Prose

The Astral Trilogy

Where the edges of epochs are connecting, where the metaphor gives way to reality and where the thoughts are chasing the purple puffs, the Kingdom of Grat Azure exists. Of course azure is just a relative concept here, or maybe the dominant one among the highest colour concentrations. The red sun reflecting in the feathers of Archaeopteryx focused on the next level of Angry Birds, sun gilding the fair hair of Icarus, who is immersed in a small talk with Hamlet. Existential issues as you may guess. A big universal orchestra encoring the chord of nonentity.

The lower sounds were dominating. No one expected something else. The boarder between the world and the universe was just a thin line staggering in the roots of existence. No one was able to balance on it. One careless move guaranteed the painful fall to the abyss of nonentity. Volunteers, called also the Knights of Surplus World, tried to cross the line of knowing. Today we watch them through the telescopes of high quality, which is quite satisfying. The forms of fading communication are rarely practiced, see The Dictionary of Nonverbal Verbalisms, chapter: The Dust.

I’m standing in the space full of light. I’m surrounded by the light, but I know neither its source and power nor origin. The darkness vanished into thin air. The effulgence melted all the doubts, past, present and future. The sky trembled, but no star fell down. Apparently they are strongly bolted to the Great Azure. Somewhere in the background a conversation, maybe a singing. No distractions in transmission. In such atmosphere even the steps are grinding into a halt, or maybe there is no atmosphere, it was replaced by better version of itself?
Apocalypse?
No, just an usual day.

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