☆ 37. Al Rodnam Prepares For His Ultimate Challenge

Al Rodnam Prepares for his Ultimate Challenge

 

 

EPISODE IX. / Chapter 37

of MIKE EYE’S The Aqueous Transmission

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AL RODNAM HAD BEEN FOREWARNED BY LACHRYLON THAT THE mystical pond of the Aqueous Transmission would be hovering transoptically in mid-air over the scorched grounds of Fucked-Earth. Lachrylon would be expecting the punctual Deliverance of the old man to be completely submerged within the mystical pond before it was to completely fastly evaporate. Yes, that very Grail-point of the mystical pond of the Aqueous Transmission had reappeared sometime a while back, and it was only to remain for a short while longer before it was to again rapidly reduce in size, completely drying up like it Once had, and Once will do again, up into the air to disappear until the next Aqueous Transmission.

The exact moment the pond was to commence fastly evaporating would be the exact moment Mother Magdalena would prophetically read the vulgar, hallowed Words inscribed upon the surface of Fletcher Munsin’s extracted, gory pancreas, having just received a most revelatory, most obscure epiphany during a strange dream had by her just prior, as she lay sleeping on her bed in her little bedroom at the back of her silver space-pod, the craft all but lost in an oblivious hyperspace magnetic repulsion zone, navigating on a replay, auto-piloting itself to a spiral algorithm factored from patterns of the Golden Mean Rectangle.

Al Rodnam Knew he had to act as quickly as possible, very soon. He braced himself. His thoughts raced as some of his concentration through and beside the Eyes of his Shadow parted from the Sacred Seduction. The mystic knew that he was obliged to now quickly undertake a most essential charge from Lachrylon in order to keep Mother Magdalena Alive and at a great distance from the dangerous Earth during the imminent, full-on widespread obliteration of all things existing upon the surface of the condemned planet, the ferocious displacement and scarring erosion of huge portions of its landmasses to instantly overthrow all traces of life thereon.

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Momentarily parting some of his projected personification from Fletcher Munsin, the mystic then cast a portion of his countenance Inside the Mind of One of the Gilded Grunts at the other end of the biodome who was in the process of reaping a crop of the revered Space-Grain needed for the corrupted survival of the Bry Dellows Bloodpigs. Inside the Gilded Grunt’s mind, the guru announced to him three things: who it was that was initiating contact, disclosure of the small favor he wanted him to carry out, and just how important it would be for everyone and everything, everywhere that the Grunt accomplish what was instructed of him. Now. And fast.

With a sharp sense of urgency, the Last Godhed implored upon the Chosen Gilded Grunt to stealthily sneak into the Mother’s silvery space-pod while the most momentous sanctified act was still being committed, tip-toe past the silvery Hankerhawks within to the ship’s control panel with the visual aid of a lil’ Lachrylonic subtleties, and slyly proceed to quickly gain access to the ship’s navigation controls, quickly inputting a renewed course of travel for the little space ship to then follow when it was to be started up again, sneakily replacing what the Mother had already programmed into the ship’s computer as the impending place for the Hawks to go — Earth — with an updated new destination, set to next fly the High Sisters, instead, to this certain, specific planet within the certain, specific galaxy given to the Grunt by Al Rodnam.

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The old man felt assured that this little covert, crucial act to be carried out by the little Gilded Grunt would keep the Mother far, far away from an Earth that was about to be destroyed. Now all that was left for the mystic to relie upon was hope. A hope that by the time the Mother and her Twelve closest had reached their faraway cleverly altered destination, he will have safely reached the mystical pond upon Fucked-Earth where the Aqueous Transmission had taken place. Because he knew that Once Mother Magdalena realized that she had been tricked and that someone or something had changed the programmed destination of her ship, it would be then that the Mother would undergo a personal time-continuum shift, sparked to an Awakening in her pod from her dark and disturbing dream of Mandorla’s impossible bright Moon-less, Red-less atmosphere, the sick and psychedelic rapid bodily transmutations of her Loombug sisters, and their subsequent strange and intimate manner of bestowing upon the Mother the Key to her survival. And the key to the survival of all the Mother’s plenteous, pitiful sisters.

The old man knew that if he was unable to reach the mystical pond of the Aqueous Transmission by the time the Mother and her High Hawks had entered the atmosphere of their altered destination, the pond will have completely dried up, having vanished into thin air, preventing his access through and into it, a passage of which was absolutely necessary for the Last Godhed to Enter Into.

He Knew, too, that if he could not make it to the mystical pond in time, he would be hopelessly trapped on Fucked-Earth and tragically perish in the necessary, fast approaching nuclear blast and meltdown of the entire planet. Magdalena would never reawaken from her Nightmare. The New Age of Aquarius would never come to pass. And Mother Magdalena would disastrously miscarry, the Aqueous Transmission never able to occur.

Everything and everyone would disappear forever with no trace of anyone or anything ever having existed.

*          *          *

TEN MINUTES AFTER THE LAST STRAW OF THE BRUTAL MILKING OF Fletcher Munsin at the Andromeda Biodome, the Last Godhed was still in total tune to the holding of his Shadow from his secured location upon Immortal Earth’s tropical, Enchanted South Pole Homeland. He was waiting for the moment the Hankerhawks first saw it — the sacred, subtle emergence of a sign of the first waverly Space-Grain. This would undoubtedly confirm the prompt forthcoming of the First living organism that was ever able to be Grown within the ever-strategically-placed platinum-sheathed titanium alloy-encased deep-space Biodome of Andromeda. And Al Rodnam knew this was so.

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A Hawk noticed the dark swirl upon the freshly germinated grounds of the dome and spoke up in pointed exclamation.

Al Rodnam immediately initiated personal, physical evacuation of his most beloved South Pole Homeland.

The old man had a plan.

He was hoping to leave this place via the gentle pond beside where he had been mindfully holding the form of his Shadow, to go pass through into the luscious, thriving Inner Earth realm of Amrita’s Underworld. Next, he would hastily break for the nearby portal that would then deliver him to the surface of the hastily decaying, disastrous mayhem of Fucked-Earth. He would do so — in Live, full effect — before the Mother and her Hawks departed from the Andromeda Biodome. He would have to.

But wait! Just before making an ungraceful nose-dive into that calm pond beside his still spot of Personal Contemplation — which was also the very pond Nammu of Europa had originally emerged into, and from where the little dolphin still slowly swam about peacefully — Al Rodnam was sure not to forget his magical Staff of Lachrylon that was Mindfully inscribed with Synchronously-arranged Rune carvings. These carvings had Once been scrawled with the most excellent workmanship by the old man himself upon the perpetually gleaming surface of the smooth hickory-wood. The old man had ultimately fashioned the Staff of Lachrylon by magically conjoining the First Four Rune Sticks that had been his nom de plume since his very founding of Bry Dellows with the Mother and her pet. Al Rodnam had used the Staff mostly for physical support along epic treks he would from time-to-time make over the Ruins of Fucked-Earth. But sometimes he would use the Staff for other things — other things more mystical Shall it be Told.

See, the Last Godhed Knew that Once he made it to the surface of Fucked-Earth, the Staff of Lachrylon would help guide him to the elusive pond of the Aqueous Transmission, just as the stone amulet of Solaria had help guide Mother Magdalena to the very same place. It was through this pond he must pass. Lachrylon had told him that it would be so. -MIKE EYE

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  1. Reblogged this on [DARK💢ESOTERIKA] Blogging the Subconscious and commented:

    TEN MINUTES AFTER THE LAST STRAW OF THE BRUTAL MILKING OF Fletcher Munsin at the Andromeda Biodome, the Last Godhed was still in total tune to the holding of his Shadow from his secured location upon Immortal Earth’s tropical, Enchanted South Pole Homeland. He was waiting for the moment the Hankerhawks first saw it — the sacred, subtle emergence of a sign of the first waverly Space-Grain. This would undoubtedly confirm the prompt forthcoming of the First living organism that was ever able to be Grown within the ever-strategically-placed platinum-sheathed titanium alloy-encased deep-space Biodome of Andromeda. And Al Rodnam knew this was so.

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