bio:

During the third intermediate period.

During the transition of the seven suns.

During the conjunction of the horsehead nebula in the region of Rigel Neuf.

Elliptical bands of light were forming in the third quadrant, where the council of elders, ecclesiarchs and biform emergents stood beneath the triple golden encrusted domes of the manifold towers: elkaron.

Here encysted in millennial amber far outreaching the peaked gables of the jubilee spire, the elders activated their dream capsules, checked their overdraft, and discussed the consequent issues in the turbulent sea of Equilbria.

a messiah may come forth, a prophet or a well-trusted consultant, whose body traversing within the starscape void his body encrusted within the onyx-dark light of the universe. His brain obsidian brittle, his mind transposed into the minor planets of the outer regions of the system. Here it breathed life into small amoeboid creatures, and drifted across the consciousness of the gargantuan armies in their war preparations for the cold reaches of uttermost space.

The nine fires of Acheron, the eleven apartments in the skylon pinnacle, roaming these hermetic cloistered malls the children of fallen terra took to ghastly delinquencies, appalling cancerous recreations, the filth of claustrophobic spiritual malaise.

"Oh sing to me of biospheres and Galactus deep" He said...

And she, "thou singeth of pulsars and dusky nebulae."

His concubine floats within gaseous clouds of green and ejaculates stars from her nethermost gate: born are manifold worlds upon the silent seas of azure. Here limpid moons drift within the planesphere of self orbiting perpetuation. Lo the mechanoid obliqueness in which she sprouted whole-form these worlds seemed inconsequential to time's turbulent skein.

The opalescent fire illuminates arboreal plateaux lofty, imperious, cumulous nimbus. Fie! They come! In effervescent opaqueness, they trudge drearily to dizzying doom at creations end: their journey's apex.

under night's oily surface the effluence of the mire discharges into the sump of world's Discordia, the broken cog of the axle tree, the torn breach of the gossamer tissue - the night distorted and cut with the shattered bipolar nuances of nig. Hard fast the spine collapse.

In tranquil waters deep the membrane of the mind self-transposes into liquid biflorescence, and licked upon the opulent wind: Kaltharon. Seemingly they neglected the prion of diverse spectral infinite divisibility.

"My omniscient hams!"

Silence.

"The Oberon of cold, harsh eternity cleft in twain."

Still nothing.

The stillness, the transfinite nothing of the open sea, the desert, the graph paper, the very tabula rasa of verisimilitude: none of these. Cold the plain, dark the unknowing. Coeval Easter comes and goes spindrift of moth-eaten rhetoric, sunk within galleons bombast, liquated within the carbon-blown sullen crowns of the beauteous beyond. The angels deliquesce.

(Durga is Gary and Zali. Please submit more nonsense for this bio to iotar(at)hotmail(dot)com. Keep taking the magic mushrooms, people!)