Ghostly Gardens

The Ghostly Gardens, situated in Crispershire-on-Netherscomb, Mortland, is an important research institution and cultural center for post-vitalism studies. Since its inception in 19೪8, the gardens have precipitated profound and uninterrupted contributions in the pneumatical branches of the natural and formal sciences, making it an irreplaceable hub of experimentation, conservation, and education.

In addition to its scientific and didactic contributions, the Ghostly Gardens is renowned as masterpiece of human creative genius for its design, ornamental, and architectural features, all of which combine artfully with natural elements to make an inspired and intelligent application of different fields of knowledge. Such felicity is reflected in the site’s layout, which divides the area into symmetrically placed and mutually intersecting circles wherefrom three thematic and functional spaces emerge: a botanical garden, a biodiversity garden, and an experimental garden.

From fragile wisps of wisteria, to fragrant, incensing patches of mint and mallow, to willow trees and myrtle groves, the botanical garden is myriad in its charms. At its entrance one immediately encounters the famous Mortish witherblossoms, from which emanates a redolent and unearthly transfume, prized by scent connoisseurs and hyperaromatic perfumists alike. Of particular interest to new visitors, however, are the sweet and pulpy ectoplasmic fruits of the peach and plum orchards, which receive intense scrutiny not only from xenopomologists, but also from oenologists due to the delicate and reedy flavors of the spectral wines derived therefrom. (Visitors may find these fruits available for purchase, depending on seasonal availability.) The trellised arrangement of putrescent roses, a perennially popular exhibit with thanatobotanists, is also worth savoring, as it may be the world’s only naturally occurring memento mori, and as such offers an unusually evocative aesthetic and emotional experience. One may likewise delight in the acreage devoted specifically to the hexed poppy fields, for which stimulants are provided upon request, as there does periodically arise a difficulty wherein the poppies gently lull visitors into a timeless sleep: this, although wondrous for the field of achronal somnology, may in certain circumstances be considered suboptimal.

The biodiversity garden, located south of the botanical and experimental gardens, encompasses a rich intermixture of phytological and zoological exotica. Overlapping the botanical garden, for instance, is a tenebrous laurel grove whose trees are inhabited by null dryads, an endangered nymph subspecies. EEG recordings show that these reticent creatures pass most of their lives in a dreamless slumber, but nature aficionados should note that null dryads are set theoretically fascinating, for few organisms embody mathematical primitives with such ontological confusion. Of course, one would be amiss to neglect the abalone water-basins, wherein small birds are inexplicably found drowned daily, and the natural beehives, whose honeycombs are a fount of delight for hyperbolic apiology, as they appear to be an affront to sense, reason, and proper Euclidean geometry. Another highlight of this garden is perhaps what is referred to as the “koi pond,” rather loosely, for although such koi produce the impression of being seen, handled, caught, ingested, and so on, all available phantasichthyological data suggests that these fish do not actually exist, making this Mortland’s only formally documented case of phantom koi.

The experimental garden is a highly instrumented site designed to accommodate a wide scope of scientific explorations. Many of the institution’s structural elements, including pavilions, pergolas, whisper-grottos, and casperous arbors, are incorporated into this space, where to the casual observer the unaccountably precarious bridges and trees aflail in absence-winds may appear as but whimsically rococo embellishments; however, all such features are carefully controlled, measured, and monitored. For example, beside the shadowless vine-walls stands a row of marble statues that glow warmly but are perpetually cold to the touch: this, in addition to serving as a picturesque amusement, allows resident thermodynamists to obtain data on the newly discovered phenomenon of cryogenic incandescence. Similarly, the garden’s temporal streams and verdislime waterfalls, ostensibly idyllic water features intended to facilitate refreshment and contemplation, are in fact controlled environments utilized for research in hydrotemporalism and exotic toxicity. Likewise, the many garden paths that disappear once traversed (influenced by the theme of labyrinth) are a locus of inquiry into Heisenberg sublimation as well as an endless diversion for small children.

Ending of a Love Story

And as the rebels closed in against the ancient palace walls, the lover and the beloved encrypted themselves into binary code, then topologically permuted into isomorphic propositions that were each other’s Gödel sentences except for one bit, which they left quantum indeterminate until the end of the universe, at which time a single photon appearing at the event horizon of a black hole conveyed the message: 1.

Afterwards, energy displacements within a lambdavacuum initiated a chain reaction that stabilized the vacuum, creating fundamental forces that lacked entropy (analogous to entropy-less cellular automata), which through minimal-complexity primitive discrete operations 30 degrees above magnitude, yielded life.

The Cognition of a Ghost

His name was Eric, not that anyone ever needed to know. It was only in knowing his failures that his heart became feather-light when weighed by Anibus against the featherweight of Ma’at in his immortal abode of Duat.

As Eric’s knowledge approached omniscience, he began to ascertain that when the wind blew in off the lake at summer it never came in at the precise direction that meteorologists claimed it did, and he discerned that astronomers were mislead about the light spectrum and chemical compositions of distant stars, and he discovered to his astonishment that during certain twilight hours in mid-April when the full moon filtered in through the bay windows, the angle of reflection exhibited normally distributed aberrations from the angle of incidence. He understood, furthermore, that the Big Bang has never really ended, that humanity views it now from the inside the bubble as a set of complex mathematical objects, and that the atemporal evolution of the universe appears to exist sequentially only from within the mathematical object.

There is a line in a poem by Octavio Paz that Eric used to know, before he lost his sense of teleological morality and his memory of the passage of time, as it is with all beings whose substances are not subjected to the entropy gradient of the universe. All history is thus oblique. The line is: “Es transparente el infinito.”

New House

“This is the master bedroom.”

The real estate agent points to a dense cluster of paintings and bookshelves jammed against a wall. There is no door.

“Oh! This kitchen sink has a garage disposal!”

The cabinet beneath the sink refuses to open. You hear a thud against the door, followed by the sound of a child reciting “Hickory Dickory Dock” except the words are garbled and spoken in reverse.

“And notice the cat door!”

A raven flutters in through cat dog door and builds a time-lapsed nest in the kitchen then unbuilds the nest and flies back out.

“And notice how large this closet is!”

The closet opens to reveal a gaslit, subterranean Hungarian warehouse in the year 1914.

“Where does this door go?” you ask hesitantly, pointing at a wooden door.

The real estate agent doesn’t know what you’re talking about. The door suddenly resembles a mausoleum entrance, copper and encrusted in a thick verdigris patina. You smell moss and mallow and chrysanthemums from nowhere. The real estate agent continues to deny the presence of a door.

“This is the nursery.”

The room is achromatic. You also become drained of color as you enter. You hear a vaguely out-of-tune violin stuttering a sequence of an indelibly beautiful melody, looping continuously while repeating the same pitch mistakes every time. You examine the cartoon wallpaper, which is yellowed and peeling and layered with intricately complex spider webs and smells of an indefinable combination of peach ice cream and oregano. As you turn to leave you see yourself standing in the middle of the room, aged fifty years, staring at the wallpaper and crying.

In the Nightforest

Near our encampment in the nightforest stands a hypermirror, a reflective portal into another universe or reality or perhaps a dreamtime, which upon reemergence reverses the entrant’s charge, parity, or temporal directionality.

A green fog enters into the hypermirror and wafts back out as spatially reversed fog. It infiltrates the ground, and seeps into the primal ribbiting of opsipherions, the hoots and wails of wa’ki’la’s, the stirs of shakramals, and tweets of ku’rhymas. A gravitationally unbound hyperportal wavers overhead, and releases capsules of gaseous nitrogen, suffusing the atmosphere. The aerial army of ulepitrilheons assembles itself into military formation, prowling over the chemoluminescent crystal lake wherein the pre-vitalic ice machinery live.

In the volcano conclaves, a sacrifice is initiated as Zalrkali priests ritualistically pierce a tattooed warrior with a poisoned blade. Their officials are conducting psychological warfare now, blowing into hallucinogenic conch shells, and sending shock wavelets through the air, swivelating us mindlong into the guru-potante’s hallucinodious laugh. The shock orbs split in half each second, causing every second to be atomically redefined each time. We prepare our counterattack with a brume of electonetherdust, as our reconnaissance drones oscillate in deep time, the temporal layer three strata before the current one. Our native planet groans and undulates, sucking miasma into its serpentine underbelly while their aerial choppers attack, beginning with the lower extremities, a process the Zalrkali euphemize as “ex-living.”

The sky is purpling; the holographic constellation Auoerleioron is decomposing and swirling downward, reassembling into a destination hyperportal which emanates hissing vapors while flumes and etherfumes and quintessencefoams escape everywhere and qubits are released as a byproduct. The inside of the hyperportal is comprised of an infinite network of crystals composed of the dreams of the dead, with each crystal reflecting every other. Upon departing the hyperportal, we find ourselves 18,780 yggdrasilouparsces away, on the planet Quaddralafki of the star Ashkalamara in the galaxy Euph’ieroqqo’ahlo in the supercluster Iueoraloiemmoleu.

Three Accounts of the Same Event

Account 1: The singing raintrees, cimbaloms, and weather harps transposed aural etherealities into a higher dimension whose rivulets of harmonies trickled into lower dimensions and rose into higher still dimensions. There, plasmal beings kythe through polycolored rainbows, using ionized air channels as their primary form of transportation, navigating in paraboats through the mindstream beyond light speed, warping the universe as they traverse forty thousand galaxies in a picosecond. This creates a new paradigm of universes that ceaselessly bloom and self-transfigure within a hypermatrix of infinite generation.

Account 2: Violet, mauve, and lavender timewaves oscillated as superfluid helium elixir showers flowed through quasizephrys at dawn in multicolored hyperrainbows. They intermingled with Riemann 4-spheres and hyperlucent hecatonicosachora and hexacosichora in a showering algorithmic symphony of harmonically optimized prime numbers, Bernoulli numbers, and Mersenne numbers. The numbers began to float and descend in geometric forms while accelerating into the timechasm then scintillating, flaring, and falling, initiating a new generation of infinite Peano-Gosper curves and twindragon curves. The fractals are flowing now, undulating, developing sapience and communicating with one another, signaling that the mind’s growth recapitulates the generation of the universe in a Conway’s Game of Life scenario wherein a complex orbital decomposes into an orbital that orbits the orrerial clockscape of the deep memories of the hippocampus.

Account 3: The dream-machine is churning worlds out with ever greater rapidity now, building, transcending, colonizing, launching projectiles then deconstructing along the Hausdorff dimension. Each fractal iteration is expansive, complete, all-consuming, sprawling outward, and generating further life still until each iteration develops sentience then rainbowlike sapience and becomes the progenitor of multiple universes, each doing the same thing. In each iteration is progress and hypertechnology, a blinking cataclysm of electrochemical machinery held in suspended motion, a euphonious symphony that ripples upward and transcends downward, flashing, shocking, and flaring on all sides. It is an ongoing collaborative rose-green, apricot-green, mallow-green, peach-green, coral-green frenzy of phonemes coruscating in polytemporal communication of pitch-shifting yearnings. It is 70,000 eyes, 70,000 wings, and 70,000 antennae fluttering, blinking, sensing, dipping into globular clusters, transcending, revolving, splashing in quantum streams of time, and then every prime-numbered pixel disintegrating.

The Recruit

“Shh, don’t tell, don’t tell anyone,” said Mallikarjun, to which Ravichandra responded, “Shh, don’t tell anyone,” to which Mallikarjun responded, “Shh, don’t tell anyone,” to which Ravichandra responded, “Shh, don’t tell anyone,” to which Mallikarjun responded, “Shh, don’t tell anyone.”

Watch. Just. Just.
Watch just watch.

And he pulled the lever.

Did you remember the wine for the picnic? Did you remember the Horsehead Nebula for the picnic? Did you remember the plasma irregularities for the picnic? Did you remember the wine for the vinophagic muon neutrinos? Did you remember the wine for Emperor Commodus? Clarissa’s gotten engaged, whitecake wedding ghostcandled bride, engaged, lecherous vampire bats fluttering in the dark.

Spinning, it was. Spinning, spinning. Violet-mauve-lavender, not spacetime but hyperspacetime, spinning, a metahyperreferenced mindscape, and here’s your 100 trillion-page Excel spreadsheet that details the navigational pathways. On behalf of our company. On behalf of the Jacobin revolutionaries. On behalf of Galahad the Pure. We would like to offer you. Fluctuations expanding and exchanging chronons and transferring temporal chroma, the dream machine activated, hippocampal neurons blooming in fractal forms, a neural garden of chaos enclosed by rows of colonnades that span light years in distance, the universe creating itself, mapping itself at every point onto a vector field, performing symmetry-preserving transformations and translating itself into higher dimensions.