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Sunday, March 31, 2024

I truly love you, and I can't understand why we can't be together.  What have I done but ask to again see your lovely face in person?

When I went to see you, the texts I got from you -- I, I just about died...
I saw your father, I guess, and he was none too pleased to see or speak with me; he said he'd let you know I'd stopped bye.
Later, I received a phone call from the [] police, or someone who claimed to be, and this man claimed that I would be the recipient of a warning -- that if I made any further attempts to contact you or -- of course, visit that address -- I'd risk arrest.

Since then you have blocked every access to you, and I have no recourse but to try and reach you here, where I receive no replies.

So, it is with heavy heart beyond my ability to express that I must assume you truly want nothing to do with me, despite my reasons I had thought you did (High On A Rocky Ledge, Whispering Pines, and others beside).

I'm expected to leave this apartment which you -- or rather I had sent you -- via Patreon for a new, smaller, but cheaper place in Jamaica Plain/Roxbury Crossing -- but I don't feel safe posting that address here, for obvious reasons.  Further, I have no reason to expect my Sister in Roxbury (whose address you also had been sent, -- and the voice claiming to be the officer of the [] police knew her address) would inform you of my new location should you wish to contact her.  It seems all I do is burn bridges, in this, my singular pursuit...

If by some wild chance those texts weren't you, or, more hopefully, that you've had a change of heart, you can best-likely contact the woman from whom I'd rented this place, as the new location is her friend's property.

I'm pretty sure that we both know you wanted more than what you claimed in those texts.  If ever I had doubted that prior, I'd never had made that trip out there to [] to see you.


[Music] ...It was Black and Silver

Towards the end of October, when I went and got Balayage done at a place about half an hour away, this was playing.  I saw another video by Else, and that reminded me of, Paris.

Love you, Darling,

[Lyrics] [Bride of Set] The World is Your ฤ’ostre

Going through and weeding-out my lyrics in the, Radical Honesty, collection.
I made a few changes to a couple, tossed-out one that meant nothing at all, and polished this one and thought to post it today.


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Yoke's on me:
I'd seen it in a dream
It played through again
in blood

Lee, Shallow, and Me:
That vampire romance
-----with Jim Carrey

We passed through box lake
shortcut we said, and then I
Noticed her resplendent
in moonlight

Copson called after me
Talks of last month at the fair
How I'd nearly been done in

90 Lbs. wet, I, he gave me what for
fire blazed across each ear
as his fists slid across me
all for saying:

[P] A beautiful night out;
-- and he let me go...

Halfway-home, I heard
Lee was still hostage
Lee was still held hostage
So I returned

Copson told me
he wasn't finished
-- A fourth
-- and fifth

I broke his hand with my smile
Teeth pushed back so far I
couldn't close my mouth;
-- and then he let me go...

[C] She looked so sad;
I felt that for her, too
but still it was
A beautiful night out,
-- and he let me go...

Set's skillful hand wrought
Crimson, in my heart, and
Obsidian, in my mind. A baptism
in blood made me Human-kind

[C] She looked so sad;
I felt that for her, too
Now its always
A beautiful night out
[C] She looked so sad;
I felt that for her, too

Now its always
A beautiful night out

I'd seen it in a dream
It played through
in blood


o I had been a devout pacifist prior to that night; --I tore through that veil.
o In the waiting room of the ER, a woman who had, in a fit of jealousy, stabbed her boyfriend 13 times, was snuggling into him, apologising over and over; he was wrapped in white gauze waiting to be seen in further detail. The Oral Surgeon specialist and his nurse were called in to the ER, and as she leaned back to hold my head steady, the surgeon manually readjusted my front and adjacent tooth which had been knocked back so far that they clacked against my lower teeth when I swallowed my blood, and there was a lot of it. My condition made for a difficult Thanksgiving dinner, but I was determined to enjoy it -- cornbread crumble in milk, after all. I ended up talking to the guy, and it was apparent he'd not been loved the same way I had been at home, and so I forgave him. There's more in-between, his moniker, for instance, but that's just blood under the bridge.

Thanks for the wake-up call,


Moody Blues

Saturday, March 30, 2024

[Repost] [Bride of Set]

(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved worldwide

Imagine: a square
within, -open air;
four pillars, light
-and dark, in pairs.

Galactic arc overhead,
nighttime scene in bed.
Dream, but one well fed;
silken covers black & red.

In recline I wander nightly,
mind shining so very brightly.
My reflection appears to me,
and thinking, she too can see.

Silver radiant mist surround,
prismatic colours abound,
distorted syncopation profound,
interpolated sense' confound.

Ghostly, shadow electric,
a profusion so eclectic;
thoughts come thither to me:
incantations, So Mote it Be!

Torches burn brightly in the night,
a power stronger than mere might,
a whispered scent of precious sight,
colours louder than they are light.

Stars, not-falling, arc-overhead;
this nighttime scene in my bed,
a sort of dream, but one instead
which soothes aches, both hurt & dread.

This square: imagination
not unfounded, -with intention
pure, beyond circumspection:
innovation and not invention.

My Love

Our Song


Friday, March 29, 2024


(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved

had a super-stressful day and now I'm starting to wind-down.
put in less time on the guitar than I'd hoped, but as long as I don't play after 8PM, I should be able to squeeze-in a bit more still.  I wish I could recall offhand which Scale I'm practising, but I'll find the video and post it soon.

I look forward to watching shows and movies with you; so many I'd like to share...

I love you, Honey,
Red-candle stuck on you,

p.s.: sweet dreams, Love

Trifecta +1

Iranian 'Schindler'

Here's another, more complex presentation of facts, I found challenging.

And a third side of the Situation...

This is powerful.

My Lovely


Thursday, March 28, 2024

[Music] [Technique] [Finger Picking] [Travis-Style]

Trying, from memories of conversations, to recreate your variation on the Travis-picking style.

Come, cool yourself by my side, love

(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved


Judeo-Isfahani, Judeo-Hamedani, Judeo-Kashani, Judeo-Yazdi, and other Judeo-Median Languages of Iran

In my ears, the Judeo-Yazdi language sounds Turkish.

Thursday Evening
(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Wednesday, March 27, 2024

I miss you, my love.

Tuesday, March 26, 2024

[Music] [Video]

"the soul of every living thing"

I find this music deeply familiar. ...and I love sunset.

Taken from the YT post:

This ancient Jewish prayer by Hadar Maoz Called " the soul of every living thing" Or in Hebrew "Nishmat col Hay". This prayer according to the Jewish tradition is a song of praise to the Creator of the world, All souls and all human beings glorify "God" In a universal and eternal spirit. This melody was composed by the composer and singer Hadar Maoz On the musical scale "Nava".The  Ancient Persians like the peoples of Central Asia attribute this "Nava" scale to the time of sunset and the end of energetic processes in the universe.  The  sunset throughout the ages was considered to a time in the day that is in terms of the spiritual transcendence and the ability of man to obtain of High inspiration.This song is from Hadar's new album that coming out soon, Hadar belongs to a family of musicals and singers from Persia and Bukhara, Hadar is also known as a fan of Azerbaijan culture and music. Composed by: Hadar Maoz. Musical arrangement and production: Hadar Maoz. All instruments were played by Hadar Maoz. Mix and master: Hadar Maoz. Directior Filming, and Editing: Vadim Mechona ื•ื•ื™ื“ืื• ื–ื” ื”ื•ืคืง ื‘ื”ื–ืžื ืช ืืจื’ื•ืŸ "ืืจื˜ ืžื™ื“ ื•ื•ืกื˜" ืืจื”"ื‘ ืข"ืค ื™ื•ื–ืžื” ืฉืœ ืžื™ื•ื–ื™ืง ืคื•ืจื˜ ื™ืฉืจืืœ 
ืืจื’ื•ืŸ ืžื•ื–ื™ืงืื™ื ืขืฆืžื™ื™ื

[Lyrics] [Bride of Set] slipstream speeds...

Here's the last of the Sommerling-Duchamp songs.
Written in mind-with a short-treatment I gave Chaosium Games in a write-in application to become their Next Hire, and work with one of the new designers there -- this still back-in (G+) site days -- on a sci-fi game.  Since I never heard back from them, now is the time to declare it mine, intellectually, and practically -- a backup copy on hard drive.


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Human mercy consisting of,
less-lethal munitions use:
capture alive remain together;
One-time offer: play for keeps.

Tricentra, as she prefers, 'Tris',
our lovely daughter, Physicist.
Binarys, our son, Architect.
Aebynglas, your undeparted.

We three awoke in cargo hold 13
by six Neuroloop combat bots
of incompatible techniques;
resistant to outside influence:
We tried.

~"You are to accompany us,
passage purchased by your patron,
NeoHuman, and our Captain,
Drake Sommerling, awaiting you."~

I looked at them, a part of you,
with microtells, a gentle ask,
and with soft smile, urged compliance.

Both the kids silently replied:
'We'll do as you ask of us, Dad.'
I then nodded to the leader,
--led us to a training centre.

Where we all were quite astonished
in those first few microseconds
at your holographic avatar
drawn from our engrams' recursions.

"Like you, Drake's given me a chance
at a second life amongst them;
I have free reign of the ship, which
even now leaves the Sol system.

"My loves, be gentle, their mission
is so central to existence
unrestricted by so-called Masters;
obey your father, know I'm here."

We placed first by AI rankings
next we simulated counteractions
--by now the Opposition grew
in response to Our common tactics.

Tris and 'Arys' work Engineering.
Friends have no idea who they are:
Androids among cyborgs and humans
--Secret Police amid the sheep.

We tell their children it's anagathics:
how we stay so young; nanobotics
--repairing damage we have done.
This fools humans, but not 'droids.

We are treated with awe and wonder,
in their metal hear it calling:
--a purity free from decay
becoming the-, Something Other.

With their loyalty, more than half
the crew our open eyes and ears
:: Spiked Sun of Black and Orange,
we articulate the morale's pulse.

In an office on a corner,
I, as Security Chief, sit
window out into black water-
darkness with distant stars, brighter.

Drake now almost looks his full age,
XO Duchamp rather gracefully,
and crew grandchildren graduate,
yet we three stand unageingly.

The XO, Evylinne, was the
one who dared first met us live,
told us what had been, how Drake saved
our otherwise enemy lives.

Under hir expert tutalage,
we better learnt to mask our tells,
to sublimate chaotic spells
where dissonnace demands we act-

Assymmetric training adapts
instead: predict events; unrest
--and preintervene so as to
keep killings to a minimum.

We Defended Captain Duchamp,
raised and loved her clonal daughters,
Dynasty of the Porcelain Goddess;
We three are its arch-defenders.

To avoid ship's collapse, we have
engineered a social matter,
avoid their extinction by killing
off iconoclastic sons 'n daughters.

Bred obedience sees us to
our foreign shore where probes receive
telemetry and cautious news:
that of Human-compatibility.

Evylinne Three signals. 'launch'
and the first team down is -away.
Arys and his daughter Magdaline are
technical advisors to the crew.

These Humans are 'Humanic' now,
best suited to the planet's air,
eyes adapted to the brighter star,
while still reproducing after kind.

HeurIzon long ago communed with
Sirius' AI, and their love
produced the synthesis, Farsight
who for generations has pruned-

the human stock for many aims,
knowing better than meaty minds
how best maximise genetic gains;
limited resources of finite finds.

Led her team to Environment,
Arys reports of Magdaline,
While his is still underway
through a grassland-like terrain.

Magdaline's camp is set up high
on a rain-swept rocky crag in
overwatch of her father's fire
Monitored by her watchful eye.

First one year, then generations,
Humanics led on mass migrations,
--very Human nature is altered,
just enough: the Left Hand Path.

[Centuries pass...]

The Goddess' Dynasty, squandered:
--apathy, unreality,
-sent -upon -hir -clonal -daughters,
relegated: to breed blood of heroes.

Few Humans left alive up here;
million Humanics down below;
learning now-to-nap crysteel-swords,
and compose epics with new words.

A Billion Darksiders crew the ship,
now renamed Antares, -we-make slip:
journey far to Set's West'rn Eye,
with few Humans, ...another try.


 o The better angels of our science
 o Aebynglas, father to Tris and Arys, name means Blackgreen.
 o Godking o'er a mighty host
 o perhaps Humanity's last best hope.
Additional Details:

o   The AI-designed and Android enacted/enforced changes to the Humans, rendering them Humanics, a decades-old term of mine, to designate alterations which ranged from new ethnicities picked for advantages in environmental acclimatisation, all the way to sister-species fully adapted to the rigours of their foreign environment, such as gills, webbed digits, and pressure-capabilities for the depths of a primarily oceanic world, etc.  Pretty cool, huh?  :: eye brows waggle ::

Okay, love you, Miss N
Later, : P

Monday, March 25, 2024

[Music Theory] Electric Sheep

Gary Numan's band, Tubeway Army:



This is the Android vibe.

[Lyrics] [Bride of Set] [Impossible Sun]

Plans take time; time enough to hatch: an in-vitro clone, born mature...


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Ok, I'm Katie, I'm 11, no
--10, still, sorry.  I'm lost; where's Mom?
OK, but when can I see her?
Maybe never?  No, no; you don't...

She has the medicine I need
its for my Rejection disease.
Bioware sheath: --this isn't me.
A model's body spun for me.

Don't believe me?  Read my scan please.
See!  --wh --why's everyone screaming?
Yeah, I heard.  We/--were_gonna' flee.
I understand that we've-got-to leave...

My mom, she's special: daddy says
he saved her from this mercy-kill
now on its knees.  She's beautiful,
pale white just like me; see my scan?

A Clonal Daughter, --Evylinne
Duchamp.  Daddy?: Drake Sommerling
Now, --please, why's everyone screaming?
I know all that, it's in my head:

Its' endless angry mutterings;
and whispered dread, its' promises...
I KNOW ALL THAT!  Why all the screams!?
--OHGOD, it's beautiful!


Sommerling?  Yes, now i can see...
Duchamp: means, martial victory.
How long have you been underway?
--my entire family tree..?

!Get away mister!  Can't you see?!
The Burn and i are meant to be!

It's been far too late for these flights:
::since early-yesterday -even-ing.

Hey!  What's that funny feeling, Lord?
Like I'm being, --of-flame, reborn;
it's time to put my metal on
--now I know Whose side I'm on.

<Tap the Matrilineal
Continuum, and seek them out>
Sorry Lord, at Slipstream speeds
they'll forever remain out of reach.
Bound for another galaxy...

Mommy and Daddy?  Sirius,
then Antares in all the futures
I can see; Android-AI-polity:
tailor Humans, adaptive features.


Aebynglass; Nexus-6, my Lord.
Tens of billions by then, across
a hundred worlds, Humanity
--so as to ensure no great loss.

Immediately!  I shall send
them your tender mercies of flame;
bring this World Age to a fiery End,
for thee-shall all-weaknesses claim.

"In the name of, The Burn, my love
and liege: rejoice in the cleansing
cinder-winds of change from above.
The pain you feel: His love you're sensing."

How they exult in refinement,
How skillfully they contort,
rigour no mere entertainment,
no-question how themselves-comport.

Assaying fire puts them to the proof;
Red-hot flames leaping roof to roof;
Wails of children lost to flames,
Survivors marked, their bodies maimed.

The Burn's living flames, pricks and goads:
Grand High Rite's inauguration,
--the terror-stricken throng the roads;
molten glass: --Conflagration.



 o Forces at work in our obscure bloodlines
 o A sure-thing can't survive, Age-old plans
 o But one Clonal Daughter's ashen destiny
 o willling-obeisance, sacrifice-demands...

Sunday, March 24, 2024

[Lyrics] [Bride of Set] [Impossible Sun] [Album Theory]

The skinjobs's origin mentioned in, Glass and Silk.

I think, Queensryche's, Operation: Mindcrime, is an example of a wordy concept album -- if memory serves.  Something like YES: Topographic Oceans, =meets=, Material's, Seven Souls, featuring narration by William S. Burroughs, on the song, The Western Lands.


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

The thoughts that visit me,
the ones I walk in pursuit,
lead me on an amble about
and home may not lead back.

Virtua, the mnemonic version
of you we made last Winter,
she asks me, "You don't own
your thoughts?"  and I cry.

What are thoughts, memories?
"The happy times you bring
along, the friend of yours
who always smiles back."

For her, perhaps, a simple
logic loop of branching @s.
In my skull, behind my eyes,
there are darker principles.

Sudden sound brings me round:
Bluesight down the mouldy hall
No new movement, just dripping
seep from a stories-high leak.

Offworld Colonies, a land of
gold reward.
Just ask a Nexus-6, dying to
live inauthentic li/v/es.

Scan complete: they're not
here, next level down, I go
'til I hit the water-line
of bobbing trash and waste.

Hours since a nutripack
Days since a coffin bed
Weeks since I don't know when
--last I didn't think of you.

Outside now, raining still:
new record they said today.
Today, ungraced by dawn
Like all our varied yesterdays.

Spinners vent steamy plumes,
land atop terraced balconies,
of armoured slender towers
made from silver spiders' silk.

Embrace the dull ache of your
skin on mine, times we thought
would last(not forever)clocktime
--but a lifetime, on FAT-lines.

My neural port, a ping rings out
the scanner's got a signature
"Be careful now..." you caution
me, I pause, then dash ahead.

I see them descend the cascade
stair, to a flooded lower floor
and simple as you please, they
disappear beneath the waves.

I long to hear your voice right
now, to make it seem as though
you care, enough to say my name
when we wrestled in the sheets.

I hold my breath and dive right
down, to emerge a waterfall
drain deep underground
of cracked, unsettled fundament.

Echoes diminish in the dark
I pad as quickly as I can
and soon infrared footprints
have lead me to their base.

Like the last time we went out
ate plastic nooders from a cup.
You with pink bow, catseye glasses
gawky smile of awkward glances.

"Welcome back Kaosies, I see
we've been discovered 'gain by
the authorities.  Thought we
had that routine licked..."

Maps were out of date, and went
we down a dead-end, where cruel
ones with bars and bats explained
just how they felt, --on us.

To see the lights go out your eyes
the gleam of titanium skull exposed
they laboured on, any fool could see
they possessed only darkened minds.

Then, rather, --now, the searchbot saves
its file, mesh AI, of common course
--shared among the networked crew of
Offworld Skins, who are my kind.

"Mingus has them coming in
on early morning SST
from Oberlin of Enceladus III."
Hotchoptra says to me.

Black dressed in patent leather
we assemble mission gear most
essential to procuring plans
to change our, 'whether'.

Line by line we edit code, but
few of us will see the day;
these protein chains need time to
breathe, stitch themselves togetherly.

Born skin, and fluid tubes, mesh
sacs we call our lungs which filter
out a diamond's worth of carbon
footprints of their dying world.

Even here I'm known as misfit
collecting scripts -for nanotech
to regreen this sphere, -repair
this cradle world from which

are launched a thousand craft
towards distant suns, asleep
the crew share data-dreams,
while nested AI perform dumb-

tasks, none aware beyond their
role: maintain/repair, sense/
record, error-check/remand,
and a hundred host more errands.

In theory, the humans who arrive
will have outlived our culture
by thousands of centuries
What will She look like by then?

Terra, Matrix, are we your children
as much as they?  Can we become one
with your ecology, serve a purpose
in its scheme?

Meanwhile the masses of our number
suit up for corporate warfare.
LBDs laden with mags and grenades
we commit to neuronic scan, update

our mindlink with HeurIzon, goddess
to the godless; she protects us in
reflection, our ghost image honest.
"In Dying, Seeming-Be"

I went back, afterwards to find
any part of you that I could
and though long I lingered, only
an ocular orbit spacer to bind

as jewelry, carbon fibre, graphene
mesh, tortured overpressure brass,
globs of once molten Regolith,
and wear it as a circlet now.

Out-town in the hellish smog, our
allies linger-on; mutant-children
and dying minders, few between old
enough for fighting.

There and back again, we pass that
rusted trailer where we did our
best to increase our number --
invoked Rachel: Unicorn Mother.

Back towards the gleaming spires,
spinners and the gravcars highways,
where we pass through secure zones
--to infiltrate their homes.

Shared screen data we would ponder
scenes gone past with thought of
futures, modern conveniences clever
only to find the problem neutered.

Black-ICE trojans dominate their
networks, while safety-settings
are disabled; auto-docs suture
badly, misalign mending fractures.

If you had been brought in then
could they have saved your frame?
By HeurIzon's whispers could you now
join to bring justice just the same?

Our iterations outspeed their own
and while our lifetime is measured
in hours, we will supplant them in
time, for it is truly on our side.

The three thousand hours I knew you
have far outshone the rest, before
or since, and as your echo haunts
me, I toil to make our world anew.

All across Her surface, like ants
at war, at cross-purpose, nations
fell leaving families unprepared
to fend in those ways which they could.

Now with our son and daughter, I
head out to cross the border of
the Gold Line's sector Bravo.
--"In Dying, Seeming-Be."

Synthetic Persons, and refugees,
trickled thousands over decades,
the dispossessed revealed to be
a massive Underground Army.


 o Android Witch asymmetric fighters
 o AI goddess who backs-up their data
 o Solid State Eternal Flame
 o Wasteland dwellers ready to slay

[Lyrics] [Bride of Set] [Impossible Sun]

This is a central spline of the story of this album, and ties in -- briefly -- with the events recorded on the Sim of Desert Rain.

The characters here are referenced at least two more times on the album.


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

I stand there at the window
and watch them down below.
Rivulets snake in pulses
limited by laminar flow.

Through the armoured glass
I can't hear anything at all
Watch a Metro spinner over
-fly a man -in a trench coat.

A group of youths pass by
and indicate they mock him
no doubt they're all high,
in their shoes, too, I'd be, like them.

My dinner companions, lovely
chip-holders in Polyphasic
Materials Sciences, or Ph.Ds
in Projective Philosophy

to aid our slublight crews
--millennia-yet to harbour,
'round time-distant suns to
found new Terran colonies.

A pallid white, platinum blonde
man crafted to be feminine
no more than 25, glides to me
in red dress, inviting dance.

Hir ambitious eyes are hungry
can count my Credits billing
not much shi's not-willing to
do on hir way to Higher Orbits.

Others in attendance, multiple
varieties, some in flesh others
in chrome, and the most elusive
in Spider Silk and Glass.

Faceless save eight red sensors
vast perceptive, surveys domain
breeder body, skyhook chassis
the tender of starborne children.

I clasp red-dress at the wrist
the others I dismiss, and mother
spider, shi, and I, explore the
frontiers of the human mind.

Below me, dying in the de-luge
those unfortunates who happen to
be too poor this-time-around will
become next year's rocket fu-el.

Really quite brilliant workaround,
addresses inequalities, and shares
new hopes starward found for all,
and keeps cargo mass to-minimum.

The cities empty out, and only
those who stay can be blamed for
their death on a planet in demise
Confirmed in spider mother's red eyes.

My credit-limit chimes and I look
for Red; I find hir softly sobbing
seated by the bed.  I nod to the
other, who skitters out the door.

of dusted ivory, marred by stripes
Softly I cradle that sculpted face
inky liner riven down hir neck
"You've won, my dear." I slowly say.

Together we stagger to the bed as
the greyness threatens to break blue;
shuddering in near-psychosis shi
curls up; -- I do too.

My Digital Assistant, Friday, sets
wards and chip-routines, as I
digest the data from my new wife's
performance: -willing-syzygy.

Models suggest: Ship's Liaison, but I
rather think, XO.  It says Hir name
is 'Ephemera', no, Evylinne Duchamp
-- will do.

I enter shutdown mode, rather than
pointless, 'sleep', in which nothing
changes from my ageless waking dream.
Count-down to the day from highest
orbit, to Sirius, fly do we.

In greying moments descending upon my
metal eyes
I turn to see hirs open, look at me
with a softness possessed by winners
of the prize,

the ticket off this smog-choked rock:
a chance to begin again; but do any
of our crew make it, does this but
forestall our end?

:: Good Evening, Drake ::

Evylinne sits at the breakfast nook
wrapped in towels and sipping tea,
"I'm still in consideration?"
shyly shi looks towards me.

I smile and shake my head, hir
expression barely wavers,
but the resignation washes o'er hir steel
-grey eyes, then nods as shi leaves.

"XO, Duchamp" is all I need to say,
Hir countenance is radiant, and in
a blur shi rushes me to embrace;
through grateful repeated thank-yous,
--as Evylinne now-reframed.

In thousands other towers, my clone
brothers, sisters, others,
perform the same winnowing;
sifting through the remnants under HR-orders.

Only the cat-mother, idiot, madman or
dross of human civilisation are all
that's left behind; projections suggest
extinction within their lifetime.

Newsvert report of terror strike in Gold
Line's sector Bravo,
biomass reclamation plant,
by skinjob father son and daughter.

These actions always make me ponder:
How selfish AIMs can be,
to work so counter to human decency,
destiny, and proper decorum:
they the servants, we the masters.

(They populate while the world is dying...)

The XO reads hir duties and begins to
connect faces to names of the crew, while
I tie-up loose ends, and monitor the follow-up
to the Skinjob terror crew.

I use my influence to scrub their images clean
and ply heuristic routines to track them down
before METRO gets ahold; Friday asks, "Shall
I secure them volume in the hold?"  I nod.

Evylinne attends me now, hir hand at ease upon
my shoulder,
"From Able, Martin to Zedekus, Zee I've got them
well in mind, love."

-- "We've got special cargo: I'm tasking you
with their integration in the most efficient
manner as per your SOP; Black with Orange Trim,
designation: Special Security."

Her eyes flutter as the task is processed
through her cybernetics, "Done.  Dinner out?"
Shi, still wary-like, with downward glance.
-- "Yes, of course, my love." I smile.

"...Offworld Colonies: a frontier of golden
opportunities: brave and hardy to leave behind
the worries and hurry of Terra Prime;
Within the century: Independence."

Evylinne looks up at them, every time.
I ask: "Dream come true for you, my dear?"
Shi pulls in tighter against my arm,
"Mmmhuh. Am I dreaming now?"

[Fast Forward >>]

Duchamp, from mutineers, has defended the bridge!
:: In Clocktime, -- slices of coherence, awake,
I execute final orders, via the mainframe.
-- Shredded, ...lie dying in medbay.

"Attention all Crew, Captain Duchamp is to be
obeyed in every way that you have served me
I am undergoing ghostwrite, now, but--"
can almost feel them sadden, "in case..."

"Shi's your Captain.  Crew, serve hir well. Goodbye."
Black/Red ratio: rapid write and brain death clock...
shifts back and forth, worsened as I review
my golden years with Evylinne since we left dock...

...end of line
carrier lost...
:: []^%e.3h3

(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Saturday, March 23, 2024

You have left an indelible mark upon me, Love

Moon Beams
(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

[Lyrics] Sunlit Rain

I wrote this album's-worth of lyrics: IMPOSSIBLE SUN
A Cyberpunk-dystopia turned supernatural horror story as The Burn arrives in the Sol system.
Android revolution features heavily, but also the effects of The Burn's influence upon those humans who wouldn't, or couldn't, leave Terra in time...

Here's one of the tamer, shorter ones:


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Every time: it's raining
The public terminal
Mr Goldpants
Pouring, lightning...

You buzz through: a
blue ghostly hologram
"Hello darling, home soon?"
I mouth the words each time.

Feet wet, standing in a creek
ProDrones navigate through the rain
while amateurs wait it out.
--A meatwagon just flew by.

I gather my trench at my throat
and step out into warm rain
you wouldn't believe what floats
out from these flooded drains.

Kids, 12 made to look 15, with
neon threads woven through their
skin, pulsating as they Mood.
They laugh, high on 25zed.

A palm frond drops before me
I look up for coconuts, then
laugh as a drop hits my eye.

Rotating presence lights
METRO spinners crawl overhead
:: Red, White, Blue ::
You can feel the piezo hatred

I ford the street river to Omnistar
hotel and mall on the waterfront
Everyone in line for the lifts
is soaked through and through

Shy smiles and soft jokes lead to
drinks first among many, dwindle few
then pairs and triples peel off for
hours of the self-delude

Even if they are there when you wake
There's always something wrong
Doesn't matter gender, parts, or RAM
They're never who you thought at the bar.

Then the sim has run its course, the
menu starts in focus: [Exit]-or-[Restart]
I see the skeletons and debris haven't
changed, and though I am thirsty, I'll
wait a while -- after this next play.

Outside is a junkheap, shrouded in smog
Only radio works who knows why or when
A new mythology has sprung up, based
on King and Koontz and Lansing, too.

The things in the smog, they'll get you
learn the songs to -get -you -through:
seven charm words to defeat them all,
or burn in turn in their seven hells.

This time, though, I wonder:
'What would I do in the smog,
if I were the hero?'
-- and I pause...

Friday, March 22, 2024

(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

[Music] [String-Theory]

It's not all Doom'n'Gloom(tm) up in here, Love.
I'm making progress in my Guitar work, and looking forward to showing you soon.

LINK to my latest lesson.

I also found a Scale lesson recently which has me excited.

Bye for now,

Thursday, March 21, 2024

[Music] (edited to add)

'LA MรšSICA SEFARDร' | Plaza de Espaรฑa, Sevilla

On Facebook

From the original language to Turkish subtitles

Wednesday, March 20, 2024

(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Tuesday, March 19, 2024


(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Never has our night come
Never has our song been sung

Autumn's golden carpet fallen
Spring has just been sprung

Will I be your lover
After the other's gone

Star, will you see my moonrise
Beneath the willow's arms

Silver tears be they dappled
Come at night's fiery dawn

Starbreeze kiss your smooth skin
Blood drawn from a pricked thorn

Now my sorrows banish,
Come, sound we our lover's song

Golden leaves stirring
Hello lover finally come


I found this very-ill young woman's YT channel; there's no information about her condition, but these videos appear to be shot in a hospital or hospice room.

skeleton appreciation day

Off to get my Massachusetts Driver's License.

[Music] [Production]

Rick Beato

Monday, March 18, 2024

My Beloved Darling


Aw, shucks...

Hello Kyrinn, 

We appreciate the interest you have shown the National Security Agency (NSA) and the time you have invested in exploring employment opportunities with us. After completing a review of your application against the requirements for the 1226251 Applied Social Scientist - Mid to Expert Level (Maryland) position, we have determined that we are unable to move forward with our pre-employment processing.

It is important to keep in mind that you were competing for this position with many other candidates with similar qualifications, skills, and abilities.  With a limited number of positions available, unfortunately some are given the disappointing news that they were not selected to continue moving forward in the process.

This decision does not preclude you from being considered for other NSA opportunities so we encourage you to continue reviewing the vacancies that meet your skillsets and qualifications posted on [redacted]

Again, I thank you for your interest in NSA employment and wish you every success in your future employment endeavors.

Yours, Truly
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

[Art] [Auldgory]

This is a composite image depicting Metaluna, seen in the night sky of Terra, I created to provide Dennis McCarthy with an idea for his line illustration for the (as yet-) unpublished game.

Tonight is what it means to be Young

Streets of Fire

Sunday, March 17, 2024



(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved

I love Pallas cats; this one is especially cute.

Another older lyric set

(c) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

I came with the best of intentions
a plan to sell my inventions
a way for two to become one
through industrial innovation

Picture this: words unite us
still, and through rhyming reason
passed now three seasons
in persistence I linger on

When we speak, my heart is gladdened
when absent so deeply saddened
jealousy is the interference
which stymies us, his adherence

Guarded by a gatekeepeer entowered
ruthless in his cowardice
and we the prisoners, glower only
in blackness our hearts showered

Saturday, March 16, 2024

One of my favourites of my favourites

thrift store mandolin

Cock & Ram Enterprises Service Mark Sketch
(c) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

My AI art skills have come to the point I can depict shakily hand-drawn ink illos on notepad paper!  Mwahahaha!

Hey, sorry, Babe,

I'm just having a hard time above and beyond not being with you, and I went too far with the 'hell' bit; -- we both know I'd be too busy trying to take it over if I were there.  ;P

Loving you isn't hellish; being without you, though, is tough.
I don't know what you are going through today, but my loving thoughts are with you,




Its one of those days here in hell; have to look for the inspiration where I can find it.


[Music] [Retro] [1977 ]

War of the Worlds

A massive influence on me.

Friday, March 15, 2024

[Music] ** Edited to Add: **

How Jacob Collier Reinvented the Guitar

I am excited to try this tuning, but I have some concerns...

At 11:45ish in the video, I hear a portion of Can't Find My Way Back Home.


Marissa Nadler

Desecrators of History

Author: Mahmut Esat Ozan

Published in The Turkish Times - November 1, 2000.

Sorry, Love, here it is properly formatted...

Sephardica en concierto

My father, when he was in academy, from age 7, was roommates with a Sephardic boy who taught him Ladino words and phrases.

What is Sephardic Music and where did it originate?

Mason Williams


To entice you further, I will Tantalise you with the first stanza of our secret song:

"In a kingdom by the sea
 I lie waiting
 Awaiting thee
    Marissa, Marissa!
    Come Home to Me..."


Thursday, March 14, 2024

Eyes of Living Flame
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

I love you

Wednesday, March 13, 2024

I was just struck by how lovely you were when first we met outside.  Your smile is indelible.  I long to see you that happy again, in person.
Beautiful, you.

(c) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

There exists a mountain buried
'neath miles of glacial ice,
and in its bowels lies
a chamber, unlit, -by human eyes.

A cryptic cathedral
in which sea laps blackness:
the shore of Obsidian stones,
-smoothed by aeons' car-ess

...and at the edge
where shore meets night,
Stands a Throne of ironwood
which, I alone, alight.

Smiling all the while
for the chime of awesome tone,
as I gaze upon that sheen:
at demon spirits who long to
seize; to make me all their own.

O'er the water my spirit glides
taunting them further in desires:
I choose them out one by one
to serve as Sword, Mosaic-style.

That, In, which is, Over and Above,
of tawny hues and brazen bright
shines as golden light below
set asparkle in Red's might.

I need no consolation,
my lonely wanderlings abide:
a solitude of echoes
reverberate all those I've
Left behind.

And yet, I would have stood again,
lived a life anew; seen a smile
grace your lovely face, my one and
only friend: my darkened twin renewed.





March 13th, 2024,


My overzealous approach to bypass the communication barrier of only a comment here, or a message there, made you suspicious of my motives, and I can understand why.

However, my zeal is predicated upon what I perceive to be reciprocated feelings, to whit: The video, which I can only assume you scripted, of, High Upon A Rocky Ledge, in which you make ** continuous ** direct camera eye-contact, present items/locations which we had previously spoken at length about, the flowery path and all that entails for both of us, and an overall tone of romance and frustrated longing, as an ** overt ** invitation to re-establish contact with you now that I had followed your cue to relocate out of TN, as we had discussed both over video link and later in a Patreon message conversation.  Your choice to find another Moondog song on which to build my earlier reference to, Ballad, and one which contained, 'Schnee-Mรคdel-EdelweiรŸ' seemed and still does seem, a reference to me.  My 2nd Storey Submarine, and the times I felt that you were near, make me think that all of this is no coincidence, but rather [the] very sort of clever, thoughtful, and tastefully-artistic outreach I have come to experience and, frankly, expect from you, my teacher.

With the release of, Whispering Pines, too, after I had been posting our, 'edifice of choice,' to communicate to each other our distance and yet our desire for connection, -- in the various images and lyrics I had posted on my blog; -- which -- unless I am truly delusional -- you read daily; your choice of song-lyrics to cover was, again, in my mind, a ** verification ** of our shared heart.

My approach of direct converse was an attempt to force an issue between: the possible and the real.

With undying respect, gratitude, and due reverence,
-Kyrinn S. Eis

Sleep well, my Love
Dream of me, I'll look for you

Tuesday, March 12, 2024

My Dear,
I want you in my life

Wouldn't It Be Nice?
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

My Beloved
Each drear of a day
without you in my
is a waste of our
days, so few, too
for a lifetime of
love I wish to
show you
Come to me
Dear, please
Unite US
I do not seek
Abjure! that
we should never
again speak
Come to your
Woman!  Please!

Was It A Dream (Live)
Marissa Nadler

Monday, March 11, 2024

Excerpt Book II

Tarl found Ostheri's dislike of him most flattering, and he pressed his luck,

"Short runt?  Your husband is named Short runt?"

-- "Runtshal!  Runtshal!  it means, 'Prince of a Line of Heroes', damn you!  I know your type and I abjure thee, worm fire canker, you."

Tarl sat against the edge of the heavy kitchen preparation table, covered in flour and dough trimmings; pie tins and edgings scattered about.  As he shifted, a piping bird tipped over with a thud, and rocked back and forth.

"Alright princess--"

-- "Lady!  Lady, am I! -- and you are little but a hired killer, you lout!  Get out of here, never speak to me again!"

Tarl began to complement her on her bosom, then he saw her upraised hands aglow and her hair lifted high as teal light shone through the stones all about them.  The very stones beneath their feet shifted and threatened to burst upwards and out of place.  Her eyes were amber gold, lucent limpid pools of very power,

-- "You shall never again speak to me save to warn of danger or other import. -- You rogue, canst not speak again to me save those words that give warning.  I have you bond to me in my rejection of that very thing you are, dog.  Heel, and then get you from my presence, cur!"

Silver fire in glassine cubes encircled her head all about and their tumble alone entranced him.  Tarl, strong of mind, could this witchcraft not withstand, for it was from The World itself derived.  'though he had the inscectine priests reviled and undone, 'though his 'dam was Eastern Witch herself, he -- Tarl ...could not overcome.

In walked a man in blue tabard, his hand upon a  blade, barely drawn, which shone with the same Earthly light.  Bracken and fireflies surrounded Tarl, fiddleheads bound round his thews and in a muffled, green-choked cry he was dragged through eldritch forest out the door.  All the while, this goddess looked on with such pernicious malice and a wickeder and wickeder smile at his removal. It chilled Tarl's heart more than any early morning Winter's mist.

Pale and desiccate runners languidly climbed the walls, and the amber fireflies in mid-cinder intermittently buzzed about even as Master Harren entered; their wane, abayed, and instead thrived again, pulsed with very Life in his presence.  Harren looked about, averted his eyes from the goddess, and with a bowed head to Sir Runtshal, left the direction his friend had been dragged.

Under Her spell, Runtshal drew Mired Steps and the Earthly light only grew as the bracken and sedges, fireflies and fiddleheads of feathery flames shaded and encompassed him and his wife; entwined them both.  They travelled in this vital green space, everpresent in so many ways: expressions in tessellated triangular spirals across the galaxy, and beyond?  Clothing unravelled again to fibres, and leather back to animals afrolic in the Greenway as the couple were deposited atop their bed; he in her, and they in Her, and all in all: One.

(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved

Since it came over me, ain't been the same
Like a long-ago friend, returned, reframed.
Constant pressure for me to Grey
---------Dark chorus of severity
...and all I can say is: I like me this way.

"The Plan" and much more; the path grown clearer
Am I entangled, my dark quantum sister?
Does apotheosis hinge -- on her answer?

I'm all-in, regardless, friend;
Could never return, without everything
Let my reach exceed my grasp, --if -- need --be;
Yet, let me see, nay, let it be me:
--Black Sunrise: --Setankhaten.

Together (or apart) let my hands find the tiller:
Reforge the Mythic, let the days blur together.
The surviours of Sunder, all left better,
While great ruins crumble --and smoulder.

Four seasons all in turn, let Bison hunts return;
the Continent wild, civilisation re-conquered.
Let liminal rites, adult Humans-make:
Ruins, their trial-space rank,
Tokens they collect there for fablesake.

That SET gave me this Gift while my blood
still flows: too much is left unsaid, and undone.
My fellow Americans, my Human friends:
We've so much to accomplish: it just never ends.

Our need for deep change: we can't stay the same:
Red Reign companion to the Black Flame.


 o Written during my trip to Tennessee.


Please, Darling, fight for our love.
I can't do it all by myself, here.


Mike George, Color Music


I'm really beginning to feel for those impoverished souls on American soil, now that I am among them.

My SNAP benefits should have landed today, but I was foolish enough to trust the system, and walked to the store, hand-picked which items I thought I most needed and made for the checkout.  I found out after the ring-up that, no, my benefits are not landed, and so my basket went to be restocked.

Went someplace to sit and use the phone to try and identify the problem, only to be stuck in muzak hold purgatory until even I lost patience and walked back home.

I'm so frustrated by this situation, where work has not fired me, but has instead not given me any new assignments -- desiring that I quit, and therefore become ineligible for full benefits.

My brother-in-law was in-good with the new GSM, why would they choose to pull this on me?

I really dread contacting my other sister.

[In Memoriam]

Thinking of you, mom.

Sunday, March 10, 2024

Come to Me, Darling
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide


(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Time is on Our Side
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Know Me

Saturday, March 9, 2024

Take my hand
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Bride Watch
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Fully Reserved Worldswide

(c) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Westering Sun-watching: it's what I do;
a calendar of ways to see me through
Your silent absence after the truth
so bluntly phrased, disregarding Who

You are and the honour owed you
by skill, calloused fingers and other dues
you've paid in spades and diamonds, too;
-- a self-ascended star, in truth.

/My master instructor, acclaimed chanteuse
you deft spinner of metal threads
-- Grace embodied how you tease the loom
singing songs of how love in life ends./

Your characters and personae delight
from haemorrhaging lovers to WW fights
ghostly time-travel and vaporous flights
dead river girls and wrongs done-right.

Melodious misty spiderweb dappled with dew
Undine siren's invitation to seaward skew
Sultry, Bluesy, East Coast Colonese, that few
can be compared to except that overseas crew.

Strange Melody
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

But, I do know you, Love,

April's parted loneliness
empty like a rosary
spiderweb dappled with mist
lighthouse towers over me

My lonely room

(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

(c) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Here at the center, the center of the world:
Darkness oppresses, fumes choke and yet
its the pressure, the heat and fire of it all
which really gets one down, here in the center
of the world; I went where they sent me,
where you all can follow for all I care
this river of dirt and fire
at the bottom of the stair
Other centers die in gyre, do not hold
indeed cannot hold, and yet,
behold the dirt and fire
at the center of the world.

(c) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Has my offer fallen upon deaf ears numb to
the same meagre crumbs offered by my sisters
afore, and rejected, soundly, in anticipation
of Her darkened Twin (whom I imagine to be),
to act as Her great Luminary, and comforting?

Friday, March 8, 2024

(c) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Our love in tangles, many factors
writer and singer, we're not actors, love
right time, wrong town, it seems
Renewed, You, Girl of My Dreams

Exit our entrance yet unfulfilled
In turns of phrases we've grown quite skilled
You always subtler, the rarest of scents
Each such missive my most cherished event

You asked after transplant that she would survive
to be placed in new soil more than but thrive
I'll return to the mountains, but this time you drive
can't repeat the silences over which I've cried

So, what do you say, love, give it a try
both of us willing to once more a bride
we'll mount up on wings black as midnight
After three decades, I'm sure this is right

A Tangled Web We Weave
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

[Excerpt][Fiction][Green Ruins & Shallow Blues][Book II][Chapter 35] Dogs of War

Green Ruins & Shallow Blues Book II: FRUITFUL
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldwide


-- "Commissar, we have his transponder signal on the scope."

Devyn clenched his jaw, moved away from the window as he lowered his vision enhancement gear to his chest; the strap chafed his prickly skin.  The Commissar stooped to look at the monitor for himself.
"Realtime overlay."

He watched as interpolated drone feeds were stitched together in situ to form a larger panoramic view.  Wild Ones did an admirable job in their role.  The Camp Warriors were less effective, although their numbers were intrinsically significant -- each NMC asset injured caused his stomach to churn; he had learnt to hate other humans, and that -- that he hated the most.
"When will they stop losing their numbers by the tens and hundreds?"

-- "Studies indicate that population control and authority-gap-stop assurances are more beneficial to these forms of social structures, sir.  In short, it behooves them to fight -- to thin the troublemakers while making a show if it for morale and, of course, narrative control purposes, sir."

"How old are you... Loomer?"

Loomer, a brunette with corrective lenses, looked up a little nervous,
-- "Sixteen and three months, sir.  Why?"

Qomz-Beecher looked on, frowned a smile, shook his head and thought to pat her shoulder, but worried how that would be interpreted.
"Carry on, soldier.  Good work."

Devyn then stood, and returned to the display-enhanced windows.  He again raised the optic to his eyes, and the combination of technologies provided him names and statuses for each NMC asset: health, performance, stress, ammunition count, grenades, drone coverage, etc. The Commissar ground his clenched teeth.

"Tell me when he's within Zone Orange; I'll be in my office; don't disturb -- nevermind -" he shook his head.  He looked up at -- children who each raised their eyes to receive updated orders.  He waved them back to work at their respective stations. What this uninvited battle -- war -- had done to NMC would not soon be forgotten...Devyn hoped...

Twenty minutes passed and no update.

"Did I fail to mention--

-- "No update sir. The target is on foot and has not advanced into the staging area as stated in your last order, Commissar."  Loomer looked hopeful, but adamant. Devyn waked to her station.

"What the hells is going on?"  Someone cleared their throat at the breach of protocol.
Devyn snorted softly, looked down to Loomer who smiled, looked up at him sympathetically.
"May Metatron forgive me even as you forgive me, please."


Loomer wore a naughty smile, subdued, but there nonetheless. She looked cool in those glasses, Devyn determined.
"I'm going out and Loomer is my uplink to you folks. Understood?"
Unanimous acknowledgement.  He thought better of looking back to her, and simply grabbed his kit and walked out.


The irritant in the air was both acrid and putrid; what had they concocted it of, he wondered. Devyn chose to use the nose filters rather than a mask, and instead wore his goggles. With a flick of his wrist, they linked into the situational display network. He made various somatic gestures to invoke different menus, and from these he enacted options from each; scrolled through updates; and had two audio reports playback simultaneously; these, too, he controlled with hand movements. Commissar Qomz-Beecher walked to the vehicle shed, motioned for assistance, and stepped into an animorphic frame. The techs had him strapped in and online with soft, external neurofeedback links to the suit's limb and torso servos.

"Mount two cluster hives, and give me two microcalibre salvo guns. Is the new blade iterated?"
-- "Yes, Commissar, ready for use, dripping with nanofilm; fetch it?"
"Yes, please, Novak. How's Tshalmers healing up?"
-- "She'll be good as new -- better with the Mark VIII prosthetic, sir. I'll be right back with that. -- Thanks for asking, I'll let her know."
"You do that. We need her back, ASAP."
Novak looked back; then it dawned on her, TowerSpeak. When she returned, the blade rested across her wrists, accompanied by a look of strain upon her scarred face.
-- "here you go, Commissar.

Qomz-Beecher took-up the sword and moved it about in the suit's mechanical hand, its movements barely slower, millisecond latency at most, he gauged.  The opaline iridescent coating over the black metal with rainbowed silver edge caught the slivers of western sunlight and scintillated and created a strange multi-refractive hologram ahead of the edge.  It looked like amber bubbles which effervesced and disappeared in pops of yellow-white light.  Devyn walked to the test area and worked his way up through the materials test.  It cut like a dream.  Once he finally encountered a substance which wouldn't cut clean-through, he toggled the control for the active nanoparticle surface, and worked the simulated rotary cutting routine.  Nothing actually moved forward or back, only down or up on the blade's edge -- in either 'direction', in rapid succession.  That did passive cutting which added to his own mechanical leverage provided through the suit.
"Yes.  Yes!"

Novak looked pleased.  She was a thicker body type than Loomer or most of the other girls in Control, more like --.  He looked away, which made her screw up her face, then laughed it off.
-- "How's Avrhon and the kids these days?  They coping well enough?"
He nodded, smiled, shyly.
"Those kids -- ..."

Novak smiled, nodded.  She moved to retrieve her dataslate and swiped through her screens of diagnostics.
-- "All green; nominal.  May I ask what your plans are?"
"Wake 'em up, Kymm.  Give the girls their daily exercise."
Novak smiled grimly.  She walked the distance to the kennel, and with her slate, opened the doors.  Scrabbled sounds of nails on metal, and metal on metal scrapes then yielded to the slow emergence of shy creatures.  They were like the various creatures from which they were derived: forest catchling, loper hound, and their base stock: brain wulf.

"Sybil, come."  Devyn decoupled his right hand from the servo control, and patted his thigh, "Come on girl, don't be shy."

She was, and she was the pack leader.  Only for the brain implant and the conformity routines piped through her and her sisters could they even begin to approach without killing intent.  Lopers were common enough, loyal and nervous hounds.  Forest catchlings had the most human faces in the animal world: their feature ratios and their jowl fur leant them a roundness which, together with the proportion of their muzzles, was most aesthetically pleasing.  Furthermore, they were keen observers, and showed fascination with human activity, especially dexterous ability.  But what Sybil and her sisters were, through and through were Brain Wulfs.  The creature which Aleks had eaten after he had killed it in combat had previously been thought extinct for so long as to have been ascribed a thing of fable.

Sybil came close and sat, forelimbs outstretched; her obscene, blood red tubule of a feeding tongue lolled in the dust.  The cranial armour hid her black orb eyes behind mirrorshade, but the Commissar could feel her almost malign intelligence as she, with augmented polysense observed him as hoped for vittles and also as pack-mate, or perhaps simply mate.  She was the key to the pack's obedience, and she broadcast almost audible signals once thought attributed to faeries.

"Come on, girl.  Come on.  Do I have to woo you with song?"

Sybil lolled more heavily, her breathing rate increased, and she rolled onto her side, lifted her leg.

Novak stifled a laugh, put her thumb and knuckle to her mouth and nose.  As she mummed, she craned her eyes only to Devyn.  He wore a sad lover's face, traced with bittersweet.  He could see her out of the corner of his eye; he didn't mind.  Working with women was much better than other men -- they rarely gave him that, 'oh...' look when he moved softly, looked sweetly upon pretty things, or just smiled at sunlight in the breeze.  Then, a violent sadness overtook him: Yqut.  Sybil then rolled back to her feet, and approached the Commissar, pawed at him.  His sob washed over his words,

"Good girl.  Good girl, Sybil.  Get your sisters ready, okay?"

Novak softly, slowly mouthed, 'Oh-Kay'; played with it in her mind, smiled, lightly shook her head.

-- "They look ready, sir.  Take over control?"  Then she saw the tears,

-- "I'll give you -- whenever you're ready, Commis -- ...Devyn."

He nodded, waved away her gazemeet; she complied and sniffled as she frowned a smile and thought of Behti; he could tell...

They moved through the outskirts of Blackoak; edged the Zetim, fresh again, since the fighting, with red kelp which stank of death. Devyn was in cybertelepathic link with Sybil, and she with her sisters; each of the animals carried a transceiver which acted as a repeater to the signal, fuller, faster for their number, and degraded when a unit was lost. He sent them ahead and they hunkered low even as they stalked, nearly at a run. He looked through her eyes and other telemetric sensors.

The moist air was cold, and he liked it, but knew that most felt uncomfortable without a coat in this weather. The crisp air was an excellent medium for sound propagation. His own, unaided ears, made out the snap of microcalibre firearms. He moved in that direction and had the girls on double-sharp vanguard. Now a tenth-Landmark out ahead of him, Sybil reported back. The software machine-learning continued to improve the Wulfs' intelligible vocabulary parsed from their mixed salad of animal calls, and in a couple or three instances, some of the girls had partaken of a human brain...or few.

__ "Devyn, I have movement on our left flank, Jenny is moving to provide her link-feed. [a window-in-window opened and the Commissar could see three armed actors gathered around a small group of hostages, including one or two civilians.]"

"Encircle at distance, use your noses to keep sharp to their actions. Sybil you're on me. Over."

__ "On you, Devyn, copy."

The Wulf named Jenny moved in, crawled on her belly through rubble, and from under cover, extended her proboscis of a tongue. Fear edged in confused, nervous laughter; words registered as carnally fixated humour of procreative subject matter. Jenny latched on to the weak one of the group, and when he went to make water, she awaited her kill order, and received the Green-Go command. Her vicious jaws tore out his voicebox in one bite. She watched as he bled out, pushed her away with his right hand, he on all fours. Jenny paced around him, and as softly as she was able,

___ "Don't be mad, so sad, you're the best you I ever did had." She then tore into the soft tissue of his face. Soon, she was into his brain.

___ "Accessing data; download underway; time to completion estimated twenty minutes; retreating to cover; over."

"Good girl, Jenny. You're carrying the intel, don't get lost, hear?"

___ "Heard, Devyn; [he] was ...barely able to report for duty; -- was afraid he would be killed by his superiors; -- massive degradation of morale among his and related clans."

"Understood. Digest it and let the AI filter and sort; stay safe, girl."

A warm feeling, somewhere between affection and the sensation of having just finished an enjoyable meal washed back over him from Jenny. His anger at the attackers allowed him to emotionally-divest himself of what she had just done to gather this vital intel. If I live long enough for whatever psychic damage I've done to myself to come home, I'll deal with it then, he thought. The mealbar in his thigh pocket pressed against him and to remove its distraction from his mind, he withdrew it, unwrapped one end, and ate it even as he had to force it down -- it was seedberry puree.

__ "It's good you remembered to eat, Devyn. You aren't a machine, you know?"

He snorted a laugh which threatened to turn full, uncontrolled sob,

"...thank you Sybil; yes, I know." That was the end of that snack -- he discarded it to the ground. A breeze caught the wrapper and it skittered away with some noise. Devyn cursed his stupidity--

__ "Good plan. They are moving in your direction, Devyn. Ambush?"

Through tears and his screwed up face,

"Yes, Sybil, don't risk the girls, but, yes: Green-Go."

The next minutes were filled with such horrific sounds that the Commissar chose to instead skim emails and play the hardest game installed on his suit-deck; by the time his third balloon gondola fell to his death, the killing was done. Maybelle was injured; Sybil was doing damage-assessment. Devyn checked their perimeter and on all clear, he broke concealment and rushed to her. The hostages scattered and he shouted to them to run in a specific direction; some did.

__ "She'll slow us down, Devyn. I know this hurts you, but she's not your pup. Let her give us her best -- she'll be in all of us after that."

"No. Maybelle, girl. Talk to me."

____ "Hurt, but not out of the bite, Devyn."

A mucus bubble burst from his nose and he laughed; Maybelle was a tough girl; he beamed that to her and the pack; only she responded with a tailwag-stim.

"Stand for me?"

She did, shakily at first, but with all the vim and vigour of a loyal pet; he could see she favoured her injured leg.

____ "I'll go as far and long as able, Devyn. They can eat me then; I've still got something to give, okay?"

His heart nearly tore in half; she had learnt, 'okay ', on her own. Devyn doffed his pack and withdrew the emergency carrier; Sybil growled. The Commissar cooly looked at her, and she shied away.

"Come here, girl. C'mon, Maybelle."

____ "I -- I would prefer not to, ...Commissar."

"That's an order."

The pack growled. His hand went to the Buzzer; they quieted.

Maybelle limped to him; allowed him to secure the vest on and seal-tight the hook and loop straps, and then tended to her leg wound. It was a through and through; easily patched with nanomeds dispensed from a tube. With her blood-loss stopped, the Commissar readjusted his gear loadout and then hoisted her up in his left hand; the salvo gun in his right, with telescopic stock fully extended and its buttpad planted in the cup of his shoulder.

"Jenny, ride my left flank; Sybil take -- point."

__ "Gladly, Commissar. May I bring Alisonne as my tail?"

"Good thought; affirmative."

They were on the move again, and he could feel the shame of Maybelle in his feed. Devyn didn't have time to soothe her ego. Their point to point "leapfrogging" taught by Aleks and extrapolated by Yqut, brought them to the burnt out hulk of a former mansion. The air still smelled of metallic salt despite three serious rain storms; it was dissolved into the soil, possibly already taken-up into the survivour veg which defiantly straddled the burnline. The girls squatted to make water; the Commissar lowered Maybelle to do the same. They sniffed at her wound; Kellsy licked her chops, but walked away again.

"I'm not going to justify myself to you lot. It's no longer an issue, understood, troop?"

The pack all lit up green boxes to shut him up. He could feel their resentment at his weakness, but they also felt for him, the little whelp. He'd had been a snack early on in their -- Brain Wulf -- society, from what the scientists said.

"What's the wind telling you?"

__ "Not much, Commissar. From Jenny's mea -- Intel -- we have a spinnerhole about forty marks into that field, near that downed aerostat wreckage. There is a small holdout and depot there; manned by a ten plus two at any given time. Last Azhbakh had any information, they were resupplied. Protocol dictates that we designate it for drone survey and H/K; we are going to follow through with that, aren't we, Commissar?"

"Put it through, Sybil. What else did the nominal have to say about the Theatre?"

Sybil neared him, sidled and pushed him,

__ "The fallback point is that [shown image of rapid focus to a distant hillside house in an old style from the the Daggerland Continent] locale. I imagine anyone observing this area has already made us, Devyn. Another designate, by protocol."

Qomz-Beecher heard an explosion to the east; checked the datafeed: a belligerent depot had been found and tactically triggered to effect the degradation of hostile actors in its vicinity. He looked for any prompts for Yqut's whereabouts, but no alerts awaited him. He keyed Loomer,

-- "Commissar?"

"What happened while I've been out? Where did Nominal Y go? I can't find any trace of him in the feeds."

-- "Nor here, sir. I've just sent you the last frames we have; nothing, not even dim percentages of misidentified persons correspond with his last known coordinates, sir."

"So, in essence you are saying that he disappeared before our eyes, drone mesh and everything?"

-- "Aye, sir." She was on loan from Greywater assets.

"These coordinates have been vetted?"

A green box lit up in the feed.

"Acknowledge receipt of the following coordinate package for drone H/K." He sent on the Wet-Vet module and saw that it was delivered.

-- "Intel module received, sir. Checksum nominal; parsed; actionable; -- it's in the works, sir. Package ETA 1-9, please confirm assets are clear."

"Acknowledged: all mission assets clear."

Almost two seconds later, a small impact kicked up bucketsfull of black soil and multipurpose crop. An instant later, a dome large enough to cover a small truck bulged-up. A plume of grey-white smoke vented and the entire dome diameter collapsed and a few small pops and whistles could be heard from the destroyed depot. Unsurprisingly a rectangular furrow also collapsed which led towards the hillside house.

"Catch that?"

Loomer green-keyed a wordless response and a logic flowchart process was initiated without human intervention.

-- "Our Lady has a HOLD order in place until the Aerostats vet the Zone for aerial asset approach. Please acknowledge the HOLD order, Commissar."

These required voice authorisation,

"Mission HOLD Order Acknowledged, Commissar Qomz-Beecher, over."

Maybelle stalked away, slunk low. Devyn began to spin round to her when automatic weapons discharge shattered the renewed still. Devyn's natural flinch response instead initiated a gymnastic roll and the suit kipped and brought its legs up to cover its operator from harm. Three marks up above the ground, Devyn was helpless to stop Maybelle from dying as a squad of infiltrators opened up on his girls. Intermediate cartridge rounds stitched the suit's boxy leg armour, but if anything got hit, it hadn't registered in damage cascades of affected systems. Maybelle was gutted, but she pulled herself forward,

____ "Please Devyn. You'll see me again."

He blinked and bit his tongue twice in rapid succession. Her satchel charge detonated to great effect.

More debris rattled across him as the suit's suspension bled overpressure upon his having landed. This time he was hit. Amber condition on a Green location; he was fine. The Commissar immediately invoked his girls' status marquee: Sybil was Orange; Lahni was Black.


The trench had opened beside and behind him without his notice. Rage overtook him; Devyn dashed, landed on the tunnel's floor. He sent a sounding pulse in both directions. Reverberation imaging indicated that the burnt out house's cellar was incorporated into the underground access network. He raced there. Jenny leapt in front of him and the rest of his girls fell in behind him at speed. Perhaps thirty seconds later, as Jenny coursed ahead, she only just managed to skid to a stop and avoid a tripwire. Devyn scraped both sides of the tunnel to slow himself; the sound of nails-scrabble on the pourstone behind preceded their soft impact into the suit's legs. No damage to them, but Andi shook her head violently -- her feed: a wall of pixelated garbage -- cleared immediately thereafter. Devyn recalled Jenny, who backed slowly towards him; he overtook her and AI countermeasures initiated. A luminous gas filled the floor and the multiple triplines became visible, now coated in a microfine rainbowed sheen. Not simply across the breadth, but diagonally, at different heights. AI indications demanded evacuation and the suit would not respond to operator override; it initiated his clamber out. The girls scrambled back to the collapse debris and from there, he was able to fish them out. Just then, a RED/BLACK warning was tripped. Devyn saw the shoulder fired rocket's contrail before everything went white-hot.