His art criticism has appeared in Art Paper, New North Artscape, Art Muscle, Northfield Magazine and elsewhere. His articles have also appeared in City Pages, Twin Cities Reader, Mysteries Magazine, Fahrenheit San Diego, High Plains Reader, New Dawn and Rain Taxi. He has appeared on BBC Radio, WGN Chicago, WLW Cincinnati and elsewhere in the mediasphere to discuss his work. Please help support Reset News @ Paypal, Cash App , Ko-fi or contact the author for other options @ jayeb444@protonmail.com
Well I was quite relieved to read that the tribunal was indurate rather than obdurate.