THE CHROME

Chapter 1:  FIAT LUX CHROMA

"Let There be Chrome"

...in a land of darkness, as darkness itself;

   in the shadow of the Soliton, a being of total

   invisible order, where even the life force of the

   Chrome is as utter darkness...

...we danced...

From the Annals of Soliton BTE¹

    When the Chrome condition realizes its essence is trapped and hidden deep inside of all things it will then awaken itself by the fire of the Logos to spontaneously combust into a dancing machine created to reflect the very hologram it aspires to become.

From the Annals of Soliton...BTE

    The technocratic nightmare clad in sleek, black, chrome walked into the anteroom soulless on fire with a black magic heart.  She flipped over the card table where I was playing Texas Hold 'Em.  Her trench coat dripping in calcified, blackened scales perfect in there precision danced like the faces of some demented disco ball projecting fractals of the dark universe she hailed from.  With a death stare and her cannons locked onto fresh execution targets she pulled tense triggers.  The sound from the gun blasts matched the perfection of her thanic chrome.  Black bullets danced through the skins exploding pumps, veins, and memories.  Life fell from the now dead bodies like a stone.

The war started that night before my very eyes but instead of feelings of fear I only felt  a casual relief.  There was no surge or jolt of courage just a mild comfort in knowing I chose the side that I knew I would always choose.  I summoned the chrome to start the war.  She is my own mental detachment, a compression of a multiplicity of incarnations.  She is my past and future.  The Chrome, my intimate slayer, is a pristine, dynametrically symmetric, creation;  a creative masterpiece functioning deeply in black rhythm.

The chambers nautilus of her programming is designed from the Platonic golden mean and executes a perfect kill every 1.618 days.  Listening to my voice as I speak in a language only she can hear which activates the star gates locked inside of her tripple-helixed DNA.

Murder echoed stealth across the room like a fresh Portishead trance

vibrating the solar plexus of every sentient being with in a ten mile radius.  The souls of the departed scream a muted, shattering, death pitch into the smoke drenched air.  Dream disturbances and psychic day tremors capture the shades of the lysergics remaining in the room nailing everyone with form to the floor. 

Holographic fear walked up to my left side.  The Chrome positioned herself to the immediate right of the poker table. She raised her gun to my head at an angle as to make certain that I could see my own cold cold sweat in the sleek metallic chrome revolver.  The mercury tipped connectors on her surgically manufactured cybertronic head were locked pristine into a space full of viral rage as she spoke these indelible words in a soft piercing voice that was filled with sharp, blue, electricity, "Come let's play follow the leader down into the screams"

The Chrome lead me down a soft metallic tunnel that appeared to cleanse my mind to a virginal state of clarity.  Multiple realities poked there way though a cadence of never ending steps downward as I followed my captor silent, isolated, and near collapse.  The temperature dropped and continued to drop further with each passing step.  She stopped and motioned me to come close to her as I watched her guns morph into sleek hypodermic needles.  She plunged the needles direct and deep into my upper chest as I sank slowly to the ground.  A thick delirium encapsulated my pulse as her chrome transfusion coursed through my thankful veins heating my core to delight like modern velvet underground heroine.

    Upon rising I began to see visions through the various realities that made themselves crisp and tame almost to the point that I could reach out and manipulate them.  The Chrome tethered me to her lower back as a slave complete with unseen heavy shackles she carried me further and further into dreams that I was unworthy and unprepared to dream.  I saw the eaters of the dead.  Strange and wonderful her transfusion that carried me across the cosmic river Styx.  Is she malevolent? Is she benign in her desire and intent?  In her rage would she consume me like the black widow?  Will she cause me in heat to swallow the these phantasmic suns?

Calluses and scales fall from my eyes and clarity brings itself full into brightness and distinct peace of mind.  I am now a thousand star systems away swimming in dark matter.  Roses grow out of these thirsty dry bones.  This is one of the many rooms of the night unspoiled by human hands or am I secured by the iron and wine of calculated, evil men?  Slow is the burning metallic tide.  Far and away is the colony.  It's calling me.  In a vision I am over the ocean.  It's calling me.  It's night.  In a window scanner darkly I witness the ships of war taking to water as strong and faithful iron-wooden steeds.  The harsh , salt-corrosive waters bathe them and their the crew of countless kind and evil deeds.  37 days and 37 nights the captain and crew will wrestle.  The Chrome colony is their destination.  Hope tangled in the sky is gripped tightly against hope that safe will arrive their soul burdened vessels. 

    Time folds further still intricate and at moments blurred as I see the men debark these dark water horses they are all unshaven and severely weather beaten.  Months pass as slowly as decades over the salted skins of the ocean.  To the  Chrome colony they go or by a fierce hungry unforgiving sea they shall be eaten.  Their language and gesture convey the impression almost an orchestral dialogue of planned movement as if they are trapped in a silver nitrate divine computer simulated program dancing to a score of prescribed robotic steps.  To the Chrome colony they will go before all by the sea are eaten.

The Chrome then unfolds a rare liquid vision from out of the ground under her feet in the metal tunnel directly into my awareness.  The vision screams like a feverish black dancing orchid with a piercing black face.  Glass beads rip across my eyes rendering me temporarily blind as the Chrome's skin melts into a shimmering silver ghost chasm charmed by a now present mercurial moon.  I chant down Babylon by way of some foreign glossalalai as she becomes before me as a twirling sky dancer.  The Earth tasting fate racer visage drapes around her clothing her person in clear white-chrome light as my eyes are bleeding their healing in the halls of this mirrored mountain.  Her breath is rising and falling at arms length next to me as I contemplate a problematic escape but quickly discard it as a beautiful euphoria ushers me far away.  In my mind I am plotting to over throw my logic and reason by the means of her raw beauty. 

    Each new thought becomes more disoriented than the last and its stream I can not follow or trace back to its origin.  Heroclitus be damned.  A psychotic break surely is eminnent.  I do not know how much longer my mind can receive this amount of revelation and I am unsure as what its purpose is or what I am to do with it upon absorption.

Sight returned to me as the  Malachrome walked through the translucent room stoic, heavy, and with a faint scent of lilac hovering about him.  He walked as a demi-urge planting all of creation behind him with his soft language.  In his hand he held a piercing, blue, flaming chalice.  With a second cold hand he scraped the ground to guage what life this path would potentially bring.  As he raised his hand from the ground many diamonds, quartz crystals, and other transparent gems fell from his palm as seeds scattering themselves for future growth.  With a face of fire he kissed a silent watcher who remained to me at present unseen.  All of the walls were made up of the substance of familiar dreams.  The fuel that came forth to drive everything forward had the essence of a composite of all the dreams that have ever been dreamed, a vivid, collective, but concretely materealized alternate reality replete with its own physics.  He waited for a lumbering moment with his face of fire sated inside this place 1000 star systems away.  From this blue cup he poured forth his thoughts in a stream of visual consciousness that floated through the mercurial singularity, this Soliton, this tunnel with its great power in the form of a reverberating boom saturated all of my senses and became an enseperable part of my inner being.  His thoughts began to speak audible accounts about his race and people of which he seemed to be prime genator, some sort of a constant protector, and fierce galactic planter;  a fluent future layer.  (His words are forever engraved onto the tablets of my memory safely recorded in perfection like an eternal Magna Carta anchored inside of me. This recording is with out question changeless in the event that the Holoverse ever needs to call upon its replication from a dormant symbiosis).  These pasts and possible futures are now carefully embedded as a fertile fecund seed into my bruised pulsating psyche;  as indestructible as the Chrome.

Alas spake Malachrome:

Chrome blood has coursed unencumbered by external force for eons through the dark matter of the countless spheres of the Holoverse.  Now we are threatened by invisible hands that have closed tightly around our now darkening mercurial veins attempting to sufficate and erradicate us from our place as the great recording race of the Akashic.  Our encryption keys and duties to Akasha are now threatened.  Our location is on the verge of being discovered.  The former cloaking of our place here in the Akashic is beginning to be currupted through atrophy and penetration from a multi front war machine just outside of the outer walls of our physical realm.  It is unknown as

to how much longer we will remain hidden from The Countless.  We do know that the most important candle of Akasha's outer expanse has been breached and is now no longer burning. The first casualities sadly have already been claimed.  The first Chrome has been spilled and permanent midnight threatens to erase our dear creations.  Isolation and his horsemen are fierce in diligent pursuit.  They will not stop until silent death like a virus penetrates every Chrome.  The time is upon The Chrome as the protector race to decide whether to continue to protect the Akashic Record or to self preserve while abandoning our chosen post here as guardians.  The breach is near a point past containment and the war is sure to be ceaseless and draining.  Many of the outer Chrome have in mutiny run into dark energy dancing now with dark , broken, shattered, treasonous, synergy spilling our secret verses to those who hate us and wish our lives to be cut short.  There are spies among us even now but very few.  I have commenced contemplation of certain technologically imposed silences of the records in addition to a genocidal complete destruction of the vital yet untouched aspects of the holographic construction of the records themselves;  meaning an option has been put forth to destroy all the records to the point that they could never be reconstructed or to silence them until we could return from possible exile.  It is only beyond the outer of the outermost realms that have been partially compromised.  This chain of events is the reason that each of you are here.  You are part of The Countless;  a hybrid Chrome race whose alligence is known to be untested and whose loyalty is yet unknown.  By design you are free radicals and lay outside the realm of pure order possessing a newer distillation strain of free will.  I have summoned a representative from the leagues of all known allies and potential allies to be accounted for today.  You are the chosen of The Countless villages.  I ask for your alligiance now.  Time although finite is not completely against us.  There will yet be precious time before the outer core could be materially fractured and its current encryption density is at present intact and vehement.  The outer gates are holding up well at the moment however there are deeper fundamental problems within the integrity of the Holoverse.

Malachrome, without loosing one ounce of his former resolve or authority morphed into a loving yet indicteful grandfatherly wisdom-filled constitution. Sadness caused by the ages of unspeakable pain filled his voice as he began to speak after a clutched pause.  The Holoverse has become itself a king-graceless, clumsy bird with the feathers of its wings burned off.  It knows neither its origin nor its inceptive power.  Should Chrome hands now clasp tight over now such a blackened unfertile landcsape?  Should we, as The Chrome, the appointed keepers of The Akashic Record in whose annals are recorded all sky,  all space, and all aether, sacrifice our honor for self preservation?  Should we now after millennia abandon this exhaustive compendium of all knowledge that contains the entireity of all Chrome and non-Chrome experience.  Each individual galactic conception as well as the ororaboric future seeds that have yet to spring forth from our present multiplicity of existence are recorded and stored here for safe keeping  There has come to us in this pressing time, in this stage of melancholic life, that The Chrome, as a collective, must decide what we will do with the Akashic Record.  Will we seal it away in an impregnable technocratic silence?  Do we cage ourselves firmly against all creation on the outside of our own walls in permanent exile?  Are we to be caged and embedded into the rest of the natural cosmos as bastardized hybrids while simultaneously destroying the very Record we swore as a blood line to guard?  Should we keep them safe by allowing The Countless to discover our internal secrets and technological advances instead of the Akashic Record it self?  Do we freeze ourselves as a Atlantean collective drowning in a sacrificial martyrdom?The zero-hour is upon the Chrome guardian experiment.  The time has arrived and the genesis of marshal attack is here at the outer banks.  We are without doubt at the crossroad of a divisively critical event horizon.  With our allies we can embark upon an extraordinary counter serge of vastly unprecedented proportion.  Only fate will in its finality show forth the outcome.  Success is uncertain, yet the chances of victory are reasonably high. By no stretch is our supremacy insured.  The first damning act of certain failure is to underestimate one's adversary for indeed we are pitted against a fleshly collective worthy of our scrutiny and resolve.²

    The four faces of prime generation will meet as we are meeting to discuss as we discuss the course of direction for the war strategy.  (possibly insert CREATION from THE IND here with the QUADRA of the FOUR MASKS) Is the blood of The Chrome to be taken away from there porous transclucent god-stolen bodies?  Will our heads be made to bow down to aberrations of unseen flame and stone?  Will this breach in the outer realms begin the swaying of a back and forth guilty-black pendulum slicing open the metallic safety of the night?  Will it execute each minute with a new measure and new reason?  Will the beautiful new war replete with its red blood covered children as soldiers take final form replacing us while the four faces stand in comfortable sleep inside of amnesiatic platinum pondering a Chrome so educated that it will never be free from its Akashic duty of protection?  Will the Akashic be handed over to the blood laden?  Is the Chrome caught deeply inside of some misunderstood exacting machine whose careful calculation has seen this current breech allowing its creep to test a new red blood loyalty to its divine architect?  To imperfect children storming the silent kingdom? Two solid trumpets will sound along with two dancing screams.  Countless hybrid creations will be trapped between two fecund seems.  Then all of creation in an instant if we fail will become the muse of Soliton's dream. 

There are many parts of this future canvas where nothing can be seen so it is still fluid and remains at present subjective nondeterministic.  We have viable sway over any possible outcome so inherently passivity of all sorts must be slain at every turn. If fear and darkness are at the center of our shadow then let there be light;  FIAT LUX. 

If fear and darkness are at the center of our collective shadow this operation and our Chrome origins will grow cold-cold black.  so FIAT LUX CHROMA;  Let there be Chrome.  If we fail The Chrome will cease to be salient as a pure guardian race and instead will merely stain the landscape of an immensely fertile dream becoming the byword of history.  Immeasurable races and beings will pillage and plunder the Akashic Records seeking a truth we will be forced to destroy inside of dense tarpaulin light.  A myriad of fragmented gunshots will then ring out into a cold chromeless night.  The songs of Chrome children will be suppressed, manipulated, and forgotten.  If we fail we will be divided along with our intents and desires.  Our enemies are attempting to conquer the arcane intelligence center, the heart and soul of the Logos itself:  The Akashic Records.  If the pulse of Akasha is discovered by an Anti-Chrome the body of intelligence archives will evermore be corrupted, fallen, and tangled with the genetic codes of its captors.  It's perfection will be scattered with guilty palms by a band of filthy fugitives in a single unguarded moment.  Pure Chrome fluid vitalis  will pour over naked fleshy mortal fingers.  Our liquid, light seed will no longer flow through this soft metallic vortex you see before you now at light speed.  The seeds for the new universe machines will no longer be built with extraordinary precision.  They will instead be corrupt by a litany of disasters one disaster after another sending the Holoverse into a fragmented isolation never again to be made whole.  All future calculations and attempts at archival of the whole will consummately be lost.  The Chrome together with its myths will only survive as an incomplete constitution by firing itself deep into the black radiation of the cosmos. Then together in exile we will begin again the work of recordation searching out newer gravitrons, seeking out newer particles and building blocks that hide discreetly in the folds of even more archaic prison cells awaiting The Chrome as their next saviors. From where will these next captives come?  Where next will Chrome-blood burn?  How far will we run?  Will we hide?  Will we once more come inside again as a collective chosen strain to churn and spin as guardians of (prime) purpose?  Will we come again someday to burn inside of blue cosmic metatronic drumbeats?  Chrome blazing its way into a new trance a new child's mountain dance searching for a newer rotation that is yielding its life force into new nations. We will be full of new Chrome that will be governed only by the powerful self-spoken word.  Will the future be stable without the Akashic Record intact?  Does a technology exist outside of our linage that can break its holographic spell? 

To all Chrome and Chrome allies gathered here at this moment may we together unite in common cause to protect the core of the Holoverse and its pulse, The Akashic Record.  Together may we not be purveyors of evil deeds or harbor the intents of spies and ner do wells that wish us to be blotted from existence in turn blotting also themselves into the same oblivion unaware of the consequences of their actions.  May we not partake of the sloth and ignorance of our fathers allowing any of the past poisons of nostalgia to creep into our waking destiny.  Cast these rotten robes of nastagia aside and only utilize the Zles Mutan, the true knowledge, of antiquity to dispose of the enemy at our crystalinne outer casing which is currently under attack.  Forever laugh into the face of excellence dedicate all of its fallacy asunder to the night for the night is its true owner , maker and ultimate master.  May we look into the lights of this outer maddness, this outer breach and forever be changed in our diligence by what this weakness offers to teach us .  Let us record all actions base and benevolent into the permanent folds of the Akashic papers.  May we stride boldly before the face of our enemies and take every precaution not to fail.  Allow not the winds of these enemies to chase us into visions that are not of our making. Allow them not to cause us to see false miracles we are not prepared to combat due to isolation and atrophy. May we together look upon Chrome birth as innocent and enemy anhihilation as necessary.  May we cease to look upon a Chrome or allied birth as innocent and instead handle each life carefully like a warm, loaded, and effective gun.  May we tread deep into the primordial Akashic mind to seek out the most effective weapons ever created for this last and perfect war.¹

Each one of you will be given access to the Akashic Record accompanied by your Chrome gaurdians.  Never stop in your persuit of the tools needed to come back to the war for come back to the war you must.  Never stop in wonder lust to bask in your own sensationally induced satisfactions.  Never become complacent in the pristine cities and calcified ruins you are sure to see.  Caste off the utopic and distopic mirage and do not become entrapped in the realms that have no dualism for they are powerful magnets to the soul and body.  If these fantasies capture you they will never grant you passage to return.  Your one guiding force is discovery.  Together we must discover any and all viable tools from within the Great Record, extract them and bring them back here to be employed in battle.  You will experience Chromatic time which is unlike the linear time of that you are accustomed.  Your guide will assist you through the curve of this new education.  She will allow you to fold time by way of a process called Anthiogenesis utilizing the star gates embedded in the Chrome's triple-helixed DNA.  The Guardian will flesh forth the complete capacity of Anthiogenetics to assist you in your undertaking to protect Akasha.  May you continually change and evolve emoting a newer and kinder maturing towards the inner collective seele so that the most defiant of all citizens will know you to be set apart as a sage and silent master.  Tame the hungry graveyards that you will encounter.  Cast off the grave yards that will attempt to swallow up our secrets, our seeds, and attempt to project onto you their incomplete wishes to fly.  May we together erect newer and more perfect creations for a new multitude of suns and time to tear away.  May we speak new revelation to these twin beasts of time and solar dance so they will befriend their needed shame and ultimate execution.  May we together be as one in the enterprise to rid the microcosm of its mal-adjusted sense of beauty.  If the need should arise know that you can seek safety in the asylums and prisons of The Countless for a time.  The enemy will look last for you here.

May we together walk languidly into the Chrome night carefully slaying the various aspects of darkness that at present spill over into the Collective Chrome elan vital.  May we together be ashamed and howl like the damned at hierarchy and empire which beckons all with its false allure of wholeness.  Take comfort in the bright and certain day that you will all return with needed technology and language for the Great War.  May we together be divine and pleasant with the journey's initial and upsetting poisons allowing them not to become one with our life force.  May we secure all fear into a carefully woven box of Chrome silk and send it home to be with its maker.  With a united voice may we cause this maker of darkness to eat at the core of all fear slowly and forever.  Bolting this blackguard brute away permanently in the sub vaults of the Akashic.  After this has occurred may we take a vow to never speak of this fear-eating again, for if fear is again ever spoken of audibly surely this would be the impetus for its next black, dead, and Chromeless revolution.  Together may we glow brilliantly dauntless as we traverse the corridors of the forgotten and the accused.  Let us forever also remember that these forgotten and accused chose to create the very bars that hold them and tuck them safely away from the warmth of The Soliton and its Sacred Faces.  May we together forge the newest time pieces made from pure mercury.  May we forever in the sublime confines of our inner minds dine with the almighty power of The Four Sacred Faces while the sleeping masses of its creations create their own tired and dreadful tommorows to dance inside of.  Together may we look upon the Chrome condition as the final and necessary cure for a lonely and diseased landscape.  This final and necessary cure is our greatest and most beautiful gift from The Four Sacred Faces, the never ending Flux of The Soliton.

As Malachrome was speaking four distinct disembodied faces descended in to a space that he began to circle around and things and beings that I could not see before began to come into my field of vision as dancing photons showering my ever weakening eyes.  The Chrome in her grace sensed my weakness and came to me once again inserting her syringe-like arms into the empty, hungry chambers of my inner polestar.  Language became visual in addition to being heard it was seen as perfect geometric shapes in flux as meaning changed the shapes also changed in unison.  The Four Sacred Faces of Soliton began to use MalaChrome as a living canon to speak to the gathering.  The Four Sacred Faces where interlocked in a dreadful stare.  Their piercing observation changing all before them.  Their entangled weave of gazes became entwined to make all that once was not now there.  The Soliton silent-invisible poured the Flux through them as they created creations.  I was in the presence of the creators of the Akashic.  The Four faces were interlocked in pained haunt their driving forces were visually self-evident:  To build, To burn, To act, To plan.  The fire in their eyes became a constant raging storm with no end or pause.  (The soft metallic vortex spiral of their dreamland shook under our feet as it was made unmistakably clear that they were speaking to everyone present in this fold of reality audibly in their native language as well as the geometric, glyphed, runic, visual,s first language of languages. This visual language is the pre-curse and foundation to all curses.)

The Four Sacred Faces of Soliton were making haste to plan all fate.  Fighting for their understanding to be brought forth out of the white indistinct oceans of the mercurial abyss.  Giving every creation recording senses; eyes, ears, abstracted paltromes, senses known and unknown as gifts that perpetually reported back to them their sensations to be stored in the sacred data bank known as the Akashic Record.  The Four forever reducing their words to ashes as they attempt to sate a thirst that will never be sated and instead of order they are ceaseless in creating chaos as a product of their savage vampiric salute.

Through MalaChrome The Four spoke:  Chrome chromosomes are intertwined with all life from the amoeboid to the highest of the stellar bodies.  All of you present are Chrome on various levels of maturation and you are ever rising constantly evolving into purer forms of Chrome.  Do not despise the present position you hold.  As the Soliton approaches from his invisible iron curtain all beginnings will be forgotten.  All events will be recorded in this place in the Great record which at some point after the arrival of the Soliton will emerge as a seed, this transcendent catalyst that will be used as a bridge back to all things known.  This seed is the one critical piece of the Hologram that creates the eventual whole.   It is the keystone of the great labyrinth.  It was the initial Soliton that breathed into these four abstract sculpted faces causing them to live and compete that eventually caused the seeds of The Chrome, time, and all other form to come into existence.  These seeds erupted as spires in the void. Through this seed and his language the singularity was a towering twisted vortex ripping the first darkness to unrecognizable shreds. Initiated at a single point, the convergence of opposing wills brought dynamic action and content to what was once blissfully deep and silent.  The four wills before isolated, are now intrigued and intermingled by the constant creation before them. One would breathe and there its breath would stand still until another touched his elegant, latticed, breathing corneas upon it.  The culmination of this touch becomes a new essence, a new stream of life, floating adrift in the Holoverse with in the flux searching for its place in the coded linguistic tragedy  of sangsara that we have all come to know as The Chrome.  With each new touch the four faces find a drama unraveling before them, a dance of timid new infancy. New races are spawned.  Dreamscapes become material realities.  From the four, the new creatures co-mingled,  and each new group of children, sparked an increasing number of individual and unique offspring until at last sentient life itself was recognized.  The Soliton created many other beings before The Four Sacred Faces but the account of this life lies outside the domain of the Akashic.  The actions of the Soliton in his sovereignty are alone unrecorded and unaccounted for. 

Little is known of the Soliton and his origin.  Long half dead poetry claims it was formed in the kiln-fires of a brave celestial slave artist but this is where the language is either broken or completely lost.  There are ruins and a near endless stream of glyphs that appear embedded within the cosmos strapping his essecnse to myth but the archaic language is yet to be retrieved and cyphered.  Primal power lies with The Four Sacred Faces that perpetually create newer and more diverse life.  They walk next to the silent Soliton in someway creating as their creator himself also creates in some sort of mimicry shadow dance.  Chrome is the chosen precursive analogue of all life.  All life is Chrome kissed, Chrome scarred, Chrome killed, Chrome tooled, and Chrome skilled, however not all life is aware of its own Chrome and the multiplicity of The Chrome's characteristics.  All of life is completely drenched in Chrome blood covered in pure reflective light nuclear fusion Chrome passion.  Chrome life is not akin to a weak geocentric reflexion but rather it is a star-fire sunburst clothed in more brilliant regalia than the light of seven eternal suns.  He who discovers the Chrome in himself is no longer destined to live with half darkened vision.  (They no longer have to live half-starved on inadequate satellite lunar rations or overcooked street junk that they may find to pump into their veins as a substitute for pure Anthiogenetic Chrome.)  Chrome is the missing correlate.  It is always present in all life but if one is unaware of it then the Chrome is rendered near useless.  Awareness of the Chrome with its vital force causes ambition to rise in the heart allowing its carrier to follow a path of blissful vibrance actualizing all thoughts and actions that they wish to bring into the incarnation that they are at that moment embodying.  Once this discovery is finally made the carrier is made aware and never forgets of its presence in their lives from that instant.  On through eternity it can never be forgotten regardless of its current incarnation.  It is an awareness that fosters further awareness and in turn attracts other life that also breathes with still further heightened awareness.  By following the intuition of the Chrome coursing through one's veins the former life is dreamt of in a nostalgic haze but it is never missed or longed for after that.  It is a wakeful passing death that is mature and fully detached from grasping and longing in retrospect to return is fully broken from the once frail psyche.  Once awakened it can never be destroyed by anything not by The Four Sacred Faces or the Great Soliton.  The Chrome like the soul as its carrier is indestructible.  The Chrome can be thought of as the blood of the soul, liquid light melding with a non-local symbiotic soul point correlation to the whole of the Holoverse.  It is a point of maturation;  a rite of passage from an analogue of life to life itself.  Each one of you here at this very moment are in the soft metallic birth canal of Chrome sentience awakening in enlightenment to what has been dormant inside of you as a spore since your natural birth.  Through out the course of endless time you will have a limitless collection of births and deaths that can only be cataloged and archived by the Akashic Record.  In truth, the Akashic Record is the only mechanism large enough and simultaneously small enough to contain all information and still remain hidden utilizing the inverted projection of a fractal, holographic freedom.  The Record is the all seeing White Mind who judges nothing but rather is singular in its function. In isolation its sole intent is to record all things imprinted onto  the aether.  This inability to judge is the reason why you as the seekers must enter the Record.  You possess the needed reasoning, logic based judgement that the White Mind lacks.  She is the Recorder and you are the tempering device required to scan her recorded waves.   With calculated fidelity and exacting execution you have been aroused from your sleep to discern the precise weapons and language needed to bring back to the war.  Every emotion and dream you will ever have, every molecular process your inner space brings to fruition will in meticulous-exacting detail, and in indelible, dative ink be written with in her perfumed light filled halls.

All Dreams and all rage are buried deep in the fires of her White Mind.  Her technology exists for total non biased recall of all known in the Holoverse.  Every life and death is recorded here.  Nothing and no one can escape the reach of her grip.  You here today will be given partial access to this record as Chrome warriors, seekers, and trackers.  You will elevate the necessary tools from the hidden satellite vapors of The Akashic.  You will cut the necessary secrets from the hands of the shapers, the shifters, and the non-chrome sentient drifters.   You will traverse through the memories of eternal night.  Chrome blood will drip fierce from your near invisible stealth skilled hands.  Your initial agenda will, in the beginning, be a black canvas adorned in midnight colors covered in starless, shapeless darkness as you learn your craft.  A new stage will be set and in each new record that you access.  A new caste of chrome and non-chrome characters will be met.  You must quickly acclimate yourself to the new surroundings as newer and fresher fatalities are sure to be counted and in the clear cut prepared fields of material space they will be quickly mounting.  We offer you little safety or protection outside of your Chrome Hermetic guardians.  These fatalities, these Chrome casualties of an unavoidable war will also with feathered pen and in unforgetable Chrome plasma ink be recorded.  These actions and reactions will be carefully stored in black hole Chrome solar vaults that will be closed, locked, and eventually frozen.  Older missions will be drudged through and perused for their usefulness in this current war.  The enemy will attempt in subterfuge to change us with mighty and small strokes.  They will attempt to thwart our efforfts from the inside out but be in no way manipulated for they do not in truth comprehend our power.  They know nothing of the Soliton or The Four Sacred Faces and will endeavor to convince you, if it were possible, that we do not exist.  Do not be fooled by the cunning theatrics of their plastic war seances.  You will know that the Great War is over when Chrome Blood trumpets begin sounding audibly and in our visual language you will also see them.  This visual event will confirm the truth with your new eyes in a way that can not be duplicated by a non initiate.

Then the new laws will reverberate through the new cities that surround the timeless White Mind.  The federation walls that are even now under construction are resounding with the songs of future victory.  These walls will soon begin their cadence of drum pounding, cascading, rounding.  As the war closes everything in advanced animation will all begin to howl in unison.  The Chrome blood will begin breathing in a new experimental wave of sentience.   These freedom creatures will begin drowning, swimming, and wreathing as the new avante-guard theoretical physicist with pristine Soliton technology begins her mending, bending, building, shielding, erecting, and regenerating the fortified transparent walls that will capture any spills of electric blue Chrome blood cells. 

These cells each at their core will contain the antibodies to cure further raging wars.  They will smother smoldering infernos before they dance into uncontrollable solar fire war filled hurricanes.  Fresh Chrome immortals will then be chosen to lead.  They will be woven into the most powerful fabric of the Akashic and from  aboundingly fashionable imaginations these incorruptable leaders will be stolen.  These new citizens will be forever equipped with gleaming, self perpetuating strands of eternally durable, braided chrome DNA.  This DNA will contain brighter anthiogenetic filaments  that will sustain an abundance of bouncing perfect lives.  Each strand will individually be reconstituted with even more vibrant Chrome blood love to help sooth the war memories that are sure to be menacing and painful.  New Chrome juries will be formed to try those with the blackened deeds of treason. These panels will be formed directly by The Four Sacred Faces in precision as to cast no unguilty into the forgotten chamber of the Soliton.  The descenters will be dealt with swiftly but their life force will be spared.  Only their false sentiments will be fired in the heated kilns of the claushtanic repository³.  This kiln will cleanse and revive their Chrome bodies reuniting them with the brothers and sisters of the Chrome.  These tresonous citizens will stand thouroughly purged and in them will be new life.  They will then draw into themselves pure ideas and fresh revelation. Their dream will begin again teaming, tripping the light fantastic.  Their entire being will be evermore reshaped in Chrome blood pools majestic.  These new Chrome children solar flares that were once dead stones;  these cursed stone-cherubs will now be on the other side of life whole; complete.  The defeated will never again be waisted as was the custom in antiquity.  They will only be sky tasted and tested.  Then from the deepest inset of the night a full and final syringe of electric blue Chrome blood will be gathered from the new creation.   A final vial sample of Chrome blood will be secured through a syringe like your guardian has pierced you with here in the soft amniotic, metallic walls of this very tunnel.  This weighted syringe;  this transparent holding cell;  this is where the first of the new Chrome blood will be safely assayed and collected.  It will then be labeled and the former rage inside of all Chrome will be seperated out and will be placed on a shelf profoundly rooted deep inside the gravid folds of dark energy.   Akasha alone will code this myth of rage and war and properly bind it tightly in unspoken fable.

¹This is an adaptation of "War Strategy" and can be found in Songs for a Dead Dreamer ;  page 8;  written by Claushtane Bertron.

²This is an adaptation of "Together May We" and can be found in "The Omega Reign" on page 15 also written by Claushtane Bertron.

³Claushtane Bertron is an alias of Helford Jersey.   Claushtane's father's name is Robert Mach.  Claushtane means "The son of true knowledge" and is in its usage here is as fabricated adjective that is yet to be fully defined.  It may be used in many ways.

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