Mother Horse Eyes Pt. 1 | Creep Cast

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Welcome back to Creepcast.

Today we are diving into a very, very, very

notorious online story,

complex story, one that is,

to some of you, will it'll get a lot of bells ringing in your head, or it might fall on deaf ears to others.

It is Mother Horse Eyes, aka's the interface series.

Yes, so Mother Horse Eyes, this is a classic internet horror story.

I've heard it talked about a ton.

Never actually read it myself, though.

I remember I watched Frederick Knudsen's Down the Rabbit Hole about it several years back.

But if I recall right,

That was before the series had finished, I think.

So, and I've forgotten most of that video anyway.

So, I'm mostly new to this, but I know it's a huge deal.

People talk about the story in very high regards all the time.

The way the story was structured is a user who went by 9M 9H9E9

or Mother Horse Eyes, as most people know him, began to post in replies to various Reddit threads all around Reddit.

So, in like R slash funny, R slash True Detective.

Like, the first post seems to be posted in R slash mildly interesting.

So just random post where people were talking about unrelated things.

He would go to the comments and start typing out this story.

And in individual parts, it seems disconnected, just like incoherent ramblings.

But when you combine all of those replies together, we get a story, a story that involves MK Ultra and concentration camps and weird.

like changed unhistory from the past and future prophecies and stuff like that.

And people talk about the story in in high regard, so we're going to tackle it today.

Yeah, I decided.

Well, we were doing some research before this,

and it seems like no one actually really knows the author.

It's just possibly somebody that was under the influence of LSD,

which I do think is a, which I think is just under the guise of the subject matter of the story.

As well, there was, so this story actually got popular enough that it was picked up by a bunch of mainstream publications.

I remember seeing Argyll did

a vice deal about it.

Yeah, because people, like it, it attracts attention really quick, got a lot of people on from the jump.

And Vice and like those publications said they reached out to the author and all that seems to be common between them is that the author was at the time of writing a 30-something male in the United States

who had previous experience with hallucinogenic psychoactive drugs.

And that's it.

That's all that we know for sure.

So,

which I imagine from what I know about the writing is also who our protagonist is of sorts.

So the entire series is sort of like an ARG in that it is the writer of the story putting himself in the place of the script.

But because, you know, the author also has

a history with psychoactives, as does our character in the story, or at least talks about them, then it's like maybe some of this is from their real, you know, hallucinations that they've had or like weird psychogenic experiences they've had and stuff like that.

So who knows?

But

it certainly makes it interesting like borderline between like fiction and like maybe they have some real effects they brought into it.

Yeah, it's a it's an evolution of the

well, which I don't want to say it's the evolution.

I guess it's just whenever we read a lot of these stories from like r slash no sleep, it's always in the first person as if to give the illusion that what the poster is posting is real versus the this this goes just so many levels above by commenting on random random like subreddits and you have to know the user to piece the things together in chronological order It's just very interesting and I don't really know where the story is gonna go, you know, but I will say that just the description at the top of the subreddit that just says, Do you hear the screams and laughter calling you?

The interface is waiting.

So sick.

So I'm hoping that

this turns into just some kind of weird story.

That's actually what you said to me the first time we met.

Yeah, did you hear the screams and laughter calling you?

You're like, all right, I got to go.

Sorry.

I'm scared.

Help.

Yeah, well, first, so it's 100 posts.

This is going to be probably a bit of a long one.

So buckle in.

And we will get to the first post, which was posted on 421, 2016.

What is that?

May,

March,

June, March.

March.

March.

March 21st, 2016.

First post.

It's titled

A United States.

Hold on,

hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on.

Before we do that.

So do you want to talk about what the thumbnail was to the

Sugar Daddy episode?

What's up?

What do you mean?

So, for those that don't know, Hunter, you know, he's got the team.

He's got like cool people to do.

The same guy that does his thumbnails for Creepcast is the guy that does the thumbnails for like popping meat and stuff like that.

So, you know, he does his thumbnails.

So, he talks to that guy.

I don't see any of it.

Most of the time, I don't see it until, you know, the episode's up.

And then yesterday on Father's Day, I'm out with my family at church.

I'm like, oh, did the episode go up?

And I pull up my phone in the house of God

to see

the thumbnail of me naked,

collared by a geriatric man performing sexual favors.

A sugar daddy.

Sugar daddy.

So, do you, I don't know, do you want to talk about what your thought process was there,

where you had the audacity, why you thought that was okay?

Um,

yeah, yeah, I can kind of give into some thoughts of that.

Uh, you're a little whore, so I thought that I would,

you know, present you like the little pay piggy you are, and uh,

it just felt right.

Also, too, um,

it's funny is mostly why I was kind of chortling to myself.

Uh, because at first they had you in your normal, uh, like in the whenever he came out, uh, he's taking pictures with like, you know, his shirt on and stuff, and I was like, Yeah, yeah, no, I was like, yeah, no, take that off.

Make him make him shirtless.

And then they're like, okay, that's cool.

And I was like, yeah, he's okay.

I was like, let's throw a dog collar and a leash on him.

And they had,

I think they had me at first

holding it

with the money.

And then I was like, no, just put like a random guy, like a random stock photo guy and get me out of there.

I'm pretty sure is the

you're not even willing to say that you're you're present in this scenario.

Like it's because now you know that's actually that is now I think the first thumbnail that both of us aren't on.

Yeah.

I um required yourself from the only one on the channel.

Yeah, and I think that it may be in my situation creatively.

I was thinking, well, maybe I'm taking the picture.

Right.

Maybe maybe I'm in the room, but I'm just behind the camera is kind of the idea.

Right.

You're you're shooting the snuff film that's about to take place.

Exactly.

Exactly.

Right.

So, you know,

interesting.

Yeah.

You know,

it's a cute thumbnail.

I had a nice chortle out of it, and I think people got a good kick out of it as well.

There was a lot of concerned people, though.

There was a lot of people that were, I think, moved by it in a negative or positive way.

I'm not sure.

Yeah, I was one of them.

I'm for sure.

I just can't describe what that's like.

Being like, I wonder if the episode.

Oh.

Well, dude,

that's the creative liberties that I like to take.

And I think it works in our favor.

Liberties, all right.

Also,

check us out on Spotify and Apple Podcasts.

Be sure to check us out on the audio platforms.

It helps us out and give us a nice rating there.

All right, are you ready to jump in this?

Why not, Hunter?

Why not?

Okay.

First post: a unite, a stage, a coup, a revolution, a bring, a genocide, a new world, uh...

In the MKUltra experiments, the CIA dosed unwitting subjects with LSD to see how they would react.

What has not yet come to light is that MKUltra was an intra-agency project.

The CIA created new departments within the CIA and fed them steady doses of LSD and other psychoactives to see how the departments would diverge and mutate away from normal departments.

Whole projects and hierarchies were created, with everybody involved being more or less unwittingly under the influence of LSD.

This is how the restraint bed portals and flesh interfaces were first created, i.e.

from a heavily psycho-mutated hierarchy.

The entire thing had to be eliminated, but the technology it created has been revolutionary.

Whoa.

Restraint bed portals and flesh interfaces?

Dude.

Yeah, I mean,

talk about some big, big keywords there.

Also, first, for people that don't know MKUltra, because I'm not going to act like I even know what it is i just it's a form of mind control right

well so mk ultra was an experiment that got declassified years later that back around the 70s maybe late 60s no 60s into 70s uh the cia

was trying to understand the effects of things like psychoactive psychedelics stuff like that uh so they began administering to them to people uh some knowingly like

people would come in for an amount of money, take drugs.

Other times, people were effectively dosed or like spiked with it to see what would happen.

And there were a bunch of experiments related to MKUltra to see if new pathways of the mind, stuff like that, could be opened up through the effects of psychedelic drugs.

So it was a real CIA experiment to see what these drugs were capable of.

But people tied into like conspiracy theories.

Sirhan Sirhan, the guy that assassinated RFK, claims to this day that he was a victim, that he was

dosed with it and made to shoot RFK.

The Manson cult, there's a bunch of stuff around Charles Manson being an MK Ultra test subject and that the cult that came about it and them wanting to start a race war was all through the CIA's request after he was dosed and all of his subjects drugged.

A lot of, there's

ties that a lot of the hippie culture of the 70s was like a psyop in that sense, stuff like that.

Okay.

Also, just it is funny.

Because

the original post that that was in reply to was just someone talking about, huh, the cover of this book's kind of weird yeah and then the reply is just a unite a stage

i feel really fucked up being the uh being the poster being like huh oh what what dad

oh

anyway yeah second post was made uh same day

this one

Second post was made same day, and it says, in Vietnam, the U.S.

government tried to pacify the country village by village using the Strategic Hamlet Program, basically creating villages where there was no or little Viet Cong influence.

Is that true?

It links to a fucking Wikipedia page.

And it says

the Strategic Hamlet Program was implemented in 1962 by the government of South Vietnam with advice and financing from the United States during the Vietnam War to combat the communist insurgency.

The strategy was to isolate rural population from contact with the influence of National Liberation Front.

So basically, it just seems like it was trying to stop them from getting influenced by communism.

That's what it feels like.

Yeah,

but if it required them to set up like fake village.

Anyway, we'll keep reading.

But yeah, that is a real thing.

Interesting.

They tried more extreme experiments where they completely isolated villages or groups of villages, allowing absolutely nobody to enter or exit for periods of up to four years.

Jesus.

Some of the villages, people simply starved to death.

In others, more self-sufficient villages, the people managed to scrape by.

It was noted that in many of the villages where this technique was tried, masonic or

millenarian movements sprang up.

What is a

millenarian

is

a fundamental transformation of society.

Okay, so like

masonic, like people think that they're God or they're going to bring about a new world order and stuff okay yeah or like basically it seems almost like titles or new religions were forming yeah yeah new religions are almost if uh forming inside these like uncontacted villages

yeah man i am not beating the fifth grade reading level accusations today but

i'll keep pushing through

In 16 separate incidents, villages were able to independently invent flesh interfaces and non-electrical portals.

And it was surmised that these villages were being collectively dosed with LSD for long periods of time, and their intellectual mutations allowed for these advances.

Flesh interfaces were eventually destroyed by the North Vietnamese army at a terrible cost and lives.

Flush interfaces.

Oh, gosh, that's so crazy.

So hard.

I still don't know.

We're still kind of lost in what they are.

I mean, I imagine we'll keep getting into it, but so are they saying that the flesh interfaces or these portals were created by the people that were hit with the LSD, or they were created so people could come in and give them these things and experiment on them and then leave.

To me, it sounds like the implication from these first two is that people were given LSD or psychoactives in order to turn them into flesh interfaces.

I see.

So the people living in them are restrained.

I see.

Okay.

So the people living in the villages are the flesh interfaces.

Yes.

And he also talks about restraint bed portals, which sounds like people being held down and turned into a portal.

Yeah.

So people in the villages are forced to become these interfaces for to bring about whatever means other dimensional being, whatever.

All right, third post, once again, same day, says, I'm surprised they used nuclear subs in the Falklands, considering the battle's proximity to the undersea incident zone surrounding the so-called Artigus portals.

As I understand it, the portal was opened because of experiments taking place in the CIA's Antarctic station in the early 80s, and Falklands quickly became a center for portal research.

Being underwater, the portal had an enormous incident zone.

Segmented whales and other undersea debris would regularly wash up on the island's shores.

They found one well that had been segmented cleanly in half by an incident zone disturbance, proving a perfect cross-section of the creature.

They also found hundreds of the kitiness cruciform creatures, certainly non-terrestrial in origin.

Anyways, if a nuclear sub had wandered into the incident zone, it could have been disastrous, but I guess they considered the risk risk acceptable.

Wow, so they're saying that sea life is like cruciform creatures, yeah.

Cruciform creatures is insane, like weird.

So, it's almost like the portals have like a are they trying to say that there's like some kind of like religious angle to this, or it's like a spiritual angle, you know what I mean?

Well, so one of the things that's common with these,

I don't want to say, well, I guess conspiracy theory, but like some of these theories around

true hidden hidden facts or whatever.

I guess conspiracy theories.

I talked about a lot of stuff similar.

This isn't a conspiracy theory iceberg I did a while back, but it's the idea that everything's connected, right?

It's like, yeah, well, these things look like religious symbols because religious symbols are tied back to the true beings that are out there that understand this.

It's the idea that there's like this hidden narrative that connects everything beneath the surface of reality.

Pretty much the conspiracy theory that you're always being controlled.

Or it's like, you know, like these things, like nothing, not that well i i guess that's i guess it just means that like everything is connected in some kind of weird way there's something in play or in power right is that kind of the idea yeah it's like it's like it's kind of like the idea that there's this hidden this one hidden narrative or truth that dictates everything else in society like are are these flesh gates and militaries and stuff like that run into things that look like crosses because crosses come from this hidden like past knowledge we know not of and stuff like that yeah that connects to aliens.

And you know,

it's almost like the ancient aliens things where it's like, you know, the pyramids look this way because of like this white, like, yeah, basically, like, visitors came and did X, Y, and Z.

So, but, yeah, but just to also clarify, I don't want to get bogged on too much because there's so much you have to read, but I was just going to say,

literally, portals are opening, though, and like slicing whales in half.

Is that what's happening?

I think that's the implication because it's talking about, oh, so Articus is a CIA base in Antarctica.

Yeah, but it's saying that there is a portal there.

So like they've opened a portal down there.

And it says it's incident zone, which I imagine is the opening of it.

Yeah, it cuts wells in half.

And then through these portals are where the chitinus cruciform creatures are.

So chitinus is in like a natural shell, like what insects have.

But they're like cruciform shaped.

They're in like the shape of a cross.

effectively which is interesting

it's it's so unique it's such It's like, so far, it's like not really narrative.

It's just like kind of establishing the strange.

It's like weird conspiracy factoids right now, or you know, like weird, like, like weird, obscure history facts.

Yeah, I think it's like

these portals are causing to be opened up around

areas where the CIA is doing operations and these creatures are coming out of it.

Next post, once again, same day.

Also, by the way, that whole thing about kiteness, creatures, cruciform, and like CIA Antarctica puzzles is in the reply of someone talking about Winston Churchill.

Like, hey, here's a cool little history factoid.

The kitanos cruciforms are coming from Antarctica.

They're coming from.

The Soviets designated large portions of the Ukraine countryside as harvest populations.

Basically, their food and water supplies were dosed with LSD until they had achieved what the Soviets called integration.

This meant that the local populations had independently invented flesh interfaces.

The Soviet army would then quarantine the area and try to remove the flesh interfaces for their own use.

This was usually without success and with great loss of life.

Many of the soldiers and scientists were segmented as often happens in an incident zone, so they ended up with people missing limbs, cut in half, etc.

What's interesting is that people would live for quite some time despite segmentation.

This is what led the Soviets to believe that their missing body parts still existed albeit in some unknown place.

So one of the leading theories of the time was interdimensionality.

Quite mistaken.

Every post.

Well, you know what's kind of interesting?

And

we should just keep pushing for.

I mean, it's just, first off, it's like getting hit with a fucking bat every post, but this also reminds me of like the schizophrenic ramblings of like the Temple OS guy as well.

It's like something

because the thing too, which the Temple OS guy was insane, but the guy was like a genius, like an amazing soft, like software operations software engineer, whatever.

And the idea, too, that this guy is like hyperlinking these things to where you're getting like actual cases and places and stuff like that, to where it's almost like he's backing up everything he's saying.

You know, like, yeah, I mean, this is, here it is.

It is like a conspiracy board, you know?

You know, like, it's, it's like we see a conspiracy and you're like, oh shit, that is kind of weird.

But now we're getting into like some fun stuff of like now like portals are opening up and cutting people off.

But not only are they like, they get cut in half, but they're living like way longer than they should be, even though they're missing half of their body or something.

There's a lot of

overlap between

or not overlap.

Like we're starting to get through lines that we can piece stuff together.

So it's like, okay, people in Ukraine took enough LSD that they themselves were integrated.

So they willingly turned themselves into flesh interfaces.

So it's like, okay, people take LSD, they become integrated.

That's where the flesh interfaces come from.

And then it says that the soldiers and scientists were segmented, as often happens in incident zones.

So in incident zones, I assume where flesh interfaces, which are people who take LSD, are, they can open up these portals that cause people to be segmented when they're in the incident zone, or in other words, like you said, cut in half as the portals opened.

But then

people would live some time despite segmentation.

So at least to the theory that maybe they're not segmented, half of their body is just in a different reality or some unknown place.

So you can just walk around like in half because the other half of your body is just somewhere else.

Fifth post, once again, same day.

Dubai probably has the highest rate of free-floating non-interface incidents of any major metropolitan area in the world.

In one incident, a large group of migrant workers was segmented in an underground facility.

Perfect cross-sectional segmentation along the frontal plane.

You could see their lungs working, food being digested, blood pumping on the inside of the heart, everything.

They lived for almost five months in this condition.

Absolutely fascinating to see in person.

There was also a group of school children who were very slightly segmented, just ends of fingers and bits of the calves and such.

Hardly fatal wounds, yet they all died within two months.

Some showed signs of intellectual mutation.

There are no known flesh interfaces in Dubai.

However, it is surmised that the architecture is actually based on interface geometry and carries some latent interface-like power.

Mass segmentations remain one of the most mysterious aspects of the interfaces.

They seem to show that the interfaces do indeed concentrate on flesh living up to their name.

Interesting.

Man, this is getting me.

This is get me in all the good ways.

Interface geometry.

Oh, because because all of these have like roots in,

I won't say real, but like commonly held, like, I guess, conspiracy theories or like hidden secrets of the world and stuff like that, like sacred geometry.

Like, there's certain shapes that can elicit or summon creatures or like ideas or spirits of sorts.

So tying that into like the science and stuff, it's really cool.

If it fits right into the whole conspiracy theory niche, um, I do like the idea of people being cut in half frontally.

So, like, you know, they're split in half long ways, but they still exist like that for several months.

But it's like in other cases where people just lose the tip of their fingers, they die because maybe just coming into contact with the interface or being segmented can be like poison to the body of sorts.

Look, we talk about claustrophobia, being eaten alive, decapitated, even hunter's bathroom experiences.

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We are now back to the episode.

Sixth post, same day.

We look at Elizabeth Bathory as an example of pre-LSD Enlightenment.

I know that name.

Who is that?

She's the murderer who, like, rumored to bathe in other people's blood.

She's like a woman who killed hundreds of other women and would bathe in their blood.

Rumor-wise, but she was like an infamous serial killer.

Yeah.

In like the 1590s to 16.

Like 1500s to 1600s, whatever.

Yeah, accused of torturing and killing hundreds of girls.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Yeah.

she was said to bathe in blood.

Right.

Yeah, that was like the folklore thing.

It got so, yeah, too, because it was like to keep her.

To stop her aging.

Yeah, exactly.

Yeah, yeah.

We look at Elizabeth Bathory as an example of pre-LSD enlightenment, i.e.

somebody seeming to attempt to build a flesh interface before the invention of LSD.

How can this be explained?

Perhaps she ingested some ergo or some other naturally occurring psychotropic chemical.

Or perhaps her mind was simply attuned to whatever intellectual process need to occur to invent a flesh interface the book of revelations is oh man this

all the themes in this are

hunter you thank you for finding this you treat me so well the book of revelations is also considered to be a description of a flesh interface especially whoa

whoa that that that sentence is insane um especially the description of new jerusalem oh okay so new jerusalem The book of Revelations is the last book of the Bible that's like prophecy of the end times and stuff like that.

And at the end, it talks about how after the rapture or the end times, there will be a new heaven and a new earth created.

And it talks about there will be a new Jerusalem, as it's called, for

the souls within heaven to preside in.

And there's very specific directions for how long it's supposed to be, how wide it's supposed to be.

I think it's like,

it says there'll be like so many cubits up, so many cubits to the side.

I can't remember the exact dimensions.

But yeah, it's effectively like a giant building or a giant city structure that we think of as being in heaven that is meant for souls after the rapture to go into.

So it's saying that sentence as well.

The book of Revelation is considered to be a description of a flesh interface.

That description of New Jerusalem is what a flesh interface is.

But there's also the mention earlier that perhaps Elizabeth Bathory

attempted to build a flesh interface before the invention of LSD.

And we know that she's a serial killer that would bathe in blood and, you know, supposedly kill people and stuff like that.

So is a flesh interface a physical structure?

When it's talking about the CIA building flesh interfaces or like they were built in Vietnam or like the Ukrainians do it naturally because they're dosed with LSD, does that mean they're killing people and building structures out of their blood and bones?

That looks like the new Jerusalem of Revelations.

God, I mean, I mean, I don't know.

It's It's just, I mean, that would be sick.

It kind of does seem like it's made out of people's bodies.

Everybody's like severed bodies through these portals are like propping up this like utopia or whatever.

Yeah, yeah.

It's like, it's like,

what's up?

The house that Jack built at the end, how he has a physical house made out of the corpses.

It's like that, but there's like a portal to a Gartha in the middle of it.

Oh, man.

My problem with this is that it is all speculative.

Yeah.

Yeah, that's your problem problem with it.

There's no way to know this.

It's like when modern psychologists diagnose historical figures.

I'm uncomfortable with this level of speculation.

I will always regard the first instance of a flesh interface to have occurred in Treblinka, 1944.

The geologic disturbances, partial tunnels, so-called interdimensionality, and wealth of clearly segmented bodies leave no doubt of its existence.

Soviets have documented this.

Treblinka was a prisoner camp, I thought, in Russia, but I mean

it's the second deadliest.

Oh, sorry, no, it was the Nazis.

It was the second deadliest extermination camp to be built and operated by Nazi Germany and occupied Poland.

Okay.

So it was a concentration extermination camp.

But now they're saying that this was the, according to the author Mother Horse Eyes, which, by the way, that name is insane on its own.

Yeah.

This is the first Mother Horse Eyes Believes location that a flesh portal was created.

Anyway, seventh post, same day.

Basically, when you look at stories of Elizabeth Bathory's behavior, it seems like she is trying to build a flesh interface.

But it is known that in order to invent a flesh interface, one must be under the influence of LSD for extended periods.

As LSD hadn't been invented during her life, it's probably just a coincidence.

Still a tantalizing theory, though.

Which, again, that is such a funny post to just be on its own.

in the comments of r slash funny where someone is discussing a cameo of Prince on Animaniacs.

It's kind of interesting that possibly what he's getting at, too, is that it's like a form of enlightenment and whatever, but LSD is like literally a gateway or key gateway to actually unlocking like

this kind of enlightenment or this like this revelation, you know?

It's like a cheat code to be able to get there.

It unlocks the mind, so to speak.

Yeah.

Okay, post date, same day.

Obviously, I can't define a flesh interface in terms of purpose or composition or mechanism.

I can only list the various phenomena which are related to them.

Chief among these is the creation of an incident zone wherein objects are spontaneously segmented.

In other words, parts of the object simply disappear, yet the objects continue to behave as if the missing parts are still present.

Okay, that makes sense.

Like what they were talking about earlier with people surviving for a long time after being segmented.

It's not that you're getting cut off, it's that that piece of you is now in a different dimension.

Also, you see complex tunnels created in the earth.

These have been termed ant farms.

In undersea interfaces, you get kitinous cruciform organisms.

These pseudeneris organisms are thought to be the result on evolutionary processes which took place in an environment other than earth.

Sugeneris is a Latin phrase, which means of its own kind or in a class by itself.

It denotes an exclusion to a larger system.

So basically things that don't have near relatives in their

evolutionary tree.

This is speculation, but in this case, I agree with it.

Then there have been the giant metallic cylinders, which appear and experience continuous spontaneous segmentation.

These are usually at least 10 meters in diameter and can get much larger and only occur in very large interfaces, in other words, portals.

Beyond this, the phenomena are too various to mention and different for each interface.

So, next, which by the way,

the link on the giant melon sil the giant metal cylinders takes you to a page that is now gone, but it was talking about weird shapes appearing in Death Valley.

So that's what that was in reference to.

Okay.

They keep bringing up the chitness cruciforms, like these bugs, even undersea, like kind of like creatures.

Just kind of interesting.

That's just the second or third time they've brought that up.

Oh, it's like a natural, like when they do these undersea portals, it's like the thing that comes out of it.

It's an evolved creature from a world we can't experience.

It's very similar to that book, All Tomorrows, where it's talking about like in you know millions of years what evolution would look like on different planets to fully adapt creatures to different environments and stuff like that.

Like how different and strange things could look.

It's also reminiscent of

Actually, it's not reminiscent.

The image that's coming to mind when I think of it is

Ween's Ocean Man album cover, The Mollus.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Ocean Man.

But yeah, I know what you mean, like the weird kind of like bug shrimp or like whatever.

It's made up of all the different fish of the sea and like the lobsters and stuff like that.

Yeah, I think it's called the mollusk is the name of that album.

Yeah, it is.

It's a fucking creepy album cover.

It is.

And the music, the music's great.

I love that album, but there's such a weird,

not to say liminal because that's overused, but there's a weird strangeness to some of it combined with the album cover and the music and stuff like that.

It's great, but it's very unique.

Ninth post, same day.

Many people think that a portal is simply a large flesh interface.

This is true.

A portal is a large flesh interface, but it is also more than that.

A portal is, as the name implies, a way of sending objects between the portal site and wherever the various locations that have been found beyond the portals are located.

In other words, the so-called alien sister cities.

Whoa.

Portals are usually, but not always, accompanied by the large, fluctuating metallic cylinders.

The largest above-water portal that I know of occurred in Novaya

and existed for several weeks before it was destroyed by the Russian so-called Tsar bombs.

In this case, the metallic cylinders were miles high and covered with features rarely seen on other cylinders.

Blinking lights, nodules, so-called antenna.

They took on a very artifactual appearance.

They seemed to be constructed technology rather than naturally occurring phenomena.

Are the cylinders themselves artifacts being sent through the portals, or are they phenomena created by the flesh interfaces in the way a mushroom cloud is created by a nuclear explosion?

This is unclear.

I wish I could show you guys pictures of the Nova Zemla cylinders.

They truly were beautiful, rising miles into the clear Arctic air, like great alien towers, tinged blue by the vastness of the distances involved.

Though it was certainly necessary to destroy them, and we owe the Soviets a great debt for their tireless efforts to collapse the interface, I sometimes wish they were still there.

At least then, there would be something, some evidence.

It is funny, too, how this goes back and forth between like this, you know, fictional extra worlds history to like

the things the guy

outside of the subway say coming out of an overdose, you know.

Well, yeah, I mean, I also love the idea of the visual of an organic matter growing like a nuclear explosion, like starting up and like just kind of like quickly ascending,

whatever being built.

That's such a sick idea.

yeah

yeah all the visuals for this are great it feels like excellent like um science fiction material oh the 10th post is finally the next day this is our first post outside of the 21st

and only technically because this is at uh oh 1246 so in other words midnight 12.

but technically yes the next day right in response to what the cia had accomplished with their antarctic station in artigas the soviets built a larger station in novaya Zemlya in the Arctic.

30,000 prisoners and an exceptionally pure gas concentration created a flesh interface, which went through all seven stages in less than 13 minutes and became a full-fledged portal.

God.

Within a day, the typical fluctuating metallic cylinders were visible and within three days they were extending miles into the sky.

The Soviets quickly realized that the portal was growing out of control.

In previous instances, they had simply bombed the site from the air, but in this case, the enormous cylinders and attendant incident zone extending to the edge of space prevented this as well as missile strikes there were also an exceptionally large lateral incident zone around the portal with segmentation occurring miles out from the site alarmed by the zone's uncontrolled growth and the growing underground tunnels aka ant farms the Soviets worked feverishly to construct a hydrogen bomb of unprecedented power which could be detonated from outside the incident zone and still collapse the portal.

Steady Steady rate of growth in the incident zone provided them with an exact deadline, which they managed to meet with only two hours to spare.

Any later and the bomb could not have been placed so as to collapse the interface.

In short, the world came within two hours of being subjected to an uncontrolled flesh interface and perhaps the end of civilization as we know it.

Before the portal was collapsed, however, Soviets had gained first-hand knowledge of one of the so-called sister cities.

In other words, somebody had gone into the portal and come back.

Oh,

man, the idea it grew to space and like they had to take 30,000 prisoners and fill them with a gas that made them become these things quickly.

And like the larger the portal, the more stuff that can come out of it.

Oh, man.

The idea too that the portal gets so big that pretty much what he's saying too is like it would like sever the earth.

It's kind of sick.

Yeah.

Man.

That's so cool.

It's so cool.

Anyway, okay.

okay.

11th post, same day as last.

I've always found Lisa's dream to be a good starting place when trying to understand the psychological effects of travel.

Lisa was a nine-year-old girl sent through the Groom Lake interface in 1975.

The Groom Lake interface connects to the so-called sister city, technically persistent locusts, known as the Hanging Temples.

Interesting, okay.

So Groom Lake is Area 51, basically.

And then the Hanging Temples sound like hanging temples out in like Southeast Asia.

Yeah,

or just Eastern Asia.

Yeah.

Literally just hanging temples off the side of like an inner.

Yeah, pretty much right outside China.

Or it's in China.

But that is the nickname for the

sister city, or in other words, the alien city the portal connects to.

She stayed there for five days of normal time, but only 48 seconds of beyond time, a marked discrepancy.

Upon returning, she did not recall anything beyond becoming drowsy for a moment.

She slept well that night, and in the morning, she recounted a dream to the doctors before dying later in the day.

A direct transcript of the audio from the interview:

way up in the sky, big ones.

Me and my grandma went out to these hills, way out out past the edge of town, and under the hills, there were people sleeping.

Not in caves, they they were buried under the hills.

The people were asleep, but they were hugging each other.

Families.

Like moms and dads and little kids.

Just packed together.

A few thousand.

The hills were just blown up like balloons because they were so full of people.

Like a pregnant woman's stomach.

My grandma told me to lie down, but I didn't want to.

She laid down and got sucked into the ground, and I heard her voice coming out of the ground telling me to come inside.

Oh, man.

Jesus Christ.

That was fucking awesome.

First of all, I just want to say, like, the idea of like basically the interface impregnating the ground with people.

You're just like, it's also, it's kind of like a fun parallel too, with like when you die and you're literally like laid to rest.

These people are just like hugging each other, sleeping forever in the ground.

Fuck that.

And then, yeah, basically the ground being like, come inside.

Come here.

Pretty crazy.

It's also like, because this is in an alien world.

This is wherever the, what did he call it up there?

Beyond time.

This is in beyond time.

It's like wherever the portal leads you to.

And this little girl was with her grandma, probably just one of the people who accidentally got segmented, as it's called,

or went through the portal in the course of.

Oh no, it says she got sent through the grinterface.

My bad.

For a second, I was thinking we were still talking about the Russian experiment.

Yeah, this was a girl that was sent through the interface.

Yeah, she was only gone for, uh,

she was only gone in the portal time for 48 seconds, but it was for five days

in our time.

But it's like whatever's through the portals, like it takes these families, like they said, and they're hugging each other and

they're packed together.

It's like, as she describes it, like a pregnant woman's stomach, like it's feeding off of them or it's like gestating them.

Yeah, I did too.

She died later that day.

She was gone for 48 seconds our time.

She comes back and then she dies later in the the day.

I'm wondering what, wonder what, why if you trans, like when you go into that side and come back, or when you go into that side, what's so, I guess, poisonous about it?

Yeah.

This is also really fun, by the way, how it incorporates so many like real conspiracies into it, like Groom Lake and

just weird history.

It's so it's so sick.

Okay, next post, same day.

It would be easy to say that the Soviets discovered the secret of survivable travel because they were more ruthless, more willing to sacrifice innocent lives.

But there was really no lack of ruthlessness on the part of the CIA.

It was really just a matter of approach.

The Soviets approached the mystery of the flesh interface the same way they approached their space program.

The first humans in space, so-called lost cosmonauts who were never officially acknowledged, were just ordinary people, cult from the gulags.

No more control over their mission than Lake of the Dog.

Aww.

Lake up.

That's so sweet.

My wife has a Lake of tattoo thing.

Cool.

The Americans, on the other hand, started with professional men, usually from the military.

Likewise, when it was discovered that objects and even animals which entered the flesh interfaces occasionally returned unharmed, the Americans began training men to enter the interfaces.

Because they called their men from certain military rakes, they were all of similar age.

Soviets, however, used prisoners who had a much wider age range, and so they were able to discover the essential correlation.

The younger a person was the more likely they were to survive travel and the longer they would survive after travel.

They discovered that 20-somethings were much more likely to survive, albeit in a horribly altered state, than older people.

They discovered that people in their early 20s fared better than those in their late 20s.

Teenagers fared even better.

So despite all moral compunction, it was really a matter of time before they sent a child through.

And it was only after the first round of children went through that they gained any idea of what was on the other side

oh man that's uh

that's so cool aza levet says they would come back altered like what do we mean by that i get the idea yeah where it said that there's these kitness cruciforms that are found that are believed to be evolved from like another earth i feel like those are altered people yeah like say someone spends too long over there like and that's what they come back what's kind of cool if it is like a

almost like a crust over bug or something almost like i like to think that it's almost like, you know, there's that disease that people have where it's their bones don't stop growing.

Or if like they break their bones, they like regenerate and it just like mangles their body, you know?

Yeah, yeah, almost in some kind of way.

It's like when you,

whenever you go through the portal and when you come back and you're like re-put together or wake up after that transfer, you just like,

you don't get put back in the correct order.

Or things get added from whatever parallel side.

If like, you know what I mean?

Almost like two instances coming together.

Yeah.

I think

I think certainly those things are like people in some way.

Or if that's not them, people are being turned into something else.

Okay, so the next post was made a day after the previous one.

13th post for those at home keeping score.

Until we found the village, we had suspected that the detectors were just props, just toys given to us by the CIA guys to reassure us.

Nobody trusted spooks.

Three days through the jungle, and these detectors had not detected a thing.

But before we even saw the first hut, the needles on all the detectors started moving in unison.

If they were phony toys, it was a cool little special effect.

The needles swayed back and forth and all the little metal boxes let out this spooky woo sound all in unison.

Like a school choir.

Very weird.

I turned them off.

As instructed, we treated every Vietnamese as combatants, killed them all.

There wasn't any resistance, though.

A few had weapons, but most were unarmed.

None fought back.

They didn't even run.

they were just sent around blazing in the sun and we shot them where we found them grim work and very weird that probably spooked us out more than the detectors it was like they were waiting to die after clearing the village we didn't know what to do so we turned one of the detectors on and wandered around to see what was up the detectors started going nuts around one of the bigger huts in the middle of the village It already cleared it, but we went in again.

There was a big altar inside.

Candles and Buddhas, and gold signs with dink writing and shit.

We figured maybe one of the Buddha statues was setting the detectors off, but no.

Hut was very hot, muggy.

Even by the incredibly humid standards of Vietnam, it was incredibly, incredibly humid in there.

Even the Buddha statues were sweating.

Their faces were literally coated with drops of moisture.

Everybody noticed that there was something weird going with the air.

There was something off about the pressure.

So we just tossed everything.

Picked all the shit up and tossed it out of the hut.

Sure enough, when we picked up the big platform that held the altar, there was something under it.

It was a pit made of flesh.

Oh, gosh.

Maybe five feet across and going down about 20 feet before curving out of sight.

When I say made of flesh, I mean it looked like the inside of somebody's throat.

Wet,

reddish, flesh-looking stuff.

We had heard of them building tunnels, but this was...

we really couldn't even understand what we were looking at

it was

breathing

the flesh kind of rippled and this hot air came out and it felt and smelled just like somebody breathing right in your face enough to make you sick they told us we would know it when we saw it well we saw it we knowed it radioed the coordinates and got out of there Oh my gosh, dude.

Is this also the first time that the

author has referred as like we, you know?

Yeah.

Like a personal account?

Well, it makes it sound like whoever's writing all this, the reason he knows this is because he's

a part of the extraction team or like a part of the American team that would go and find this.

Like he was a like he was a Vietnam soldier who stumbled across this and it opened up like his discovery of it.

Dude.

Oh,

oh gosh, I can see it in my mind.

It's so cool.

A team of like dudes in Vietnam.

Like they kill a village because they're ordered to and then they find find like a throat compiled of flesh underneath the temple and the people there were like worshiping it or in like ecstasy over it oh it's so cool oh

so good okay 14th post encasement was certainly not something we were expecting it really changed our whole perspective on what exactly was occurring We thought that the flesh interfaces were just like pipes that went from one location to another, perhaps extra-dimensionally or by some other magic.

But when the first subject came back encased, we realized that, well, I'm not sure what we realized, we realized for the thousandth time in our dealings with the flesh interfaces that we were dealing with something really beyond us.

That's why I call it magic.

It was so far beyond our understanding.

It was basically like meddling with some kind of black magic.

The first subjects to come back encased was an eight-year-old girl we had named Jingles.

We started naming the kids dogs' names to try to depersonalize them, to assuage the guilt.

This was done by the recommendation of CIA psychiatrists, but it didn't work very well.

We all still felt like shit.

But what choice do we have?

Can we just ignore the flesh interfaces and not study them?

Perhaps, but you must realize that the Soviets were also studying them.

That changed the whole equation.

If they,

I mean, well, the ethical issues have been debated to death.

What's done is done.

We dropped the bomb on Hiroshima.

We gave those blankets to the Indians, and we sent those kids through those portals.

Now it's all just part of history.

Anyway, we sent Jingles into Flesh Interface with an object returned two minutes later, which is a pretty long time for an interface.

It was a large organic sack lined with veins, vaguely resembling a human lung, about four feet long.

We x-rayed it and saw the skeleton inside and cut it open.

Sure enough, Jingles was inside.

naked and covered with blood, with no hair on her head.

There's an umbilical cord attached to her belly button, which was attached to a sword of placenta.

Oh,

hunter,

fucking brutal, man.

Hunter, baby girl.

Also,

how fucked up is that as like using random children as scapegoats for this experiment?

Just shoving them through.

Yeah.

Well, I mean, it's like they found out that, you know, they live a longer chance of surviving if they're young.

So guess what?

We got to do operation fancy happened.

She goes in and then two minutes later comes out in a uterus, in a womb, effectively.

Oh, gosh.

We had a problem with the surgeons trying to harm her.

It was later realized that her blood, its blood, the blood from the sac, had high concentrations of an exotic LSD analog.

It was getting absorbed through the skin.

The placenta was like an LSD factory, pumping out millions of doses.

This particular blend made people pretty violent, so we had to put on containment suits.

Jingle's skin was flawless, like a newborn's.

No wrinkles on the back of her neck, no wrinkles on her palms except the major ones.

She had the form of an eight-year-old girl, but seemed a lot newer.

We did MRIs on her bone plates and found they were still highly undeveloped, as if she was newborn.

We wondered, is this really Jingles or some kind of clone?

What sort of apparatus could have possibly produced this clone and why?

After a day of observation, she awoke.

We weren't sure if her mind was still there.

Perhaps she had been wiped clean.

So we waited, asking her questions.

At first, her behavior was like that of an infant, just smiling and gurgling and clasping her hands.

It was pretty eerie seeing that kind of behavior from an eight-year-old.

Really, it was pretty eerie looking at her at all.

Her skin was so pure and glowing, she looked like an absolute angel.

I...

We...

well, anyways.

After a while, she started babbling, saying little phrases.

In a matter of hours, she seemed to progress through the various stages of development, her sentence structure and awareness becoming more and more sophisticated.

As soon as she could understand sentences, we started questioning her again.

Who was she?

She said her name, she knew her past.

This wasn't just a blank clone.

This may or may not have been the original girl, but she seemed to have the same mind as the original.

So then we asked her the questions that we wanted to know.

The question that had plagued us for years.

The question that had led us, in the face of all humanity and morality, to send a child into a living apparatus of death.

What did you see?

What's on the other side?

Her expression grew thoughtful.

She was such a thoughtful, bright girl.

We chose her for her intelligence.

So young and bright, and we just threw her.

Anyway, She thought about the question, and it seemed then that we would finally get an answer, a real answer.

I remember the sense of anticipation in the room, it was like nothing I've ever felt before or since.

Remember, I quit the program that day, so I was never able to question another subject.

Anyway, she said to us, Inside the chamber, I started to feel drowsy.

See, everything changed, and I knew what I saw.

I had seen it before.

I said to myself, This is like the the room in my Grammy's house.

The quiet room.

We asked her what she meant by this.

She replied with these words.

Her final words before she simply stopped living and sat there dead with her eyes still on us.

She said, Come unto these yellow sands.

Man.

Oh.

Oh.

The T-Do of her like just dying there with her eyes open, probably smiling or something is just so crazy.

Come unto these yellow sands.

What do you think?

What do you think that means?

That's Shakespeare, I think.

Hold on.

I think I've heard that before.

Let me look it up.

Oh, gosh, that's so cool.

The child going through.

And I love that build-up when he's like, the thing we sent children into it for the thing we wanted to know, what did you see?

Just happen to know what it is.

Yeah, you're right.

Shakespeare.

Good call.

Yeah, it's from the Shakespeare play, The Tempest.

Ariel Song

is what it says.

The poem goes, Come unto these yellow sands and then take hands, curtsied when you have, and kiss the wild waves whist.

Foot if feetly here and there, and sweet sprites the burthen bear.

Full fathom five, thy father lies of his bones and coral made.

Those are pearls that were his eyes, nothing of him that doth fade.

It sounds like

not as good as hard in the paint by Wakaflaka, but Shakespeare did a good try there.

Could you imagine that little girl?

Yeah, I go hard in the motherfucking paint.

She starts dropping it in bombs, too.

Whoa!

What you thinking?

What you stanking?

That'd be so sick.

It sounds like, okay, so the poem sounds like, again, I don't know

the context and the tempest for what's going on here, but it sounds like the character Ariel is singing for like them to join her, to follow, like kind of come with me down the rabbit hole, so to speak.

It says, come to these old sands and then take hands, curtsied when you have, and kissed the wild waves whist.

So.

Yeah, it sounds to me like there's this whole

Because the last thing she says is I was there or the last coherent things he says, I felt drowsy, everything changed.

So it's like she fell asleep.

That's when she started to be wrapped inside of the womb and then the LSD given to her.

And she's back in her grandma's room or grandma's house, the quiet room, which that has so many implications.

But she's back in the quiet room.

And then

when they're like, what do you mean?

She says, come into these yellow sands.

And that sounds like.

What I've seen, I can't explain.

Or like, it may not even be the girl talking.

It's like the LSE that's pumping through her talking, like this higher mind she's reached.

But whatever entity or voice is speaking within her, is like, you're going to have to see it for yourself.

These are beyond things that you're supposed to know.

Yeah.

She's got that.

Gosh, this is so cool.

That walka-flocka possession going on.

I really wish that out of her trash would have said, Flocka, waka,

waka, waka, waka, flaka.

Look at the end of that deal.

Waka.

Walka, walk

they shoot her yeah riding real slow bending corners my no

stop her quick she's gonna say it

she deserves it she went through hell and back

it's also it's funny again

to look at these because

like that whole thing is in reply to R slash movies.

China officially says that the Martian shows America's One Space Cooperation.

Just the comments you get that.

Someone talking about like the guilt they have over a child that died in this experiment.

They're sent through a flesh.

Is Matt Damon good in The Martian?

And then they get hit with that.

And you know what's kind of cool with this too is that somebody sees it and they're like, what the fuck?

And then it makes you want to click on the profile and be like, yeah, this guy's crazy.

And that's kind of how people discover the story, though.

That's why it works.

Yeah.

That's why it works.

Yeah.

It's also the equivalent of like showing a pilgrim an iPhone.

Because their mind just melts.

Yeah, they were like, la la la, I really like Matt David and the Martian.

And then just,

you remember in The Sun Vanished, the Blue Line

with the dub step.

That's what these comments are doing to people asking like,

do you like Captain America or are you Team Iron Man?

then just i was in the jungles of da nang

i felt the breath of this in the village we slaughtered

just dropping these bombs on people

anyway

next one 15th post same day and which by the way this author whoever he is i don't care if he's like out of his mind on lsd or what he is great at setting up this like this world this tension it's awesome post 15 in explaining our cruelty which i admit was quite beyond scope of all humanity i feel i must remind you of how we lost the war what a what a great

opening to a comet gosh we lost the war in the cruelest way imaginable island after island fell and enemy drew closer and closer more and more bombs fell in our cities food grew more and more scarce people starved House burned, people burned, children burned.

We were punished by our own sense sense of dignity, by our own inability to admit inevitable and total defeat.

It was like watching a sword slowly being sunk into your chest, millimeter by millimeter.

But you refused to cry out, refused to whimper or beg for mercy.

There's nothing you can do but watch the metal disappear into your weeping flesh.

By the end of 1944, it was clear that both Japan and Germany were doomed, barring some divine intervention.

Yet the stories we knew from childhood told us that we had been saved by divine intervention before.

When the fleets of Kublai Khan were on our shores moving from island to island, conquering and raping till a miraculous typhoon sent their ships to the bottom of the ocean.

Though we were modern men and trained in Western science, we still believed that there was some sacred destiny in store for the Japanese people, and we kept an eye out for something.

Anything which hinted up the divine.

Two intriguing pieces of news had come to us through Germany.

Developments which suggested that perhaps the tide of the war could turn suddenly.

Both, however, were ominous.

One was that America was developing a super weapon, a bomb which could level entire cities, which used the latent power of the atom, unleashing very forces which held existence together.

We assured ourselves that this was American propaganda, that no such weapon actually existed, but our scientists acknowledged that it was theoretically possible.

The second piece of news was more puzzling.

It was said that a Swiss scientist had synthesized a chemical which, like the American nuclear technology, could unleash latent forces.

This time, forces of the mind.

This chemical was said to fuse the various disparate areas of the mind and allow for incredible insights.

Apparently, teams working under the influence of this chemical for long periods of time were capable capable of inventing techniques and devices previously unheard of.

By the end of 1944, various high-ranking Germans were slipping out of Germany, like rats from a sinking ship, often trying to fund their escapes by selling various pieces of artwork, technology, intelligence, etc.

It was from one of these that we obtained an enormous supply of this wonderful chemical, LSD.

which was supposed to be secret even from Germany's allies.

Along with the chemical, we were given a piece of news which was positively tantalizing, given the position we were in.

According to our contact, experiments with LSD had been conducted at the Treblinka extermination camp.

A group of prisoners was given the drug for a period of several months and the results were so impressive that somehow the prisoners were able to convince the camp leaders to take the drug as well.

Soon the entire camp hierarchy was taking the drug and working together on a new new device that was some sort of destructive radar which could bring down planes as easily as ordinary radar found them.

It was said to be powerful enough to slice bombers right in half.

Of course, we found this piece of news hard to believe.

Nazi death camp commanders worked side by side with Jewish prisoners to invent a magical radar?

It was utterly fantastical.

Our good sense told us to ignore it.

And yet,

how could we?

The Americans had already taken back the Philippines.

Soon they would take Iwo Jima, the Okinawa, and all the home islands.

We were facing the end of the Japanese as a free race.

Perhaps the end of all Japanese existence.

The Germans would have it easy compared to us.

Many Americans were German in origin.

There was a blood affinity between the countries.

This did not exist for us.

The Americans would burn our cities and rape our women and enslave us, make us servants, like their

that word.

We would be cross-bred with the whites until we had become self-degenerate half-caste.

Japanese culture would crumble.

Stories of our childhoods would be forgotten.

We were watching a sword disappear into our hearts, and we were desperate for some kind of divine intervention.

So in late 1944, A blast jar of LSD crystals, enough for several million doses, was taken aboard a submarine and slipped under the cover of the sea back back to the home islands we were looking for divine grace what we found was a hell beyond our darkest dreams of destruction

oh my gosh dude

that whole

every entry i read i'm like gosh that was so good as just like its own little vignette something by itself talking about it and that one's no different oh my how we lost the war oh man

the lsd was passed around at like Treblinka.

Everyone took it.

And it's like they forgot all the war they were fighting for, why they were there.

And it's like they became directed towards this new objective.

And so the Japanese want to get their hands on it.

So in their desperation, they do.

And then things get much worse.

What's interesting is the use of Wii, because the use of Wii's come up a few times.

There was the one mentioned earlier is the Vietnam guy.

And then there was the mention of the experimenter when Jingles came out in the womb, which I now think are two different people.

And now there's this one of a Japanese soldier scientist during World War II.

So it sounds like the Wii, either the Mother Horse Eyes account is multiple different accounts that are being shared and posted, or

it's the Mother Horse Eyes or whatever is like a sort of hive mind almost, you know?

Hmm.

Hive mind, yeah.

It's just interesting.

The, yeah, yep.

Like everyone who's involved with it or everyone who's had experience with it is now speaking from a first person perspective or at least whatever entity who knows of these accounts is turning it into a first person perspective right

interesting anyway all right so all those things that we have read thus far have been replies uh left again on random reddit threads the next post uh is a actual post that was made by the author mother horthy's uh it was a self-post in a subreddit that's now locked locked.

So

this was actually like for the first time Mother Horse Eyes sort of or the user nine Mother Horse Eyes

addressing the people who are reading the stories.

Hello friends, thank you for your interest in my post.

I want to apologize to the community at large for posting them to threads whose relationship to their content is at best tangential.

I simply had nowhere else to post my information where anybody could read it.

Previously, I was operating a website wherein my information laid out out in a rather straightforward manner.

I was quite convinced that the undeniable truth of this information would attract attention on its own accord.

I was quite sure that somehow this grand truth would shine out as a beacon and resonate with receptive people and quickly become widespread.

As I recall, my best month brought about 400 visitors and a total of four non-spam comments.

75% of these recommended psychiatric intervention.

So here we find ourselves.

I'm attempting to use the techniques of fiction and suspense to hopefully generate interest in this information.

Your subreddit furthers this aim, and I sincerely thank you for creating it.

Yeah, so the r/slash mother horse eyes was created by people who found the previous post and were discussing it.

So then Mother Horse Eyes made an appearance and posted this message I'm reading now.

I should clarify that this information is not fiction, nor is it true.

It is a mix of things which happened and things which almost happened.

I like that.

Things which were and things which could have been.

You must understand that the present moment in which we exist is simply a nexus from which trillions of possible past and possible futures branch out.

The important thing to realize is that these unreal past and unrealized futures are related to each other.

By examining what might have been, we can come to understand what might come to be.

I am writing about what has never been and what must never be.

Unfortunately, our generation has been given a special burden.

We are doomed, as the apocryphal Chinese curse has it, to live in interesting times.

Soon, technological advances in the fields of information technology and bioengineering will fundamentally reshape human existence.

There are a number of possible outcomes, and I believe that most of them will result in the human race entering an unending era of absolute slavery.

As a free species, we have seen totalitarianism before, and we have destroyed it.

But when it arises again, aided by advanced information and biological technology, it will have a new and unprecedented ability to envelop the entire earth and place humanity in an unalterable state of total mental and physical slavery that will last for uncounted millennia until the earth becomes uninhabitable.

Not only do I believe that this outcome is possible, I believe that it's overwhelmingly likely.

Out of all the trillions of possible futures arrayed before us, 99.999% of them results in this outcome.

As Christ said, Wide is the gate, broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.

But narrow is the gate, and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.

We must find and enter the narrow gate, but it will not be easy.

In order to find it, we must sort through the many possible pasts to find the possible futures which result in a humanity free to live and die as humans, and not as an unholy agglomeration of mindless flesh.

Fortunately, as we fight against the forces of slavery and death, it will precisely be our instincts towards the preservation of freedom and life that will lead us to destruction.

In short, we live in precarious times.

I want to make clear that while this post shows clear and appalling signs of megalomania, I am actually aware that I am not a prophet or an expert.

I am a 30-something American male without the benefit of a college education or a stable job.

Sadly, I have spent most of my life drunk.

My post will contain a number of historical errors, both intentional and unintentional, as well as bad spelling, bad grammar, and laughably overwrought prosé.

Readers with the proper education will easily see through my attempts at reudition.

In short, I have no proper formal qualifications for the the task I have set out for myself.

But I have personally experienced the intellectual mutations of which I write.

Through repeated self-experimentation, I have fractured the time state of my brain, and now it exists in an ever-shifting state between various pasts which didn't happen.

As such, I have been given what I believe is special insight into our possible futures.

They are dark.

The shadows of past atrocities pass and overlap with the shadows of future atrocities.

Time is short.

Recently, I have been beset with a persistent creativity that seems to grow stronger as the days go by.

I fear this state is unsustainable.

Perhaps eventually this productive mania will turn into an unproductive psychosis, and soon, on a larger scale, mankind's productivity will turn into its own sort of psychosis.

Billions of years ago, the so-called primordial soup arranged itself into a self-replicating form which multiplied and flourished and divaricated into countless species.

From our vantage point in the present, this singular moment of origin has become lost in the midst of time.

Equally obscure to us is the future singularity towards which we are heading, the end point in which all countless species are once again reintegrated to a new and singular form, a new abomination.

We are on the verge, all of us.

Times are dire.

We are about to be gathered again into the arms of the mother to become one flesh with her.

The mother who gathers lost children.

The mother I have seen in dark spaces since I was a little child.

Back when I called her the mother with horse eyes.

We are about to meet her again.

We are about to be unborn.

God damn.

God damn, damn.

That was me honestly just being like, yeah, dude, I guess times are pretty bleak.

Jesus fucking Christ.

We are about to meet her again.

Mother I saw in dark spaces as I was a child back when I called her the mother with horse eyes.

Oh.

oh, gosh, dude.

This is so gas.

This is so good.

Yeah.

Man, okay.

It's very eerie, too.

Like, it's weird because

the beginning of it really throws off your,

you're like, oh, okay.

You know, you're like, oh, well, you get a break about being like, you know, this isn't really fiction or is it not fiction, whatever.

And then it kind of like, I don't know, like around the halfway mark, it really starts divulging back into him like.

Just like, I mean, it's just so threatening, you know, or it's just like scary.

the the ominous like dread the never-ending dread is just uh it's it's pretty crazy

this captures what to me i i think because a lot of people are like oh conspiracy theories are dumb or stuff they're not that interesting i think what is so interesting to me about not like did jfk was jfk assassinated stuff like that i'm talking conspiracy theories about like you know was this ancient civilization real stuff like that One of the reasons they interest me so much is because they all point back to this unified theory that there is a secret out there.

And if we can find that one secret, it will rewrite our understanding of religion, of culture, of society, all of it.

And there is something

so haunting about that.

The implication that there is a narrative we're not aware of that has shaped everything, every interaction, every societal structure.

There is one thing that has dictated it and has convinced us it was our own decision, that it was our own free will.

But there is something behind the curtain that has puppeted us this whole time.

There's something so menacing, it's overwhelming fear, and it's kind of it evokes the same fear that this story is evoking right now.

And they use the same themes of conspiracies, of lost history, of unhistory, and stuff like that.

Um, it is a conspiracy theory, horror story, and that is awesome.

Yeah, it's sick.

Also, also, just the mother with horse eyes, like, oh man, to become on flesh show.

He's talking about he, it sounds like he, our author of this, or at least, you know, our self-insert author protagonist of the story, has taken enough LSD that he has started to,

as he said, fractured his mind.

And now he sees all the previous pasts that haven't happened, but he's not sure which one's real yet.

So he's talking about them.

And that explains why he always uses we.

Because he is like fractured across these different consciousness seeing the past.

So he's speaking from their perspectives as he's relaying this history that never came to be.

So his hyper obsession.

He's like the nexus point that all these stories are coming through.

His hyper obsession on LSD and stuff too makes it seem like, is he is he a reliable narrator?

You know?

Yeah.

Or is he it's one of those things where it's just, I don't know, it's when you go into that, when you go into thought patterns like that, it really questions like,

well, who is this person?

How are they affected?

You know, is this a person that's mind has just gone completely crazed?

You know what I mean?

But they're very well spoken, and that's what throws it for a loop.

You're like, fuck.

It's not rambling.

It's like very concentrated, well thought out sentences.

There's a cohesion to the stuff he's talking about, even if it doesn't make, even if on the whole, it doesn't make sense, it makes sense to him, right?

But I love that, like,

we have to know, we have to know what wasn't so we will know the things that can never be.

It's like, we're all being unborn, which ties back to the, you know, jingles coming out in like the sack.

It's like, and uh, the girl with the Russians who was sent, um, or not the Russians, the one at Groom Lake, who said saw their grandmother go beneath the ground, and like everyone was curled up like a pregnant woman's belly.

It's like people are being reverted into previous states of existence, yeah,

yeah, yeah, maternal, exactly, mother horse eyes, right?

Like, it's wanting to drag people into it to make them into like infants again, into embryos.

Um,

the mother with horse eyes.

What it's like the void.

Oh, it reminds me of

In Sorceled in the Earth.

Yeah.

The talk of like the mother, the darkness that our character leads itself into until it becomes a part of it again.

It's very familiar with that.

I will say, too, when even our narrator here is talking about mother horse eyes, it doesn't seem like he's trying to reject it either.

I think he's very much in the eyes of like, it's time, you know?

Which also, I think it's just the level of confidence in which he's speaking, of like the certainty of everything is what also gives the story such a

such a hit like it just hits you in the stomach really hard

yeah yeah so i think a lot of these comments we're going to see because are

i i'll call them the narrator the narrator who put that last post together is seeing all these different futures and like memories of pasts that never were so i think each one of these individual posts where it's talking from a first person perspective is completely different people So that's probably why the language shifts some between different ones.

Some are more personal, some are more impersonal, stuff like that.

right some swear some don't you know

all right so now uh next post 16 this looks like the next day yeah 16th post when you're hanging out with the tribe of nazi acid heads magical space pussy doesn't even register on the weirdometer okay immediately what i said about different

you know um different accounts have different ways of speaking and stuff like that I mean, they talked about so much weird shit, and so much of it was total bullshit that I didn't pay any attention to it.

It was the 60s.

Talking about magical space pussies was like asking somebody how their day went.

It was just conversation to me.

But to them, it wasn't.

That was a strange time in my life.

I'd spent the last six months going from commune to commune, just checking them out.

They were all bullshit.

Every one of them just some guy on a power trip, but a bunch of women grown up with bad fathers hanging on his every word, hoping he would solve all their problems.

That's the only way the commune system worked.

The guy got control of the women, and the women attracted a few guys to do the manual labor, but in the end, it was basically just a new system of pimping.

I mean, I'm from Brooklyn.

I've seen pimping.

These chicks had tried to escape society and just gotten themselves pimped out.

It was tragic, but too tragic for me to give a shit about.

So, I went out to Death Valley.

Why did I go there?

Why does anybody?

Because it has a cool name.

If it was called Some Scorpions and a bunch of rocks, which is what it actually is, nobody would go.

I had decided I was done with counterculture.

I was done with the regular culture.

I was done with it all.

I would go where nobody would bother me and just try to figure myself out.

Get a little peace and quiet.

Month later, the Manson family moved in next door.

Yes!

Oh my gosh, what I said earlier about the Mansons.

Yes!

Let's go!

For a while, it was just a nice little guy named Paul and some girls living a few miles from my little shack.

Seem harmless.

Then the whole family came in.

Charlie, too.

They had already committed the murders at this point.

It was big news, but nobody knew who did it.

I surely didn't connect it to this band of weirdos next door.

They seemed too stupid to pull off anything newsworthy.

Just another bullshit commune.

Once Charlie got there, the family seemed to spend most of their time driving their doom buggies around, pretending to be the Africa corpse.

I mean, Charlie would put on a helmet with a swat stick and lead them in maneuvers.

I never met racist Nazi hippies before, but there's the first time for everything.

Some of them even talked about Uncle Adolph and how he knew the score, how he should have won the war.

I was a mechanic in the army, so I helped them out with the buggies and got to know them a little.

Slowly, their little philosophy trickled down to me.

They thought America was on the verge of an apocalyptic race war.

Blacks on white.

Helter skelter, the watts riots in every city.

That part actually seemed pretty plausible.

I mean, you got to understand.

In 1969, the country had been getting weirder and weirder, more and more violent every year.

Nobody was quite sure if it would end.

Nobody knew that in the 70s, counterculture would just kind of peter out into a bunch of James Taylor albums.

They said they had come to the desert to find a hideout so they would be safe while the Helter-Skelter race war was going on.

They said that somewhere out in the desert, there was a bottomless pit full of wonders and treasures.

In the Bible, Revelation speaks of

In the Bible, Revelation speaks of the tree of life, which bears 12 kinds of fruit, one for every month.

They said this tree was growing inside the bottomless pit and would give them all the food they wanted while they waited out the war.

When it was over, they said, they would emerge.

Charlie would rule the world as the new Christ.

So that part was a little less plausible.

And then I started hearing about the magical space vagina.

I had become friends with Paul, who was actually a nice guy who just wanted to screw the girls and get stoned and didn't really get into the whole Nazi thing.

He said they were searching for the entrance to the bottomless pit.

He said that entrance would be made of flesh growing out of rocks.

Like a giant,

like a giant vagina so big you could just stroll right in.

I told him he thought about pussy way too much.

But he was serious.

He said that the technology to turn rocks into flesh was from outer space, and its secrets had been taught Charlie by Uncle Adolph.

Till then, I had thought that Uncle Adolph was their name for Hitler.

Slowly, as I learned more, I started to realize that they weren't talking about somebody who was still alive.

Somebody they actually knew.

They told me he was coming soon.

So the implication here is that

they...

got on LSD and then that's what wanted them to bring about the whole race war and stuff like that to end the world.

And then they became obsessed with finding one of these flesh portals, like the one that was mentioned in Vietnam earlier.

And then our author, who's being, you know, diminishing of the idea, refers to it as like a giant vagina, but it is a flesh portal through the ground that we've heard about before.

And Charles Manson, then we're trying to find a way to it.

Yeah, I was almost wondering if it's like a tree of life kind of allegory, too, or not.

Well, see, bottomless pit is also a thing in the book of Revelation, but that's normally in reference to hell.

It talks about that after

the

rapture and stuff like that.

Hell's more of a holding place, so to speak, depending on how you look at it.

And then after the battle of the end times, the devil will be thrown into the bottomless pit and locked away.

So that's like a hellish place.

But then

that they believe in there will be the tree of life, which is a good thing that's involved with like heaven

and like the new Jerusalem as it's mentioned in the Bible and stuff like that so

it's it's like walking into hell because there is a good thing of heaven there like they have their symbolism of it mixed up but this uncle adolph is a real person who's coming very soon interesting again the world building is great and how it drip feeds information next post 17th post same day this kind of psychological mirroring was exploited in the design of the flesh interfaces when a human body hold on that might be because he said sometimes these replies are in comments

Okay, yeah, so this is in reply to a post in r/slash gifs, which is now deleted.

Um,

or the thing that was linked is now deleted, but it's talking about soldiers running drills on LSD in the 1960s.

So, then, in reply to that, Mother Horse Eye says, this kind of psychological mirroring was exploited in the design of the flesh interfaces.

When a human body is embedded in an interface, the independent, in other words, non-human interface glands produce massive amounts of LSD, which cause intellectual mutations, in other words, time fracturing along several dozen axes.

Meanwhile, the independent hormone regulators produce an emotional oscillation between two states, euphoria and terror.

Thus, we have the typical sound of an interface, alternating waves of giggling and screaming that move through the interface population, running along the length of the interface as the hormones travel along the independent conduits.

These successive waves of giggling and screaming create a steady rhythm that washes over the traveler as they move through the interface.

Natural empathetic responses mirroring prepare the traveler's body for the process of embrace.

God, imagine being shot through a portal and you just hear people screaming in pain and laughing.

But yeah, it's all it goes.

So it goes between euphoria and terra.

So it sounds like,

okay, so it says in the construction of the flesh interfaces, there is human glands, like human stuff, that is being pumped with this LSD material from the non-human stuff, and it's causing them to time fracture.

And the regulators throw them between terror and euphoria.

So, that is the tunnel, I believe, right?

The flesh interface from everything we've established, made out of people.

So, as people pass through, it oscillates between the laughter and the terror, and it creates these waves of giga, it creates a rhythm, as it says, that washes over the traveler and prepares them for embrace, which I imagine embrace is,

it's using the word embrace because it's like a mother, right?

Mother horse eyes that's embracing them.

But the embrace is probably the process that turns them back into the womb, that turns them back into an infant just in their own body.

That one's out of the way.

18th post.

When I was little, they took mommy away and put me with a new mommy in a smelly dark house.

They said she was a real person, but I knew she wasn't.

They had made her.

Her face was made from pieces of animal.

Pig cheeks, hairy goat jaw, old horse eyes.

They sewed her together badly, and the seams were crusty.

I hated her.

Real mommy called me from underground.

I opened the attic window at sundown to let the spring breeze flow in.

I heard her song floating in on the cool air.

Soft singing from the grave.

God.

God.

I'm like,

I want to see right now.

My fucking mind is just getting getting fucked.

Like, I'm just getting raw dog.

It's just like, yeah, 1957, there was a group of people in Indonesia that did, and you're like, okay.

And all of a sudden, it's just like, I see her from the ground.

I hear her crying and singing.

I miss mommy.

I'm like,

what the fuck is happening, dude?

I'm going to be honest.

I'm having a panic attack.

I'm going to be honest.

That one.

So, like I said earlier, there's kind of this uneasiness about, ooh, what if there's this great secret that contains humanity and stuff?

That entry, I immediately became aware of the open door to my right.

Like that one shreaked me out a little bit.

Oh, what did it say?

She had pig cheeks, goat jaw, hairy goat jaw, old horse eyes.

They sewed her together badly.

I hated her.

But they're trying to, okay, so.

They took mommy away and put me in the smelly dark house with new mommy.

This sounds so much like the little girl earlier saying she was in the quiet room at Grammy's house, right?

Yes.

Said she was a real person.

I knew she wasn't.

It almost made me think it was like

a body made of all the parts that have been cut off from portals and shit is what I was thinking.

Oh, that's actually a really good idea.

I didn't even think of that.

Yeah, you're probably right.

All the

what they call it, segmenting.

Yeah.

Segmented stuff.

Wherever the things are going, it's like,

because also

they always sound like it's from a child's perspective.

So to me, it's always like this is the perspective of the kid in the portal or in the flush interface.

Yeah, what they see.

And that's what the girl said at Not Groom Lake,

the other experiment they did with jingles.

Oh, yeah, yep.

Yeah, the experiment with jingles where she was like,

They asked what she saw when she went through the portal, and she was like, I was back in the quiet room at Grammy's house after I got really tired.

So, this sounds like the same thing.

There is

these

she goes to a house, and whoever they is tries to convince her it's her mom, but it's not, it's just pieces of living things.

And then, real mom called out to me from underground.

So, that sounds like the Grammy that sunk below the ground.

So, this sounds like it's in the other plane, it's on the other side of the portal, and they're trying to, whatever they is, the aliens or whatever, is trying to convince this little girl that this is her mother.

These pieces,

gosh, that's good.

But then,

hold on, if that's the case,

then maybe our author, the one who's made this whole story, also went through that because he said,

I saw the mother in dark spaces when I was a child.

I called her the mother with horse eyes, which, you know, she just described that this thing had horse eyes, so we can assume that's the same one.

But if that's the case, then that means he went through the portal too, probably when he was younger.

Interesting.

Okay.

Or he just saw memories of kids that had gone through the portal, like this little girl, for instance.

okay all right ready number 19

post made a day later watching the flesh interface process known as embrace is kind of like watching those japanese subway groping videos well that's that's a crazy intro that was honestly the first thing i thought of when i watched it but of course i wasn't going to put that in the official report you ever seen those videos well you wouldn't admit it if you had right

It's a whole genre over there.

Not the most progressive stuff in terms of gender equality, but compelling nonetheless.

Hunter, do you have any idea what he's talking about?

No,

what is it?

I don't think it's Japanese groping videos on subways.

I think it's literally like smut videos where people go and they'll like grab women or they're like basically peeping Tom.

I'm guessing it's also stuff too where it's like, you know, I mean grope videos grabbing girls tits ass that kind of stuff

is what I would assume that that or I would also assume if it's like subway stuff if it's also like people like hidden footage or you know, they don't know they're being recorded, probably.

The videos start with the woman's.

Oh, we're about to get a description.

Well, I'm glad I took the time to do that.

The video starts with a woman standing in the subway, minding her own business, when some guy starts feeling her up.

She protests demurely and attempts to deflect his roaming hands.

He persists.

Other men on the subway, perhaps sensing her weakness, join in with the groping.

Oh, gosh, a sort of group madness takes over the subway occupants.

The men are transformed from ordinary travelers into an agglomerated mass of arms and hands and fingers grabbing every part of the woman's body.

The woman's attempts at protecting her personal space are always absurdly ineffectual, and soon she is divested of her clothing.

God damn.

Depending on the video subgenre, a variety of acts ensue, most of which surely violate local transportation statutes.

So hold on, this is saying it's a genre of porn, then.

Yes.

Well, I'm also wondering, I think it might be an illegal thing too.

I don't know.

Or unless it's just a bunch of people, like actors, they go and it's like a fantasy thing blah blah blah yeah yeah man anyway

embrace is kind of like that that combined with a school of piranha stripping a live cow of its flesh oh interesting so it's like a bunch of it's a bunch of things like tearing the skin off of you

maybe maybe the uh

maybe the uh you know the whole well maybe embrace is just the process of getting put in the womb maybe it's worse than that unless they rebuild you yeah so the way he describes it, where it's like someone goes through, because it says in the previous one that embrace comes at the end of

the tunnel, right?

After you go through the flesh gateway.

And then you get to the end of it, and then embrace happens.

And this person is describing embrace as someone like at first, like demurely, like they're not really trying.

It's kind of like half awake, like trying to push stuff off, but it's these hands and pieces and stuff ripping the flesh off of people in the same way as described here.

Man, okay.

All right, 20th post.

The island made

the next day.

Lying in the hold, listening to the bombardment, there is no sleep.

The booming of the guns travels through the shivering metal of the ship.

Hour after hour, without end, the arsenal of democracy rains down on the tiny island.

What could it be like for the Japs huddled in their bunkers, surrounded, doomed?

Do they know they have no hope?

Do they expect death?

Do they wish for it?

Death, the island is death, waiting for them.

Ancient.

Waiting since before they were born.

Thousands of young men have crossed vast oceans to come here, following paths they can never have foreseen.

Thousands of young lives will converge on her shores, converge and end.

After three days of round-the-clock bombardment, a clear and bright morning, whispers through the hold about problems with the shells, many of them never exploding, disappeared in the air.

There have been stories of bombers being cut in half, of bomb crews emerging limbless from their planes.

What is on the island?

Some new kind of weapon?

Something the Japanese have been saving until now?

Just talk.

The men feel to death out there, waiting on the island.

Okay, so I know I'm in the middle of this.

Before we continue.

This seems like the ending of the story we got from the Japanese scientists earlier, that they were desperate and they looked for any weapons, so they start to incorporate these portals or instances.

Yeah, they're weapons.

Now they're being used against America, they're weaponizing them.

Yeah, the landing vehicles ride through the waves, and the Marines climb out onto the beaches of ash and alien surface, crumbling under their boots.

There's no fire, no sound but the motors and the clinking of gear and the sergeants shouting, urging them on.

No movement from the interior.

Then screams.

Bloody stumps.

Men cut in half, but still no fire.

How is there no fire?

More men screaming.

Groups of men on the ground, howling.

Bright red lumps where limbs had been.

How?

No sign of the Japs.

No fire.

No shells?

More vehicles land.

The beach has become a crowded, screaming nightmare.

There is something here, something beyond their understanding, invisible, killing at will.

Is it the island itself?

A few men manage to advance up the steep beaches and across the rocks, but soon they're cut apart as well.

Other men follow and advance farther.

They've been trained to advance.

Take the beach forward, always forward.

Slowly the men find their way farther and farther into the island interior.

Through horrible trial and error, they begin to understand.

They don't speak of their discovery.

They don't believe it, but their overwhelming will to go forward and their overwhelming fear of death teach them that their minds cannot accept, teach them a lesson about the island.

They notice tracks through the ash and rock where there is no grass.

These tracks are not foot trails, but deep tracks carved at strange angles, striated like dry streams, places where it seems the ground is simply missing.

They realize they must avoid these tracks.

If they step onto them or let any part of themselves pass over them, that part will disappear.

Whether it is their fingers or feet or limbs or even their heads.

Sometimes parts of their bodies disappear even when they don't cross the tracks, and they realize there are unseen tracks through the air, invisible boundaries they must not cross.

If they lose a part of their bodies, the blood does not flow, but there is pain, pain beyond flames or knives or bullets, pain unbearable, unholy, inhuman.

There are screams all around them of men who have accidentally run afoul of the invisible power.

There's no time to understand this, to reason it out, simply adapt, moving carefully, holding out blades of wild grass or shirts or gear, probing, waiting for part of of the object to disappear, stopping, testing for a way forward.

Sometimes they find it, sometimes they're forced to turn back.

Less than an hour.

They've forgotten entirely about the artillery and snipers and bayonets.

There's no soldiers, only entrances to empty bunkers, abandoned pieces of artillery, some cut in half, but no enemy.

They're playing a new game now, taught to them by some unseen teacher.

Playing it with total concentration.

Playing and winning.

The marine wounded, with their strange unbleeding wounds are taken away.

Their screams fade.

Orders from command are unchanged.

Take the island.

So they move forward, up, towards Mount Suribachi.

The mountain is shaped like a bowl, a dead volcano.

They approach by various paths, each man following another, taking a narrow path of safety.

Makeshift markers are set up to show their boundaries.

A marine turns and sees, floating like a butterfly, a severed human arm.

It turns and floats away and disappears altogether.

Minutes later, a disembodied pair of legs scrambles past.

The Marines curse and speculate and even giggle but keep moving forward.

There's no time to understand.

They expect to spend weeks taking the island.

Now it seems that they could have it in a couple hours.

A shot rings out, the first shot since the confusion of the landing.

A marine is firing at the mountain.

Others peer through their binoculars and spy a man sitting on the rim of the mountain.

Simply sitting.

Alone.

Just a vague shape.

Snipers are called in and they fire on him, but the island's air seems to swallow the bullets.

The man's untouched.

They press forward.

Deadly tracks wind around them, growing more numerous.

Some of the men find themselves at dead ends.

One marine slips and disappears entirely without so much as a shout.

Come to the foot of the mountain.

It's small but rugged and steep.

The lone man sits over them, looking down on them.

They hear sounds now, coming from the other side of the ridge, coming from within the giant bowl of the mountain.

Human voices, many of them.

Thousands.

Sounds of laughter, giggling and cackling and howling laughter.

Like a wonderful party where somebody is telling a hilarious story.

The Marines listen to it dumbfounded.

Slowly the laughter fades and there is a new sound.

strange rushing roar that quickly breaks apart into discrete sounds.

Screams, shouts, gasps, weeping, terror.

The sound rises and rises and the Marines shudder.

This too fades and the laughter returns, and so these two sounds tray places over and over, fading in and out above the sound of the waves.

A Marine trains his binoculars on the mountain again.

The man is still sitting there, Japanese, wearing a uniform.

His head is floating several feet above his body.

The body is in several pieces with lines of sunshine between them.

His face, sweat dripping over the smooth eyelids, shows no emotion.

Slowly, he raises his hand as if to wave to them, and his fingers float away from his palm.

That is so sick.

That was wonderful.

Bro,

that is its own...

That's its own story.

That's so just all.

The idea, too, of like looking into a tunnel, you're standing outside and you just hear, I mean, like really picture a thousand people laughing and then a lot a thousand people weeping and like, you know, screaming.

Like that would just be so fucking crazy.

Also, it seems like the entire army is down there.

You know, they're like, where is everybody?

It's so cool.

It's so cool.

It's so cool.

It's almost unfair because it's, that's just entry 20 of this whole story.

Oh my my gosh, dude.

Okay, so it sounds like the Japanese were given LSD to try to construct these portals, you know, when the Swiss scientists made the drug, and then they said about building

a flesh portal.

Well, they said about building a flesh interface, and they did.

And then this Japanese soldier is one of the guys that fell to it.

And that further goes with the idea that if your body pieces are cut off, they're still alive, just somewhere else.

Hence, the floating arms, the legs running by, stuff like that.

The Japanese soldier with his head removed from him.

Bro, that was so cool.

I mean, I really don't know what to say about Beyond.

That was so cool.

Like, the idea of they hit the beaches, and they're screaming like they're being shot, but there's no gunfire, and then they never fire a bullet the entire time.

And then, when they finally get to the end, there's a Japanese soldier who turns to wave at him, and he floats away.

He's peeing.

Are they tattered?

Looks to wave at him, and then his fingers pop off of his hand and they just start floating.

Okay.

All right.

Well, I'm, um,

yeah,

that was just, yeah,

man.

Okay.

All right.

I really don't know where to, what else to say about that.

That was so cool.

But I feel like it needs more said about it.

But yeah,

you get the point, everyone.

That was dope.

Okay.

All right.

I'm ready to keep going.

This is this is quickly working its way into one of the most memorable things I've we've talked about in the show, for me at least.

Yeah, I would agree.

Okay, all right.

Entry 21, and we're only a fifth of the way through.

Entry 21.

Uh, so this is actually a post that mother horse eyes, the actual account, made on r/slash crippling alcoholism, which is funny.

Title is Ah, the Simple Nemesis.

When novelist Philip K.

Dick was 42 years old, his fourth wife left him.

Lonely and devastated, he opened his home to whoever wanted to stay there.

This being San Francisco in 1971, the house quickly became filled with drug users.

Dick himself was heavily abusing amphetamines, eating pills by the literal handful, and foregoing sleep for days.

The mood in the house quickly became paranoid, and at one point, multiple occupants were sleeping with guns under their pillows.

The house was broken into, and Dick suspected government involvement, thinking he had gotten too close to some kind of secret in one of his novels.

He moved away shortly after.

But his time at the house hadn't been all paranoia and firearms.

There were also many good times.

Dick was a mesmerizing conversationalist with an easy command of facts and theories about art, religion, philosophy, and numerous esoteric subjects.

He and his new friends, usually kids in their early 20s, would rap for hours and days about everything under the sun.

He grew close to many of them.

Many of them were runaways or otherwise clinging to the margins of society.

After the break-in, Dick went to rehab and quit speed, but as time went on, many of his friends fell victim to the drugs.

In the epilogue to A Scanner Darkly, a fictionalized account of

this time, he wrote, This has been a novel about some people who were punished entirely too much for what they did.

They wanted to have a good time, but they were like children playing in the street.

They could see one after another of them being killed, run over, maimed, destroyed, but they continue to play anyhow.

We really are all very happy for a while, sitting around not toiling, but just bullshitting and playing.

But it was for such a terrible brief time and then the punishment was beyond belief even we could see it we could not believe it for a while i myself was one of these children playing in the street i was like like the rest of them tried to play instead of being grown up and i was punished we were forced to stop by things dreadful in the group of withdrawal i read that epilogue many times read it and wept I remember, after a week-long binge, lying in my bed and weeping, nightmares crowding my mind, my hands shaking, the mental suffering unbearable, thinking to myself, should I really be punished like this?

What have I done that was so horrible?

Was it so wrong to drink, to want to feel comfortable, to want to feel okay, to want to forget about things for a while?

Was it so horribly wrong, such a crime, that I should go through this mind-crucifying torment?

But it wasn't really a matter of right and wrong.

It was simply a matter of cause and effect.

My brain had adapted to the inhibitory effects of alcohol.

Once the alcohol had been removed, it had entered a state of hyperactivity.

Adaptation had become a maladaptation.

That was all.

There was nothing out there administering the suffering as a punishment.

My only crime had been knowing that this would happen and drinking anyways.

I had been a child playing in the street.

Dick wrote in his epilogue.

In Greek drama, they were beginning as a society to discover science, which means casual law.

Here is this novel there is nemesis.

Not fate, because any of us could have chosen to stop playing in the street.

There are no cars.

Till then, there will be suffering beyond belief.

Okay.

Man, the writing's so good.

These segments.

So that one, I assume, is the same author because it was a post made by

Mother Horse Eyes.

That is the same one who was talking earlier about being the nexus point for all these different things.

So the same one who saw the mother who says we're all going to fall into it.

And then he's, like you said earlier, almost resigned to it by saying, we will be children playing in a street where there are no cars.

It's so, man, gosh, it's so good.

But

the suffering beyond belief, he's talking about we have to go through this process where mother will take us, embrace us, turn us into something new, and then we can all be happy.

Then we won't have to worry about all the bad in the world.

All right, so let's go on.

21st post made same day.

Yeah, same day.

They crawl up the mountain, bare hands on the sharp volcanic rocks.

Sun beats down on them.

It's a grueling test.

Yalin has a secret that it doesn't want to reveal.

They draw close to the man at the top of the mountain.

Oh, sick!

Okay, we're back there.

Cool.

They draw close to the man at the top of the mountain, keeping their guns trained on him.

He has no weapon.

His body is fragmented like an image in a broken mirror, various pieces floating without connection, the brightness of the sky shining between them, and the blood of his insides bright red.

His head's like a balloon floating several feet over the rest of him.

Hello, America.

The head calls, breaking into a sickly smile.

The whites of the eyes are clustered with red hemorrhages.

Sweat rolls down the face.

The Marines don't know how to respond.

They ask if he's armed.

The question strikes one of them as funny, and he giggles.

Tide of giggling comes from the other side of the ridge behind the fragmented man.

Giggling turns to screaming.

What's going on here?

You alone?

A Marine asks.

The man doesn't seem to understand.

One of the Marines tries his basic Japanese.

The man makes a sour face.

No nip on.

Korea.

Korea person.

The man says, and a disembodied hand points to a nearby fragment of his chest.

I.

Christian.

The man says.

Pulls a necklace out of his shirt.

On the end of it is a small metal cross.

A tiny suffering Jesus gleams in the sun.

The Marine tries English.

What's happening here?

The devil came here.

What?

The soldiers had built a gate?

The child's with the command.

I don't understand.

Oh, why?

Gosh, the devil came here.

A wide smile splits the Korean man's face, and he lets out a loud laugh.

And the smile flees, and suddenly he is weeping.

His emotions seem to follow the giggles and screams that come from inside the mountain.

The Marines feel it too.

Strangers a laugh followed by a harrowing fear.

The sound beyond the ridge rises, the screams becoming higher and louder.

A wave of manic giggling joins the screams so that both sounds fill the air at once.

An electric feeling touches the skin of the Marines' arms.

They find their minds filling with strange, dark thoughts.

Somewhere in a castle in Japan lies a mad god emperor who has sent his men across the ocean to defend his glorious empire with their blood.

On the other side of the world lies the great humming factory called America, the heart of an empire of commerce, which once forced Japan to join the world in trade.

Machines and flesh now flow along tendril-like courses, delivering goods and death ensnaring the globe.

The sun goes dark, like a light switch turning off.

The Marines instinctively duck, look up and gasp.

Above them, extending miles into the sky, is an enormous metallic cylinder, filling the sky, blocking out the sun.

It spins slowly above them, pieces of it flickering and disappearing like the image in a broken movie projector.

In a day filled with madness, they find themselves confronted with something wholly beyond their capacity for surprise.

They simply mutter soft curses and get closer to the ground.

The earth seems to tremble with the sound of the screaming and laughing, which swirls like a storm all around them.

Somewhere near the beach, a Marine pats another Marine on the back, interrupting his stunned gawking, shouts something into his ear.

The second Marine pats the man in front of him, and the message goes up up the line like this until it reaches the Marines talking to the fractured man.

Pull back.

They are to withdraw from the island.

The men do not question the order for a moment.

They turn and crawl away from the Korean.

Below them, the Ashen Island flashes with pieces of sunlight that manage to slip through the flickering cylinder.

When they are almost at the foot of the mountain again, the man stands up and shouts something over the hideous screaming.

The Marines cannot hear it and would not understand it anyways.

The devil took Jesus and went to the mountain to show him all the kingdoms of the world glory.

If you fall down and worship me, saying,

I will give it all to you.

Bro.

Bro.

Also, all the things that I just want to say,

all the things I read, there is a Korean

manuscript

there as well.

So just let you know.

It's just the translation of him speaking Korean.

Yeah.

But I don't speak no Korean, so I can't, bro, bro.

The

every piece of that, my word.

The

the they walk up and they're talking to him.

He says the devil came here, and then they all get the same ideas in their head of like the world's connected by these dark forces and these tendrils that pull economy and governments and stuff like that.

And then the giant pillar, the same one that was seen in Russia, goes up to the sky.

And when it's saying it's flickering, is it saying it's spinning or is it like visibly flickering?

I'm wondering if it's flickering because of the light that's like passing by it, but

it feels like there's some kind of movement.

Like spinning would make it seem like it's the flickering.

It feels

slowly.

It spins slowly.

Yeah.

It's like, like you said, like a broken movie projector, like it's glitching in and out of existence.

So they all get ordered to turn back.

But then the Korean man shouts, the devil took Jesus, went to the mountain to show him all the kings of the world, which is a story in the Bible.

It's in the book of Matthew, but it's in a couple of the other gospels as well.

That the devil tempted Jesus for, you know, the 40 days in the wilderness, and he took Jesus to the mountaintop and said that if Jesus would fall down and worship him, the devil would give him all, you know, the kingdoms, the glories of the world.

And says, if you fall down, worship me, I will give it all to you.

So he is equating what they have done to that, that they were the figurative Jesus in the story, that the devil offered the treasures of the world and they took it.

And now this is what it's got them.

And we never see it, but we know that behind him on the other side of the mountain is a massive flesh gate, a massive, you know, flesh portal made up of the Japanese army.

Jesus Christ.

Bro, this is not

insane.

This is insane.

This is great.

How is everyone not talking about this all the time?

It's so unique.

All right.

Next one, 22.

Many people believe that Michael Jackson died due to propofol.

Not so.

He was murdered.

He had actually been taking propofol nightly since around 1980, not in order to make himself sleep, but to suppress REM sleep.

After several months of REM sleep suppression, the user becomes receptive.

In other words, they enter the same state achieved by prolonged continuous immersion in aerosol LSD.

The brain can physically restructure itself simply through thought.

By reordering thought, one can physically reorder the brain.

LSD or long-term propofol use makes the brain's neural structure malleable.

High-energy rays from outer space are able to penetrate the body and these can lead to random mutations and cancers and sometimes they lead to changes that are not random at all.

Changes which have been intentionally programmed, changes designed to bring about civilization level transformations.

Michael Jackson was unaware of this.

He merely knew that propofol allowed him to enter a sort of waking dream state of heightened creativity.

The side effects were horrifying, paranoia, and obsession, but he felt that he was strong enough to endure these side effects.

The success of Thriller seemed to vindicate his theories about propofol, and unfortunately, he was damned by his own success.

So how did he die?

Through the lyrics of Another Part of Me and the vegetable part of Wanna Be Startin' Something,

it was quite clear that he had become receptive and neuro-altered in line with Master Design 9.

But he was considered to be a minimal threat and even perhaps an asset until his mounting financial problems had made him a liability.

He was terminated, though I'm not sure of the exact means.

That is so funny to be like, Well, Michael Jackson was actually one of the agents in this thing.

Michael Jackson, super soldier for the collective consciousness of Mother Horsais.

She was wrong, like a beanie queen on the moon.

In my

meaning,

there's just the goat, the goat's head mother behind him.

Yeah, exactly.

Oh!

All right, 23rd post.

I suppose it's time to tell you what was inside the magical space pussy.

Okay,

this is the same guy from before.

Yeah, where the mansep family stuff.

Yes, the mansive family stuff.

I'm also going to say vagina because that feels gross to say a lot for me.

No, dude, say pussy.

That's gross.

Magical space Zaza, dude.

Can I say Zaza?

That's good.

That one doesn't feel as bad.

I don't see why not.

You could also say Zazza.

All right.

Yeah.

Were you going to go anywhere with that?

No, no, no, never mind.

I gave up.

You can also say, yeah.

You can say.

I had one, but I had one, but it's just, it's going to be unfavorable, so I'm not going to say it.

You can say,

yeah.

You can say, yeah.

You can say, yeah, that's what you sound like.

What were you going to say?

No, no, no.

I can't hear what?

No, no, no.

What are you going to say?

No, I'm not going to tell you.

You're really going to do this?

You're really going to do the whole thing.

I'm not telling you things.

I'm holding on to it.

Because one day I'm going to hit you with it.

And

you're going to chortle.

Okay.

But not now.

Not on recording.

Alright, 23rd entry.

I suppose it's time to tell you what was inside the magical space Azaw.

You can believe me or not, what do I care?

I'm the guy who's been inside the magical space Azaw.

My life has been pretty much downhill since then.

I mean, screw Neil Armstrong.

What did he see?

A bunch of gray rocks.

Big deal.

I saw a cooch growing out of the side of a canyon.

Top that, NASA.

You tang-drinking cocksuckers.

God damn, dude.

Jesus Christ.

Oh, boy's got some malice towards NASA.

He's upset.

Anyways, where are I?

Also, I just want to say love tang.

I love tang.

I don't think I've heard that.

Is that another word for it?

No, well, there's pooty tang.

I think that also means pussy, but I mean,

there's like a drink called tang.

It was like you put in water.

Interesting.

You know, I actually feel like,

do you want to read this entry?

I feel like this is like your kind of character.

Sure, okay.

Anyways, where was I oh yeah Uncle Adolf so I was living in Death Valley hanging out with the Manson family and Charlie kept mentioning this guy Uncle Adolf and I figured he was talking about Hitler because he's sort of into the white supremacy thing but then I started realizing that he's talking about a guy who's still alive then one day the guy showed up

they asked me to come over to their cabin and this old guy was sitting there white hair, deep tan, line face, pale eyes.

He introduced himself as Adolf.

He's got a German accent.

If they say this is going to be

Adolf Hitler still alive, I'm going to laugh really hard.

He's got a German accent and he made no secret of the fact that he was an ex-Nazi.

This made me nervous.

It's kind of something you keep under your hat.

He said he

found Charlie at Berkeley and Charlie was perfect for my purpose.

I asked what his purpose was and he said, testing.

I kind of shrugged because I didn't really give a shit about this little koi answer and I

I got up to leave and this mongoloid motherfucker they called Clem punched me straight in the face and I suddenly was on my ass.

There was a couple of girls there and they jumped on me and held me down and tied my hands behind my back.

And if I had known what they had done to Sharon Tate, then I would have been unspeakably terrified.

But as it was, I was merely really just scared.

They tossed me to the back of the dune buggy and drove out into the desert.

It was midday and the sky was just one giant glare.

We drove for over an hour and eventually they got me out and hauled me down into this deep sandy arroyo.

They started marching me down it.

They had to put wooden stakes in the ground in various points and when we came to them they seemed to be really careful as to stay between the stakes.

Later, they had chains tied between the stakes and we all had to go under the chains with some kind of like some kind of obstacle course.

I didn't know what to make of it.

I had a lot to process at the time.

I started to notice that the rock walls of the arroyo were abnormal.

There were strange striations to the rock and

what looked like the cross-sections of a giant insect tunnels.

I'd never seen rocks like that.

The whole thing was just

very alien.

Then I started to hear the screaming.

Up ahead,

I could hear people's voices.

Thousands of voices.

All of them screaming and howling at once.

Slowly, incredibly, the screaming changed into kind of a laughter.

An insane laughter.

Giggles and chuckles and titters.

I wonder if this was in my head.

If I was scared in my mind and cracked, or if they had dosed me with LSD or something.

Finally,

we were on the bend in the Arroyo, and well, there it was.

They said it would be a pussy, and I guess it kind of looked like one.

Maybe after some kind of drastic dildo mishap.

It was just flesh.

Wrinkled, lobed, flabby flesh, growing out of the rock like mold or something.

It had hairs and pores and freckles.

Some of it was pale, some of it was black.

It was taller than me.

And in the center, there was an opening.

Pink and wet.

Like a pussy.

The kraut told me he wanted to see its level of development.

He took a revolver from one of the girls and pointed it at my face and told me to walk inside.

It was either get shot or going to the big mangled pussy.

It was honestly a tough choice.

There was something completely fucked up and completely not right about that thing.

Something in my bones told me not to go into it.

Not to go near it.

To just take the bullet in the head.

But I figured maybe I could go in for a little bit and then wait for them to leave and get the hell out of there.

Not a great plan, but the best I could come up with.

So I went in.

The entrance was barely wide enough for me to slip into, and all I could see was this glistening pink flesh ahead.

It was this sound like laughter and then screaming and then laughter and then that was coming from deep inside.

The walls were blood warm on my shoulders.

And the smell was, well, what you might expect.

Not great.

Let's just say it's, it was not great.

I pushed forward, and the walls kind of gave way and found myself through the slimy, suffocating flesh.

And I'm starting to panic because my hands are still tied behind my back, and I'm feeling like I'm about to choke on the stuff.

And the walls are moving, like pulsating.

I feel like I'm being digested.

Then suddenly, I'm pushed through into this kind of chamber.

Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire.

The chamber was just a nightmare.

I mean, I never...

I've just never seen anything like that.

It was unholy.

There were faces and heads and legs, all kind of fused together.

The walls were just all these crawling limbs and these terrified faces and fusions of teeth and cheeks and hair and fingers coming out of knees and just...

All those people.

Were they still people?

Had they ever been people?

Had they been made a part of that thing?

I started to scream.

Everything around me was screaming.

All the mounds on the walls were screaming and I was screaming too.

And I was laughing.

And I felt hands and mouths all over my body and they were tickling me and touching me all over.

Then I was screaming again.

I had to get out of there.

I had to get out of this nightmare.

I started pushing back towards the entrance, but the hands were all over me.

I felt something bite into my lip.

A mouth was biting me.

I screamed at the sharp pain and moved away from it.

I started to think that maybe I could get one of the mouths to bite through my ropes.

Then I at least had my hands free.

I struggled to turn around and move the ropes towards the mouth, but just when I got into position, the mouth bit right into my finger instead.

The pain was incredible, but I was giggling, just laughing and laughing.

The mouth pulled the flesh from my finger like it was chicken wing.

Another mouth bit into my shoulder.

I was chuckling away at this point.

The hands were grabbing me, pulling on me, pulling me apart, tearing my arms right out of their sockets.

Fingers were digging into my ribs.

I was slathered with blood blood and screaming, screaming as the fingers dug into my eyes.

Well, I guess at this point, you're probably wondering how your intrepid narrator managed to escape the bottomless pit.

How I managed to survive to tell you this tale.

I simply didn't.

I never escaped the bottomless pit.

I am the bottomless pit.

I am the tree of life.

Hmm.

Bruh.

That's the appropriate answer.

Bruh.

Bruh, this is a certified.

Okay, so

he's forced to go in by the Manson cult.

This uncle Adolph figure

needs a test subject, so they force him in.

And then

he's killed by it.

This is the embrace thing that was spoken about earlier, where it's like

piranha.

They describe it as like piranha eating a cow, but like the way the groping videos that was talked about.

But then he's become a pot of of it, a part of it.

So,

does that mean that if you die or you're torn apart inside one of these flesh portals, you become a part of it, or you become something else?

It's kind of the thing you said earlier.

It's like a hive mind.

That's what I think.

So, when he's like, I became part of it, it makes me think that he's a part of that, like, collective conscious now.

Man, a giant room of flesh.

There's also, there, there's also obvious uh imagery to um

like

maternity, femininity, right?

Like, I mean, they can't hear literally, but the image of the flesh portal several times has been equated with like a uterus, right?

Like you walk into it, you open up, and you're torn apart, and then you're made back into a womb and then passed back through, you know, reborn, so to speak, which ties into mother horse-eyes, the mother that, you know, they want to convince is real.

But every piece of this is so cool.

Every instance, every conspiracy we see attached to it, Like, how does that connect to the portals that open and the you know, visible?

Like, somehow, this connects to the spaces that are created.

The striations in the rock appear around it.

The same thing we heard from the Pacific

Marines working their way up the Japanese island in the Pacific.

There's these striations in the rock where these portals appear, and then anything that falls into them is cut into pieces.

It appears around wherever these gates are made.

Um, gosh, that's cool.

Okay, all right, 24th post

Next day, I think.

Pretty sure, yeah.

Is that right?

No, same day, same day.

Man, he was cranking these out, wasn't he?

Yeah, well, I mean, multiple times a day for this year.

And they're so thought out.

I'm sure he had the whole thing thought out before he started, but man, the North Korean situation, 1980s, was unique, as most North Korean situations are.

They built something we haven't seen before or since, an independent flesh interface of enormous size and power, but within it contained incident zone and no metallic cylinders.

We detected it via the cosmic ray information signature, which was concentrated on a secure shielded facility outside of the Wasong prison camp.

I will mention

that thing earlier where it talks about this was early on, but in Death Valley, there's these cylinders that appear and disappear.

We now know those cylinders were probably the ones created by the Manson cult in Death Valley.

Like that flesh portal opened it up, or that flesh interface opened it up.

This was a huge underground facility, which they had been constructing for over a decade.

We anticipated that they would construct a portal level interface and were fully prepared to bomb it before it became uncontained.

What we didn't expect is that it would achieve level 7 cosmic transmission rates without all the other normal signs of full-fledged portal.

We considered bombing it anyways or using our Brilliant Pebbles kinetic orbital strike system, but instead we managed to get two agents into the facility to take a look at it.

They achieved high-level security clearance and found that the Koreans were using the flesh interface as an information processing facility.

This was quite novel as we had always considered it to be a potential weapon system.

Our curiosity had truly peaked.

Clearly the Norcs knew something we didn't.

Unfortunately, our agents weren't able to access the enormous mainframe chamber, which actually housed the interface.

All they knew was that it was in a huge chamber full of temperature regulated water.

We instructed them to breach the chamber to get a look at it.

They sent us the data by satellite.

We knew full well that it would probably cost them their lives but we pumped them up with a lot of do-it-for-the-planet rhetoric so one night they put on a dive suits and went into the chamber.

It was basically like a huge lake contained within a massive darkened seal box.

Imagine a flooded warehouse with endless rows of dim ceiling lights shining down on rippling black water.

They jumped into the water and pretty quickly they picked up some pretty interesting audio signals with varying frequencies, kind of squeaking, muling sound.

They recognized the sound for what it was right away and had a hard time believing it.

Whale songs.

Chamber contained several adult humpback whales.

So does that mean that whales have something to do with it specifically, or are these the whales that are showing up from being segmented earlier by the Americans in Antarctica?

Or

is this like

maybe if you open the portal or you open the interface underwater, it has less adverse effects?

Like it doesn't cause the little pockets to form that cause people to get segmented, and it doesn't cause the giant

cylinders to form.

Maybe it just, I don't know, makes whales or something.

Yeah, it just makes whales.

Yeah, just

spontaneously creates whales everywhere it goes

25th post how do i explain mother what was she

and then there is a uh text that is in greek that translated reads great babylon the mother of prostitutes and the abominations of the earth okay that's once again revelations the horror of or revelation the horror of babylon um used a symbolism like the mother of evil of wickedness of sin in the world stuff like that.

So they're saying that the mother of horse eyes is that embodiment?

I think that's what's well, it goes back to that idea that everything's connected.

Like, sure, the Bible may call it the whore of Babylon, but that's just the same name for this different entity, this different creature.

Refers to the symbolic female figure and a place of evil as mentioned in the book of Revelations and the New Testament.

Known as the mother of harlots and the abominations of the earth.

Yeah, so just indicative of like a symbol of evil.

That's why he's this, whoever this author is, is equating the mother to.

Right.

I used to lie in my bed, the blinds pulled against the summer sunlight, listening to the sounds of other kids playing outside.

I lay there for hours, not sleeping, wondering who had made mother.

She was made from all different sorts of animal parts.

One of her feet was big, heavy hoof.

The other was a tiny little kiddie cat paw.

I could hear her clumping around downstairs.

Her smell, the smell of cigarettes and disease, was everywhere in the house, pooling in the darkness.

Slowly, night would come, and I would imagine floating out of my window, floating up into the deep starry blue, looking down at all the houses shrinking into tiny boxes, the clean breeze blowing on my face.

Oh, how I would cry in my little bed.

I was very young when mother first came.

I had another mommy before her, a good one, who wore pearls and had a voice like music.

Then one day I got sick.

Fever.

I was crying all day and it went on for weeks.

I guess my first mommy couldn't take it anymore.

One night she left forever.

When I came down for breakfast the next morning, this new thing was waiting for me in the kitchen.

At least I think that's what happened.

Mother never talked.

She just snorted, made hoarse sounds.

Awful.

Her parts were sewn together with yarn, and there were patches of wet burlap.

I didn't see her eyes until she had been there almost a year.

Have you ever seen a horse's eyes up close?

They're like goat's eyes.

They have a sideways pupil.

Come home after school.

There'd be kids sitting at the breakfast table.

She gave them medicine, so they did whatever she wanted them to.

It made them just sit there staring and shaking

then she would take them down in the basement and make them into things

she tried to make me do it too but i didn't want to i realized she was afraid of the bible i realized it had power blood power

when i read it to her her different pieces would shudder and pull apart and she would howl like a wolf blood would run from her segments

the bible brought transmissions from the cross that floated in the red summer sky.

Everything in time is arranged around the epicenter wherein the nail drove into Christ's hand.

Lines of possibilities radiate outward from it.

Kingdoms rise and fall.

Men grow and die like flowers in a field.

Hunter.

So I'm wondering, do you think that the mother horse eyes, do you?

I mean, like,

it almost feels like a Satan parallel, right?

Oh, yeah.

Well, that's the idea that

not literally Satan, like Lucifer, but Satan is like what the prophets would write about when describing this thing, right?

Like, again, this is the truth.

This is what the Bible was getting at, and all the stuff in it.

Oh, I think that's a Bible first, too.

Kingdoms rise and fall, men grow and die like flowers in a field.

Hold on.

Yeah, it looks like it was almost.

Oh, and then also there's

Greek to English, the beast saw was

the beast you saw was in CDR Eston and future anna

Anavanian.

Anavanian?

What?

Oh, you can click on the link.

Oh, I'm stupid.

Okay, yeah, it is a Bible verse.

Isaiah 48, which the King Lingerie version.

It's me.

That is my name after the prophet Isaiah,

which the King James Version is, the grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of our God shall stand forever.

Also, Revelation 17.

The beast that you saw was and is not, and is about to come up out of the abyss and go to destruction.

The beast of Revelation.

So, yeah, it's saying that all the stuff in the Bible, all those symbols

are the same as Mother Horse Eyes, that her power is lost.

But it sounds to me like, so the first time we hear like, oh, I was in the scary room and stuff, I was there and whatnot, that sounds like the visions that are seen when you go through the flesh port, when these kids are sent through, right?

Like, I was very sick, and then one day Mother Horse Eyes was there.

And like, maybe they are, it's the kids that like the America is shoving through the

interfaces.

And then they wake up in this world that's similar to theirs, because the one girl remembered it as her Grammy's house and this kid remembers it as his mother's house.

So it's a house they're familiar in, but Mother Horse Eyes is there.

And it's like the entity that controls you as you go through the embrace process, the rebirth process, whatever.

It's like this house with the mother is a state of mind they're pushed into by the LSD and by passing through an interface.

Yeah, all the religious undertones of it all is just really sick.

Yeah.

Without being too identical either.

Yeah, it's not explicitly religious.

It's like, well, this thing is so awful that we've been talking about it in our religious texts for centuries, right?

Like, this is what we've been afraid of.

Man.

All right.

26.

Next day, post-26, or same day, same day.

So, two of our agents had breached the underwater chamber.

I was thinking, I was for a bit.

I'm like, I hope we get some clarification on the humpback whale thing.

Well, that's one thing I like, too, is that he doesn't just like, it kind of hops back and forth between different stories and perspectives.

You know what I mean?

Yeah, like the Japanese one.

Like, we got the end of that, we got the end of the Manson one.

So, it's like we're not left in the dust about why were there huntback wells in a North Korean facility.

So, two of our agents had breached the underwater chamber containing the North Korean flesh interface and found nothing but several huntback whales.

Now, this was a head scratcher.

We knew it was a flesh interface because it was receiving information-rich race coming from outer space.

Yet, how could it have been taken the form of huntback whales?

All previous interfaces had taken on decidedly less conventional form.

Well, our agents decided to get a closer look.

There were three whales, two adults and a calf.

They appeared normal in every aspect, though it was difficult to get a close look at them.

They seemed to be in quite a bit of distress, though the agents were not biologists and had a limited understanding of what well distress looks like.

The agents noticed some very loud, low-frequency percussion sounds coming from the bottom of the chamber, which was entirely hidden in darkness.

So they headed towards the bottom, a distance of several stories.

There they shined their lights around and made a fairly alarming discovery.

Bones.

Enormous curving rib bones and jaw bones and vertebrae.

They were apparently well bones.

They also noticed a large circular gate on the floor of the chamber, which was closed at the time.

At this point, one of the agents began to panic.

He had come to the conclusion that the wells were not the interface itself, but were merely food for the interface, which was perhaps being held in another chamber below this one.

There were some problems with this theory.

Why use whales?

Fairly rare and very difficult animal to corral when they could just use a large amount of smaller fish?

Well, it's all just speculation.

Which, by the way, my theory.

Not to stop the story, but my theory is that whatever is fed to these gates has to experience empathy, because that's the whole point, right?

The screaming and the laughing and stuff like that.

They have to experience emotions, and whales are one of the only complex creatures of the ocean, you know, enough to feel those things.

That's actually probably a really good call.

That's my bear trap.

I'm playing it.

I think it's a good trap to lie.

I'm lying it right there.

The agents quickly swam out of the chamber and never found out what was behind the gate, if anything.

Later, gave us some very valuable information on the facility's information processing capabilities, which were staggering and quite appalling to imagine in the hands of a regime such as

the DPRK.

Since there was no incident zone and segmentation wasn't an issue, we were able to solve the problem quite neatly by releasing a nerve agent into the water chamber.

Cosmic ray downloads stopped shortly thereafter, indicating success, though it did result in the loss of both agents and a major loss of life in the facility overall.

Anyways, that was our first encounter with a MBIS massive biological information system, and a near encounter with what we could later come to call a skin ship.

Oh, sick.

Oh, brother.

Skin.

Yo.

Skin ship is so sick.

Dude, let's go.

Oh, my gosh.

Its destruction has allowed for the continued validity of prime number-based encryption systems, though some of the secrets uncovered by the DPRK during that time have forced us into the unpleasant position of supporting the regime.

Blackmail, basically.

Man, that's so cool that all of these like, you know,

political, geopolitical issues and stuff are because of these secret games that are being played regarding information from space and flesh portals and whatnot.

That's so cool.

All right, 26, same day, or sorry, 27, same day.

Last night, I dreamt I was a dog.

Uh-oh, Hunter.

Preach.

Let's hope grandpa's not around.

I lived on a small family farm somewhere on the American frontier.

Uh-oh,

back in the time of plow mules and butter cherns.

It was what, that's when you were a kid, right?

Around that time?

That was probably.

That sounds about right.

Yeah.

It was one of those long dreams that feels like an entire lifetime.

I remembered the end of the dream with an awful clarity, but the beginning seems like something that happened many years ago.

The first images are vivid but disjointed.

I recall the shape of my master walking against the sunlight overhead, the smell of his leather boots, the shadows at the edge of the forest, a little pig-tailed girl hugging me, fresh mud in the spring, warm floorboards in the winter.

Everything had a peaceful storybook quality to it.

Except one thing.

Sometimes, late at night, I heard singing.

It came from outside, out there in the far distance, from somewhere in the deep forest beyond the boundaries of my world.

Some nights it was one voice, but usually it was many, singing a strange, aching song.

Sounded like a haunted crying.

When I was little, I had whimpered and cried like this to my mother, but who was crying out there in the night?

What kind of dark mother was listening?

When I first heard the singing, I was filled with a blood dread.

The hair on my back bristled, and I growled and barked at the darkness.

Even after the night finally went silent, I trotted around for hours in vigilant anger.

Later, as I heard it more often, I learned to accept it was a sullen unease.

Of course, the singing was the sound of wolves howling, but I didn't know this in the dream.

In the dream, I'd never seen a wolf in my life.

One winter, I began to see them prowling in the woods.

To me, they were ghost dogs, shadows sneaking between trees, eyes glinting in the twilight.

I growled and barked at them, but didn't pursue.

For several months, they never encroached on my world.

It finally came on a late winter's evening.

The sun had sunk to an orange glow beyond the edge of the world.

The family was in the cabin, and I was out trotting through the snow, anxious to get back to them because I knew food would be coming soon.

Then, top a small hill by the apple tree, an apparition.

My body snapped to attention and I growled, the hairs of my back standing on end.

It was a wolf, just a stone's throw from me, a silvery coat half-lit in the dying light of day.

Came towards me in a sleek, soundless jaunt.

I barked and snapped at at the air.

It slowed and stopped just before my lunging distance.

Now, crazed with fear and anger, I saw that it was a large female, healthy, well-fed, with a gorgeous coat, misty gray, the color of snow seen at a winter's distance.

Its smell was alien, confusing, but laced with a clear and potent confidence, a supreme assuredness.

Indeed, it did not seem to be afraid of me at all, nor did it threaten.

Its mouth hung slack, and steam issued from its muzzle in steady, happy puffs.

This calmed me for a moment and in the next moment redoubled my anger.

I growled from the deepest, most murderous part of my dog self.

It spoke to me.

Its mouth didn't move, there was no sound, but by logic of the dream, it spoke to me in a clear, dignified voice.

Hello, child.

I snarled at it, took another step forward, and its eyes caught the last of the sunlight, glowing in a fantastic array of yellows.

Those eyes, rimmed in in jet black like mascara, produced a powerful allure, otherworldly glamour.

You bark and snarl, but look at my face.

Am I not your kind?

I could not answer.

I could only growl softly.

Is my face not like your mother's?

Do you remember her?

A sudden scent of distant memory came to me and I felt a pang of loneliness.

I had not seen my mother or any other dog since I was small, since I had come to the farm.

My only family had been the people I lived with and a few of the more tolerant pigs.

I searched now for dim, fragrant memories of my mother.

I felt her huge, bristled muzzle licking at my face.

I saw her giant, sweeping legs as I followed them through high fields.

She had seemed taller than a horse then.

I remembered the softness of her teats, feeding from them with my brothers and sisters.

What had become of my family?

I had spent every day with them and one day

all gone.

The wolf paced back and forth now, keeping a small distance from me, its eyes ranging over the farm.

Again, I saw some strange, haunting glamour in them, something that glittered with secret, distant power.

The people in that house,

the Natcha family.

We are.

We share ancient blood.

Its voice deep and resounding with the rhythm of wisdom.

My master had a voice like this, but it didn't have the total authority of this alpha females.

I saw with alarm two dark shapes come over the hill by the apple tree.

More wolves, moving silent with heads lowered.

I barked at them.

You hate us and love them.

But do they love you?

What are you to them?

Aren't you the lowest of the low?

Always getting the last of the food, the smallest scraps.

Imagine living differently.

Imagine taking your own food, killing, drinking lifeblood, being masters over others.

Two other wolves slunk down the hill.

The skin on my back tightened again, but the strange hypnotic power of the alpha wolf held me still.

Lakes with no end but the end of the world.

Places with no houses or men at all.

You could be with us.

We could be your brothers and sisters.

The other two wolves came closer.

They were unmistakably females, both young and well-muscled.

Their confidence was not as absolute as the alpha wolves, but they showed no fear as they came to me.

I smelled on them a strange longing, a deep winter's desire for warmth.

The alpha wolf stepped closer, close enough that her steaming breath tickled my nose.

Her eyes danced with cold, burning light.

She spoke in a voice that made my blood hum.

Outside your life awaits everything you've never known.

Their world's child.

There are ecstasies.

I then recognized the allure that lit her eyes, the unspeakable longing that glimmered in their depths.

It had seemed this whole time to be some fantastic alien desire.

reaching out to me from a distant world.

Perhaps it truly was, but more simply than this, it was hunger.

Plain hunger.

That ancient, unsleeping hunger, older than the first furred thing that ever gave rise to the races of dogs and wolves and men.

Hunger had brought this wolf across rivers and mountains and endless frozen plains to meet me in that moment.

I can still see her face.

The final image of the dream before the other wolves tore into me and I died and I awoke.

Her face with eyes that spoke of open loneliness, Her face so noble, gentle, and motherly.

Her face as beautiful and ancient as the stars.

I've never been so moved by being into like a furry fantasy, pretty much.

I was over here about a gas it up for how good it was.

No, it's awesome.

It's so good.

They're just saying like it's just

literally, you're like a wolf right there.

Oh, dude.

Like the idea that Mother Horse Eyes comes to you in your dreams of different areas when you're in different places.

Sometimes you're a dog, sometimes you're a child, sometimes you're a person, and she whispers to you.

But she's also the whore of Babylon.

She's also the devil.

She also gives men, she's like, she's like

Lucifer and the angels coming to earth and teaching men gunpowder, teaching them how to, you know, fight wars with each other.

They've given us Pandora's box and we've opened it.

And they speak to us about possible things, a hunger that's deep within us.

It's like

the two other wolves, the female wolves that came to him and he felt wanting to be their wars, it was like succubus.

It was like, oh, it was like the reference the Korean man gave when the American soldiers were on the Japanese island, that it was like Jesus being tempted by the devil, that he could have all the pleasures of the world if he just bows down and worships him.

It's like in the creation of LSD and organizations like the CIA and stuff like that, looking for what was really out there, trying to find aliens or unexplored worlds, they opened the gates of hell.

And now the devil has come out to tempt us.

Oh, man.

It's such a unique take on the, it's so many unique ways to tie in different stories, different lores, which is very poetic.

Religion to, yeah, and it's so poetic, too.

Like,

man.

Oh, okay.

And I keep being like, well, that was great.

It's going to go downhill, but it keeps like it keeps proving me wrong.

Do you feel this?

Is that your fear that it's going to dip in quality?

Well, I mean, I just like everything we've read, I've been like, it can't get, it can't maintain this.

There's no way it can pull out another, like after the Pacific story or the World War II one, I was like, well, they can't, there's no way this author's good enough for a reddit of Reddit comment series of stories to throw out another short vignette that's going to be just as impressive.

And then the dog one was about being a dog missing its mother and then like, a motherly figure comes to fill the void and stuff like that.

Like, only to kill him.

Do what?

Only to kill him, then, too, like, rip them apart.

Yeah, yeah, well, that's that's kind of the idea, right?

It's similar to the uh, the flesh interfaces exactly, yeah, makes you want to walk into it, it makes you want to be a part of it, like with the laughter and the sorrow.

You feel empathy for it, and then once you're in, you're torn to pieces, and you resist, but you don't resist enough to stop it.

It's the embrace laid out.

I think that the story helps so far too by being, it isn't just focusing on one person.

It's like all these different vignettes and stuff and how it kind of circles back within each other.

It gives it, it's just like, it's constantly refreshing, you know?

Yeah.

Yeah.

It's, it's like, it doesn't stick around in one place.

It's like, yeah, something like this would change the world.

So rather than having a single, you know, um

perspective, it gives you several.

It gives you a bunch of different ways this affects people.

It reminds me a lot.

I've thought about this a few points, especially with like

authors kind of commenting on their own story and stuff.

It reminds me a lot of House of Leaves, how that story had like five different authors talking about different effects of the house in different places or like the thing the house came from.

It feels very familiar to that, I think.

All right.

28th post next day.

What do you do when a child who bleeds and sweats and pees LSD suddenly goes missing?

We conducted a massive search, as massive as we could manage.

Almost every mentally elevated CIA department was involved.

We didn't trust anybody else.

We never trusted anybody else.

Shit, we didn't even trust ourselves, considering that it was one of our own who had taken the child.

We searched for about two months, but never really turned up any leads, since every other return child had died within a few days of being freed from their amniotic sac.

We scaled the search down pretty quickly.

It's one thing to search for somebody like Bin Laden when everybody knows you're looking for him.

It's another thing to search for somebody you had just worked quite hard to erase from official existence so you would be free to perform tests on her.

We felt that the search itself was more of a security risk than the missing child since she was almost certainly dead.

There was also a feeling that maybe it was for the best.

Maybe she would survive.

Maybe she would have a happy life.

Maybe it was best not to know her fate.

But then, about seven years later, we learned what happened.

If you'll allow me to wax philosophical for a moment, I'd like to quote a poem by Aeschylius that I've actually never read.

Quote, Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.

End quote.

While I'm no literary scholar, I believe believe this means learning can hurt sometimes.

So, she had survived.

Her genes came up in our program to collect a global genetic snapshot.

Total boondoggle, by the way.

So, where was she?

In some Russian laboratory?

Living out in the jungle, being worshipped as a god by some doesday cult like Johnny II, floating through space in a bubble to Jupiter beyond.

Estonia.

She was found in Estonia in a Swedish-speaking village on the island of Huma.

She was living a normal life.

Apparently the issue with the Bio LSD had resolved itself after the detachment from the placenta.

Otherwise, anybody who got a kiss from her would have found themselves going on a very strange journey.

She's about 13 years old at this point and had survived travel far longer than any other child.

This meant she was an asset we absolutely had to obtain.

She contained the secret to survivable travel, something that had eluded us for years.

Would have been convenient if she was living a life of abuse and drudgery in some orphanage somewhere.

We could have simply considered her a victim of fortune.

But she was actually living in a quaint little village on the edge of a beautiful forest with an old couple who had been given some phony story by our former agent.

It was a nice life.

Quiet.

Maybe a little boring, but a nice one.

We took her in the middle of the night back to our facility in Colorado.

In the end, she wasn't a victim of fortune.

She was a a victim of us.

All right, so

that

is, are these children being passed through the same flesh interface that has the hands and teeth that rip you to shreds and they're just letting these children pass through?

Well, that's what I'm wondering, too, is there multiple or like because it almost reads sometimes like it's growing, right?

Yeah.

Like they're like there's different variants of them.

There's yeah, there's several of them.

They can do different things.

But whatever way it is, is, the children are passed back out in an amniotic sack.

Like they're being born.

Well, they're being reborn, yeah.

Okay, so the next post the same day.

But

this is a post by the author

back onto the r slash mother

horse eye subreddit.

And it's a link to the song Fairy Queen by Tammy Stronark.

Stronarch.

Stronarch.

Some of the lyrics, if I could be a fairy queen and I would hold a magic key to reveal the hidden secrets of the mind.

Oh, single.

I can see the darkest blue, the mystery.

You go ahead, you're the singer.

If I could be a fairy queen,

I would hold a magic key

to reveal the hidden secrets of the mind.

Then I could see the darkest blue, the mystery that's part of you.

And I'd weave a spell to take away your sorrow.

Fairy Queen,

Fairy Queen,

changing teardrops to smile,

holding daydreams for a while

Fairy Queen,

Fairy Queen

She's your shelter

in the night,

the guardian angel by your side

Fairy Queen,

if I could be a fairy queen,

I'd find the long forgotten dream that is deep inside the memory of a child.

If I could hear that words don't tell

From way down in the wishing well,

then reality would turn into illusion fairy queen,

fairy queen,

changing teardrops to a smile,

holding dreadems for a while,

fairy queen, fairy queen,

she's your shelter in the night, the guardian angel by your side.

Fairy queen, if I could be a fairy queen, I'd take a walk behind the scene, where the puppets acting plays that never end.

I pulled the strings to set them free.

They play the parts most perfectly,

and my magic hop would make them laugh forever.

Fairy queen,

fairy queen, changing teardrops to a smile,

holding dregems for a while.

Fairy queen,

fairy queen, she's your shelter in the night.

The guardian angel by your side.

Fairy queen.

It's like that

fairy queen.

You there?

At what point

in that did you realize you were going to do the whole song?

Well, I thought you said

you said the whole thing.

Fairy queen.

Changing teardrops in the night.

Dude, I kind of had a good flow there for a bit, though, huh?

I was going to read some of the lyrics that I thought...

maybe related to our narrative

but no i'm glad we used four and a half minutes of airtime for that.

That was great.

Have you ever heard this song before?

No.

No.

Okay.

Okay.

So, you know what I mean?

So this is

that was, you know what?

I think that I was probably pretty close.

So here's what I want you to do now.

I want you to go to the top where they link the song and I want you to listen to it.

Did you were you listening to it?

Before you started singing, I was.

Also, this beat already.

I like it.

You were not singing it right.

That was like I just made up a rhythm.

Pretty much identical, but I will say this is a bop and a half.

Unironically, this is on Spotify.

I'm putting the shit into my playlist.

Boom, boom, boom, booty,

fairy queen.

I think mine's a little better, but fairy queen, changing teardrops to a smile,

holding daydreams for a while.

Fairy queen, fairy queen.

She's your

fairy in the night.

Okay,

okay, okay.

I can't do this anymore.

Okay,

okay, okay.

The purpose.

Okay, very so the lyrics,

the lyrics in here that

I can't work under these conditions.

I swear, go ahead, dude.

What

you'd like that, wouldn't you?

You'd like that, wouldn't you be free of me so you can just do this by yourself all the time?

Scream lyrics to songs you don't know,

okay?

Where I was going

is some of the lyrics in here seem indicative of like mother horse eyes.

Reveal secrets of your mind.

The second verse particularly where it says, she's your shelter in the night, the guardian angel by your side.

And then

I'd find the long-forgotten dream that's deep inside the memory of a child if I could hear what words don't tell.

Way down in the wishing well, then reality would turn into illusion.

And then at the end it says, I take a walk behind the scene where the puppet acting plays,

where the puppet acting plays that never ends.

I'd pull their strings to set them free.

They'd play their parts most perfectly, and my magic heart would make them live forever.

So that's like, speaking back to you know, world events, everything, like the visions people are getting, they're starting to see clues of what reality truly is.

Fairy queen,

okay, all right,

fairy, all right,

okay, all right, next post, uh, 29th, same day.

Hold on, that's uh, it's in reply.

It starts in

you can't, you can't make up a song

and get it stuck in your head.

All right, so this is in the Today.

It was in response to a post on Today I learned where someone said, There's no historical evidence for a pirate having ever owned a parrot.

So then Mother Horse Eyes replies and says, That's interesting.

When I was working for the CIA, we found that animals could often survive travel through the flesh interfaces.

That's interesting.

The guy's like, huh?

Huh?

I thought they talk about parrot.

What is this?

Yeah, fairy queen.

Fairy queen.

That's what I've probably sticking.

This entire story is so incomprehensible if you come to it midway through.

Just any level of it is like, wow,

the flesh interface.

Oh, okay.

When I was working for the CIA, we found that animals could often survive travel through the flesh interfaces, much better than humans could.

We regularly had success sending dogs and cats through.

Somebody hit upon the idea of sending some Gracula religiosa, which is a type of bird, a common hill mina?

Mina birds?

Okay.

Through the interface because they are adept at imitating sounds.

Oh, okay, so they do mimic.

That's cool.

This was the next best thing to sending a tape recorder.

The interfaces did not accept non-living objects.

We worked on grafting a tape recorder to a turtle, but this was unsuccessful on several levels.

That's so funny.

They tried to hook a tape recorder up to a turtle.

That was unsuccessful on several levels.

We sent the birds through.

They returned unencased, but covered with the typical fluids.

Those of us who subscribed to the alien theory had high hopes that they would record alien speech.

Instead, or indeed, they came back imitating a strange, flute-like speech music.

The music was quite interesting, though having all the birds sing at once created a distinctly unpleasant effect.

Somebody in the department ended up killing all the birds, though we never found out who.

Okay, speech music.

Click on that link.

Fucking creepy.

Bro, that freaks me out so hard.

It's like, um, it's like haunted mall music, you know?

Flute-like speech music.

So it's like, it's like the things they recorded on the other side were like speech, but being made through music.

Well, then that ties back into the whole mother horse-eyed theory of her being like there from the foundations of the earth because it's like music is just what she sounds like.

It's like, you know, the noises she makes or the noises that play around her.

Also, very angelic.

You know what I mean?

Yeah, yeah.

All right.

Next day, 4 a.m.

30th post.

Hold on, just because it was funny last time.

Let's see if it's funny this time.

In reply to,

today I learned that the red liquid in a rare steak isn't blood.

It's actually water and a protein called myoclobin.

In reply, after the orbital arrays incinerated the city, they dropped our platoon.

After the orbital arrays incinerated the city, they dropped our platoon to take a look around.

We had seen it before, an endless graveyard, everything ashes, ash buildings, ash people.

For six days, we drudged through the dead city before finding the first sign of life.

On the edge of the blast zone, four frozen winter fields, a small flowering bush.

Perhaps the heat of the bombardment had tricked it into blooming early.

We all looked at it for a silent moment and quickly moved on.

We were young and tired and just miles from the rendezvous.

And sometimes at night, that silent moment returns.

And I see them fluttering again in the cold, uncaring wind.

Doomed flowers, soft and pale.

Interesting.

So this, oh, remember how he said that these are a past of what is not and futures that cannot be, right?

Yeah.

this sounds like a future war that hasn't happened yet.

Orbital arrays incinerated the city.

I dropped our platoon in to take a look around.

Ash people.

So, this is either the powers that be, because they're talking about North Korea getting access to the

interface stuff and they don't like it.

So, a war starts there and different parts.

So, maybe this is in the future, like a war on Earth, or it could be a war on another planet.

If it was a war on another planet, I don't think he'd talk about Ash People.

But, yeah, this sounds like a war that will come if you know courses aren't changed.

So this next one's

so

all the previous ones were on Reddit, right?

Yeah, and I will say, this seems like the longest gap between posts, by the way, right?

They got posted

at motherboard.vice,

which

the past couple weeks.

Yes, okay.

So Vice, as we talked about earlier, Vice did an article about Mother Horse Eyes, right?

And then on May the 5th, after the article came out, this was posted in reply to that article, I think.

Or on the board discussion for the article at Vice, on Vice.com, effectively.

So that's where this one comes from.

Okay, so with that, context.

Terraform.

I'm not sure who came up with the idea of sending a dead body through the portal.

Such a simple idea.

And yet at the time, it made no more sense than buckling a dead body into a space capsule and sending it up into space.

We wanted to find out what was on the other side of the portal beyond the event horizon.

We have been studying the so-called flesh interface for years and of all the mysteries that surround them, the portal phenomena, the apparent teleportation of objects which occurred within the fleshy tunnel, was the greatest mystery of all.

So sending a dead body made little sense.

Remember, this is what we knew at the time.

1.

If an inanimate object went into the portal, it returned a short time, less than 3 seconds later, at a random location within the interior zone.

Cameras and sensors picked up nothing of interest.

Two, if an animal went into the portal, it sometimes returned, either alive or dead.

Most returned, altered.

Three, if an adult human went into the portal, the person was likely to return, but would either be dead or too altered to describe the other side.

Those who returned alive died shortly after.

Three, if a child went into the portal, the child was likely to return alive but was invariably altered.

However, the altering was relatively mild and some even remained cognizant fortunately information gleamed from them was cryptic and seemed to generate more questions than answers they all died shortly after okay so

portal being used here is not the flesh tunnel right it is the random portals that appear and segment people correct no i just was i thought that the portals were taking and putting people into those flesh pits but not all of them were the flesh pits themselves you know but i could be wrong yeah maybe maybe but those are always referred to as interfaces.

And we know that portals appear dramatically and like segment things, cut them in half.

So maybe that's what portals are because we know there's the interfaces, which is the flesh tunnels, and we know those cause like those little pockets of air to form that if people fall into, they get segmented.

And like it segments the ground and anything that goes into them.

So maybe the portals it's talking about are the segments

or are those instances, you know?

hmm oh no

like you like you build one like you take lsd and it compels you to build one flesh interface and then portals pop up around it

basically i think

because there's the one that's an invisible pocket of air you fall into and disappear and then there's the other one that you walk into the flesh channel and get ripped to pieces right

not sure which one is considered the portal Anyway,

sending children through the portal was distasteful to us for obvious reasons, and we were searching for an alternative.

One day during an experiment, somebody was about to send a group of genetically altered mice through when they noticed that one of the mice was dead.

Perhaps out of curiosity, they sent it with the others anyways.

All the mice came back alive.

This was obviously of great interest.

Now we were not only dealing with teleportation, but resurrection.

Of course, we immediately started sending all manner of dead animals through the portal.

We joked that if the portal is actually some kind of alien office mailing tube, they'd probably be pretty pissed about all the dead rodents.

Most of the animals were rejected in the manner of inanimate objects, but occasionally, if they were quite freshly dead, they would come back alive.

Not only that, but none of the returned animals seemed altered at all.

This was exciting.

Naturally, we progressed to people.

We wanted very fresh, very intact corpses, so we had to face the question of how to kill a person with the least harm, as the official recommendation absurdly phrased it.

We settled on a method of stopping the heart with electricity.

Very neat.

First 16 subjects were rejected by the portal.

We felt pretty low.

In our attempts at resurrection, we had racked up quite the body count.

Finally, the 17th subject came back to us.

Not only that, but he was cognizant and seemed entirely unaltered.

Now, finally, after decades, we are about to find out the secret of the other side.

In 1963, the Roman general, gosh, this, okay, I made the joke earlier about this being like House of Leaves.

This was a House of Leaves transition.

You have the line, and then you have more stuff about like unrelated parts in history or something that connects back to the story.

But the symbolism of the story we're getting ties into what we're reading.

Gosh, that's great.

Okay, anyway.

So they send a dead dead guy through and the dead guy comes back alive so he's not only seen the other side of death but he's seen the other side of the portal in 63 BC the Roman general Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus marched his soldiers across the kingdom of Judea and laid siege to Jerusalem its heavily fortified capital city known to history as Pompey the Great he was 43 years old at the time and one of the most powerful men in the world an ascendant general tasked with expanding the mightiest empire on on earth.

In his dealings with the occupants of the obscure kingdom of Judea, he surely had become aware of their peculiar devotion to a mysterious god.

Oh my gosh,

this is kind of

oh, it's tying back in the religious themes to it.

This story is like cracked to me.

It's conspiracy theories and Christianity.

I seriously, I feel like you've I feel like you literally have cum in your pants right now.

Some of these reactions

like going between conspiracies and like Antarctic bases and hell portals and these glowing flesh gates that people walk into and sending children.

And there's something called mother horse-eyes on the other end that's symbolic of the devil and it's using Christian themes to tie it back in.

I feel like

if I did acid

for like a decade straight and then like woke up and wrote something down, it would be this.

This is awesome.

Only my writing would it be as good.

It'd be much more screaming and incoherent.

he surely had become aware of their peculiar devotion to a mysterious god, which they worshiped to the exclusion of all others.

A strange notion for a cosmopolitan Roman accustomed to a bustling marketplace of competing gods and cults.

He also knew that at the heart of Jerusalem there stood a great temple,

even more well fortified than the rest of the city, where this curious god resided amongst angelic statues of gold and other symbols of occult majesty.

This temple was the holiest site in a holy kingdom and contained within its walls a small sanctuary chamber known as the Kodesh Hagadashim or Holy of Holies where the very presence of this god was said to dwell in the darkness.

Nobody in the kingdom was allowed into the Kodesh Hagadashim except the high priest and then only once a year on the day of atonement to sprinkle animal blood on the ground as an offering.

The Kodesh Hagadashim was separated from the rest of the temple by an elaborate curtain, and the high priest was required to ritually cleanse himself before entering.

It was said that any unclean person who entered the Kodesh would be met with death, and legend has it that the high priest only entered the sanctuary with a rope tied around his ankles, so that if he did die therein, he could be pulled back out.

Not only that, but he was said to wear bells around his waist, so if the bells ever stopped ringing, that meant he was dead.

How much did this Pompey the Great know on the day the city finally fell after three months' siege?

On that day, he and his soldiers slaughtered 12,000 Jews who were defending the sanctuary, and he strode through the entrance of the imposing temple as a conquering hero to the Romans and a murdering intruder to the Jews.

Inside the temple, he saw the glittering wealth acquired from the faithful Jews throughout the region, but rather than wealth, it seemed that he was more interested in finally laying eyes on this reclusive god he had heard so much about.

Ancient historians record that he did not re-leave the temple of its treasures, but instead went to the Kodesh Hakadashim.

Maybe he wanted to see what sort of magical creature could maintain such a peculiar hold over its faithful that they would not abandon the temple even after it was hopelessly overrun, that they would stay and die by thousands, sacrificing their own blood on its grounds.

Perhaps he was unaware of the tales of death that surrounded the Kodesh.

Perhaps he didn't know that this was a god which had leveled the world with a flood, which had rained fire on cities, which had delivered the Jews from the yoke of the mighty Egyptian Empire, which had destroyed armies and kingdoms.

Or perhaps he had heard the stories and simply didn't believe them.

At any rate, history records that he went to the inner part of the temple and pulled back the curtain which hid the holiest of holies from the world so that he might stand and gaze upon the very presence of God.

The man was an illegal immigrant from Honduras.

Illegal.

Oh, gosh, dude.

Oh my god, dude.

Oh,

oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,

oh,

bro.

Oh, that transition.

Oh, my gosh.

Oh,

all right.

So we got done with the with the Roman.

Now we're back on.

Yeah.

Oh.

Oh, gosh.

Yeah, okay, yeah.

So we're just transit.

We have the flowing.

There is a okay, there's a scene in House of Leaves where the characters are working their way through the house.

They have the rope tied.

It's right before

Holloway, I believe was his name, goes mad and tries to kill him.

And they're walking through the house through the different corridors.

And on one part of the page, one of the authors is describing that.

And on the lower part of the page, another author is describing the story of the Minotaur in

In Greek mythology and how the Minotaur was given this maze to work through and how men would search the maze and fear of or like they would go into the maze to slay the Minotaur and never come out.

So in one half you're reading about the men walking through the house and in the other half you're reading about Perseus hunting the Minotaur through the maze and it does the same thing where we get like one side of the story with like symbolism of another story that the two connect to each other, but otherwise unrelated.

So probably this was slightly inspired by how that narrative structure works then, I would assume.

Even down to the line that separates the two stories as they pop up next to each other.

Oh, interesting.

So, yeah, I think that's where anyway, but gosh, that was he pulled back the curtain.

He left the gold.

He wanted to see what God these people would die for.

And then the man was in illegal, going back to the dead body they shoved through and then pulled back.

The man they resurrected.

The man that they are resurrecting to see what God is on the other end of this portal

mixed with Pompey wanting to see the god behind the curtain.

Oh.

Okay.

The man.

So now I think we're back to him basically like going back to our narrator who

was talking about the kids earlier, you know, and like his kind of the moral quandary of all that kind of stuff.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Of putting kids to the portal and stuff.

I think we're back to that perspective now.

The man was an illegal immigrant from Honduras.

Illegal immigration has always been a great help to us.

I I mean, why bother to erase people when they can do it themselves?

Anyways, he was under the impression that he had been in the custody of immigration enforcement for the last few months while we ran the standard battery of test.

He was 24 years old, 171 centimeters tall, about average intelligence.

We stopped his heart with electrodes and put him inside the flesh interface.

Okay, so

there's your confirmation.

The flesh interface and the portal are one and the same.

Okay.

He came back quite jittery and minimally responsive.

Posing as doctors and nurses, our technicians took him to a medical room for testing and interviews.

We assumed he had been altered, but we tested his blood for the presence of the exotic LSD analogs that accompany alteration.

And there were none.

Slowly, over a period of several hours, he began to calm down.

Then he began to talk.

We asked him what he remembered about the last few hours.

He was under the impression that his experiences had merely been a dream, that some sort of calamity had happened during his sleep, which left him reeling.

He assumed that the part where we dragged him out of bed and stopped his heart was a dream too he said that after that part of the dream suddenly found himself inside something that looked like a giant sausage casing like a tunnel of meat that's got to be the throat that we kind of have been referencing that's the throat yep with the arms and things that reach out to you that's the interface yeah the pussy area basically is what it reminded me of that This was very exciting to us because it roughly corresponded to the appearance of the flesh interface, which contained the portal.

But given how he was brought into the interface tunnel dead and returned within the interior zone, he couldn't possibly have seen the interface tunnel.

Therefore, he surmised, he was describing the interface on the other side of the portal.

This was our first concrete knowledge of what was on the other side.

What did Pompey expect to find on the other side of the curtain?

In many Roman temples, there was an image of the honored god occupying some central place in the structure.

It can be assumed that he expected to find one of these, but did he expect to find the actual presence of God?

Could he have possibly expected this?

For if he had believed in the Jewish lore, wouldn't he have also expected death?

Wouldn't he expect to be punished for defiling the temple?

Would he have been so cavalier about pulling back the curtain?

Perhaps in his polytheistic mindset, he assumed that his gods, which had seen fit to give him yet another glorious victory, were more powerful than this backwater Jewish god.

What did we expect to find on the other side of the portal?

Some kind of intelligence which could explain the bizarre living technology of the flesh interfaces.

If the interfaces were the product of an intelligence, was it really something we wanted to make contact with?

Did we expect this intelligence to be kind of benevolent?

If so, how could we have sent so many living creatures, so many people, so many children to their deaths?

What would a benevolent intelligence possibly make of our ruthless, our rapacious quest for understanding?

According to Tacitus,

the ancient historian, when Pompey pulled back the curtain and gazed upon the holiest of holies, quote, it contained no representation of the deity.

The sanctuary was empty, and the holy of holies untenated.

He found nothing, an empty room, nor was he met with his death.

Instead, he strode out of the temple alive and healthy, destined to go on to greater, greater political glory until 15 years later, when he was finally stabbed to death on the shores of the Nile Delta after his defeat to Julius Caesar in the Roman Civil War.

As the man spoke of walking through the unearthly, living tunnel of the flesh interface, he said he saw a bluish light ahead and heard what seemed to be music, almost like flutes, but much, much deeper.

As he told his story, sitting on the edge of a hospital bed wearing a loose gown, his hand wandered to his chest and he touched the skin above his heart.

There he found two slightly singed patches of skin.

We had attached the electrodes that ended his life.

I still get chills when I recall how his face changed when he realized that it had not been a dream at all.

It was a pitiful, almost childish look of terrible, unwanted understanding.

Tears quickly flooded his eyes.

This man,

who had been brought back from death itself by an unimaginable technology, by forces beyond all all our understanding, slowly went limp and died for a second time.

And so we were left with disappointment once again.

More mystery, more frustration.

We had already heard from our child subjects about the strange flute music, but always in cryptic, disjointed terms.

We had hoped that this man would give us something more concrete, but the answer had eluded us once again.

So we went back to our experiments, selecting a new route of subjects to send through the portal.

We had already sacrificed so many lives in in our quest, and there was no reason to stop then.

Knowing what I know now, I sometimes wonder, was Pompeii lucky when he pulled back the curtain and found nothing?

So philosophical.

I don't know.

Really great way of blending those two things together.

It's insane, too, to be like that these are just on random comment sections, you know?

Which granted, you can still click on the guy, you can still click on the guy's profile and read it there, but I think it's just the idea of stumbling across this thing randomly

unprovoked is just it's very fascinating

That yeah, go ahead

Just disjointed that you could see that it would almost read like you were saying earlier earlier like a schizophrenics posting but

Reading them in in order like this, it's just interesting seeing how it's not as if the story's really developing, but more so we're just given more information to get a fuller picture of this, like, kind of crazy idea that you're thrown into.

You know what I mean?

So, it's the same thing where you can enter this story at any point and then you can go back and kind of get the full picture.

But it's just kind of interesting how I wonder if some people have just started it, like, well, I just started then, I haven't read before.

I just read from here until you know what I mean, when you go,

dude.

okay, for clarification, for one, the flesh interface, all that stuff we just read, it seems that after Vice did a story about, they let him post that whole thing there.

Because that whole thing is just like Spice article in itself.

Yeah.

But, okay, so that segment, you remember earlier how I was like, this, I keep thinking to myself, like, well, it can't keep being this cool, right?

Like, there's no way.

Yet it continues to be that cool.

That segment

was,

to me, hands down, the coolest part of the story so far.

Just to go back between them resurrecting the guy and Pompeii and stuff.

That felt, just like the feeling of euphoria I got from that is one of the coolest moments I've had on this show.

The story.

The horror too of it all, of like the horror of knowledge, is just kind of very subtle.

It just like lingers a bit longer.

There's a lot of things in stories that we read so far that are like, ooh, that was creepy, but there's a lot of just kind of interesting questions the author keeps leaving us with where it's the parallel of like a great war general who has conquered this army and he's getting ready to go see this entity that he has been wanting to see.

And then basically it's like the disappointment of finding nothing, but that's also a gift versus the same kind of thing of these people having this technological.

thing and finding basically the this random gateway and the more they know about it or like this kind of um like a person that gets to go through died and they get to sit here and suffer before their death is uh it's like the uh it's the it's the the terror of knowledge the terror of knowing you know peeking into the unknown and revealing secrets that i feel like humans weren't meant to have is uh just kind of an interesting concept you know It's put it pushes forward into that idea of like reaching a singularity, right?

Like we reach a point with technology where it's like too, you've gone too far.

You can't come back back from this one.

And all the consequences that would carry with it.

Brother, I'm on cloud nine.

Like, this, this is, I'm going to punch something.

I'm going to put a hole in the wall

computer or something.

You got a pants full of cum and a and a big and a big smile.

I'm going to complete.

I've got the smile.

I'm going to ignore the other thing you said, but I certainly got a smile.

Some of the reactions, I mean, you have to realize, ladies and gentlemen, I don't see what I can't see him.

So I just hear a man bricking on the other end of this call,

and I hear him going with him.

So I'm just picturing he's leaning back.

I mean, he's just caking his pants.

And for all I know, he's done three pants changes.

I haven't seen it while he's reading it.

It would be funny if every time I stood up, I had a D-back tired sports on.

Yeah, different khakis or shorts just keep coming on.

I'm just switching through.

Yeah.

No, like this, this story feels almost

like if it wasn't good, I would feel mocked.

It's with the yeah the switch between conspiracy theories and and christianity and like uh flesh portals and monsters made out of animal parts you know yeah literally a wendigo like a wendigo shaped creature i always find that uh

usually stories whenever i'm not saying a lot of things it's just like digesting is always stories that i feel like linger with me longer or like it's just a thing where it's posing interesting things that i feel like i'm thinking about internally and I need to be better about like actually vocalizing some of this stuff.

But I do wonder, I do wonder,

because obviously there's going to be some people who aren't faring with the story or whatever, but how lost it is, you know, or are people like on this riot as well?

And they're kind of like excited, piecing it together themselves.

Curious to see what people say.

Look, if someone's upset over this story, this is my moment.

This is my time.

It's about me.

This is about me today.

Okay.

This is my day.

This is like

the it's definitely probably the coolest story I've read on the show.

Or one of the coolest stories I've ever read.

Just like how much I love the themes.

I love the riding style.

I love the way it works, the horror, the new, like the, all of it.

Um, if it maintains this,

we'll see.

See, this is crazy because I thought Mother, everyone told me about her horse.

I was like, oh, it's kind of like an ARG.

It's posted around.

No one grabbed me by the shirt and shook me and was like, before you do anything else with your stupid life read this story i wonder too you're well you

as we all know you i mean you love like religious themes and you know the conspiracy stuff i mean that's like such a huge part of like what gets you going so this feels extremely catered that's why i was curious too if people are like

you know i the theme is okay i'm curious if it hits people the same way i will say that it's written in a brilliant really fun interactive way like i think that that's undeniable It's kind of giving me

the more I sit here, it's like I feel like that's how you see stuff like Midwest Angelica, which I don't know if they reference this at all, but it feels like when we were just even the towers and all that kind of stuff, it has that kind of vibe to it.

Along with that, I've read this SCP before that's called The Flesh That Hates, I think is what it was.

Yeah, um, just the way that these things kind of tie together, but it's interesting that so far, I mean, here's the thing too: we're three and a half hours in.

We're on post, we're on post fucking 31 of 100, by the way.

Got to be mindful of that.

And really, it's just little interactions of people being like,

what's a flush interface?

Well, I showed up to this place and did this.

I think that the story so far has been most successful and most effective when talking.

Like, I like the little vignettes.

Like, I really love being like, we were soldiers.

We went, we saw this guy sitting on a hill.

We would try shooting at it, but the fucking bullets would disappear.

It's just like the anomaly built around the actual interface itself, you know?

I think that I have the most fun.

Like, I love putting put in these tiny vignettes that ultimately accumulate into people getting fucked.

It's like, it's pretty much

the vibe.

Another connection to go with the themes of it.

So it talks about Pompeii, you know, 68 or 63, whenever it was, went and sacked the temple at Jerusalem.

This was

not long after Jesus' crucifixion.

And the story said earlier, like all parts of history are at the nexus point of Jesus' death, right?

And in the Bible, when Jesus is crucified, it says that the temple veil, the veil that it mentions Pompey walked through to go the other side, the veil was torn in half.

Because the reason the temple had to exist and all that is because there was not yet the sacrifice for the sin debt.

People still had to commit animal offerings.

They had to sprinkle blood through the holiest of holies in order to get forgiveness for sin.

Um, but when Jesus died, all that was done away with, and in his death, it says an angel tore the temple veil in half, saying, We don't need the temple anymore.

So, by the time Pompey got there, the temple was already done, it was

just at that point an empty room.

Um,

at least within Christianity's point now, Judaism, you know, obviously still holds holiness, but the story specifically, like this so far is given specific reference to Jesus Christ's death.

So it's like that death that was mentioned earlier is the reason for Pompeii's lack of finding a God on the other side.

So maybe, which I could be reading in too far, but maybe if that theme ties all the way back around,

maybe the reason that they're not getting anything out of these experiments yet, passing dead bodies through the flesh interface, is because they're missing something.

Something's been done in the past or they're going about the wrong way.

There is a reason.

There is a God on the other side of the veil.

They just haven't figured it out yet.

There's a step there forgetting, so to speak.

Or maybe it's too late, like it was for Pompeii to find the God on the other side of the veil.

Man, I've never, I've heard that story so many times of like Pompey destroying the temple in Jerusalem, but I have never

thought about that moment when he would have got to the holiest of holies.

Like, I know that was there.

I know the significance it had in the Old Testament of the Bible.

I know Zachariah, you know, didn't believe God when he was speaking to the angel and he was made deaf for it.

Like, I know all the great stories around it.

And I know Pompey went and, you know, destroyed the temple, but I never thought about the moment when he got to that room, what that would have been.

Man.

I can feel the story like printing itself onto my brain.

Like for the rest of...

It's going to stick with you for sure.

For the rest of my life, I'm going to be like, well, this is kind of like mothered horse eyes.

Like, it's going to be one of those point of reference things, which I will say, if you like the way the story is written, like the stuff, I highly recommend House of Leaves.

I think this took a lot of inspiration off of that in a good way.

Anyway,

all right.

31st post made.

So this actually came three days before the Vice article, but according to the subtext, which I'm going to trust the people who are the moderators on R slash horse eyes because they know the story better than I do.

They say that the article would fit into this place in the timeline.

So maybe the author wrote this and then gave it to Vice and then it got published a few days after.

So we're now technically going three days back to May the 2nd when the 31st posts showed up.

Of all the children who have been returned from the portals, only one survived in the long term, though we didn't even realize it until years later.

She had been stolen or rescued from us by a rogue technician shortly after return and was thus lost to us for many years.

Finally found her in Estonia and kidnapped her from her adoptive family in the middle of the night.

She was seven when we lost her and 13 when we would have found her again.

So this is good because

like we had already seen the story repeats and when we read that first part I was like we'll probably come back to this girl and sure enough we are.

We did a preliminary interview and she seemed normal in every aspect.

Mind you, this was a girl who entered a massive, possibly alien biological device called a flesh interface, disappeared from existence for several minutes, then returned encased in an amniotic sack.

Attached to a placenta via umbilical cord with enough LSD in her bloodstream to turn all of Utah into one massive orgy.

Naturally, we expected some sort of mental changes, especially since every child who returned from the portals had shown signs of mental aberration.

Why did I say it that way?

Aberation.

Aberation.

Then again, every other child had died shortly after return, so she was clearly something special.

But no, she was normal.

frustratingly normal.

So we started prying into her past.

She was retissant, but young and fairly trusting, and it wasn't hard to get information out of her.

She said she was born in Brazil, which was correct.

We had acquired her from a Brazilian orphanage where she had lived since infancy, the daughter of a dead prostitute and an unknown father.

She vaguely remembered her time at the orphanage, and they were not very happy memories.

She then began telling us about the first day she met her adoptive parents, but we wanted to know about the time in between when she was in our possession, when she went into the portal and came back.

We asked what happened before she met her adoptive parents.

She said she remembered a long, boring boat trip to come over to Estonian Islands.

We asked her where she had lived before then.

At this question, she grew distinctly uncomfortable.

She said she didn't really remember.

I pressed her.

Her face began to twitch and shudder.

This was the first time she had showed any sign of abnormality.

I kept pressing her on the question.

There was one summer after I moved out of the orphanage, orphanage, but before I came to Estonia, where I lived with a woman who said she was my mother.

Okay, yep, yep.

So every time these kids pass through, they go to the house where mother born

fire.

They get a basically, they, yeah, they basically get indoctrinated by her there, it feels like.

And it's like while they're well, all of them come out saying she's awful, that she looks disgusting.

She's a monster.

But at the time, at the time, they're okay with it, though.

You're right.

But they all come out born, but it's like while they're in there being pumped of LSD, in their mind, they're transported to this place where they're with Mother Horse Eyes.

This was news to us.

Our files had it that she lived continuously at the orphanage.

We asked her about the exact time, but all she knew was that it was for one summer.

This was curious because she had been in our possession one summer seven years ago.

Timelines matched well, but the events were entirely different.

We asked her to elaborate.

She said that one day, a woman had come to the orphanage saying that she was her mother.

The Americans who ran the place had made her go with the woman.

They had gone to a crummy old house.

She lived there for a summer.

As she said this, she began to sob.

She said that she had forgotten all about this.

She hardly remembered it at all.

She didn't want to talk about it.

She wasn't my mother.

I knew.

Her face wasn't right.

It wasn't her real face.

Yep.

Back to Mother Horse Eyes, which, by the way, I know we've said it, but I think we've said it before, but what a haunting name for an entity.

It's also so horseless.

It's so good.

Yeah.

Gosh.

I mean, like, that's one of the reasons I think this had so much success to people who heard about it, because they just hear the name and they're like, the what?

Mother what?

Well, it's just so uncanny.

It creates such a visceral reaction, in my opinion.

You know what's also frustrating about this?

No one knows who the author is outside of user Mother Horse Eyes.

So this guy could be writing anything, and I can't find it.

Like, I don't care about the rest of you, but me specifically.

I can't find it.

I can't dig in there and get it.

Where is it at?

I need at it.

Somebody let me at him.

What's his home address?

Where does he live?

Okay.

Same day.

Oh, no.

This one is real.

This was always the first thought when waking up after a blackout.

After hours of flitting between different varieties of nightmare, you start to dream that you are lying sick and insane in a stained bed in a shithole apartment that smells like cigarettes and spoiled ham.

Your slowly crystallizing consciousness begins to note this particular nightmare is more persistent than the others.

That it has a certain uncanny clarity to it.

Oh, no, you realize this one is real.

You wake to the other ugliness of your reality.

It's too much, too awful.

What's the last thing you remember?

God, it wasn't even midnight before the madness set in.

Look at your hands.

Tiny vibration runs through the fingers.

Your entire mind feels like the raw, meaty patch that is left after a fingernail is torn off.

How many hours were you blacked out?

Three, four?

You sit up and look around for evidence of mischief.

Smashed plates, bags of takeout food, and a nightstand drawer filled with vomit.

All clear.

You feel your face for bruises.

Nothing major.

Wallet and phone, present and accounted for.

Your phone says it's 2 p.m.

Not bad you check the calls and text nothing unusual no two-hour conversation with your boss started at 5 a.m you log into your bank website and take a look 94.56 spent last night king's ransom by your standards but at least you didn't go on a 400 blowout

you sit and wonder why you have this feeling of black guilt in your stomach Just the hangover, right?

Just your poor brain snapping back from all the depressant you gave it last night, entering a hypervigilant state, paranoid state, an intolerable state.

God, you need a drink.

You deserve a drink for not blowing the rent last night.

Medically, you need a drink.

Just a little drink, but nothing overboard that will get you drunk at three in the afternoon and blacked out again tonight.

You go out of your tiny bedroom to the front part of your apartment, and your heart stops.

A woman is lying asleep on your couch.

Not a young woman, an old woman.

Oh god.

Tiny old grandma with messy gray hair.

God, what have you done?

Her eyes slowly open.

I think she's alive.

She asks if you're okay now.

You nod.

The question is sinister.

Okay

now?

What had been going on before?

You can't deal with this without a drink.

Who gives a shit if she sees this old lady in sweatpants?

You go to the freezer and get the vodka and take in two good belts.

She makes a violent protest, but your brain almost weeps in relief.

Who are you?

You ask the woman directly.

She smiles and lets out a shy, grandmotherly little chuckle.

She says she didn't expect you to remember last night, that you had repeatedly warned her that you wouldn't.

Her demeanor is so warm and kind.

You begin to worry that you have screwed this woman.

that you have screwed this elderly woman and now she is in love with you and wants to move her postrapedic bed into your apartment.

You ask her with great urgency who she is and you tip another shot into your mouth.

She says that she wants to hear the end of your story.

She says that last night you came into the cafe that she owns carrying a bottle of wine.

Before she could tell you to leave, you began telling a story.

A wonderful story, but you got too drunk and didn't finish it.

So she got you into a cab and made sure you got home and slept on the couch because she very much wants to hear the end of your story.

You tell her that you don't recall telling any story.

She expects this.

She says that it's a story about the children in the forest.

You must know it.

It was too wonderful to have just been made up.

You shrug.

You don't know any stories about any children in the forest, unless it's Hansel and Gretel.

Was it Hansel and Gretel?

It was not.

Well, that's the only child forest story you know.

She tells you...

That it was a very beautiful story and it made her cry and she very much wants to know the end of it.

Her mind turns through the possibilities.

This woman is crazy.

She is about to ask for money.

She is going to rob you.

She wants to get your information so she can have you arrested.

The cops are already on their way and she's stalling.

But the pleading look in her eyes is quite convincing.

She does just want to hear the story.

Buck is starting to loosen the paranoid script.

Take another sip.

How many drinks was that?

Two?

Okay.

Don't want to get too drunk too early.

No more drinking for the next hour.

You take another sip.

If you can't drink for the next hour, you'll need that last sip.

You sit down on the couch next to her.

Sweet relief of the vodka is melting away some of your anxiety, and you let out a big sigh.

You ask her to tell you some of the story.

Maybe it will jog your memory.

She insists that she can't tell this good as you told it, but you brush her protest aside.

She begins to tell you the story.

In her warm, grandmotherly voice, she begins to tell you about the magical children who lived in the forest, who danced and sang and never died, who fought bravely against the nightmare forces of the ancient queen.

Really is a beautiful story, and the woman tells it so well.

Lots of nice little touches that make you giggle softly.

You see in your mind for a moment sunlight through the fluttering leaves and smell the apple-scented air, so much sweeter and freer than anything your tiny grim shithole apartment full of empty bottles.

Once again, your eyes grow damp.

You have heard from various people at various times the beginning of this story,

but you've never heard the end.

Perhaps it has not.

It's beautiful.

Also, it feels like it's kind of catering like the children of the forest.

Do you think it's referring to the tree of life kind of thing, the reoccurring theme we have there?

I think, absolutely.

I think this is also reminiscent of that thing that was mentioned earlier about

by the mother

horse-eyes narrator when he says,

I,

what's the phrase?

Oh, we'll be children playing in streets with no cars.

It sounds like that.

Like, after mother embraces us, after we go through what she wants us to, we're all going to be happy.

We won't have to suffer anymore.

We're going to have to suffer a lot to get there, but in the end, it'll be okay, which is so interesting because it's almost an idea of heaven, right?

That almost sounds like an afterlife people would describe, but it is from a character who is symbolic of the devil.

So it's like the devil trying to tempt you with heaven.

It's such a

fascinating,

not really narrative, but like, I guess, antagonist, if that makes sense to set up or threat that these people are facing.

This is just like a guy who was afraid he had a one-night stand with an old woman, but then turns out like, oh, she just wanted to hear the story.

And like, he gets drunk and tells these stories, but he never knows how they end because they haven't got there.

So even subtly in the back of his mind, mother's calling to him.

Like the guy who had the dream of being a dog on the farm, the mother reaches out to people in different ways and it drags them in with these visions of grandeur, even though, as we know, it always ends with you being ripped apart.

Yeah, which is very devilish, that is very like Christian devil-oriented

ties back to the themes.

Gosh, it feels so

everything feels so wrapped in on each other.

All the themes, all the different, as

you know,

set aside as they are on their own, it feels so tied in with each other at the same time.

That's so cool.

What can we say?

We like it.

What can I say?

We like it.

That entire part, not to keep bringing it up, but that entire part felt like a Johnny Truant segment from a house of leaves, like word for word almost.

Not literally word for word.

I mean, the way it was written, the way information was given, he's drunk, he's like sad and stuff feels like, apart from that game.

Anyway, all right.

Part 32, same day.

And again, all these the same day.

Gosh, man.

Okay.

Imagine a dead cat wearing an old jock strap.

This is the smell of the bed sores.

This is the smell that comes out of the hygiene beds when we open them up.

It's not just a smell, but a feeling.

A sickly warmth that the masks cannot block out.

Even through the filtered, scented air, you know it's there.

Coming through the filters.

In less than 0.1 micrometer-sized particles, touching your face, touching your clothes, adhering to you, fouling you, fouling everything it touches.

I think what makes the smell so putrid is that it's a combination of living tissue and dead tissue.

Somehow this unnatural intermingling of life and death creates a potent stench that is repellent to basic human sensibility.

That is why I'm saying

this is why I am saving up to go to school and become a readjustment specialist.

Pulling people out of malfunctioning hygiene beds is no way to make a living.

Certainly, it is not the calling of a sensitive, erudite soul such as myself.

When a hygiene bed breaks, say the healthy limb system fails or a catheter gets blocked up, it's supposed to cut off the internet feed, forcing the sleeper to go.

Okay, hold on.

Internet feed.

It was talked about earlier with the North Korean thing, how the flesh things or the flesh interfaces make there be a line of communication from space, right?

Right.

That the information feeds itself back into.

So

it talked about earlier, I can't remember where.

I think it may have been talked about Vietnam or Groom Lake or something, but it talked about restraint beds.

So maybe some of these people are tied to beds so that it lets them receive information from space, whatever that information is.

And that's what it's talking about.

When a hygiene bed breaks, say the healthy limb system fails or a catheter gets blocked up.

Yeah, healthy limb system.

So the other system that it's maybe been, I don't know,

segregated or whatever they said the word for was

segmented.

That's it.

Not segregated.

It's supposed to cut off the internet.

Oh, no.

It's supposed to cut off the internet feed, forcing the sleeper to get the bed fixed.

But it's easy enough to override this cutoff function.

Immersed in their feeds, people often forget that the bed is broken.

But eventually, pain or discomfort will force the sleeper to get their bed fixed.

The pain of bed sores or the stench of a backed-up evacuator is a strong motivator.

But if the sleeper has direct sense feeds, they can switch off these smells and discomforts.

They can even switch off the worry associated with the broken bed.

Actually, nope, I take it back.

This This is one of the potential futures.

You think so?

How there was that, yeah, that whole thing earlier that technology will lead us to a place of slavery and stuff like that.

This is a potential future where people, like, he talks about the smell, or whoever's writing, talks about the smell of it.

And he says, I think the worst part is the combination of Levitt, living, and dead particles.

And they're in hygiene beds, and there's bad limb systems or a catheter gets blocked up.

So it's effectively people like laid out on a bed and kept alive for insanely long amounts of time as they control which emotions they want to feel and get a constant stream of the internet through their brain.

At this point, there is only one thing which can impel them to save themselves, basic human dignity.

The age-old desire to not spend one's days playing princess romance cafe lying in one's own shit while one's dick rots off.

I'd also say that on occasional fleeting desire to see the outside world could also prove advantageous, but for the sort of people I'm talking about here, this is simply not a factor.

Sadly for some people, this desire is not strong enough, and we come to the very last line of defense, the smell.

The smell eventually leaks out of the hygiene beds and casement.

Nearby tenants start to notice.

The building manager calls us, and we go and pull them out.

For the most hardcore sleepers, those who have entirely rejected reality in favor of their feeds, it is the smell and the smell alone that saves their lives before the bacteria devour them alive.

It is the stinky hand of salvation that plucks them from the abyss.

I don't know what God looks like, but he smells like a dead cat wearing an old jockstrap.

Jesus.

Man,

everything bangs.

Yeah, the idea of people hooked up to these machines just being in place of internet in a stasis almost so they don't have to exist.

They can just experience pleasure constantly.

Gosh.

It

feels so true, too, just with the state of media and stuff right now and consumption.

Well, I don't know, man.

I don't know what God looks like, but he smells like a dead cat.

Old jockstrap.

Man.

34.

Made the next day at 4 a.m.

How quickly they turn to complete animals.

They come out of the wagons already quite bestial, crying and lowing for water.

Yet there is still the facimile of humanity about them.

They wear clothes, spectacles, wedding rings, and the women have their long hair and jewelry.

Strip away all this deceit quite quickly.

At the front of the camp, there is a phony train station with a phony name and a phony clock with hands that are painted on.

All this just as phony as all they're posing, they're insinuating, they're pretending to be normal folk.

As soon as they come down the ramp, the blue prisoner units are screaming at them, beating them, lashing them, drawing blood, and they move through the front gates and huddled weeping herds.

There we separate the men and women and have the women's hair cut to make socks and such.

And in a moment it is complete.

Centuries of hiding among us, poisoning and passing, is all erased, exposed, and their nature is plain.

Looking at their hideous, gnarled faces, all the varieties of bloodline impurities, the women's sagging udders, the fatty, hanging bellies, the men's mutilated penises and thatches of pubic hair, you see it quite clearly.

And you absolutely cannot deny that they are utter beasts,

that we allowed them to infest our cities like vermin, to hold power over us while we were tilting while we were tilling the soil and building the fatherland.

It absolutely appalls.

This will be our great shame in history's eyes.

Okay, so this one is either

a

prison guard, like an SS guard at a concentration camp in World War II, or one in a future that's just adopting the same language.

But I think it's literal because it says fatherland, which is what the Germans refer to Germany as.

So this sounds like a past of the

prison guard at

a concentration camp.

We move them through the long tube to the gas chambers.

Yeah, okay, well

I think my assumption on the previous line is pretty correct.

We move them through the long tube to the gas chambers.

The men can go first as their hair does not need cutting and the women.

Women panic, screams everywhere.

You watch the motled haunches of the old women shudder and ripple as their legs shake like newborn calves.

They realize that we will not be wasting any time, that it will all be immediate.

Streams of fresh shit run down their legs.

Now the helpers must club them every step of the way or they will turn back.

Marchenko carries a sword.

Hold on.

There is a link to who Marchenko is.

Yes.

Nicknamed Ivan the Terrible.

He was a guard at Treblinka.

So this isn't only a

Nazi concentration camp.

It is the Treblinka camp, which we now know in our story to be where the first flesh interfaces were built.

Marchenko carries a sword.

He thinks it is an Imperial Cavalry sword, but it's just an imitation.

Still, it's an actual sword, and in his hands, it's more effective than the clubs.

He hacks at the crowd like a jungle explorer in an American film.

He makes all sort of sneering, dramatic faces as he works.

Whenever he scores a particularly impressive blow, his whole face red with delight.

Once he sliced an old woman's breast clean off, picked it up and showed it to me.

Hence I was made of corn-colored pearls of fat.

Ugh.

I made him take it to the work camp and have a good chuckle watching a prisoner devour it.

Oh man, I had a good chuckle watching Archenko's face.

There are only a couple dozen SS at the camp.

Almost everything is run by the Red Army watchmen and special prison units.

And yet we can process 15,000 a day.

Wonderful.

It's because of the way the camp has been built.

There is the fake train station, the tales of showers and uniforms and assignments, the narrow tube to funnel people into, the walls to hide the chambers and the pits, and there's the hierarchy: captured Red Army men, special unit prisoners, all set against each other with proper incentives.

Everything in the structure concentrates power on us.

Perhaps if the right structure was built, an entire race could eliminate by a single man with an unloaded gun.

Dark haunting, but it's about the situation at the concentration camp, which, yeah, I mean, yeah, pretty heavy.

Man, that's crazy.

I've never heard of

the Ivan the Terrible thing.

Or I feel like I have heard of the Ivan the Terrible thing, but just haven't thought about that in a long time.

It's crazy.

All right, May 5th.

So this was the same day the article came out with the Pompeii stuff in it that made me freak out and lose my mind.

Consider this case.

A woman, 28 years old, lives in a bed rack apartment block in Alabama.

She has engaged in heavy feed use since childhood, spending 70 to 80% of her free time connected.

Okay, so this sounds like it goes back to

the future where people have internet feeds beamed into their head, right?

She has engaged in heavy feed use since childhood, spending 70 to 80 percent of her free time connected.

At age 16, she finds global success as Mix Guide, netting her a considerable sum of money.

One day, when she is 19 years old, she connects to her feed.

She does not disconnect again for nine years.

God.

Nine years of continuous feed.

Nine years without any direct human contact nine years alone in a hygiene bed dreaming meanwhile her feed is a veritable flurry of digital contact mixes life stories role swaps rooms hunts avatar makers empathy games sex play and on and on for a while her mixed tours sell well and she enjoys her celebrity Man, it's so cool how they're establishing so many

just things, you know?

Like so many new pieces of the story to use as like all the new pieces they're creating in order to tell the story the way they want to and they're so fascinating like her mix stores sell well and she enjoys her celebrity like what does that mean

oh man

but over the years tastes change and her income falls try as she might she cannot revive her popularity she tries sorting tutoring crowd matching, whatever will make her money.

But the competition in these markets is harsh and she has significant debts to several promotion companies.

Her money runs out.

She manages to credit bounce for a while, but the ride is on the wall.

She must disconnect.

Man, you stay inside the system.

It has its own currency where there's credit, and like you can get into trouble.

She knows this, yet she cannot bring herself to do it.

Within the feed, she is well liked by her spheres, known as a talented mixer and narrator.

reasonable wall mediator, and a sensitive and capable participant in sex play.

But she has a direct sense feed with complete safety overrides and she has been on increasing pain dampening for the last four years she knows she has bed sores and perhaps will need multiple amputations she has assumed that she will live feed to grave cannot bring herself to disconnect man she wears

so crazy uh so many different angles of horror get introduced in the series too like so many different kinds of fear

mostly around the idea of like you know

eventual futures or like inability to stop it, but they're each so

unique.

She researches cortical suicide methods, but decides against it.

She contacts emergency services and arranges for them to remove her from her hygiene bed.

One day, shortly after her 28th birthday, she is disconnected after a nine-year dream.

She awakes to a world of horrifying pain.

Pain dampening has blocked her opioid receptors and the removal technicians can do nothing for her agony.

Her entire body is atrophied and she has severe calcification around her ports, catheter, and evacuator, as well as numerous sores and abscesses and general muscle atrophy.

Think about stuff like that.

She has calcification on her ports, so the port she has to plug herself in, her catheter and evacuator, which I assume is a catheter for your bowels, right?

Yeah.

It evacuate pulls pulls the crap out of your gut.

She is taken to the hospital for physical rehabilitation.

After several operations, she is stabilized and her pain has subsided to manageable levels.

Thankfully, the limbs are still intact.

After eye treatments, she looks at herself in the mirror and finds something she does not recognize.

She has aged nine years, though a lack of sun exposure and facial expressions has left her face smooth and unlined, albeit inhumanly gaunt and pale.

Within a few days, the hospital sends her home.

She must use a scooter to return to her apartment, which is little more than a weatherproof box to contain her hygiene bed.

What will become of this woman?

Sitting alone in her apartment with no job and no touch friends, without even a bathroom other than the hygiene bed, she will find it, gosh,

the amount of detail that goes into this world.

She will find it very difficult to resist the lure of the feed.

The lack of stimulation will mean that she is often bored.

Lack of predictability will mean that she is anxious whenever she is not bored.

She will find unmediated socialization torturous.

According to our statistics, there will be a 90% chance of her making another long-term connection within a month.

There will be a 30% chance of her dying within one year.

This is the price of long-term connection.

It is inescapable.

Less than 1% of users connected continuously for more than 3 years are able to go on to lead successful disconnected lives.

In America, there are currently over 30 million users on long-term connections.

Unless something changes, they will stay connected until they die.

This is why we have created Companion 12.

Oh, dude.

Bro.

Just all, ah,

that whole setup of how dire straits this is, how terrible this connection is to technology, establishing is awful.

It sounds like it's someone making a case against it.

And then at the end, it's just the marketing to sell you another product.

Another thing that can, another band-aid to this new problem that's been created, this new wound that's been induced on society.

This is why we have completed Companion 12.

Gosh, dude.

This story is almost so good that it's too much.

It's almost like I have, I like, if any one of these vignettes we read by itself, we'd be like, wow, great episode, man.

All right, that was creepcast.

Thank you.

But there's a hundred of them.

It's like, how do we?

Also, so there was the mention that it's shown up a couple of times.

There was something of like,

we were surprised this girl became a level seven, right?

And we don't know what that means, or it's like they somehow, I think it was the Vietnamese village early on.

It's like they had somehow gotten to category four on their own, or maybe it was the North Korean whale chamber.

All of these things are insane phrases.

Maybe it was the North Korean whale chamber of like they had got to be a level eight facility.

But there's

these numbers connected to everything.

And here it's saying there's a companion 12.

And remember how the children that come back out of the flesh interface, how they're attached to the amniotic sac that gives them LSD?

Well,

what if, like, that stasis that they're inside of is the same technology or the same idea that is allowing people in this alternate future to hook up to this program, to hook up to this feed?

Because we know from

the North Korea thing mentioned in the 1980s that it was beaming internet from space down to them in North Korea whenever they were hooked up with the interface.

So maybe it's the same technology.

Like, maybe if the governments keep doing their investigations, they'll eventually find out how to synthesize this amniotic sac that gives you LSD.

And that's what now the technology that gives you a quote-unquote internet feed or this alternate reality to exist in comes from.

It beams it down to Earth, you hook up to it, and that's where this

wait a minute.

Yeah, yeah, they managed to synthesize it in order to

get

people

to

be a part of this greater internet, this greater connected structure.

And then once they're in there, it's the same place or the same kind of place that the kids were going with Mother Horse Eyes back to the house, only Mother Horse Eyes isn't there.

So what if this companion 12 that's being introduced is Mother Horse Eyes?

What if the company or whatever is writing this we have created companion 12 is a way for mother horse eyes to insert herself into the system that they've created that they have cut her out of in their synthesizing of it but now she's found a way back in

this is entirely speculation but yeah but still just you know

the story's lending itself to create theories and stuff all right

36 posts same day

our form is our story the story of all the world the The world does not sleep.

Everywhere, 10,000 things are darting, skittering, flitting, scuttling, burrowing.

Sleep is righteousness, but the world wakes.

We are made in the image of the world.

The world is a giant of the our kind, and we live on its back.

Its trees and grasses and hills are like the hairs on our backs.

Our paws are soft and our ways are subtle and silky.

So we are in harmony with the world.

But everywhere, 10,000 things are scuttling out of harmony.

This causes the world to itch and to suffer, just as the little scuttling things on our backs cause us to itch and suffer.

So the world cannot sleep.

And everything turns and spins, and we cannot sleep.

For we are made in the image of the world.

This is why we hunt.

It is our duty.

To hunt out of all the little scuttling things, to devour them, expel them, and bury them back into the world, leaving no trace.

We must hunt night and day.

We hunt the 10,000 things on the world's back, just as we hunt and clean the little scuttling things from our own backs.

One day, we will destroy all the 10,000 things, and the world will sleep.

We will sleep, and everything will sleep forever.

This will be a great righteousness.

We can feel this righteousness every time we sleep, and we can feel a great injustice every time we are woken.

So we hunt, so we must hunt.

The truth is in our bones, in our claws, in our form, for we are made in the image of the world, and our form contains all truth.

Our form is our story, the story of all the world.

But now we are confronted with a great mystery.

We do not abide mysteries, they plague our sleep.

We must solve them.

What is hidden must be uncovered.

So we search, sleuth, but this mystery eludes, scuttles, and slips away time after time.

We do not sleep, but it seems there is no message in our form which gives us any answer.

Is our form incomplete?

I, above all others, have become obsessed with the mystery: The mystery of the oily ones.

Oh, I bet the oily ones is talking about the people that come through, right?

People that come through.

Yeah, I'm thinking so.

That or it's setting up, it's just planning another thing to be uncovered later.

Yeah, yeah.

This next post was made the next day, 37.

37.

One day during the final summer, a team of doctors came in from Berlin.

They were in the midst of a grand experiment they considered to be of the utmost importance and needed access to a large number of prisoners, prisoners, something beyond what they could acquire in Berlin.

We protested that we were not equipped for any sort of medical experiments, that our camp was designed for a single purpose.

They insisted, and we were forced to accommodate them.

I was immediately irritated by their senior doctor, a haughty man in his late 40s named Ingel, who always wore a crisp white coat and fine leather shoes.

He arrived with his team of doctors, and I could scarcely believe it, a Jew.

this is perhaps the ugliest jew to have ever personally offended my eyes he was a very tall man full head taller than average with a fury black beard gnarled claw-like nose very prominent eyes the eyes were something of a source of fascination to me as they were not the rat-like black color of a normal jew but a much lighter shade of brown

almost like bronze wore a shabby suit followed inl around quite closely almost as if they were associates and always his strange flashing eyes were roaming about in a suspicious way.

When I first met Ingle, I asked who this Jew was, but my question was brushed aside.

They immediately set about converting one of our buildings to a station for their experiments, details of which were kept from me entirely.

Ingle and his team made no contact with the other staff except to demand various supplies.

After a few days of being subjected to Ingle's imperious behavior, I could feel that my SS subordinates and even the Ukrainians were smirking at me behind my back.

So I decided to give Ingle a tour of the other part of the camp, which he had not yet seen, a part where we processed prisoners.

Of course he refused, but I insisted.

Fortunately, a train load of prisoners was arriving at the moment, and we went out on the platform.

The odious Jew with glittering eye followed us, which pleased me all the more.

The train arrived with the cries of its passengers blending into the squealing of the metal wheels.

The blue units worked themselves into their usual frenzy, pulling the passengers out, shouting and clubbing and hurting them towards the main gate.

Amidst the crush of passengers, the limp bodies of children occasionally came spilling out onto the platform, and the blue units tossed them into a pile.

Ingol watched all of this impassively.

A woman came out of the train, clutching a child of perhaps three years.

She looked about frantically, screaming for a doctor.

I gave her a sympathetic look and held out my arms.

She approached me.

The handsome, stolid-looking authority figure that I am.

Took the child from her, tenderly examined it.

It was still alive.

Placed it gently on the ground and used my boot to reshape its skull.

The woman, I shot.

God, crazy.

What a nice little

entry.

It's interesting, though, to go back, and now we're getting the perspective of some of the fucking Nazis that saw the gate probably for the first time.

That's what I think it's going to lead to.

So we had our first one.

It's going to lead to all them getting fucked up, I'm pretty sure.

Yeah, because our first one was was him just talking about it, and then it's this one.

But then there is the Jewish, there's the Jew who's with Ingle, and they're friends.

So I assume both of them are already under the effects of LSD to make the flesh interface, and that's about to happen to the rest of them.

Also,

Ingle could be that it's mentioned down there at the bottom, but Ingle sounds a lot like Mingola or Mingle, who was the angel of death, you know, the famous concentration camp guy.

So maybe it's like the names are almost the same, but without the M.

So maybe it's like an alternate universe version of him.

Anyway.

38 posted two days, one day later, I think.

One day later, yeah.

Rachel does not dream.

Rachel does not sleep.

Rachel does not wake.

Rachel feels all the time.

Rachel Head has a direct sense feed with Reinhardt Emotive FPS blending for stunning clarity and total sensory presence.

With the entire cultural library at her fingertips, Rachel could put herself into any scenario and create precision mixes at speed of mind.

Watch as she blends Beethoven's Fifth Symphony with the Asteroid Orbital Catalog, the 2018 World Cup game, and the hot new Anal Coming video from Angelica Alenia.

What mastery!

See the subtle crafting and non-stuttering blends.

That's because Reinhardt's proprietary technology blends splits 240 visual FPS on the fly to create an eye-popping visual stream of over a thousand FPS while simultaneously delivering 60 tactile FPS and 60 ofactory FPS.

Now this is salvation.

But hey, forget the specs.

Check out the feelings.

Her Holocaust child victim disco muscle thumps have walls around the world shedding tears and making those real feels.

You can't fake this stuff.

Are you tired of distant, deadened emotions?

Reinhardt Emote of FPS blending gives you realistic, immersive feelings without excess rumination or thought lingering.

This kind of subtlety just isn't possible at ordinary 2040 FPS.

That's the difference for Rachel.

That can be the difference for you.

Rachel does not dream.

Rachel does not sleep.

Rachel does not live.

Rachel does not die.

Rachel feels.

Can you?

Yeah, that's...

That's funny.

That's the advertisement for the product.

It's also interesting how

they can't create art.

You know, they can't be artists and make new things.

They just mix things that already were, were and people buy and like those.

Yeah, I mean, it's it's completely it's lack of creation.

It's people just ingesting.

It also too is kind of an interesting take on

you know, I guess it's just a blend of everything that like the every feel and every sentry is blended together into one, which also I think weakens and like dampens your own experience to it.

So it's just numbing you.

So you're just a perpetually numb in state of like ingesting media, whether it be like sad, happy, sexual, anything?

You can split, you can split like two different emotions at the same time.

You can have all the experiences and like mental feelings of watching the World Cup game and also porn at the same time, just like constantly dosing.

Yeah, well, that's the thing is that

there's no difference between them.

They're just things, you know?

Like that's, that's the, that's the idea.

Like the excitement of winning a game is going to be the same as.

you watching a girl get anally fisted.

There's also the mention mention in there where it says this is salvation.

So it's directly tying themes we've heard before, like religious themes or words like salvation and stuff, into this new way.

It's like even in the far distant future, the remnants of like these weird past histories and experiments and stuff like that still take their root just later on.

It's just a new phase for it.

Yeah.

Well, you also have the parallels too of like people being like,

you know, knowledge is power.

or knowledge is hell, that kind of thing, to where you've had these people that in past, past, present future to where people have been you know asking themselves question looking for like this kind of answer to these things and then the future is the

the future seems to be the predicament of like we have everything we want the salvation is like basically uh total freedom and total lack of uh like the human existence from these digital uh

technologies that basically numb your senses, whatever.

So the salvation is that thing to where it's like, it kind of goes back to, you know, looking into the temple and finding God.

That's like what these, that's like,

that's what feels like the thing is here, you know, versus being like, maybe if without this, we would be happier and be able to like actually exist.

Yeah, maybe this is a bad move.

Nah, it can't be that.

Yeah.

Post 39.

Post 39, same day.

Okay, this is back to the concentration camp card.

After a week at the camp, Dr.

Engel put in a rather perverse request.

He wanted to move his laboratory to the old gas chamber.

I had no problem with this.

We had installed new, more efficient gas chambers with the help of an expert on the matter, and although they had a capacity of over 20,000 a day, we were seldom ever able to produce more than 15,000 in a single day, due to the unreliability of the trains, which were often slow enough to preemptively process many of their passengers for us.

At this point, we had orders to cremate the bodies, and they burned in open pits day and night, and we warned Dr.

Engel that the old gas chamber would be a rather distracting environment to work in as it was between the smoke of the burning pits and the noise of the new gas chambers.

He disregarded this and his team moved in that day.

After that I rarely saw him as that part of the camp was somewhat hidden from the rest and my headaches which were growing more severe had always made me reluctant to visit.

Soon my men began to tell me strange tales from the new laboratory.

Nobody except Ingle and his men was allowed inside, but we surmised that he had removed or reduced the chamber's interior walls and sealed up all doors except one.

You know, I'm getting weird flashbacks to the Russian sleep experiment.

Yeah, that's the kind of

SS detail, and two guards were posted at the door at all times.

A steady flow of prisoners went into the laboratory, whom Ingle selected with the help of his odious Jew assistant.

often to the great irritation of my units as their fussy selectivity often slowed down our processing activities.

Nobody can make any sense of the selection process as it mainly consisted of the Jew looking at the person over and making various mutterings.

It was reported that every few days, an enormous package wrapped in

tarpaulin would be removed from the laboratory and carried over to a special burning pit, which they had made.

These packages tended to bleed, leaving a trail of blood to the burning pit, where they were burned under the watch of Inkel's personal guard.

This behavior was only extraordinary in that there was no need for secrecy when it came to killing prisoners.

Thousands were being killed every day just a few meters away in the new gas chambers.

Between this and the inexplicable presence of the Jew assistant, I slowly became curious about their project.

My men, however, were unable to get any information about what was occurring inside the laboratory.

So I decided to focus a few questions of the matter of the team who presumably had the least sense of loyalty.

The Jew.

On one of our days off, I found the Jew in our little zoo, admiring the peacocks.

He looked very much at peace as he watched the birds strut around while I was suffering from a vicious headache.

I began to talk to him, affecting an offhand friendly manner.

His German was perfect.

I asked him about his background.

He told me he had been a religious student in Berlin until he was expelled to a ghetto in Krakow.

I asked him how he had met Ingel.

Here he told me something quite surprising.

This was actually his second time coming to Treblinka.

On his first visit, he was on the very verge of being shot when somebody had noticed his perfect German.

Apparently, there had been a request for prisoners who spoke excellent German, and this earned him a reprieve.

He was sent back to Berlin, where Engel performed tests on him.

I asked about the nature of these tests.

Of this, he became more reticent.

He had been instructed to discuss nothing with me.

I merely informed him that I would shoot him through the face if he didn't tell me everything.

At this, he showed no fear, but looked at me with his odd, brazen eyes, gave me an almost pitying smile.

He said that the doctors were testing a new Swiss invention, some kind of chemical which administered orally and caused profound changes in thinking.

I asked him about these changes.

He said that the chemical allowed him to see the mind of God.

Naturally, I asked for elaboration.

At this, he launched into a rather overworked simile involving a broken mirror, then switched to another simile using a spider's web, neither of which made any sense to me.

I informed him that I was a practical man and had little use for philosophy.

He told me that after taking the chemical many times, he had become possessed of two minds: his own and that of God.

In all his doings, he was conscious of God's intentions, God's plan for all human life.

I asked him if he was following God's plan, and he said he was not following it entirely.

I am wrestling with God, he said cryptically.

How does one wrestle with God?

Isn't he all-powerful?

When God presses forward, you must

That sounds like a dancing.

That sounds more like dancing than wrestling or making love.

I said with a sort.

Yes, it is.

Except that dancing is not so painful.

Why wrestle at all?

If God is God and you know what is planned, then why not simply follow it?

Surely this is the best course.

Yes, but I cannot bring myself to.

For the first time, I saw the peaceful expression flee from his face to be replaced by an unsettling dread that trembled in his eyes.

God's plan is simply too awful.

So also we have a thing of

the past is discovery.

The present is

like both the past and the present are discovery, and then it feels like the future is the outcome of that discovery.

So it feels like the past was people being like

challenging and trying to basically become enlightened through these things.

It also sounds like the Nazis are making like this LSD that will help enlighten them in that way.

The people that they're burning are probably subjects that have gone through or transformed or something.

And then people in the present are finding the outcomes of that thing and trying to control it.

And the future is

the price of that enlightenment is what it seems like.

Yeah.

Yeah.

It's like, you know, they search for everything.

But you also have to keep in mind that we can't trust that the LSD is a good thing because the LSD is what's making them build the flesh interfaces.

Maybe it just possesses their mind.

Maybe it's mind your size

is able to communicate.

I don't think the LSD is a good thing at all.

Yeah.

Well, I also think that's also kind of the thing I think the story is trying to say is that enlightenment is like kind of the death of humanity is what it's what it reasonably.

Sometimes we don't need total knowledge, total pleasure.

Maybe it's better if God's not behind the veil.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Well, it also seems like through enlightenment.

What an excellent symbolism for the whole story, by the way.

Yeah.

But you were going to say it seems like through enlightenment.

Oh, I should say through enlightenment, you kill God, pretty much is

the idea.

This next

was made

one day later,

40th post.

Imagine Mother Babylon, Mother Rome, Mother America, the world enslaved, flesh networks spanning the globe.

The blood of humanity moving through veins thousands of miles long, cavernous curving tubes, biggest superhighways, biological superstructures, bones the size of the Golden Gate Bridge, living engineering, hearts as big as mountains, pumping with tectonic force, chained in relays, moving blood from across continents, exotic neurochemical pestilence flowing from monstrous glandular ridges, flesh-in-case nightmares, barns of non-human tongues babbling blasphemous gibberish, a vast seabed dotted with lonely eyes.

This is the great queen of Babylon, a great blood-drunk whore wearing the crown of the atom, as all around her fleshly carpus float orbital platforms of nuclear death.

Scattered in the stars beyond, seeds of Israel weep to gaze upon their new mother, the undying queen, blood and corruption.

I really want to see what the link to the comment was on this.

It was on R slash Gaming.

Saw this awesome bumper sticker on the way to Denver, and it just says, My order car is rocket powered.

And it's a Rocket League bumper sticker.

And he posted on that one.

Imagine Mother Babylon.

Exactly.

Can you imagine?

So how does that pertain to Rocket League?

Could you tell me?

I'm surprised now these got taken down by the mods being like, please keep discussion to Rocket League and Rocket League.

Yeah, no shit.

So actually this isn't Rocket League, so we're going to have to delete the comments.

Sorry, buddy.

So this is...

It's kind of giving the idea of like this flesh conglomerate eventually taking over the earth.

But the other thing it does is this sounds like the vision that the soldiers in World War II had, where they said they saw the world connected by tendrils and tubes.

And I thought it was metaphorical, but it may be literal.

Maybe in that moment, they were all getting a vision of

mother's eventual goal, which is this.

Yeah, where the mountains are becoming these fallopian tubes.

Yeah, and it's so cool that, like, back then in World War II and with this like futuristic stuff, like in every part of it, mother horse-eyes is always there.

Different regards, like

casting these ideas into men's mind.

Man,

all right.

Next one:

uh, same day, yes, same day.

41.

The worst thing a black man can do is go to church on Sunday.

We're not supposed to do that.

In the old days, before Jesus paid for our sins, we'd be put to death for idolatry.

But now, see them all dressed up in their suits, and the girls are in dresses with their

booty all hanging out.

They got the

go ahead, put a little stank on it.

No,

I can't.

I'm joking.

I'm kidding.

This career cannot.

My career cannot withstand that right now.

Oh, they could ever get it.

Yours can.

You can do it.

They got coochie hanging out of the dress at church.

They're going in there like it's a club.

That's not what God wants.

He wants us to dress modestly because we are God's chosen people.

But they don't know this.

They eating crabs and shrimp.

Shrimp.

It's funny because I'm reading into my point dexter voice.

Like,

they.

Yeah, but they don't know this.

They eaten crab and shrimp

with a coochie all hanging out.

With the coochie hanging out.

Going to Red Lobster.

Shrimp platters.

Going to Red lobster all you can eat shrimp 9.99 they don't follow the law then they go into church and worship this picture of a white jesus that's idolatry that picture of jesus with the long soft hair good hair that's not jesus it's actually a man named caesar borgia the real jesus had curly hair black hair because he was black he was a jew you have to understand what's going on in the world right now they have satellites in space and they have weapons is this kanye west is this just his whatever

Right now they have satellites in space and they have weapon systems, atom bombs, everything.

And which way they pointed?

They pointed down here on Earth.

They pointed out into space.

Why?

Because the nations of the world, America, the UN, they're all waiting for something to come from space.

Watch, it's coming.

And they're going to destroy it.

Battle of Jehoshaphat.

See?

There's a thread.

That's also another biblical reference, by the way.

See, there's a thread, a line through history the egyptians the babylonians the romans america the slave owners it's all one do you know who the nephilim are oh

okay

do you know who the nephilim are they're mentioned in the bible but only twice they have to understand the mystery of the bible to understand what they are

First time they get mentions in the story of the flood.

It says in Genesis 6, 4, there were giants in the earth in those days.

And also after that, when the sons of gods came in unto the daughters of men, they bear children to them.

The same became mighty men, which were of old, men of renown.

These giants were Nephilim.

Nephilim is the original Hebrew word in the Torah.

You have to understand Hebrew to know the mystery of the Bible.

Nephilim are the children or the sons of God who are fallen angels.

Angels came down and had sex with human women, and they gave birth to Nephilim, people who were half man and half angel.

The angels looked down, saw the people, the original man, the black women, the nice bodies, nice booties, the thick legs, and they got them a piece of that.

I'm serious.

They said, we angels, we can do what we want.

So they got some.

A little later in Genesis 6, 12, it says, And God looked upon the earth, and behold, it was corrupt, for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth.

And God said unto Noah, the end of all flesh is come before me, for the earth is filled with violence through them, and behold, I will destroy them with the earth.

That is how the flood came about, all this mixing of flesh.

Now, what if I told you that the children of the Nephilim are still among us?

They are renowned, as the scripture says, that our scientists, our bankers, our leaders, our inventors are Nephilim.

Bill Gates, Albert Einstein, Steve Jobs, these men are part fallen angels.

And they are corrupting the flesh, like the Bible says, by doing all this gene splicing and mixing chromosomes.

Because they're made from mixed flesh between angel and human, so they're all for everybody mixing.

Men with men, girls and girls, whatever.

Pretty soon, you're going to see chicks with two heads walking down the street.

We're supposed to say it's cool.

I won't say no more because I don't want to get banned.

The Nephilim control the internet.

I'll just say I seen it myself.

Seeing how they mix flesh, experiments, government, making new things.

It's out there.

I've probably seen seven or ten, seven to ten Instagram comments that sound just like that.

Yeah, yeah.

Well, I wonder how much of that we're supposed to take away is legitimate.

Like the Steve Jobs stuff, we can chalk that up to conspiracy brain.

But the thing about the government making new things, we know that's true, right?

That in the story, they're doing that.

And we see that they're talking about, like, this guy's saying that, like, oh,

Jesus didn't look like that and stuff.

But then he starts to say, he starts talking about the Nephilim a lot, which, haw, giants, literally the meme that like start when i first started my channel gosh this story's so good um i swear i've never read it before i did not steal from it um

but it uses the nephilim as this device to say they run the internet they're in the background working if they're part fallen angel that could fall into i don't know how yet but fall into like a lot of the things we see in the story being uh like Christian symbolism or like Christian symbolism is relating back to this true hidden thing like these these half-humans.

You know, what would the half-humans be in this story, though?

God, the next one's called finger blasting.

Good lord, we're

on a bit of a tear right now, huh?

June's looking pretty crazy in the

mother horse hide

at a crazy time.

God damn, dude.

40-second post made same day.

In the training curriculum for becoming a readjustment specialist.

Okay, so this is talking about

the

earlier when that person was talking about being a nurse effectively that removes people from their hygiene beds in this future world.

He says, I'm going to go become a readjustment specialist.

So that's what this is talking about.

Yeah, let's come back to that one.

And the curriculum for becoming a readjustment specialist, they omit finger blasting entirely, which is odd considering what a routine part of the job it is.

I can't tell you how many times.

Hey, isn't that the truth, right, buddy?

Being a readjustment.

Hey, you know what?

Whatever job you're talking about, being a YouTuber, so true, King.

I definitely know what that is and have definitely done it before.

Finger blasting, bro.

I know.

Routine part of the job.

I'm not talking about being a virgin.

Hey, part of the job.

Clock in, clock out.

Clock in.

Clock in, clock out.

Hey, now that's true, brother.

It is true.

I tell you what,

you know, these big contracts, you can get a lot of work done, especially being in the union.

All they can't kick you out once you're in.

You know, you got to stay.

If they have any other jobs pop up, it's got to be you, even if you ain't good at it.

I can't tell you how many times I've been in the middle of a conversation with a client only to have her slip her finger into her shorts and start diddling away.

Okay.

Oh, I see what he's talking about.

He's talking about

people who are trying to readjust after they leave the machines.

Like, they're so used to having constant dopamine shoved into them.

Yeah.

That they just, like, they can't stop well yeah they're yeah getting in there they can't the sensation whatever yeah my clients long-term session heads in other words people who have been connected to a direct sense feed for multi-year spans are practically feral even though the feeds are supposed to be all about empathy and social connection everything is so mediated that they lose the capacity for normal societal interaction Their session begins at an early enough age or goes on long enough, shit gets really weird.

The readjustment client is a stimulation addict.

They crave easy, immediate stimulation.

Some turn to drug use, but they usually require near lethal or outright lethal amounts to properly stimulate themselves.

Others turn to masturbation.

Readjustment client has no patience.

If they are uncomfortable, they want immediate relief.

If that entails an indiscreet bout of onanism, then so be it.

Almost all my clients are women.

Female clients tend to choose male specialists and the male clients tend to choose female specialists.

In the feeds, they often surround themselves with a cotteries of admirers of the opposite sex, so they insist on opposite sex specialists.

This is an unhealthy impulse, but we must meet our clients halfway.

Our job is to slowly transition them away from being fake adoration sponges into being functioning adults.

I am not a doctor.

I am not a therapist.

I am trained to think of myself as a paid big brother.

Perhaps there's an inherent contradiction.

I must be stern without being overly judgmental.

I must be empathetic but effective.

I can't coddle them.

The feed coddles them.

That must end.

The work could be described as Sisyphian.

Trying to reculture a person after years of all that whiz-bang feed stimulation is like pushing a heavy boulder up a hill.

And occasionally, the boulder is masturbating.

It's kind of a fun take on the Sisyphus thing.

There's a big giant boulder.

I'm falling.

That's kind of like...

Big back up.

I'm falling.

that's kind of that's kind of like me with you anytime i go with you anywhere uh that i have to push you up because you're masturbating or which one which part no i'm pushing i'm pushing you because you're the big boulder that's jacking off oh i see

am i the big boulder just because i'm just fatter than you are

um

okay

I was going to say no to be nice, but I feel like if I say no, you're going to turn that back on me somehow.

So I feel like defensively I should say yes.

I should put the shield up or something.

Well, thank you for thinking defensively in this occasion.

Well, I just set my guard up.

Like, if I be nice, he's going to use that against me.

There's going to be a turnabout at some point where the bit comes back on me unless I strike first.

It's like Hiroshima, Nagasaki.

It's like Japan's not going to surrender, so I have to fire hard all at once.

Anyway, 43rd, next day.

We're back to the concentration camp guard.

I asked the Jew exactly what sort of procedures they were performing in their laboratory, but at this point we were interrupted by several members of Dr.

Engel's team and they hurriedly ushered him away, although there were still many unanswered questions.

My curiosity was largely satisfied.

They were testing a new chemical and probably performing vivisections and such to ascertain its physical effects.

Perhaps the bodies were burned separately because they required special handling due to the presence of the chemical.

There's nothing specially sensitive in that.

It's actually rather considerate of them.

That night, shortly before I was about to retire for the day, one of the Ukrainians came to me with a small package wrapped in cloth, about the size of a loaf of bread with an irregular shape.

He was very excited.

He unwrapped the package, and inside was a fragment of pale white bone.

An extremely unusual fragment.

It was a sort of rounded carapace, like part of a giant skull, but with five round holes in it.

Much like eye sockets, but obviously too numerous to be so.

Studded throughout the fragment was extrusions that looked like molar teeth.

Looking at it, I could not place it as any part of any animal I had ever seen.

I asked the man where he got it, and he said he had retrieved it from near the lobotomy's cremation pit just an hour before.

The piece itself did not appear to have been burned, as it had the meaty stink of death about it.

I asked him a few more questions, but he knew little else.

Still, he insisted the bone fragment was from something monstrous and unnatural which they were creating in the laboratory that I should shut down their experiments.

One of my SS subordinates immediately set to thrashing the Ukrainium with a baton for presuming to advise me on my duties, and with that the conversation came to its natural conclusion.

I took the fragment with me, spent a while turning it over in the dim lamplight of my quarters.

It was indeed otherworldly, and as the Ukrainian had said with a kind of wild fear in his eyes, it was truly monstrous.

Despite the Ukrainian's impudence, I decided to take his advice.

This had all gone too far.

Whatever the high command might say, I mustn't let this camp be overrun by secretive madness, but must maintain a spirit of rational cooperation.

I would insist on full inspection of the laboratory first thing tomorrow morning.

I lay down to sleep and was soon visited with a dream so intense, I did not feel like I was sleeping at all.

At first, the bed in which I lay seemed to rise up from the floor and float ever upwards through a large, glowing tunnel, which was painted with all manner of designs, from paisley to topographical lines to various kinds of calligraphy and unknown languages.

After this, the dream became a series of absurd images images ever changing and blending into new images and shapes.

Many of these shifts struck me as clever or absurd, and I found myself laughing maniacally at it all.

Finally, all of these desperate images appeared at once before me and began to rotate around each other as part of a fantastical wheel.

Slowly I began to suspect that by combining them all, some sort of grand secret would be revealed.

Just as this notion occurred to me, all the images began to coalesce into one final image of stunning clarity.

It was the image of a woman, or something which was mainly a woman, but also other creatures.

It was vastly large and seemed to tower over me, miles in the sky.

Looked down on me with filmy, inhuman eyes.

Her skin was an inhumanly pale, but she wore a crown of exquisite thorn flowers, and blood ran in shimmering red streams down her skin.

She was pregnant, vastly pregnant, with a stomach so swollen it was like she sat upon a huge mountain of distended flesh.

I could sense within her belly there was a hive of activity, of something or many things pulsing and squirming feverishly.

Soon the belly burst open like a ripe fruit, rivers of blood poured out, a revolting mass of fleshy tubes came spilling out, unraveling and tearing open to set free hundreds of thousands of monstrous infants who were both human and not human, who had the same filmy eyes as their mother, who were slathered and dripping with blood.

So sick.

Ooh, nice.

Okay, so that's mother horse eyes.

What are you about to say?

I was just going to say the next one is called the oily ones.

We're going to talk about them finally.

Okay, cool.

Sick.

So this, okay, the half humans that come out of her sound like the Nephilim that were mentioned earlier.

It sounds like that is the biblical tie to them, half angel, half human.

But that mother horse eyes, it's like here, anyone, we've established earlier that anyone who's around these flesh interfaces or like these creatures start to have dreams of them or like of mother horse-eyes and stuff and it's like here they said this was the first flesh interface that was made at this concentration camp so this is like her in the beginning ready to enter the world and wreak havoc and he has the dream of her giving birth of her stomach flipping open and these things coming out which is what they're about to unleash on the world which we see in the decades of stories that follow All right, next story post 44, two days late, one day later, the oily ones.

The oily ones lack all harmony.

They are neither silky nor subtle.

They are slow and stupid and loud.

Evilly loud.

Arrogantly, thoughtlessly, senselessly loud.

Night and day they make noise.

Their natural things make noise.

They cry to each other like kittens.

They are far larger and stronger than any of our kind, but they are more hairless than the newly born, and they cry like hungry whelps.

It is evil.

It is an abomination.

They make dead things live.

Things which do not have the smell of life should not live.

But these things are touched by the oily ones, and they live and move.

This is evil, a natural magic.

Their natural things come in all different shapes and contain deadly mysteries and tricks and traps.

Some are invisible, some are faster than sight, some never sleep, some cut in cloth.

These unnatural things lack all harmony, like the oily ones themselves.

I've seen the deadly darkness of their magic.

I've seen our kind crushed and smeared by their things.

I've seen our kind disappear inside their things,

never to be seen again.

Once I saw a kitten who was struck by their magic, made a bloody foam from the mouth for three days, but died in agony.

Yes, I have known sleeplessness.

I know them as evil.

And this would seem to be all, but there is more.

There is more.

There's mystery.

There is the mysterious smell of the oily ones, smell by which we know them.

It is both awful and alluring, disgusting and entrancing.

It smells like the sweet oily fat that coats the heart of a pigeon.

the best part of the flesh.

We find ourselves drawn to it, drawn to them, and there is their food, which can contain dark magic, but also feeds many of us, truly tastes wonderful and righteous, and does not scuttle, but always sleeps and is easy to hunt.

Even more mysterious is their kindness.

For it is they, they alone of all living things, who show our kind and affection, bring us food as if we are their young, as if they are our mother.

How could this be?

How could these evil beings show us affection?

How could they show us more affection than the world itself, who is of our kind?

This is a central mystery.

Ever since my kitten died, this has become my obsession.

I've watched them closely.

I've looked into the strange places where they hide, where they appear and disappear.

The place is full of mysterious lights and spells, and ten thousand forms of evil and wickedness.

If I am to capture this mystery, if I am to feed on its sweet, oily heart, I must go inside one of these places.

I must go through one of their portals.

So this is talking about the things that come out of the portals, right?

Yeah, well, I'm also wondering if these are like the evolved version of Mother of Horse Eyes children.

You know,

which also

seems like they are also, I mean, how much different are they than the people that are tapped into the

stream, like the internet feeds?

Right.

I think the one for one is the little girl who came out of the experiment.

I can't remember which experiment.

Jingles, the little girl, jingles that came out, and she was smooth and covered in a sheen, you know.

I think that's the one-for-one.

Like, they go in and they come out as like children of Mother Horse Eyes, half human, half her,

half angel, so to speak.

And it's also,

it's the same children that the concentration camp saw burst in his dream, you know.

All right, 45th post.

45th post,

same day, yes, same day.

510.

I sit in my room, watching bright specks of dust floating through the sunlight from the window.

Summer heat is pressed against the glass.

Somewhere down the street, Lamar wines, air is stale.

Corners of the room are filled with damp shadows.

My toys lie on the floor, scattered.

I hear the fractured music down the hall.

Sound like wind chimes.

Shudder goes through the old house, and I find myself rising.

I am walking down the hallway.

Called to the other end.

I smell her as I get closer.

Foul meat, gray hair, stomach acid.

I walk in a room, and her bloody pieces are lying all over the floor.

The strange flute music slowly coalesces into a melody, and the pieces rise and float like flies.

The music charms them into formation, and they come together to make mother.

The eyes are missing, still fleshy cavities.

They come in from the hallway, floating over my head, settling into her face with a squishing sound, streams of blood falling like tears.

Sideways pupils fix on me.

Child,

fetch me my bag.

I need flesh.

She leaps to me, grabs a handful of my hair, and slaps me across the face with her ragged dog's paw again and again.

I scream and cry.

She lets me go, sobbing.

I go to the closet and get her big bag.

We wait until night.

So this is one of those people, what they see when they're in the lair, the house of Mother Horse Eyes.

It's so scary to imagine her so violent, you know?

also i'm wondering how much too like that i sit in my room if this parallel world if that if like if there is like some kind of parallel there to where it is like i sit in my room and this happens but it's this like do you think that her room is full of like fleshy bullshit like the other cave like caverns or is it just like a

you know like a like a alternate reality kind of thing

I think this is all in their head.

I think this is what they see when they're in the amniotic sack.

I see.

Okay.

I see.

So literally, a it's a it's a hell inside of their mind.

Yes.

I mean real to some degree because we know Mother Horse Eyes is real and controlling this.

So maybe you could say the LSD that the placenta is pumping them full of kind of takes them away, takes their consciousness here.

But for all effects, it's like a dream hallucination.

Yeah.

All right.

Next day, post 46.

I call it coming back online.

That moment when you first come out of a drunken blackout, it's always frightening.

Where am I?

What is this neighborhood?

What happened to my face?

Where's my wallet?

Some people, when they drink enough to disable their short-term memory, immediately collapse into a mobile heap.

This is nature's fail-safe.

But I like this feature.

I can walk and talk and carry a tune, yet have no idea of what's going on.

I have never come back online to find myself up to any good.

I have never emerged from a blackout to find that I have built a convenient spice rack or delivered a moving speech about women's rights.

It's always been some calamity.

Last time I came back online, I was standing in my front yard having a conversation with my parents.

Even in my tottering state, I knew this couldn't be a good thing.

I had no idea what we were talking about, why we were talking about it on the front lawn at night.

What time was it?

Hoping for a clue.

I waited for something to come out of my mouth, and here it was.

Sounded terribly confessional.

Ever since I had gotten fired and moved back with my parents i've been holed up in my childhood bedroom secretly drinking and basking in an unremitted sense of personal shame but this was all supposed to be a secret as far as my parents knew i was freelancing and getting back on my feet this scene this mad scene it's not part of that narrative we were giving you privacy we didn't know that you were getting drunk up there this conversation was out of control I should just tell them I'm going to bed.

I should calmly bid them a good night.

So I said, Of course.

I was getting drunk.

Fuck.

I've been drinking every goddamn day for the last 10 years.

What the fuck else would I be doing?

This was a poor choice of words.

This was not how one calmly bids another good night.

Oh, the look on my poor mother's face.

That look stayed with me.

That look, fallen face of a tired old woman, stayed with me as I lay in bed that night.

Stayed with me as the alcohol wore off, as the night turned into queasy morning, as the hands began to shake, the brain tingles set in, as the hell whispers began, as I waited for them to go to work so I could sneak a bit of relief from the liquor cabinet.

As the awful day wore on, as we talked that night, as I packed my stuff up, as I went off to rehab the next day.

Mother is almost 70.

She's small and stooped and old.

When did she get so old?

I just thought I would be something by now.

33 years old.

I thought I would have something to show her.

Something to give back, something to make her proud.

I thought I'd be a man, just a drunken failure.

All those little soccer practices she took me to, all the swim lessons and therapy and errands and effort and love.

What was it for?

So I could be a drunken sack of shit?

Why was I so messed up?

Why did I require shortly levels of liquor to operate properly?

So I lay in bed at the rehab that first night, listening to the occasional moans of the other patients, asked myself these questions and others.

Soon, I found myself returning to the question I had been asking my entire life, one I always retreated to in moments of self-pity, one that seemed to hold some key to my dysfunction, one I'd always been afraid to ask my mom.

What about that one summer when you were dead?

Is he saying he was dead or his mother?

Uh, the one I had was when I asked my mom, what about the one summer you were dead?

That's what I was wondering too, because I was like, okay, was he he one of the test subjects?

Or is this, I think that it might be...

Oh, wait, no.

So earlier, there was that one summer.

Remember, what was the, the people were like, they were with us for one summer.

The time track.

That was the scientists talking.

That was the CIA agents talking about the girl they shoved through who came out and then went to go live in Estonia for...

Seven years.

Yeah.

I'm wondering if there was other things, like if there was something like that with the

summer.

I'm not sure.

Could it also be her grown up

could be but he wouldn't remember that unless she just told him about it

this is i also think the same guy from the old lady on the couch story

his manner of speaking is the same 47 all ready for 47 posted same day

this one is also again from the concentration camp guard the next day i felt under the weather the vivid dreams of the previous night had left my mind feeling dull and exhausted.

As soon as I left my quarters, I was greeted with the news that one of our Ukrainians had gone mad during the night and attempted to attack Dr.

Ingalls' team in their quarters.

It was none other than the one who had brought me the strange skull fragment.

After shooting him, they had come to the conclusion that he had somehow ingested some of their magical chemical, which they referred to as the Swiss invention.

Ingalls insisted that I make an announcement to the camp.

Anyone found ingesting this chemical under any circumstance, whether by intention or accident, will be summarily shot, regardless of whether they are prisoner or high Y or even SS.

This was by order of the High Command.

At this, I was forced to admit to myself what was already obvious.

I had somehow been dosed with the chemical in handling the bone fragment.

My dreams had been a reaction to the poisoning.

Looking into Ingle's cold blue eyes, I tried to deduce the consequences of confessing this to him.

Despite his disagreeable haughtiness, he seemed like a rational, efficient man with an appropriate level of duty and country.

I had no doubt that he would murder me without hesitation.

So I had to keep my little nocturnal epiphany to myself.

Naturally, my curiosity in Ingall's project had been aroused again.

He apparently was working with a chemical which could induce temporary madness.

The value of such a chemical was obvious.

But what of the bizarre bone fragment?

Where had it come from?

I couldn't help but feel that this creature, whether it was, whatever it was, was somehow connected to the vision of the monstrous bloody mother.

Again and again, her blood face appeared in my mind, her filmy eyes gazing down at me, inhuman and imperious.

I attempted to contact the Jew again, but after our conversation, Dr.

Ingle's team guarded him jealously.

He was never left alone.

As the hot summer days went by, my curiosity curiosity about the matter grew to obsessive proportions.

The monstrous mother visited me several more times in my dreams, of the normal variety this time, but no less vivid and disturbing.

I began surreptitiously observing Engel's laboratory, which was guarded day and night, and I asked some of my men to do the same.

To our knowledge, the bloody packages had ceased to emerge from within, but something stranger began to happen.

This new phenomenon was presumably occurring at all hours, but was imperceptible in the bustle of the day.

When men were about and the gas chambers were operating, only at night and only when the fires were burning quietly could it be perceived.

First observed it shortly before dawn one monkey morning.

As ridiculous as it might sound for me to be skulking about in my own camp, I did just that, slipping along the wall of the new gas chamber to come within a short distance of the laboratory.

There, I witnessed what others had reported to me.

At fixed intervals, a sound emerged from the laboratory.

It was very quiet, but not just my imagination.

A creaking sound.

The sound that many old houses and structures made as their materials shrink and swell from the temperature and moisture.

This came very regularly, every four or five seconds.

Slowly, a realization crept up upon me.

The building was breathing steadily, in and out.

Its breathing was alive.

This realization, which I'll admit was more of an unconfirmed intuition, filled me with a dread so strong the tears came to my eyes.

There was something enormous and alive inside that building.

The sight of death, bloody death beyond most men's imaginings, had left me unmoved, but the sight of life, this new and unnatural life pressing against the walls of the building, was enough to chill me.

Again, I saw the face of the unholy mother in my mind, saw her filmy eyes, saw a slight smile form on her lips between the streams of blood.

That night I could not sleep.

Fortunately, the next day was our weekly day off, and I was able to spend most of the day in my quarters.

It was abnormally, intolerably hot and humid.

My thoughts followed disorderly circles around the revolting image of the mother, and I felt as if I had been revisited by the temporary madness brought on by the so-called Swiss invention.

I had long loathed life at the camp, but had accepted it as a tolerable hardship.

But now the constant smell of the the burning flesh sickened me and I felt I could take no more.

That afternoon, some of my men decided to go off to a nearby lake for a swim, and on a whim I accompanied them.

I needed a reprieve from the heart.

At the lake, I eased myself into the cool water and floated idly, watching the clouds pass overhead.

Here, there was nothing but the gentle twittering of nature.

It had been here before our murderous camp had been built, and it would be here long after.

Gentle and peaceful.

I had been in the water for just a few minutes and I received the news.

A group of prisoners had broken into the armory, smuggled weapons out, and a full-scale uprising occurred back at the camp.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind.

We raced back to the camp and I found myself personally trading fire with the prisoners as all about buildings burned and everything was chaos.

Called for reinforcements, managed to subdue the camp, set out into the woods to catch the escapees.

A fair number were intercepted, but over 100 escaped.

This was an unmitigated disaster.

Coming back into camp after the hunt, I had only to look around the faces of my men to know that I was now in a position of total disgrace.

As calamitous thoughts raced through my head, I found myself walking towards Ingel's laboratory.

Deep black soot stains around the front door showed me that the interior had been burned out.

All around the entrance lay the bodies of Engel's team, their white coats dyed in fresh red.

They had been massacred.

Ingle himself had been stabbed or shot several times, and his throat had been slashed.

And then there was the Jew.

Jew lay on the ground with one of my SS men standing over him, holding a rifle with a fixed bayonet.

The Jew's abdomen had been bisected and his bowels spilled out all over the ground.

They were now caked with dust.

A few feet from him lay a kitchen knife.

Apparently he had stabbed Ingle's whole team to death before being opened up by the bayonet.

To kill a half dozen men like this was no mean feat.

My officer stood with one of his boots atop a loop of the the Jew's intestine, sneering at him.

Remarkably, the Jew was still alive and aware.

When I approached, he lifted his head and I, for the last time, found myself caught in his strange gaze.

Stood like this for a moment, staring at each other.

Inexplicable emotions flooding my mind.

The Jew opened his mouth and croaked something.

Bloody foam spilled out over his lips.

He tried again.

Water!

he said.

Quietly instructed my man to get some water.

He scoffed and I clouded him about the head and screamed at him.

Scurried off and returned a moment later with a large ladle of water.

I took it and stooped down over the Jew and carefully tipped the ladle to his lips, letting him drink.

He drank carefully.

I wiped the bleeding foam from his lips.

All the while, I could not fathom why I was doing this, except by the commandment of the man's pleading eyes.

His lips trembled and he attempted to speak.

I cradled his head and leaned close to hear his words.

I know

this is not

God.

I've killed them, but others.

You must.

He waited for him to continue.

He did not.

Must what?

You've seen her.

Your dream is the future.

The mother?

The bloody woman?

There's still time to stop her.

You must.

You must.

Just like that, his life fled from him.

Glimmer in his eyes went dull

Set his head gently on the ground again and stood up I looked to the burned-out entrance of the laboratory.

It was now unguarded.

I could walk right in.

Chill went through me at the thought, but I knew that I must.

I walked to the entrance.

Just inside was a curtain made of tarpaulin concealing the interior.

The smell of charred meat and petrol, which normally pervaded the entire camp, which had been giving me headaches and slowly driving me mad all these years, especially, sickeningly, shrunk here.

With trembling hand, I pulled back the curtain and looked inside.

Parallel again with the Roman story.

Yeah, so good there.

Yeah, with the story of Pompey.

And then we cut to another story.

Oh, luckily, it's the same.

I think it's the same one.

Is it not?

Oh, is it?

Yep, yep, same guy.

Looks like.

48.

There, mostly hidden in the darkness, was a great, inexplicable monstrosity.

Everything had been burned and blackened, but still I could see human shapes and forms.

Arms, fingers, faces, jawbones, teeth, eye sockets, all burned and reduced to ash clinging to bone.

But this was no pile of burned bodies.

I had seen piles of burned bodies.

I had seen mountains of burned bodies.

It was something different.

Human parts were coming out of the walls and the floor and ceiling.

Arms and legs hung like stalactites.

Faces came out of the floor.

They were fused together in ways that could not be possible.

At seeing this, I was filled with the strongest possible urge to turn away, to back out of the awful laboratory and run for my life, but I heard again the Jew's final words.

You must.

I knew this to be a command.

I went inside.

As the curtain closed behind me, I was enveloped in almost total darkness.

Bones cracked beneath my boots.

Near the back, I saw a shaft of light where one of the old doors had been sealed up, but had become partially open again.

I walked toward it, stepping over unspeakable, crunching shapes, brushing past nightmarish forms.

I reached out to the crack of light and pulled back a board which was covering the door.

Though I was not able to rip it free, pulled it loose enough to let in a considerable amount of light, enough to reveal what was set at the back of the laboratory.

As a child, I once went to a zoo in Vienna, where I saw an elephant skull.

Looking at the object now before me, I was reminded of this long ago moment and of how I had spent maybe half an hour staring at the skull from every angle.

I was titillated by its enormousness, its impossible alienness, and its unsettling similarity to what was familiar and human.

Before me was a large obloid shape, almost as tall as me, stibbled with hundreds of what looked like eye sockets.

The lower portion consisted of a complicated structure which resembled several sets of jaws, each with hundreds or thousands of teeth of all different kinds, including molars, incisors, canines, even animal teeth.

Some of them of normal size, some of them as big as my fist.

The center of the shape was split vertically, and inside was a set of curving bone tubes that seemed to fill the interior.

I stood there in the charred darkness, staring at this thing, this blasphemous alien thing, while my mind filled with images of the awful dream mother and the final gasping words of the Jew.

There's still time!

To stop her!

His commandment became strangely clear to me.

This thing that the scientists were attempting attempting to create, whatever it was, must not be allowed to exist.

It was an abomination.

Engel and his team were dead, but there were others working on the project.

It was secretive enough that the essential personnel would be few in number.

Lab in Switzerland, a few top scientists.

Perhaps that was the entirety of it.

It would not be easy, but far from impossible to find them all.

It was perhaps in my power to destroy the whole project, especially if we lost the war, which seemed increasingly likely after Stalingrad.

And if this chemical they were using was obscure enough, it might be possible to eliminate the entire world supply.

Thus, I could shut the doors on whatever unholy creature these madmen were attempting to unleash.

Yes, I could do this.

At least I could attempt it.

I felt now a distinct sense of the entire world's history resting on what I decided to do next.

Surely moments like this do not come about often.

Surely they must come only to men who are worthy of them.

Surely.

That's the end of 48.

Interesting.

I like all these characters, like all these threads that are continuing.

They all feel real, you know.

Well, with this story, what's insane is that we're getting multiple great character stories wrapped into a central theme of this entity, this hellish entity that's plaguing the past, present, and future.

Just, it's very impressive.

Very, very impressive.

It's like a ton of awesome, really cool stories just all at once.

Again, if any one of these was on their own, I would be like, wow, Hunter, that was great.

Yeah, exactly.

49 posted one day later.

There was once a little boy who loved swinging on the tire swing in his backyard.

It was a simple swing made from an old tire and a length of rope tied to a branch of utter non-existence.

On many a lazy summer afternoon, he would while away at the hours swinging back and forth under the shade of the big, leafy, existential nullity.

And in the fall, he picked apples from it.

One day, his father told him to cut cut down the apple nullity but paul i love that old nullity mind what i say boy i don't like i don't like ontological paradoxes and i don't like you sassing me that's such a funny word to have in the middle of um yeah hick talking like a hank hill voice yeah i'll tell you what's a paradox yeah

the boy ran crying to his mother ma Paul said I have to cut down the old nullity.

Say it ain't so.

I'm afraid it's for the the best.

Other day I was weeding the tomato patch and I saw Sammy the cat had gotten into the nullity.

When I was trying to get him down, I accidentally gazed into an infinitely branching timeline of events which never happened and will never happen.

Well, I'll be derned if that old Sammy didn't jump right on my head.

But Ma,

what about my tire swing?

Come on now.

There's all sorts of other things you can tie your tire swing to.

What about one of the many giant flee demon penises that grow abundantly in our world and provide our lumber?

Ma,

I don't want to swing on some dumb old demon penis.

You just say that because you haven't tried it.

Now mind you, Paul, fetch an axe.

This would be the comment I want to get into on the story.

Someone's like, what the fuck are you talking about?

That interaction sounded like an exchange for one of your cartoons.

But Ma, I don't want to swing on the demon penis.

Well, you're not going to be able to do that.

Well, you never tried it.

The boy got his father's axe and went to chop the non-thing down.

But after a dozen swings, he found his hands were red and sore.

The axe's demon penis handle was quite rough.

He called to his father, Ha!

This dern demon penis handle's got my hands all scratched to tarnation.

Boy,

don't you have any sense?

Why don't you wear some gloves?

Boy put on some gloves, but his hands were already quite scratched.

At the end of the day, they were covered in blisters, and the tree still hadn't fallen.

Worked the next day, despite all the pain, and finally, brought the non being crashing down.

I'm mighty proud to have you as a son, the boy's father said, tousling his hair.

I guess it's true what they say.

The nut doesn't fall far from the demon's penis.

I have a feeling that he was halfway through, and he's like, I just gotta get something else out.

Well, that one's funny.

Also, it does have some connection to the story where the mom's like,

I accidentally glance into futures that never will be and a past that never was.

Now, you

can cut down that damon penis.

You hear?

You go out there and you cut that rat down.

Post-50.

All right.

Halfway through.

Post-50.

Halfway through.

The same day as the previous one.

I could tell it was going to be a hair cocoon before we even opened it up.

They have a smell, like a mix between a barbershop and an ass crack, which is distinct.

They occur when the hair growth regulators in the hygiene bed goes awry.

Alright, so we're back to the future.

At this point, I had not been a readjustment specialist very long and still enjoyed the feeling of standing back in my white lab coat while the technicians did all the mucket work, as I once had to do.

This was how I saw the trajectory of my life.

moving farther and farther away from the dirty work.

When I was discharged from the Marines, I was very proud of what I had accomplished and fully determined to never get myself involved in bullshit like this again.

So I went to school to become a bed tech.

Went to school again, became a readjustment specialist.

Eventually, I hoped to become one of those high-dollar panty sniffers at the Halcyon Psycho Monitor Clinic.

Thousand coins an hour.

Not bad.

Wonder if you think they're actually panty sniffers?

I hope so.

So I was standing there in my spiffy jacket while the working Joes opened up the bed.

I was pretty sure there would be a little need for me today.

We were pulling out a thirty three year old woman who had gone into the bed at age nine.

Pff Man

This was approaching a record.

The younger a person is when they go in, the lower the likelihood of viability.

Even if she had gone in at age twenty, spending a full twenty four years in the bed made viability unlikely.

But at age nine, it's almost certain that she would be a gibbering smear.

Technicians lifted the lid on the bed to reveal a nest of black hair.

Guided by the glowing ER outline, they started working through it with scissors, cutting around the shape of the sleeping figure until her yellowish limbs were revealed.

She was emaciated yet, but unfortunately the soft, moisture-wicking hair had prevented any sores.

She had a medium-mixed American complexion, which would turn into a deep bronze color if she ever went into the sun, but now was the color of yellowed cardboard.

They had finally removed the mass of hair that covered her face and wiped away the various crusts that caked her head holes.

Typical eerie agelessness of a long-term patient was especially pronounced.

For a startling moment, it seemed as if she was still nine years old.

She was especially short and bony, but as I came closer to her, I was able to see those indefinable signs of age that let me know she was an adult.

Hi, Karen.

Can you hear me?

I was required to at least attempt communication with her, though the odds of her being able to comprehend a basic face-to-face conversation were essentially zero.

Her eyes opened, revealing large, wet eyes with black pupils.

This was a good sign.

Some occupants were unable to even understand the concept of eyelids or blinking.

The pupils roamed within the eyes.

After not seeing anything more than a micrometer away for 24 years, there's no chance of her being able to see anything in the room.

She licked her lips with admirable muscle control.

Hello, friends, she said in a faint, creaking whisper.

Her eyes still roamed, unable to fix on anything.

She talks?

One of the technicians muttered.

Another technician, who was taking a blood sample, turned and strode out of the room.

She shouldn't have known my name.

I'd been assigned to her less than half an hour ago after she had been disconnected when she was just lying in a dark hair cocoon.

Ben?

She called again.

Her eyes stared blindly at the ceiling.

Yes, Karen, I'm here.

I said, trying and failing to sound reassuring.

Can you come closer to me?

I can't see you.

I'm scared.

I stepped closer to the bed, and the smell of the foul hair becoming more intense.

Up close, her face looked positively inhuman.

I'm here, Karen.

I said, not knowing what else to do.

I began the standard speech for a responsive occupant.

You've just been disconnected from your feed.

You're in a hygiene bed.

My name is Bed.

I mean Ben.

I'm a readjustment specialist assigned.

I know all of this.

Come closer.

Something in me resisted.

I didn't want to get any closer.

Though I had seen and handled occupants much worse than this, there was something eerie about this one talking to me.

The face of a child and the voice of an old woman on her deathbed.

Still, my entire job was to be psychologically reassuring.

I couldn't afford to seem seem the least bit put off.

I stepped closer, put my hand on the hygiene bed.

We were instructed to touch the occupants as little as possible as they were unaccustomed to actual physical contact.

Are you there?

Her skin had an unreal plastic quality.

I'm here.

How are you?

Come closer.

I want to feel your breath on my face.

I wondered if I should comply with this request.

It was very odd, frankly.

I was a little unnerved by it.

But I figured, what harm could this wasted little creature do to me?

I leaned toward her, letting out a small, shaky breath.

The woman's mask-like face became a blissful smile.

Pupils wobbled within the rims of her huge, glistening eyes.

Listen, you must help me.

I'm...

I'm here, Karen.

A moment ago...

One of your technicians placed a small pellet under the skin of my forearm.

Within ten minutes, the pellet's wax coating will melt and release a cardioplegic into my bloodstream, stopping my heart.

You must cut it out.

What the hell?

Well, I'd be like, interesting.

Word?

I mean, I don't know what I would say.

Fam, that's crazy.

Finn to air this place out.

Karen, baby, you're being hysterical.

Karen, you'd be so much prettier if you smiled.

Karen, you realize that you've been on a feed for like seven years, right?

Yeah, but it was pretty park.

It was pretty awesome on the grand scheme of it all.

I got zooted in that Zaza all day.

You know how it is.

Black and yellow, black and yellow.

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