Psychopunk Lullaby Vol. 3


The real revolution came with Delusion. The shared layer of reality permeated everything and immediately investing in anything else became a waste of time. Television, computers, cell phones, none of them mattered anymore when all the entertainment or art or architecture you needed could surround you in the blink of an eye. Only a few of the elderly refused it, and I shudder to think how they must view this world, without the crystal edifices or the windows into infinity the skies have become.

Sally took to Delusion like a fish to water. Or more accurately like an electric eel to water. She became insanely beautiful– it hurts to look at her, like she’s a little too perfect for reality. I never told her, but I’m pretty sure she knows I think she’s an angel.
The masses took to their new opiate in universally joyful embrace. The religious no longer need to imagine a loving God looking down upon them; Delusion ensures their skies are never empty or free of the constant reassurance they so require.

“We can shake ’em up, Joey,” she whispers, and though it hurts to look in her eyes, I can’t look away, won’t look away for anything. “We can do this– we can bring Humanity to its logical conclusion.”
Hairs stand up on the back of my neck– not real hairs, of course, I had all my follicles removed and my hair Projected, just like three quarters of everything else, all the clothing, all the architecture, all the musical instruments.
“You make it sound like we’re gonna kill everyone,” I say, pulling her closer to me, but never close enough, not close enough to make my heart stop screaming that she must me mine, must be closer, I must have her though I am not worthy.
“Maybe we will,” she says, her breath catching. “But maybe it’s something else, maybe we have something bigger to give everyone. We can show everyone where we are in the universe, what everything means.”
Her face starts to go chatter-wise and the ever-present pressure in my temples starts building up past the point I can think at all. That’s the problem with dicing your head Fractalwise, only the desperate do it, only those who have nothing to lose and everything to gain– but that wasn’t me, I wasn’t desperate, I was clever, I was lazy, I wanted the easy way out– and I can’t focus on anything but angles and numbers and colors and smells fitting together into one cosmic waveform, one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one zero—

She stands above me, radiant with cherubsong, resplendent like a vengeful goddess but not as petty or vulgar. She is mathematically perfect, the ratios of her face corresponding perfectly to every constant with which man or nature has seen fit to ornament reality.

And then for a moment she flickers and she is not there, not the Sally I love, not the girl I grew up with, not the perfumed goddess I’m unfit even to touch, but a short, disheveled creature with dirty hair and pasty skin and bloodshot eyes, then the flicker is gone and her return makes me sob with relief, because she is this perfect creature, she isn’t human, she isn’t a sack of flesh and bone and blood, she’s a mathematical abstraction, a love song written by the creators of the universe.

She holds me as I weep and speak in tongues. She coos in my ear, speaking soothing words. Somewhere deep inside me I know that the Concept my head will give birth to is something ugly and terrible, something worse than the worst atrocity committed by any creature. Somewhere under the static my mind is shedding is the key to strike Sally’s perfect diamond thoughts, so that the cracks don’t just destroy her, but continue out into the world to bring this terror to all beings.

I curl up in a terrified ball. I have seen my gift to the world, and it is better off never knowing what the seeds in my head will grow into.

Then her words find their way to me through the chaos and I begin to calm. It was just a dream, a fever-dream my mind cast aside in its quest for clarity. I do not bear anything terrible. My gift to the world will be great, she whispers.

I look into her eyes, her fanatic eyes full of hope and devotion and determination. The tugging feeling remains with me. Whatever it is that she will build when she gets far enough Upwind to build in the shared reality of a few thousand minds, it will change everything, it will unify humanity singing one song, to her, Goddess of Goddesses, Mother and protector of us all.

She’s going to be successful, I realize. Soon all minds will be hers, how lucky for them.
When I sleep I dream of angels and demons.

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