Pinball Drugs Aliens Satan

He paced his room a long while, brooding. Lately his thoughts have been inextricably tangled with UFOs, aliens moving in both space and time, starships powered by black-magic-related occult technology, carnivorous reptilian humanoids with hidden moon bases and sub rosa government treaties — murky levels of reality in which vagueness is king and nothing can be known for sure. “This ‘borderland’ can be viewed as a quagmire or the mother lode,” he whispers into his microcassette recorder, huddled beneath some blankets in his bedroom closet, “depending on your point of view.” Lying dismally awake in bed late last night, he felt an invisible hand clutching his throat and heard a chorus of demonic voices hissing black magic curses. His dreams were a nightmare fantasia of apocalypse machines in subterranean tunnels and alien torture chambers aboard orbital gulags in a far-off star cluster. He was bleak all morning, lost in realms of psychic twilight. Around noon: “How do I extricate myself from this existential impasse? The solution is clear,” he whispers into the recorder. “Time travel.” But his hastily scrawled schematics for a time machine prove indecipherable on second reading, and his mood grows dark with thoughts of the cosmic apocalypse scientists call “the big rip” that will occur when dark energy begins to rend asunder all the stars, planets, moons, rocks, dust and even atomic nuclei, as well as all innocent bystanders. Filled with a dreadful hollowness, he shuffles about his apartment, stray conceptions clouding his head: mutant microbes for which no vaccines are available, falling radioactive space junk, invisible agents with deathray pistols at the ready in the employ of a sinister interdimensional black-ops bureau intent on universal hegemony. He continues to harbor dark suspicions on the basis of secret evidence and he can’t get the horror of that sick business out of his head.

On the Basis of Secret Evidence | Fiada Fey