Sons of Otis
Spacejumbofudge

Imagine slowly leaving the ground. Rising up. Light and aware of having inexplicably defeated the force of gravity. Imagine looking down, and noticing how the streets transform from being arteries of social channeling to taking on the appearance of ever more imperceptible capillaries of a far more remarkable and colossal organism of which you can discern the ridges and all the oceans.

Imagine progressively perceiving the rarefaction of air, and looking towards the horizon, noticing the thin and melting edge of the atmosphere, the boundary between the world of mortals and the world of the dark stellar gods. Between the pure blue and the dirty black of the universe. Imagine receiving the total absence of color, smell, and noise. Picture yourself deaf. Dragged by an energetic current capable of tearing dimensions apart and merging them into one and only one, an intergalactic corridor dominated by the anarchy of pressures. Imagine giving shape to nebulas, guessing their flavors and wondering about their origin. Imagine the sterile and cold blue propagated by constellations you know you can never reach but can contemplate, even though with difficulty, along this epochal initiatory journey. Imagine fluorescent tar asteroids, wandering creatures of the enigmatic essence of the black sidereal gulfs, and think deeply about the muffled echo they would propagate inside you by merely grazing you. Think of the suns, the power of riding triple stars, binary and twin systems. Envision yourself intent on splitting between Sirius, Betelgeuse, Mizar, and Alcyone. Imagine following their voices, their advice, and trying to decipher their content.

Here you are, able to glimpse yourself among clumps of debris and diamond dust, immersed among the hyper-sonic waves of an ocean without depths, nor even surfaces: space. The most unexplored of deserts, the most feared and obsessing of the Gods, the Father of all entities. The mother of all fear and terror. The keeper of the secrets of Being and its deformed and depressurized derivations.

You have plunged into it up to the asshole, and you know well that once you set off, you cannot return.

Landing in the kingdom of darkness, Otis watches you invisibly from behind mountain chains 50,000 meters high above oceans of mercury. Your steps become cement-like, your breath nonexistent. You discover you can do without lungs and breathe through your eyes. Among the lands of the unknowable appears what takes on the appearance of a shape, or perhaps a color: you pass through it impressing your retinas. You feel immediately drunk and ready to continue your walk devoid of supports or pavements. And here are pyramids of steel, and towers whose heights disappear into the swells of mutually specular galaxies; here are pseudo-urban irrational systems of superior and deified civilizations whose enigma lies in the very shapeless structural rules of what your pupils struggle to decipher. Here is the Nonsense and its spiritual extensions, connecting one dearly beloved once and for all, to pour down on you with exasperating cosmic slowness, so as to render you shattered everywhere: particles of a reality that has nothing more to do with the term "human." And Otis observes you with a macabre grin and doesn't care about what you have become due to your own audacity, that is, the extreme miniaturization of material essence. He mocks you, teases you. And his laughter overwhelms your disjointed and expanded mind, reminding you of your impossibility of returning home. They slap you, mystically confiding the most silent of advice. Do not challenge the unknown of your mind.

But Otis makes a pact with his children, flesh of his non-flesh, deciding to trap you in a finite time circle and thus allowing you to exist infinitely in seven tracks, for eternity.

Thank the three offspring of the Abominable for this.

Without them, you would never have been able to see, let alone access the Otherworld.

And I guarantee you, in this case, not even the most devastating drugs would accompany you to such boundaries.

Not even those.