(no subject)
"Push me up to... the state of emergency..." So nice.
Dark. Submerged, asleep.
[20,000 meters of massive nautical chain, attached to a huge pulley and spool, descending down from a floating offshore platform that sits atop the water at it's deepest point worldwide. Designed to last generations and function unmanned. It's like a giant floating memorial.
Down the chain goes, with a braid of tubes and an electrical cable steel clipped to the links every 100 meters.
At the very bottom is a metal cyst. Shaped like a pear, with the chain anchored at the top and the wire admitted through a pore sealed shut with molten iron. The pear's bottom half is detatchable at the bulge and is likewise sealed shut.
Inside, a person is asleep. His container is separated from the bathysphere's impenetrable outer wall by a vaccuum levitation, absorbing any gentle sway in the ocean. Inside, he floats in enriched amniotic fluid, but his body draws a tiny amount of breath, which comes from the pressurized tubes that are attached to the chain. His exhalation is bumped back out through a special porous tube that bleeds it away into the water. Also from the platform comes his nourishment, a purple-tinted gel made of protiens, vitamins, glucose, saline, salts, and other compounds needed by his dormant body. It enters his nostril, passes through his sinus, down his esophagus, and into his stomach. Intravenous needles are glued to his arms and feet, delivering endorphins and additional vitamins.
Upstairs, there are controls to alter his fate. If this person, I will not name him, is left down there he will survive, ageing very slowly, for a long time but he will eventually die. The controlling machine that handles his life support and the depth of his bathysphere has two toggles: "Life" which will gently raise the pod to the surface of the water as he is defribbulated in the liquid, injected with epinephrine and given higher oxygen concentrations during the ascent. When he surfaces the pod is raised up into the platform's garage and the primer cord buried in the surface of the outer shell will explode, breaking it open like an egg. Then the inner sphere drains itself and opens to expose the subject, who is then collected and taken away to recovery.
The other option is "Death", naturally. Euthanasia is administered with Lithium Chloride and Morphine. Then the Bathysphere is raised and opened as aforementioned to collect the body.
The boy's sleep state is a monolithic obtenebration. Like a viscous ocean of null-thought-oblivion-void. I could hyphenate words together for whole pages to try and explain it's intimate dark. But he does dream down there. That's what gives the sleep death it's significance; he's aware of it peripherally, and he's given it character. The reptilian lower brain discharges the current, the will, and the upper cortex pulses one FPS of light, shadow, form, and color, the way.]
Sick with a sinister cough. White creature used to the dark. Living dark like city night (not so dark at all) as opposed to null dark in house's darkest parts. The panic terror that chases you up the stairs to your room as a child, to cover your whole body with the blanket and get your feet off the floor.
Alive still, but not well. Heart is tired, I see nothing but an inutterable scramble.
I go to my jobs and do what I need to do. I concieve of words, which I externalize and keep. But nothing happens. A growing amount of paranoia accompanies me everywhere. Disease makes me weaker, like I can feel some lugubrious self-loathing in my flesh. In my extremities, and the soreness in my stomach from so much strong coughing. I make it a week now that I have been so ill. It's waning in intensity now, I think.
This is the sort of depression that distorts one's retrospection of time. Due to the banality in my emotional lanscape and the path that I took through it, I stand on a ridge of dread looking back. It's snowing heroin on me as I do so.
I'm going back to sleep. Happy Easter everybody.
Dark. Submerged, asleep.
[20,000 meters of massive nautical chain, attached to a huge pulley and spool, descending down from a floating offshore platform that sits atop the water at it's deepest point worldwide. Designed to last generations and function unmanned. It's like a giant floating memorial.
Down the chain goes, with a braid of tubes and an electrical cable steel clipped to the links every 100 meters.
At the very bottom is a metal cyst. Shaped like a pear, with the chain anchored at the top and the wire admitted through a pore sealed shut with molten iron. The pear's bottom half is detatchable at the bulge and is likewise sealed shut.
Inside, a person is asleep. His container is separated from the bathysphere's impenetrable outer wall by a vaccuum levitation, absorbing any gentle sway in the ocean. Inside, he floats in enriched amniotic fluid, but his body draws a tiny amount of breath, which comes from the pressurized tubes that are attached to the chain. His exhalation is bumped back out through a special porous tube that bleeds it away into the water. Also from the platform comes his nourishment, a purple-tinted gel made of protiens, vitamins, glucose, saline, salts, and other compounds needed by his dormant body. It enters his nostril, passes through his sinus, down his esophagus, and into his stomach. Intravenous needles are glued to his arms and feet, delivering endorphins and additional vitamins.
Upstairs, there are controls to alter his fate. If this person, I will not name him, is left down there he will survive, ageing very slowly, for a long time but he will eventually die. The controlling machine that handles his life support and the depth of his bathysphere has two toggles: "Life" which will gently raise the pod to the surface of the water as he is defribbulated in the liquid, injected with epinephrine and given higher oxygen concentrations during the ascent. When he surfaces the pod is raised up into the platform's garage and the primer cord buried in the surface of the outer shell will explode, breaking it open like an egg. Then the inner sphere drains itself and opens to expose the subject, who is then collected and taken away to recovery.
The other option is "Death", naturally. Euthanasia is administered with Lithium Chloride and Morphine. Then the Bathysphere is raised and opened as aforementioned to collect the body.
The boy's sleep state is a monolithic obtenebration. Like a viscous ocean of null-thought-oblivion-void. I could hyphenate words together for whole pages to try and explain it's intimate dark. But he does dream down there. That's what gives the sleep death it's significance; he's aware of it peripherally, and he's given it character. The reptilian lower brain discharges the current, the will, and the upper cortex pulses one FPS of light, shadow, form, and color, the way.]
Sick with a sinister cough. White creature used to the dark. Living dark like city night (not so dark at all) as opposed to null dark in house's darkest parts. The panic terror that chases you up the stairs to your room as a child, to cover your whole body with the blanket and get your feet off the floor.
Alive still, but not well. Heart is tired, I see nothing but an inutterable scramble.
I go to my jobs and do what I need to do. I concieve of words, which I externalize and keep. But nothing happens. A growing amount of paranoia accompanies me everywhere. Disease makes me weaker, like I can feel some lugubrious self-loathing in my flesh. In my extremities, and the soreness in my stomach from so much strong coughing. I make it a week now that I have been so ill. It's waning in intensity now, I think.
This is the sort of depression that distorts one's retrospection of time. Due to the banality in my emotional lanscape and the path that I took through it, I stand on a ridge of dread looking back. It's snowing heroin on me as I do so.
I'm going back to sleep. Happy Easter everybody.