And asked me in return, for the 5th pong of the ping - what is this?
Sobetet Speaks with Alarasathia
The minds of the Sleeping Gods flit and eddy across landscapes and cosmic archtectures, both those real to us, but also introverted dream-realms of their own creation
For to a sleeping god, one with the power of creation itself, what difference truly is there between reality and dream?
At times the unconscious minds of the gods fall through the ruins of empty purgatories, guttering candlelit hells and faded gardens of paradise where once the souls of the faithful and the dammed congregated before the gods somnolence and the slow fall of all that the gods sustained paled the hierarchies of the beyond into shadows - etched memories of spiritual passion and release
Now in the long, slow death of What-Is, the pinnacles of such ruined paracosms lurch and falter, teetering, leaning and falling through unspeakable conceptions of space to crumble and merge.
The forgotten dead of one heaven wander into another cultures Hell. The prison bars of Hades rust and even the crimes whose sins fills those cells are forgotten. Elysium and Acheron crumble as one.
Here in the ruined afterlives old categories of soul are forgotten - pale eldritch dementia strips meaning from the fearsome and force from the mad.
The Queen pictured, Alarasathia, disposes her patronage over one such abandoned antiverse - stilling the whispering hordes of her churl-souls with the paper-thin remnant of a beauty which once shattered nations, and the ticking echo of a capacious and tyrannical mind.
All sleep, or near-sleep in this dirge of being, for the dead, or the memories of the memories of the dead which these may be, know no true rest, but only winter-morning half-waking poised between sleep and light.
Still, even in such ruin and infinite time, events may take place and visitors may come
This image shows the visitation of the Lunar God Sobetet, wholesome and reversed sibling of the monstrous Stetbos.
Sobetet dreams like all gods, and is perhaps dead, or lost within the coma of God-death themselves. Where their mind ranges none, lest of all the God themselves, can tell whether what they perceive is true-creation or merely the half-created fragmentary dreamworld of the Gods own unconscious imaginings.
And, Gods being Gods, it is possible that even those strange perceptions might have a soft of waking un-life of their own. Fogotten thoughts from a forgotten mind.
At this moment Sobetet, or a cluster of minds seeming to be Sobetet, or Sobetet broken and unweaved down to a a myriad of blurred selves, comes upon the throne of Alarasathia.
The sleeping memory of the light of a long-annihilated moon shines within the echoing netherworld of the forgotten dead - an event so rare, strange and impossible that even these scribbled etchings of wraiths may recall it for an eon or more.
Sobetet, perhaps drawn by the beauty and long-lost intensity of Alarasathia, gazes upon her and speaks to her. Seeing her like we might see a Queen within a dream, who fades upon morning.
Yet for these figures such a morning is unlikely to come.
Of what Sobetet said to Alarasathia, or of what Alarasathia replied, you may guess. It could be that thier words had only as much sense as those of two sleepers turning to each other in a darkneed bed, bodily aware of the others presence but lost within their own unconscious dream-realms, murmuring sleep-speech to each other.
Is what happens in such moments ever true communication? Can anything of meaning pass between?
Now I ask of thee Scrap, what signifies this?