Visions of the Aetherical Skysquid
.______
__
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
| — writing and images by @d-pend — |
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
__
______
.
Visions of the Aetherical Skysquid
.
I am both cursed and blessed by visions of the aetherical skysquid. Make no mistake, I do not refer to a physical squid, but to the progenitor of the whole race of writhing, sinister and graceful cephalopods that haunt our Vekkian skies. It (who I think of as the Squidfather, though I am sure gender is, to it, a meaningless concept) has shown me diagrams, schematics, geometries which display the full import of its race's deluging activities, which to humans always appear inscrutable. Even the most brilliant scholars have failed to comprehend the true purpose of the skysquid's slow and erratic-seeming migration over the surface of Vek.
Now there is a light shower of delicious tangerine ink on the outskirts of Vo'olo which seems to give those who consume it either vibrant, glowing health, or transmutes them into citrus-bearing cacti where they stand — another moment, a thick sludge-rain of dark purple ink creates a permanent health hazard in the middle of Tyvisiquis and must be cordoned off by antitox mages to protect its citizenry from sprouting weird inhuman limbs from random locations on their torso. In the next, an enormous cataclysm of various-colored inks destroys an entire city, as with the disaster at Vondoo. None of these events seem to have any pattern! Yet, my visions show the truth. It is all part of the inky Plan.
It is not true that nearly all the types of ink have been catalogued and understood! That is but the arrogance of intellectuals. Squidfather showed me the way new ink varieties come to be. As baby squids grow, they reach special benchmarks in which their mettle is tested by various harsh atmospheric conditions. Most do not succeed these trials and are banished groundward where they will often live as ordinary squid in the inland oceans, rivers, streams, lakes or ponds of Vek. This explains the common reports of seeing tentacular objects fall from the skies in droves during or after some huge precipitation. During these initiations, a few show special proclivity for ingenuity in the face of storms, blizzards, magical miasmas, and eclipse-energies. These grow in intelligence and creativity and ascend through the ranks of squid to become the cephalopod magichemists of a new generation.
I watched (in my mynd) as little Rxtwyxrndivil, a brilliant squid prodigy, melded Lemon ink with the essence of the Quincunx to produce a fine, crystalline, novel citrus ink which has astonishing properties. This young squid is still an idealist and a great proponent of compassion and harmony with the ground-dwelling races of Vek, of which we humans form a part. I pray that it is not corrupted by the pessimists of the sky-world! Well, who can say? I leave it to the Will of the Father.
As for me, I trudge over weird paths and stumble through rubble and meet new faces amongst remote tribes. They show me mercy and give me food and shelter in exchange for labor. I have become something of a jack of all trades, and all my na'an glimmer with a very slight ability. I am told this is quite unusual to be able to access all the schools — though, I am extremely mediocre in my skills with each one of them, a drawback which seems serious enough that I should say no one should aspire to emulate me (not that I believe any could; it is likely my connection with the Squidfather that lends me such access.)
I do not have any great power, fame, or fortune, but the Inkfather sends me droplets of fruit ink that nourish me when there is nothing else for me to depend upon. Great is His Inkiness! I also get a strongly dysphoric tingle in my spine when it is time for me to move on from a tribe that wakes me up from deep sleep in the middle of the night. Instructions are given to my subconscious mind and I spontaneously paint great masterpieces upon some notable location in the villages with skysquid ink that drips from my very fingers. I then whisk myself away into the night, taking nothing but the clothes upon my back.
I know little aside from what He shows me: being a poor, uneducated fellow from backwater Lilf. What matter? I am being preserved by the King of Cephalopods for some great duty. I know it — though the details be completely unclear — black ink in clear water. Even now, I am pulled from this tablet by His summons. I go to paint history upon the avenue and spread the gospel of Squid where e'er I go. Look to the skies!
Yours —
Boov Ron, wandering Ink Monk
by Daniel Pendergraft
— created for HIVE —
published on Jan. 14, 2022.
.
Writing is fully original
and can be considered a first draft/blueprint
towards eventual completion of a piece
shared and preserved immutably on blockchain.
.
Images are original smartphone photographs
taken with iPhone 8+ and processed
using Deep Dream Generator
with custom style images.
