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Soft Narcosis

by Limbs

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1.
[[ ]] In the cold permablack, you found yourself in front of two windows: one glancing to a dinner party, a family of three awaiting guests. Everything is as it should be. The second window looks pristine, yet offers nothing but the same darkness of the room. For no reason at all you feel you're out of breath. You just arrived here, and you’ll have to choose fast.
2.
[Day. α112. Upper city.] The sixth consecutive megacitadel finally lost its power today. Each one displacing thousands on the streets— inhabiting spaces of null capacities. You said, “at night, the necro cops clean up the city of the filth and clangor.” Enfolded inside my flesh is a seed that keeps oscillating on and on: a subdermal matryoshka. Trappings that can’t be outrun; I’m never safe, I’m ever-seen. If things are ever fair, then I am entitled to meet my tormentor. With this, I’m certain that hell is just a more comforting notion to me.
3.
The Zone 02:49
[Day. (Undisclosed location)] Everyday, once the steel bars open, we are made to go to the yard to build a coffin. We were only given a hammer; the materials we have to take from scraps they leave at the yard, or from each other. Yesterday, a man finally finished his and was set free; we are to be set free once we are done. I believe that If I work double today, I will finally finish mine tomorrow.
4.
[...and now, the weather.] A deep spiraling infant tempest that swells and vanishes, desires, and collapses off to an incomprehensible, partial limit of a grain of sand. A swelling runs through its reins, beating and pulsing. The tremors that malform all of material. The new flesh have finally accepted what is finally real. The tempest will become our drowner and our salient eye.
5.
[...and we're back.] There is no need to be afraid. There are no cleanup crews. No wars on the hills. There are only more structures to rise. More bridges to web us closer. More of the pills that make us see what the real is. Driving on amphetamines past the mind-break of reasoning. No more cars that wait on forever. None of the slick of black pumped into the aether. No more execution-style hits. No more parades of grief tourists. No more confusion, and or loss. No more cremations of empty coffins. I can't stop watching the news, man.
6.
[Night. γ2510. Lower city.] The compressed grid in the lower city is bore with a loud bang The devil is a hole in the wall. They drag us out of it and fill disappearing trucks that lead to The Zones. The devil is a hole in the wall. In the grid, your bare form, breath and repose, and all its motion and memory is encoded. The devil is a hole in the wall We are counting down the days till your heads finally roll. The devil is a hole in the wall.
7.
[Sometime in the future, five minutes before victory.] First, we were to till the concrete meadows until our bodies gave out. Next, we will collapse on the ground and we were to be covered in dirt. Then, new bodies with the same face will come to the meadows and pile on until the calcined, spotted flora emerges from the undone. Giant claws cast a spectre against the derelict. The ill-formed gut out the ogrish maw; his regret is ours to see, looming over cars with no drivers and grey halls of dead malls. Everyone is everywhere, in the veins of the brutal form, flowing into the network of seas and rivers, and now molecularized as dust in the air. The city is now encircled.
8.
New Flesh 04:26
[Permablack House] Analogue to mirrors, to hosts fragile as glass; dependent organics producing desire—we’re new flesh! Empty dolls that won’t rest until we end them all! An arrow-shaped horizon left off by your embrace; how I wish you can somehow see it through. Migrating from the host is a nimbus-mind precipitate; the score in scattered totality.
9.
[Night. The Basement.] There is a steel encasement buried miles beneath the earth; an elevator that drops at the grating sound of manufact leading to the world’s basement. There are old ones who died along the way carving this ditch out of the dirt, limed on the chasm like fractals. There is no way in or out the basement, just the elevator—that or the long sleep; our bodies in deep-freeze. Tremors; the elevator dropped, carrying more of us from the holding zones. Each one of us now frozen in this hell; dreaming, disappeared and undead. Then, tremors; in a split-second, at the attic, a howling chaos. The rumble of the tempest shook the steel crawling down the shaft waking us from our soft narcosis. We won’t be locked out.

about

In the year 2XXV, the tech megacorporation CAIN was approved to issue the public subdermal grafts called ‘Matryoshka’ that were initially lobbied as a method to predict and prevent cancer and other deadly diseases. Further into the future, an unprecedented calamity will arrive that will change everything.

Play the game here: kuwagonightsstudio.itch.io/permablack-house

credits

released June 6, 2020

Artwork by Nicolai Maverick
Recorded, mixed, and mastered at Kuwago Nights Studio

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Limbs Manila, Philippines

Manila 3-piece

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