"Time is so short in the skin of a head." (Inaccurate internet translation of a line from "Dans La Peau D'un Chef" by the Congolese rap group, Bisso na Bisso.)Observation Report 13209
Report Introduction
1. Date of the report: 29th. January, 2012.
2. Facilitator of the study:
Name: Pierre l'Argent
Sex: male
Occupation: photographer, although he has not worked since the events documented in this report and the two subsequent reports with which it is associated.
Age at the time of this report: 47 years.
Psychological preparedness: the "cerebral hotspot" examination clearly established that he had already been previously stripped clean psychically and his potential ghost appropriated so that his head was therefore safe to be entered.
3. Subject of the study:
Name: unknown at the time; subsequently ascertained but currently suppressed
Sex: female
Occupation: unknown at the time; subsequently ascertained but currently suppressed
Age at the time of this report: approximately 36 years
Psychological preparedness: not applicable
4. Telepathy-medium utilised for the purpose of the report:
Name: details currently suppressed, for reasons explained in the conclusion of this sequence of reports
Sex: female, in accordance with the organisation's policy of attempting to match the sex of the subject
Occupation: full-time telepathy-medium, employed by the organisation on a contract basis
Age at the time of this report: currently suppressed
Psychological preparedness: not applicable
5. Zonal range of telepathic intrusion from the physical subject:
Not considered to be relevant.
6. Follow-up:
The next "episodes" are continued in reports 13210 and 13211, which at the time of the publication of this report have not been cleared for publication.
Report Overview
Following his assignment to her, it became apparent that the facilitator of this study was convinced that the subject of this study belonged to a sub-species known as the "luddite-vampire" (Basic Dictionary of Human and Related Hominoid Types refers) because, although he had attempted to photograph her digitally on a number of occasions, she had never materialised. Therefore, he reverted to conventional film and took his vintage kit with him, with out-dated, but still active, black and white film stock that had been archive-refrigerated for some time.
He stopped before her in the street once, and took her photograph, just a head-and-shoulders portrait, but at the crucial/significant] moment, she stuck her tongue out and raised her hands, whether in protest, salute or surrender, we do not know. She stared at him briefly. Then she ran away.
The facilitator of this study then proceeded to utilise his previously learned skills and develop the film.
At this stage, it was apparent that the image of her face and hands had indeed materialised, in, of course, negative form. Because he had only managed to take a single photograph of her before she moved away, hers was the only image on the film.
The next section of this narrative is assigned to the real-time report of the telepathy-medium assigned to this case from the point immediately after the film was developed.
Telepathy-Medium Narrative
I am swinging in. I am aware of a room. I can see nothing directly yet. I am aware of a reddened light, in a darkened room. Equipment has been set up.
Things are clearing slightly. Darkness is no obstacle. I require clarity of thought-interaction. I now have it. I can now see the film, hanging from a peg. I can see that there is only one image.
I can sense her now; I can sense that she is in there, locked into the celluloid; I can sense her depraved affinity for film-emulsion; I can detect her essence, nestled inside her satisfaction nestled inside the complexities of its chemical structure.
He takes the negative film, and places it beneath the lamp in the enlarger. She is in place. She is screaming through the lens of the enlarger.
He adjusts focus and adjusts ratios and adjusts distances and projects what bits of her he has onto the paper in optimum size and clarity.
He has removed a box of sensitised paper from the cupboard.
He has put the sensitised paper in place and secured it, so he has now held what she will be down flat with metal strips.
What bits of her he has are now being projected from the negative through the adjustable eye of the lens down onto the flat surface that bears what she will be.
He says out loud:
"One luddite vampire, two luddite vampires, three luddite vampires, four luddite vampires…" then tails off to silence, his lips still moving.
He takes the paper and puts it in the tray. I can see all this. I can see it through the nothingness that separates us. (All three of us.)
She is materialising through the chemicals in the tray, and I can feel that which are appearing first are the mouth and the eyes, and together, in their disjointed fashion, they fasten into a scowl that appears to me so wicked that it could surely blister eyeballs across a curved horizon. At this stage I can see her from a distance but also feel her. But I can't communicate with her: I can't inhabit her.
Her presence has become absence, and her absence presence. She is black and she is white: dots of black and daubs of nothing. Nothing else. She is mostly greyed out, but her grey bits are bits of black spread thinly. All of her is either there or not there. And what is there is either diffuse or intense.
The ears appear. The lips stretch. The tongue protrudes. There is a single fang embedded within the tip of it, which makes her tongue look like a single-toothed snake. I am now inside the negative. Observing. There is no fang on the negative. I can confirm this. I am now out of the negative. The hands appear, next to the ears. Nothing else appears. Pure white space between. She is a study in dislocation. She is an abbreviated avatar of malevolence.
I am now ready. I am now sending my thoughts out to the image in the tray and allowing them to merge with it. I can immediately still feel her malign negative presence inhabiting the film, hanging to dry. I feel that there is a danger that she will invert everything I possess.
He holds the paper up with tongs. He hangs the paper up to dry.
She slides from the paper onto his skin. She is stuck to his skin and ready to burrow. The paper is now blank.
I feel the time. Our times are colliding. My mind is sliding into hers. I am now connecting to her. I am now within her.
In her
she is my carrier
now we are a joint-brain
now we are we
self-licensed
no zone of exclusion
all areas forbidden
(so all areas accessible)
We find an aperture
we streak in
into the bacon of his body
into the black lean and empty fat
in like a tick mining a seam
We are in
but slowed down in the man-lard
I nurse-wet her
lubricate us for travel
for the clawing non-crawl
of our disembodied hands
joined to our no-body head
by nothing-but-willpower connections
(unknotting strings of air)
We slither onwards
edging through the tight-waist of his viscera
unseen viscosity streaming past
(conduited)
our cheeks squelched
by a private wind
thickened into grease
by an unknown-hand-work
But now there is heat
now we are beltaned within him
fire sprinkling through us
(his vesselled blood glowing)
and our journey turns aside
shuffles at the arched entrance
shuffles at the sign that welcomes
to the skin of the head
But we are primed and readied
and we are well-prepared
to go round the fetid inside circle clinging to the skull
to curve oozing through the skin around the turmoiled cheesehead mush
to be burn-splashed in the light that comes transpiring through his flesh
and falling in patches
falling in patches
(snowed sunshine)
giving us sight
but dimming it
dimming it dumb
...but at the threshold she goes stark-panic-rebellion-crazy tries to snap her presence within me away from the heat and she starts dragging flashburns of skin-scrape through me scowl-scarring my mind but I hold firm and retain control and grapplehook the control into my path alone and we are now on course and she will argue no more and we will do this thing...
And our tongue will not retract
as it levels with our hands
pursuing the way ahead
(tasting the destinations)
We taste the sweet
we taste the sour
we taste the salt
we taste the bitter
we taste the pungent
taste the astringent
six times intoxicated
(full of airhead eureka) And every taste we take
is absorbing bone-dust from the skull
so every part that we possess
is heavying
heavying
heavying into strength and guilt
fearing the grumpy destiny
of imminent retribution
...and it comes in straight away and it comes hailing down comes hailing in a toxin drip-down onto our dusty conjoined pupa and what is happening what is happening what is happening teeth come slashing down from his skin to scrape the living debris from us and there is no escape no respite no crawl-away to wound-licking mental penury no stowaway coward-creep as the sharpened gristle hustles down and drops of bone-blood flick from the pieces of our abbreviated body and we will be blood-drenched if our nerve goes into failure so we sink into our unity which is all that can make us survive the soldier-malice speckling in as a hailstorm of lance-trap-sharpened teeth...
But we foetal-roll away
to temporary safety
and feel we have survived
and know we have won this battle
so now his thoughts are stolen
and now his thoughts will nourish us
so our future is secured
pygmatised in this flesh-forest
of his underhanging tripe-tentacles
We push a finger
up to the skin-folds
feel its bulbous scrape go across us
feel the threat
diluted but still there
So now our displaced mole continues
the scrape through of amputated hands
through the scratchings of his imagination
through to the lie-ahead place
We hear notes
tiny micro-tonalled music-scraps
scrape-tickling our ears
Four specks of snow fall - (big as chestnuts) - disappear - unmelting - no more come - (wind dropped to nothing)
...into the garden of him where the squeeze is reduced and the space is opened wide where specks of something like apple blossom are wavered down as the skin flakes away inwards and where the smell is speckled into separated crumbs of perfume shit and food...
A hang-down piece of skin - a passing cloud - a temporary piece of opacity
We are head-hooking our way through
hacking away with our single tongue-fang
ripping off his body's redness
ingesting him
bits of him becoming us
(becoming our blood corpuscles)
we are fed
we are secure
The skin raining blossom-petals - occluding the sight - (acre after acre of blizzarding white-scraps)
Now we have him penetrated
so what we now hear is distorted to mush
(we are his tinnitus-succubus)
...and I put my finger in the vicinity of it because it is too small to see and the taste is almost imperceptible but is redolent of the components of the chemical make-up of sweat that have somehow been twisted so that they don't taste salty but still taste of salt...
Surroundings streaming
past our contorted head
daggered pin-stabs of pain enter
...and the muscles exude a faint smell of primroses and we place our nose against the spongy thrust of it and breathe shallowly and it is so faint that it is like only one particle in a million carries the scent...
An inward breakdown of ice-sweat
cracking the underskin
the creak and flop of a broken dance
but the walls break
and we are vulnerable
...and we are feeling his thoughts impregnating every square of every part of what little of us there is impregnating several times embarking upon a crusade invasion of impregnation brain cell into brain cell claw-collision...
We are stretched
those empty bits of us are entered
...blood entering blood blood clotting into blood blood merging with blood scab-blood scratching scab-blood as things congeal and start to form...
Brain-baby
brain-to-brain-baby
brain-baby-collision
brain-baby-breaking-in
...brain-baby-breaking-her-in to the brain-baby-pumping-of-rhythms that pour in the liquids-of-baby-make...
I am swelling
as we two separate
I am slowly getting there
the body is now forming
the body is now growing
parts joining
parts filling in
limbs emerging
slowly getting there
(the tightness of pain as things accrete)
Little time left
every movement taken
forced to be tiny
The fog of sound still there:
he has encircled us
he is our tinnitus-incubus
We taste salt
minuscule particles
scrape across our face
salt-licks like dried sperm
cheesing down our throat
A faint hum
a slight thrumming of an artery
and it RAINS
...rains skin-bone wreckage-fragments on our solid parts and on our scraps of non-existence and rains an acid wear-away on us but spares the bits we need to have to bring it to the air...
And we must go
and we must be out of him and dry again
And we are out
out with a squeal
like an axe-murderer simper
and I am out of her
out like a scraped ghost
She drifts across the room
sticks to the hung-up paper
clings there like brain-dead magnetism
The plop of blood in cold pursuit
falls into the tray
and the splash settles into ripples
thickens
clears
And now I am back in the skin of my own head, and watching.
A curdled feeling seems to have sprayed the room.
And in the fixing fluid in the tray, there is an unravelling sniff of blood, curving like a kidney.
And it merges to form a shape. It is a baby's body. And now she slithers out and plops back into the fixing tray. Like a limp almost-foetus. A pecked-out gobbet of blood in the tray. Spreading. Growing. Turning. Forming the shape of a foetus.
He is still holding the blanked piece of paper.
I am fading, but she will not negate me. No. Me negate not will she but fading am I. Away go must I. Sleepy feeling am I. Me surrounding is blackness. Me has she now. Negative am I now. Nothingness to goes solidity my. Solid now is empty was what. Reversed am I. Negative.
Report Conclusion
At this point, the telepathy-medium's report/narrative ended.
No further approach was made to the subject of the report.
Retrospective psychological assessment tests on the telepathy-medium are still ongoing, mainly because she has not managed to communicate coherently since the events documented in this report and its successors.
This conclusion will be revisited when the two subsequent related reports are made available.
However, it can be stated here, even though the information is out of sequence, that the brain-to-brain baby is currently fostered and doing well. It is observed on a regular basis. It is healthy. Its sex can not be revealed at this stage.
Report ends.
