The Black Doorway by Ashoju Swamilli

Author:Ashoju Swamilli [Swamilli, Ashoju]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-04-22T22:00:00+00:00

XVI

Narrarating Wastrel, the Oracle of Delphi, and Parley w/Ares, King Nothing

Dropped off on the fringes of Oblivion…

By a screeching eagle, as deviant as a teenager, with like twice the mental aptitude.

The scene is a deserted although not unpleasant seashore littered with minute treasures and calcified artifacts from the deep of the spacious ocean. Barreling waves crash on the beach, white bubbly foam percolates, and the soapy wash is in effect. The tide is rising with the visible cuticle of the Moon. Planetary concatenation.

…Frogs of Aphrodite are singing their twilight praises and the Sun is still a throbbing nebulae in the bluest of skies.

The terrestrial hologram emits irascible insinuations placidly, but they’re somehow tolerable.

…From the creative minds who brought you the “Sogol” Trilogy and Welcome to the Parabola…

Arises an original film…About a boy…

“Where the fuck am I at?” the male protagonist questions his present state of affairs. As he scans over the provincial horizon, he sees the golden tips of the eagle’s wings shimmering in the light of the golden Sun.

An aside from the Desert, Part I, followed quickly by snippets from Part II. Memory connotations—the Phoenix, Mysteries, an Eagle, Squiggledish—isn’t that nice?

…Continuing the epic tale of Unplotinus Wastrel…

“This guy doesn’t have the first fucking clue,” Bennu the Phoenix laughs as he soars from a good safe distance away, merely observing.

…With all of the characters you know and love…

“Wait a sec,” Oona, the world-renown exegete, urges her shadowed companion, suddenly not interested in the cappuccino she’s just ordered from Starlucks. “Are you saying my hidden thoughts are affecting someone else’s world? Someone I can’t even see?”

Flash image of the Wandering Wastrel as he casually strolls the beach in search of the exoteric meaning, which hopefully leads him to the flipside.

“What’s the point with all these sandcastles?” he shouts at nothing in general save a few marooned jellyfish and kicks his way through the sculpted granular minaret of one, and the sand heaves and hurtles sideways into indistinguishable crumbles.

…Creation…Satisfaction…Destruction—MAN!

“You don’t even know ME!!” he shouts at the ocean of blue as it rolls back and forth ceaselessly on the speckled shore, or really, he accosts anything that may or may not be listening, or at least living in his eyes. Basically, all macroscopic experiential stimuli became targets.

…Artificially Strange Encounters…

“Is this, uhh,” Nigel glances around the table. “Like…for real?”

The Kid…

Unplotinus Wastrel schleps down the beach like a surfer scanning for the idyllic swells, seeing one sandcastle after the next, each more ornate than the last rendition. They stretch along the shoreline like a bustling city suburban development on the scanty shores of the emerald coast.

Eventually, he walks around a bend in the shoreline and there’s a young kid with stunningly long blond hair, buried up to his knees in the sand, and shoveling heaps of it into light blue plastic containers. He’s very much unconcerned with the appearance of someone new on the otherwise abandoned beach.

The Wastrel proceeds carefully, deciding to stumble over the concatenated suburb of sand dunes and say hello. What else is there to do, anyways? Solitary ennui was enough for anybody to have made the same move.

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