Flesh trek

FLESH TREK

Maybe in around about way, a strange paranoid shithouse
kind of way my trek is nearing its end. The pan dimensiona
coexistence between my soulship which patrols the meat
universe that is my mind, and my fleshship, my brain that
patrols the outer universe . Both 'ships' being probes of
my soulstar are in midst of a sentiency void.

Sensory readings - The journey through uncharted galaxies
with alien gravities distorting my reality readings. Aliens
in the armoury sabotaging my flesh probe launch. The alien
gravity dissolves one fuel refinery, the other being sucked
up and down and in and out of reality.

The gravity of the alien attack vibrates around fleshship
control,
my brain. Causing the waste fuel of a multitude of dimensional
trips to expand its highly toxic load over my sensory readings.
All systems over load imminent. BOOM! Spew filled
puss holes warping alien gravity throughout my
meat universe my mind, patrolled by my soulship probing
my innerverse that is my fleshship my brain. Quietly
disturbing in that it's only refereed to as, brain. AAAAAH!

Sensory readings of a sort. Then I know who I am. I'm
captain Abe Normal of the fleshship come soulship Armageddon.
Mission - peace of mind. Simply put my very pan dimensional
co-existence, my soulstar is in real danger of imploding.

Fuck. Gotta stop the aliens at all cost. Alien gravities
increase pulling pools of my sentiency into there perversity.
Other pools of my sentience escape down numerous wormholes
within my head, a by product of a multitude of dimensional
tripping,
pursued at hyper warp by alien gravities throughout the space
time
continuum of my meat universe. My freaking mind. Oh shit! All
systems overload big time imminent. BOOOOOOOOM!!!

I fall totally rat-arsed into 'last chance saloon' vaguely
aware that years have gone by, time has lost its meaning.
Probably to do with the intense alien gravity within my head. Its
increased ten fold. So much so, that dimensions of my soulship
and fleshship, that of anti matter and matter are
on a fucking collision course.

The resulting explosion would surely blast my bastard brain
into orbit! So intense it's sucking in swarms of alien
reality viruses. So intense its about to implode my outer
fleshships's
torpedo tube.

Shit. With the very dregs of sentience that ain't been
alienated I have left, I prime my one remaining 'intelligent' torpedo
with
some debauched pan dimensional co-ordinates. To sling shoot
itself
on the gravity of the spew filled puss holes both in the innerverse
and
the outer universe to get enough velocity to warp into the
dimensions
of the star souls.

Fuelled on long dormant energy seeds. I take aim through
blurred vision, my torpedo tube buckled and warped. FIRE! Splurt.
YEE HA! The dimension in between were your fleshship
patrols the outer universe and your soulship patrols your
meat universe, your mind. The universal 'space' that is
within all things matter. Were you simultaneously exist at
every point in time through out your dimensional span.

The 'space port' to all your soul and fleshships whatever
the form . Your own stamp of existence as an ever-living
pan dimensional peace of the fucking cosmos man, your own
fucking star! Alien alert! Don't they know the soul star is
a magnet for all life's experiences? My star aims 10 hours
of minced brain pain at the alien reality viruses, and aims
over a decades worth of foul toxicity and dimensional
reality warps at the rest. Chaos!

Hoping to bare my soul would win me the war. WRONG! Big
time! There was just to many, they engulf my soul star with
a massive cancerous shit sticking splash. Straight from the
off the aliens start to build a festering spew filled puss
hole of sickening design. To warp my soul stars gravity in
on its self, to implode it.

So, with this in mind I reprogrammed my outer fleshship's
buckled torpedo tube to be an energy beacon transmitting
directly to my soul star.Captains log - Rotten though it be,
and reality challenged though he be. Desperate to have his
energy beacon recharged to save soul from imploding. Needs
alien fleshship garage co-ordinates. Easy to follow as I'm
backward. S.O.S S.O.S

THE END

Written by D.A WILLIAMS