archived IND Material

The Mad Scientist
Roger Primrose

From the hands of strange children march the flames and flares

that will carry my creation to it’s final home. Their celluloid black and

white dances. Their pride held in numbers of horses, handfuls of busted

nails, and small white rocks that are crushed up by large metallic

machines with their huge grinding teeth. These machines turning,

spinning mad together like the gears of an angry clock. These machines

that churn out these rocks, white-hot from a half sick sun. These dullard

children that dance around in their societies. They are trapped. Trapped I

say in multiple systems of weakness, just rocking back and forth like a

guilty pendulum waiting for its opportunity to slice open the strings of sanity.

I will be there god and they will be my people. I will cause them to

keep their appointments while breathing. I will cause the to keep their

appointments long after breathing has ceased. These colorful

buildings housing these colorful hearts that hide their blackened

agendas. I will dissect them all and pin them down to my tables and they

will know whose name is fire. They will know my freedom. The masonic

works that are erected with their hands will melt in my presence. Time

will eat it’s own casing. The very shell that causes the sun to throw down

its light to an Earth full-blown with disease will worship me. I will give

them eyes hungry enough to drink in the fullness of the apocalypse. In

the chambers of my house will I keep them saddled dumb by force. In

prison palaces of the future I will silence the wicked in darkness.

At that moment Primrose fell to the ground convulsing, foaming at

the mouth. His nurse quickly arose from the shadows of the dimly lit

laboratory to administer his injection. When he came to the menace had

left his voice and eyes. His face was as that of a playful child. The drug

he needed coursed through his veins with intended purpose to soothe a

tormented mind that would one day collapse in such a way that the

whole world would be witness to its transformation.

In a deluge Primrose walked out into the surrounding forest

disoriented and cowering wishing his thoughts of what had just taken

place to be thrown into a pit prepared for the dead. These thoughts

assaulting his frail mind Like cupidis lunatics that dance with fever in the

streets,

Dancing with blank faces; marching, arms locked at the ends, hand in

hand marching deathless these thoughts race with penetrating

accusation across his mind. Walking lost, he hid in the shallow salt brine

shadows by the edge of the stream attempting to separate each previous

moment one from another. Trying to compartmentalize them, trying to

bind them. If these moments are not bound and have the chance to

reproduce in cancer-virus fashion the final state will be darker than the

beginning. With each new copy, with each new revolution of similar

events these thoughts will grow more and more confused until action is

caused to manifest itself as the newest child of a demented malaze. He

can not allow this deviant action to begin its cycle again. There must be

some sort of breach to this pre-pcychotic break.

Morphic resonance passing its tumors of remembrance of my

broken mind. How can I take knowledge and grow from these faceless

holograms of repentence and mischief. No longer will I be trapped in this

judgement review weeping at three-dimensional films shown to me

under these incomplete shadows. As a being of light refusing, I must be

force-fed the viewing with no defense at my disposal. Flowers burning

bright in the eyes of those who supplanted me with exile. I will leave my

imprints on their hollow minds. Faithless mortals coiled around superficial

erections that are able to save nothing. They will despair every moment

at the weapons I will create that will derail their misunderstood fortune

soldiers. I will form the tribunal of carnal diligence using left over redactor

models that will fly upon the wings of the beasts that I shall create to

shatter the robots of paradise. It has taken me again resistance is not an

option. This alter is stronger than I am.

“Embrace me”. Deep screams to deep creams to deep. My head

is eaten up with holophonic sound. “Call on the eaters of the dead.

They dance silent, unseen in the city street. Come with me.”