The Unicorn Hunters
Chapter One
I truly cannot say whether this should best be described as a story or as a tale. It has strands, a horse-hair weave by which to play a celtic violin. These are not sad tales, although they are at times dark, as fairy-tales should be; and at other times mirthful, as befits the new wave of the avant-garde. They entangle and between them tell a story which requires patience and dedication to appreciate, skills sadly lacking in today's mainstream culture of digital immediacy.
The story of the unicorn hunters really begins long before I had learned the popular use of that title to mean a couple who seek a single male to share their bed.
Nevertheless it invokes a steampunk universe breaking forth into sunpunk. The former, a contrived and mechanical Victorian era penny dreadful, substance of swashbuckling romance and dastardly foes. Clockwork and powder powered pioneers of progressive autocratic reformulation. The latter a twenty-first century visionary movement fusing art nouveau aestheticism with ecology harmonious technologies; solar panelled insects. Give me genuine 80s cyberpunk, graffiti concrete ghettoblaster pounding hip-hop and industrial decay, anyday. And for the 90s Jeff Noon’s Vurt.
These are the roots and the subcultures as is, representing the twist. As the spiral progresses to its point. This phrase is a cliche and works on many planes. Phrases become codex to those in the know. It is a secret scene.
It begins in a dingy basement. We had yesterday tech and drugs safe for kids. We had imagination. We gamed, rolling dice and developing our sight. In later years this developed in myself to a perception from which I can remote view, not only into our own dimension but others also. Evidently I was useful to somebody and they took me on and used me. Psy-op training starts young. By my late twenties I had assimilated enough of what I had been through, into a training process and insight into what is going on in the world we live in at this time. Most of the people in this society dare not believe the truth of it; electronic mind control, a society constructed of agents. As I write, HAARP (High Altitude Aerial Research Program) is still in operation. The public story; weather control. This decade disclosure of military files has revealed that those weather balloons seen all over the world during the late twentieth century were ufo’s after all, and that aliens do really exist.
We are living at a time where people are so caught up in their own bubble that they find it difficult to cope with this level of information, and so they ignore it; the ostracise those of us who are aware. We think differently, about the world, about what humans are, about physics and spirituality. And so that is the background within which I write. The leap in paradigms from watching movies unrelated to your immediate experience, about a topic; and then to experience it first hand, requires suspension of disbelief beyond many peoples capability. People do not want to appear gullible, and cannot identify the difference between gullibility with the skill of suspension of disbelief. For, as this teaching continues; it is the ability to unplug your belief system at will from the particles of the environment around it into which it radiates; and to step instantaneously into an entirely different dimension.
The Unicorn Hunters come from all over space and time, from other dimensions and other worlds. They fell in love with the magick and knew deep to their core that they had it too. In them, it did not dry up enough to make them forget it entirely. For them, its dwindling came as a challenge to overcome, not as an inevitability to accept. Which is the core of what it is all about.
By observation alone, one may assume that a horse shakes its head not to loosen its mind but to loosen its mane. To the Horse, well, who knows what a Horse thinks?
And the Horse thinks; it should be free, and wild. The compromise of being looked after by humans, fed and manicured, at the cost of its liberty to roam; does this truly compensate for running with the herd through a landscape un-fenced?
We dream of such a landscape. Floating under the awning of our hover-sofa’s with a videogame joypad, travelling over landscapes cultivated but in so many places left to grow wild. We dream of a freedom beyond us and we figure out ways to get to that state as a lived reality. These are the dreams of a unicorn.
The unicorn is representative of the universe. It makes multiple versions, other dimensions, conform to its stream, to its journey, to its passage through. It teaches us this succinctly. When you have heard a unicorns song, sometime in childhood in the semi-starlit drift before sleep, from the quiet core of the - forest you can trust - then your soul is tainted forever by its dreaming. And when it dreams and you dream with it, that is when you learn; that is when you joy, when your spirit fires freely through the confusion of manifest night. Your soaring!
We had to catch one for ourselves. We banded together and set out on the path of bringing together knowledge and skills, insights and fragments of memories of times outside of the laughterless beyond. Each of us unique and yet each of us the same, for the necessary persona to achieve our goal was cultivated by the training methods we formed between us. Shamanic and astral, we soared.
Our trap was hardwired to our signal, a signal which only a unicorn could follow. We had assembled it from the produce of our quests and it worked. We had the beast in the cage, a cage designed that even a unicorn for all its power could never escape.
The unicorn needed healing. We intended fully to break it to our will, just such as a horse is broken to serve man and is at this time in history deemed a socially acceptable behaviour of the wealthy who can afford to own a horse. In the few short years of our dreaming, this will all change as humanitarian rights are positioned at the centre of global law and equality rights are extended to include all wildlife, flora and fauna, indigenous to this world.
A unicorn is not exactly indigenous to this world, is it?
We healed it with beak of phoenix and all the usual alchemagickal rites. It could reach into our minds, naturally, and in doing so for the extended periods with which it fought to get us to sympathise with it and let it go; we formed a powerful strong bond, a mental link. It took over Meadow first before any of us. A unicorn cannot stay linked to a human mind for very long before it must leave, for neither can fully sustain the other. For those brief outside-of-time moments while the connection lasts, a deep soul connection, a feeling of satori washes through, colourful information and knowledge compressed from multiple dimensions into the limited number a human imagination is able to sustain even when stretched to the fullest.
It is terrifying when somebody you know well abruptly has a complete personality change, becomes somebody else entirely, someone psychotic and wild, focussed on a particular sequence of actions and stopping at nothing to achieve some particular task. When sleepers awaken it tests the survivors and sends them for ever outside of a normal state of being. To know from experiencing it for yourself that humans do not function from the routines you feel safe enough with, that in some people a vampiric primal cortex urge is so close to the edge; overrides their mind and takes control of them wholesale.
What you learn from going through it both ways; seeing your mates freak out and from experiencing it from the inside, when it happens to you; trapped inside yourself while some spiritually toxic force seizes you; the only safe direction to go is to do what the programming is stimulating you to do, making you sick with a feel of wrongness, an adrenaline surge, fight-or-flight response masterfully controlled by its pre-patterend escape route being to perform whatever duty to which you have been assigned. People are not who they used to be.
We had all been through it and we all wanted to get out, to get out of the control grid sufficiently enough that it could no longer affect us; to set ourselves free and the others around us. It was this which brought us to the conclusion that our only safety was to acquire a unicorn, with which to fight back against the seering fear of somebody else’s intention.
For me, it was better than to return to the life I had escaped, a sleeping agent corporate military psychic assassin, programmed by remote and through too many experiences, had become aware of it enough to establish my own escape plan from their game. And yet even so, I could never be sure. I wanted security. Using my training I dared hope there to be something in the legend; and I had found my way through dreamtime, acceptance and exploitation, to belong with the group.
Meadow was easy to subdue, her message had been integration, compassion, understanding, love, and she had done it feral and nurturing, womanly and girlish, taking control and yielding utterly all at the same moment. It was several weeks before we found out that she is pregnant. The first moment of the story when it switches into present tense.
Our child had been speaking through us for some time, through our actions, bringing us closer together into this moment. What blessings are bestowed upon our child of that moment we will discover joyfully through time. She thinks it’s twins.
continues at: Chapter Two
Chapter One
I truly cannot say whether this should best be described as a story or as a tale. It has strands, a horse-hair weave by which to play a celtic violin. These are not sad tales, although they are at times dark, as fairy-tales should be; and at other times mirthful, as befits the new wave of the avant-garde. They entangle and between them tell a story which requires patience and dedication to appreciate, skills sadly lacking in today's mainstream culture of digital immediacy.
The story of the unicorn hunters really begins long before I had learned the popular use of that title to mean a couple who seek a single male to share their bed.
Nevertheless it invokes a steampunk universe breaking forth into sunpunk. The former, a contrived and mechanical Victorian era penny dreadful, substance of swashbuckling romance and dastardly foes. Clockwork and powder powered pioneers of progressive autocratic reformulation. The latter a twenty-first century visionary movement fusing art nouveau aestheticism with ecology harmonious technologies; solar panelled insects. Give me genuine 80s cyberpunk, graffiti concrete ghettoblaster pounding hip-hop and industrial decay, anyday. And for the 90s Jeff Noon’s Vurt.
These are the roots and the subcultures as is, representing the twist. As the spiral progresses to its point. This phrase is a cliche and works on many planes. Phrases become codex to those in the know. It is a secret scene.
It begins in a dingy basement. We had yesterday tech and drugs safe for kids. We had imagination. We gamed, rolling dice and developing our sight. In later years this developed in myself to a perception from which I can remote view, not only into our own dimension but others also. Evidently I was useful to somebody and they took me on and used me. Psy-op training starts young. By my late twenties I had assimilated enough of what I had been through, into a training process and insight into what is going on in the world we live in at this time. Most of the people in this society dare not believe the truth of it; electronic mind control, a society constructed of agents. As I write, HAARP (High Altitude Aerial Research Program) is still in operation. The public story; weather control. This decade disclosure of military files has revealed that those weather balloons seen all over the world during the late twentieth century were ufo’s after all, and that aliens do really exist.
We are living at a time where people are so caught up in their own bubble that they find it difficult to cope with this level of information, and so they ignore it; the ostracise those of us who are aware. We think differently, about the world, about what humans are, about physics and spirituality. And so that is the background within which I write. The leap in paradigms from watching movies unrelated to your immediate experience, about a topic; and then to experience it first hand, requires suspension of disbelief beyond many peoples capability. People do not want to appear gullible, and cannot identify the difference between gullibility with the skill of suspension of disbelief. For, as this teaching continues; it is the ability to unplug your belief system at will from the particles of the environment around it into which it radiates; and to step instantaneously into an entirely different dimension.
The Unicorn Hunters come from all over space and time, from other dimensions and other worlds. They fell in love with the magick and knew deep to their core that they had it too. In them, it did not dry up enough to make them forget it entirely. For them, its dwindling came as a challenge to overcome, not as an inevitability to accept. Which is the core of what it is all about.
By observation alone, one may assume that a horse shakes its head not to loosen its mind but to loosen its mane. To the Horse, well, who knows what a Horse thinks?
And the Horse thinks; it should be free, and wild. The compromise of being looked after by humans, fed and manicured, at the cost of its liberty to roam; does this truly compensate for running with the herd through a landscape un-fenced?
We dream of such a landscape. Floating under the awning of our hover-sofa’s with a videogame joypad, travelling over landscapes cultivated but in so many places left to grow wild. We dream of a freedom beyond us and we figure out ways to get to that state as a lived reality. These are the dreams of a unicorn.
The unicorn is representative of the universe. It makes multiple versions, other dimensions, conform to its stream, to its journey, to its passage through. It teaches us this succinctly. When you have heard a unicorns song, sometime in childhood in the semi-starlit drift before sleep, from the quiet core of the - forest you can trust - then your soul is tainted forever by its dreaming. And when it dreams and you dream with it, that is when you learn; that is when you joy, when your spirit fires freely through the confusion of manifest night. Your soaring!
We had to catch one for ourselves. We banded together and set out on the path of bringing together knowledge and skills, insights and fragments of memories of times outside of the laughterless beyond. Each of us unique and yet each of us the same, for the necessary persona to achieve our goal was cultivated by the training methods we formed between us. Shamanic and astral, we soared.
Our trap was hardwired to our signal, a signal which only a unicorn could follow. We had assembled it from the produce of our quests and it worked. We had the beast in the cage, a cage designed that even a unicorn for all its power could never escape.
The unicorn needed healing. We intended fully to break it to our will, just such as a horse is broken to serve man and is at this time in history deemed a socially acceptable behaviour of the wealthy who can afford to own a horse. In the few short years of our dreaming, this will all change as humanitarian rights are positioned at the centre of global law and equality rights are extended to include all wildlife, flora and fauna, indigenous to this world.
A unicorn is not exactly indigenous to this world, is it?
We healed it with beak of phoenix and all the usual alchemagickal rites. It could reach into our minds, naturally, and in doing so for the extended periods with which it fought to get us to sympathise with it and let it go; we formed a powerful strong bond, a mental link. It took over Meadow first before any of us. A unicorn cannot stay linked to a human mind for very long before it must leave, for neither can fully sustain the other. For those brief outside-of-time moments while the connection lasts, a deep soul connection, a feeling of satori washes through, colourful information and knowledge compressed from multiple dimensions into the limited number a human imagination is able to sustain even when stretched to the fullest.
It is terrifying when somebody you know well abruptly has a complete personality change, becomes somebody else entirely, someone psychotic and wild, focussed on a particular sequence of actions and stopping at nothing to achieve some particular task. When sleepers awaken it tests the survivors and sends them for ever outside of a normal state of being. To know from experiencing it for yourself that humans do not function from the routines you feel safe enough with, that in some people a vampiric primal cortex urge is so close to the edge; overrides their mind and takes control of them wholesale.
What you learn from going through it both ways; seeing your mates freak out and from experiencing it from the inside, when it happens to you; trapped inside yourself while some spiritually toxic force seizes you; the only safe direction to go is to do what the programming is stimulating you to do, making you sick with a feel of wrongness, an adrenaline surge, fight-or-flight response masterfully controlled by its pre-patterend escape route being to perform whatever duty to which you have been assigned. People are not who they used to be.
We had all been through it and we all wanted to get out, to get out of the control grid sufficiently enough that it could no longer affect us; to set ourselves free and the others around us. It was this which brought us to the conclusion that our only safety was to acquire a unicorn, with which to fight back against the seering fear of somebody else’s intention.
For me, it was better than to return to the life I had escaped, a sleeping agent corporate military psychic assassin, programmed by remote and through too many experiences, had become aware of it enough to establish my own escape plan from their game. And yet even so, I could never be sure. I wanted security. Using my training I dared hope there to be something in the legend; and I had found my way through dreamtime, acceptance and exploitation, to belong with the group.
Meadow was easy to subdue, her message had been integration, compassion, understanding, love, and she had done it feral and nurturing, womanly and girlish, taking control and yielding utterly all at the same moment. It was several weeks before we found out that she is pregnant. The first moment of the story when it switches into present tense.
Our child had been speaking through us for some time, through our actions, bringing us closer together into this moment. What blessings are bestowed upon our child of that moment we will discover joyfully through time. She thinks it’s twins.
continues at: Chapter Two
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