The Black Out Who: Erebos (erebos). What: The city-wide Black Out. Where: The entirety of New York City, from subways to the skyline. When: Thursday at 12:01 PM and lasting until 12:21 PM.
In a perfectly dark room a round of film hung in perfect stillness, black and white cityscapes - a skyscraper as seen by its shadow, a dark alley that didn't end and family: a man so bright he was light in relief; two women moving in layers of Selves; a rotten apple in a delicate hand; a man of planes and angles sharp; and her. Mortals said she walked in beauty. Mortals didn't know shit, but he was going to give them an opportunity to learn. She walked among her family, the dreams made flesh in all the most awful ways; She walked among madness, the holes in interrupted lives; She walked among death, the moments light died; She walked beside him, the only being who ever could. The family fluttered on their hooks - two thousand years in perfect squares of remembrance - and shone. The stars in the night; darkness did so love his family. And alongside them, those glinting photos, the city crumpled under the weight of shadows.
I'm untouchable darkness, a dirty black river to get you through this
Once upon a time, there was nothing. A yawning void that knew neither matter nor substance nor life. And then, there came the Dark and beside Darkness, Night. The primordial days of an ancient story, and long before the division of Airs occurred, the Dark and the Nothingness danced freely in a universe that had no boundary, belonged only to the primal and the encompassing. And then there came Light, born of the love between Dark and Night; and from Nothing arose something, a world of matter that divided the Airs and separated love from beloved in their real shapes. Almost. For the Dark turned, alone, and seeped into the substance, bringing with him the knowing of the nothing to corrupt the core of matter; he spread, cancerous, into the deep places of the world where substance could take refuge and devoured, created hollows which he filled and divided matter and life in slashing shards of the abyss above the surface. Until life learned to dance the twisting edge between the Father and the Son; fled from the boundless dark into sharp smiling light and raged, raged against the dying of the light, and the shadows festered still and life doubted.
in the mouth of madness, down in the darkness, down in the hollow
The cellar was hollowed out, carved into the shape of home-below and filled with nothingness writhing against the choked air. Five days it had built, with the Sun's death thrumming through the Night and all She walked among, until the whispers hissed through black blood. Another son's gift flipped open - too dark to glint, too dark to see, it ticked, still - time.
when the kids are screaming, wrecking on the road violate their dreaming
There are no shadows at high noon, world and sun tangle to chase shadows from the surface in a frenzied clutching of heat and spit. Today, the face light has turned away and the rots beneath the surface; a shadow, unnoticed, has grown alongside a street lamp. A veil dances on air choked with urban debris, the primordial and pollutants meet and there is no tangle, no heat, no divide to stop the corruption from spreading. A shadow lengthens and no sun chases it back and from below, the mist rises; it sticks to the air in cobweb strands and the sunlight thrashes, closes the web tighter and tighter around itself until a minute past the hour sees the light suffocated by unmitigated dark. And from below, the mist rises; it sticks to buildings like humid breath on August windows, a fog to be ignored until a minute past the hour when it congeals. And from below, the mist rises, it wraps around light bulbs inside lamps and streetlights and traffic lights and strangles the glowing, bright things until a minute past the hour when all light dies.
There is no sun to catch in flight.
There is no blaze; only blindness.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
This is when the hollow howls; this is the dark primordial and it is full, whispering, hissing, singing, screaming, echoing. Erebos, spread unchecked above, within, below New York City, darkness like thick honey molasses that wreaks of fear; that wreaks of sweat and rot and decay, two thousand years of bodies that have crumbled in his arms; that wreaks of fire burn out, hungry roots, angry iron, dead gems; that wreaks of unsweet nothingness, life swallowed by the doubts of decay.
And this is when something moves; this is a slow, sliding wail of touch that is as much it isn't in a world that has no sight.