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Earthwizard's Realms of Faërie

January, 15, 2005

Earthwizard's Realms of Faërie

City of Infinite Deliriums

In the boneyard of dreams, I hunted down the nightmares of my age. Crossing the vast wastes of white sand, under a carrion sun, the bestial spring runs riot among the vanquished denizens of this alien landscape. I no longer know what brought me to this strange and disquieting planet. My quest began in the remote and irremediable future, beyond the torpid zones of the galactic quadrant where the great dragon star Thuban spits fire far to the North. I was once a member of the proud race of Archoniis, Dark Lords of the now defunct Order of the Paideia, Guardians of the Galactic Consilience (that ancient civilization of the original transhumance) who lived amid the recrudescence of a torn, divided, and decadent society. Our civilization had long ago fallen into that slow decay of habitation and neglect that follows from a too long depletion of natural resources and the overuse of a hyperactive technology. We had finally succumbed to that ancient disease of obsolescence. Our species through eons of inbreeding and genetic manipulation had refined itself beyond the point of no return. Our kind was now slowly dying of an irremediable disease of the mind and intellect, broken creatures of pride and false ambitions we were now slowly rotting in a state of imbecilic apathy; troglodytes of a terminable age.

Having become fanatics of disaster and violence, bitter furies riveted to a chain of sighs and lamentation, we fell from our once high estate defeated and full of rage. Many members broke troth with the great Order, began to break away from the principles of order and enlightened justice that had ruled our civilization for millennia beyond reckoning. Without redress, our Order fell into disrepair, no longer guided by reason we became followers of the oldest Cult of Chaos: having lost the keys of quietude, we now had access only to the secrets of laceration. Instead of letting time erode us gradually, we decided to go time one better, to add to its moments our own. This new time grafted onto the old one, this time elaborated and projected, soon revealed its virulence: objectified, it became history, a monster we have called up against ourselves; a fatality we cannot escape, even by recourse to the formulas of passivity, the recipes of wisdom. Contortionists of the unreal, we became a race of convulsionaries, at the center of a cosmic farce; we imprinted on the universe the stigmata of our history and shall never be capable of regaining that illumination that lets us die in peace. Created immortal, captives of duration, we die a thousand deaths each day, our only recourse: to seek out and destroy those who brought us into this existence.

Our legends are many and diverse. During the great scattering, our members dispersed into every corner of the known universe. Some of our kind became rebels and joined the dark forces of senescence and doom. Condemned to corrupted forms of wisdom, invalids of duration, composed of elements of piety and derision, divided between a mystic summons, which has no links with time, and a bloodthirsty dream, which is historyís symbol and nimbus, many of us entered a zone of impurity where time and eternity intersect in a cosmic wasteland. As long as we lived amid elegant terrors our minds were satisfied, but soon boredom and solitude set its stamp upon us and we became victims of our own worst nightmare. Alien to this cosmos we became its first victims.

Moving from world to world, we became the gods and devils, creators and destroyers, who hide among the various legends and myths of this corrupted and corrupting cosmos. Some of our kind abdicated their roles as leaders and wandered beyond the known universe to seek solace in pure isolation. Others began infighting among themselves, vying for supreme power as dictators and rulers of this tawdry universe. One such being took on the semblance of light and beneficence to reign supreme above all others. His name was Samael, the blind one. His goal was to bring order and reason into this disturbing universe, to absolve us of responsibility for the wreckage of this vast cosmic disaster. His legends are many and diverse among the tribes and peoples of the universe. Some say he is a light-bearer, a creature of infinite grace and wisdom. Some say he is the dark and terrible lord of chaos himself, the master of the dark arts of ruin and terror. But among us he is know as the Ancient of Days, the eldest of our kind, a being from before the creation who lived amid the angelic orders of the first children of existence.

To me he was once a lover, a companion of desire, a friend to share the long and interminable night of sorrows. Yet, it was not to be. Our lives entwined in so many mllennia of solitudes and raptures became infested by the impurities of time. My lifeís partner left me to wander alone among the nebulous stars. His mind enraptured by the surfeits of a strangely populous cosmos entered a state of tremulous delirium. He began to believe that he could bring a new order out of the chaos of our broken dreams. He believed that the order of the universe could be reshaped into a new form of cosmic splendor. He decided to start the process in a small and uninhabited part of the universal disorder. It was here that he first created that paradisial world, which led so many of our Order to fall from their once high estate of immortal bliss. It was here that our kind first took on the flesh and bone of mortality, merged our eternal refulgence with the dust of planetary evanescence.

How long have I been on this quest? How long have I searched out the hidden byways of disorder, sought the aphetic lustrations of an interminable annihilation. It does not matter. Only the quest is of essence. Those who sent me have long ago fallen beyond the rim of silence, their cadaverous lives measured in epochs of salient extinctions. I too would have gone the way of the Makers, but their dark intent (fatal to the history of my kind) is no longer mine. They gave me a mission, a goal; and, they knew well the secret art of infinity, the broken magic of a technology gone awry, a broken and terrible merger of flesh and machine, a transhuman melding of mind and matter welded together by a sordid knowledge of robotics and bioengineering. Maybe they knew too much, maybe their knowledge, being fragmentary and deliquescent; bound by the elements of ennui and inestimable languor (fed by dreams of a nostalgic alchemy of disasters) finally led them toward an irreparable apocalypse. Maybe they did not foresee the extreme cost of their bleak transports.

I do not know. I do not care. I no longer concern myself with their forgotten and forgettable fate. They are for me a distant memory of indefinite masks and ghosts, chlorotic comedians of a disparate age, harbingers of this dark Order of Lost Creatures (beings born of blood and metal), inheritors of this desolate world of incurable sighs. For me there is only the quest, the search for the deepest mystery: that dark center of black light where the heart of human misery and pain first unraveled itself in our natal universe, this universe of nocturnal ardors and cosmic lassitudes where I follow the feverish voices of the oblivious night toward the City of Infinite Deliriums.


Out of the infinite reaches of time a monstrous being emerged, not of flesh and bone but of dreams and nightmares, a creature of pure intellect, cold and resilient, indefatigable. I am that being. A creature born of violence and despair, I cannot - at any price retain my identity: whatever residue I retain must be liquidated; if, on the other hand I assume a historical role, it is my responsibility to exasperate my faculties until I explode along with them. I aspire to a metaphysic of torment and pain, brought into existence to dissolve the bonds of history I began to measure time in slow movements of decay and torpor. One always perishes by the self one assumes: to bear a name is to claim an exact mode of collapse.

I have charted the protean course of millennia; have danced on the edge of chaos where the black holes of time (those engines of never-ending creation and destruction) feed our universe with its endless possibilities. I know the dark avenues of history, the measure of its unreal designs; have walked among civilizations time out of mind, seen the rise and fall of ancient peoples who no longer have a place in the annals of this universal ruin. In my many journeys into time, I have seen many strange and wondrous sites. Watched the rainbow lights of the twin suns of Talmus subtly floating above the misty vales of Cerdan; danced with the Korílik tribes, among the stones of fire in honor of the primeval gods of Rezik Tor; and, made love with a Siren of Ve on the silent shores of the Sundered Sea of Calys. However, none of these memories leaves as much of an impression as my quest to find the primordial home world of humanity, that blue island of peace hidden within the vast oceanic vistas of the myriad galactic clusters where the Makers trace their terrible genesis.


I have come to the City of Infinite Deliriums. Here at the crossroads of time and space a realm of tremulous beauty manifests itself in a secret enclave for diseased minds and fractured genius. It is here that my old lover, Samael resides. It is here, in this city of pain and torment that I must resolve the curse that first brought our kind into this universe of decay and sorrow.

Far to the north where the dance of sand and light begin to merge, the brilliance of the Glass Towers of Sarim, float serenely, iridescent and translucent, over the stark white horizon of endless dunes. I can see the rainbow hued Star of Tabrim, the eternal light and emblem of our ancient Order shining high above the desert floor in the pinnacles of this doomed city of dark raptures.


As I entered the city, I felt a sudden dizzying of the senses; for, here was the stench and smell of humanity in all its dismal glory. I do not know why I had expected something different, why I had thought that this city would reflect a different order, a different sense of the inexplicable. This was the realm of pain and pleasure: the place where infinite dreams found their particular fleshly enactment, their momentary gleam of rapture in the void of absence. Here my old lover had broken troth with both the Paideia and the Consilience to create a race of beings that were mimic copies of the lowest angelic orders.

- Earthwizard, aka, Steven Craig Hickman ©December 18, 2003

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