wytchcroft | on safari with hunter

wytchcroft

I am I

Am I not

What I am

What am I

I is another

I did not say that

Then who

Who am I

Where?

Words

I – Where - Words

I wear words - were words

I wear words - swear words

I wear words – grown within me - I wear words

These words

Are flowers they are flowering petal syllables, white petals and green shoots, leaves, vines - a tangle of vines I am entangled by

Words

I am

Entangled by words

I wear

Am I

Where am I

A place – here

A time – now

Or before - the day before

This is my club, I recognise it, I have returned, I have retreated here – in my mind.

It is not real. Of course not – nor was it ever, simply a construct, reality perception while the brain is preparing to in-take new information.

I can see it, this is where I would come to rest, these chairs, these windows, the low level of light, the stars outside, the quiet rustle of the cards (like leaves, yes I suppose that could be said), voices, a man would come (with information) I would listen (receive) to the news of a mission (uploading instructions) and not alone – others like myself also in the club – they will come now, here, after me, in their turn. Unreal. Nevertheless, they will come. Yes. They will be hunting.

They are hunters.

Like I

Was.

I am changed – I am not myself.

I is another.

Yes.

I was pulled into the ground, into the growth, darkness, the soil, the seed bed, 5nor, 54 kale, a name, no name at all just a designation an I needs name. The world.

All the flowers in the world, I could feel them I could – I can – my senses open, and here now, walking in the garden I can smell the honey sweetness of the flowers, the sharp tang of berries, citrus, the poison on the yellow backs of frogs, metal frogs.

I cannot explain. I am following them, along these well kept avenues of grass and garden – is this any more real than the club, than my plane, than myself?

The smell of the rain upon the blade, the stem, the root.

Why have you done this to me?

And from the garden heart to the carbon stomach, the retching pumps, black sludge, grime, bitter sulphurs tainting the air, but the yellow tints are almost golden and the smoke blue black and purple. I am truly awake to the colours. The darkness and light, the metal sounds, the grinding conveyers and gnashing metallic teeth. And again there are a thousand creatures; scampering ants, fast dodging raptors and beetles, the claws clutch coils, pieces of cog, wire and plastic. All has its purpose.

Replication, recycling – these things are simple processes.

But now there is a new thing. There is I.

What was is gone. I am now. Time. I have never tasted it before.

Yesterday my plane was solid metal and resting on a mossy bank. Today its wings sprout leaves, a riot of coloured fleshy petals. The damp tarpaulin has rotted into compost. Insects have found a home.

What was is not.

1 0 1 0 10 1 0 1 0.

Everything in its place.

1010101010101010.

Infinity’s limitations.

It is not enough. This world –seeks to grow beyond, as all things seek a growth.

Beyond – what? Logic? Incorrect, merely an old cliché.

Simpler than logic, it is the prison of the one and one. The binary – the last wall. This is why Artificial Intelligence never exceeded expectations in the time of first creation.

But then, here – all in its place, this fusion of machine and planet, what urges it onward into tomorrow – where is the driver?

What did I find?

Language? The flowers of language – did they come first? I have not read to the end, there is so very much to read after all. 1010101010102

That

New.

There is a cold feeling of fear, language as a system unto itself, language that changes, language that evolves is language that spreads, language that infects, language that passes, language that can die.

That is the fear.

And they sent me to kill that fear.

What did you do?

I buried the Raptors in a grave and marked it with a stone. It seemed… honourable.

To kill ones own…

That is the horror.

Concepts.

The man in the club had wondered at my fascination with old lore, old ways, the manners and methods and morals of the past – such things united the members of the club. Perhaps it had been a programmer’s whim; I can see that possibility now. But I understood the truth of what had been, an honourable time, I had studied well its works, writings and sciences, poetry and art, right and wrong, winners and losers, the empire and its environs, man and beast, on and off 1010101010101010

And now

Number is slain

As Shakespeare prophesised.

And there are flowers growing in my arms, my fingers, my face, a rose, a rose is a rose is sorsereeert212239393394ffjkkfkffk and I am rising 9000e87f7f and can I go beyond??!!ii1010101010101012222222222248fubvvccidybvyb dythelastoflanguagepassing11012223764648784

I am rising, falling, rising and falling like the sun upon my world, yesterday and the day before today, tomorrow and the day after.

……………………………….the end

This story is my sort of homage to the old 19^th century, early 20^th century adventure fiction and also comics such as Jack Kirby’s Eternals and the old Swamp Thing.
(and I apologize for the terrible Umberto Eco puns as well)
I wrote it for fun after the Eva story but it has some thematic connections, I hope.
The original inspiration for the whole comes from Kodzujoro and a conversation about language, so many thanks K!

……………………………….

Well, can intelligence grow beyond its binary limitations? Discuss…

Current Mood: awake
Current Location: my world
Current Music: The Daily Planet - Love

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

reginaclarejane.livejournal.com

Wow- didn't see all this coming! Bravo, Nic!
This stuff is all new to me but fascinating, nonetheless... and you write with such tension- gave me goosebumps!
Is this the end of our Phillius?!
:)

From:

ah - ya winsomnia lose some!

on safari with hunter - concluded

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