Nick Land - Phyl-Undhu: Abstract Horror, Exterminator

Phyl-Undhu

Phyl-Undhu

Appendix-1: Abstract Horror

Appendix-2: Exterminator

Notes

Sources

URLs

Time-Spiral Press, 2014

... even in the few seconds that had passed since his arrival at her side, he had seen a patch of illumination go out, a swathe of lights a whole precinct or district turn suddenly dark. The lights did not return; there was a ribbon of blackness cutting across Spearpoint that had previously been illuminated. And as he kept watching, another ribbon appeared below that one the lights flickering on and off this time, as if some ancient, overstrained generator had just cut out and then restarted, before losing the battle against the darkness. It didn't end there, either. In seemingly disconnected parts of Spearpoint, squares and rectangles of darkness appeared not just in Neon Heights but in the upper levels, taking out parts of Circuit City and even the angel spaces. The squares and rectangles pushed out fingers and filaments of blackness, joining disconnected areas, squeezing the visible light into narrow, harried motes and margins, as if the visible lights were people being herded into stifling pens by armies of dark enforcers. Alastair Reynolds, Terminal World (p.101)

The Certainties are those matters, only, which if not held true, make of all holding true or false an insanity. Of the Heavens, whether there be such or not, nothing is known. We are compelled to concur with the wisdom of the ancients, when they say of paradise it is the topic of fools. Of the 1023 Hells, we know, from adamant principle and thus with perfect confidence, of their times, the order of their times, and descending from the order of their times their dominant qualities, of their superior and inferior gods, of their connections and doors, and the angles of their doors, of their names and the numbers of their names, to the ninth degree, of their seals and sigils, of their torsions, of the cries they release and the cries they hold, of their populations as to numbers, of their maze-types, bonds, and hooks, of their weapons, of the tools of their weapons, and the calls of their weapons, and also many other things . Tchukhzsca, the Certainties (prologue, i-iii)

All so shed . Unattributable.

Phyl-Undhu

. Utter nullity. In the words of the ancient sages of ruined Ashenzohn, it was the endlessness that ends in itself . Dark silence beyond sleep and time, from whose oceanic immensities some bedraggled speck of attention pulled out, and turned still dazed at the precipitous lip, catches a glimmer, as if of some cryptic emergence from eclipse. Then a sound, crushed, stifled, broken into gasps. Something trying to scream

. Does thirteen billion years really seem like such a long time to you? It was too late for that question. She was no longer in the place where it made sense. To forget was a shelter indistinguishable from waking, on some paths, and manifestation of the outer gates had already been accomplished with excessive harshness. Now the rustle of a curtain, the tic, tic, tic of a wind-flustered twig on the window pane, relieved her from those hideous cosmic durations, which had pulverized all refuge until only raw exposure remained. What had been worse were the hatches, nested inside each other, as they scaled down out of the icy, intolerable void. Something that was like a wind, but was not a wind, blasting, sucking, tugging directly at the mind. She scarcely dared to hope that the world had closed again, so quietly. She rummaged through the corners of each though, suspiciously, searching for insidiously self-delusive designs. Madness is no escape, she had told herself, or been told, advised , by a voice that held the keys to indescribable

Nightmares?

No, she mumbled the necessary lie, as her sleep had before. Even in their recession, the cruel subtleties impressed her still. The slow excruciation had masked itself cunningly, spinning a second, inaccessible sleep-gate from the fabric of dreams, then a third, perhaps more, each sealed with intricate puzzle-locks. Exact recollection fractured among fake awakenings. She had thought, for long ages, that the episodic impossibility of reaching beyond this Matrioshka labyrinth was the whole of her life. Crossings beyond crossings. Now the palpable menace had dissipated. Only its husk remained. Vague direness. What are you inside?

Cant sleep?

Sorry. She shifted again. Am I keeping you awake?

Its OK honey. Jack Turners voice had already shrugged off its drowsiness like a dead snake skin. He re-angled a pillow to prop himself up against the head-board. Something in particular thats bugging you?

Alison sat up next to him, her body stiff with tension. Suzy mainly, of course. She paused momentarily, and I guess some other stuff. Bad dreams, thick with traps and false dawns, had been recurrent recently but she wasnt referring to that.

So you think this Suzy problem is serious?

Dont you? There was querulous edge to the response that she had failed to entirely suppress. It wouldnt be Jack who had to deal with this , she thought grumpily. Still, he was asking. That was good. She took his hand, squeezing it slightly.

She seems OK to me he mumbled.

Oh, Jesus Jack! The school has set up some kind of exceptional meeting to discuss whats going on with her. Does that sound OK to you?

So, what is ? He trailed off. Neither of them had yet switched on a light. The darkness made their exchange seem spectrally insubstantial, oneiric. You know what honey, if were going to talk this over properly and youre right, we should it would be better to get up for a while. If we stay here its just going to feel like insomnia. He was already swinging his legs out of bed, reaching for his ridiculous tartan dressing gown. A glass of wine would help me focus.

Really? She smiled, and began roughly mirroring his actions. Wine? Now? At two in the morning? When were both working tomorrow? It was meant to sound light, but it didnt. Moonlight painted black webs over her face.

She scanned the dimness for her favorite night-dress, an over-sized tattered jumper that had once been maroon, but was now an odd shade of bruised gray. The left elbow was completely gone, but it was warm, the weight and scratchiness comforting. Locating the shadowy mound near the curtain, she hooked it towards her with one foot, and pulled it on. To give up on sleep like this was a relief. It was true.

. Jack had already fished a half-consumed bottle of Shiraz from the fridge by the time she reached the kitchen. She sat at their large time-scoured table and let him pour her a glass.

Im seeing Suzys teacher tomorrow, straight after work, she said. Theres not much to discuss until then.

Do you know what its about?

Frightening her classmates. Thats all Ive been told.

Frightening them?

Thats all Ive been told, she repeated, lengthening the leash on her irritation.

OK, OK He held up his hands defensively. Its just

absurd. Yes. She sighed. Ive been dealing with this for almost a week. By dinnertime tomorrow well know what its all about.

But its keeping you up? he persisted.

Oh, I dont know Jack. It was her turn to throw up her hands, almost knocking her wine glass over. Its not a rational thing.

Shell be OK, he mused vaguely, swirling his unconsumed wine into a slow vortex, mind caught in the red swirl. Although actually, since were here, there is one Suzy-related matter that concerns me, a little.

That stupid game, she predicted.

He looked up, surprised. Yes thats right.

Feels like it ate our daughter sometimes, doesnt it? A ghostly smile.

Theyd never spoken about it before, as far as he could remember. Not even casually, in micro-fragments, or humorous allusions. It was odd perhaps slightly sinister, for this prominent time-wedge, driven diagonally into their family, to have become so entirely unmentionable.