Forbidden History

For years I had studied natural history and the past of humanity, tugging me in all directions through biology and anatomy, archaeology and anthropology, religion and the occult, and yet the answers I sought never appeared to me.

The book of law reached out to me as I begged and pleaded with any being that could hear my terrestrial and weak cries for knowledge, to be lit aflame with the passion of knowledge as had been done so long ago to the autonomous clay beings sculpted by the able, many-fingered hands of Yahweh when Satan, Lucifer, the Rebel passed the torch of consciousness to the earthly machines with the single bite of an apple.

Beings of flesh and bones, growing meat, machines with the purpose to replicate and continue operating until no longer possible, were given questionable capabilities, boons unimaginable; a flash in their vision as the world cascaded onto them, the brain never pausing its extraction and processing of information, the reptile brain became secondary and organized thought reared its head from the deep murky depths of the id.

There had to be more, the holy books of Abraham’s children were not useful; Darwin was teasing Raziel and his gazing, knowing eye when he wrote with his capable hands ideas on evolution and change of living things over unimaginable time scales, the adaptation of biological machines to the places they live and eat and fornicate ceaselessly in.

From chemical froth in a boiling ocean, rogue strands of connected compounds flourished, willed to copy themselves with the material around them by the laws of chemistry and physics, chemical automatons created from nothing but the laws of probability, a cosmic mistake that would self-propagate and make itself known, immortal; strands bundled together and created more chemicals that would bond and create structures, the automatons were growing, they wanted to live.

A burning, choking rock filled with oxygen and creatures went from strands to cells, cells merged and coalesced into organisms, soft creatures grew stronger structures and exploded with violent energy in a great outpouring of life the likes that had never been seen before into the primordial ocean.

The bare womb of the land became jealous of the fertile ocean until the invasion from the depths germinated the soil and, before long, the world was covered in organisms all eating and processing and fornicating.

Bones from long ago and stone encasements in their shape have been found all over their world, imprints of a time long ago, that give us a picture of where we came from, but the picture is not complete, I realize, as I sit and drink, alone among my tomes and my brooding, swirling thoughts in my blessed brain, trapped in my skull.

Colleagues had long since abandoned me except for one who gave me tip to visit a long broken cradle in the fertile crescent, the impetus of mankind’s organized existence according to more accepted figures in the scientific community; there is no coincidence that cultures all around the world worship mother goddesses with bulging, full wombs and bodies replete with fat reserves, hanging from their hips and legs and chest; She is what all flesh machines want: fornication, replication, eating.

She eats, she fornicates, she replicates, endlessly; a mother at its barest of essentials, the remains of the concept of motherhood when placed in a crucible and melted with the flames of insight and history; most holy and revered was the creator of life; her womb may be beneath the scorched sands of the crescent, and I will expose her to the world so that all may know truly where mankind came from.

Word had gotten out about my studies and ponderances in more ways than one; a group had confronted me and supported my studies, in which they had shown great interest and provided many supplemental works by their own members which documented languages predating cuneiform, pantheons of unknown deities whose forms and domains were suggested to be the roots of deities and demons we know of today, bizarre rituals and processions, abstract paintings in deep caves; all of their studies pointed towards a vast proto-culture, and Sumeria was only the tip of the iceberg.

Our works were considered pseudohistory, quackery, occult nonsense by those in their fields; I believed the same thing before I had come to many separate but substantial realizations about the countless tomes they pored over and cross-referenced—tomes seemingly banished from any library catalogue, no matter how large, obscure, or well-funded.

The results of my tireless study of their research into this forgotten age of man, an age where the ancestors of humans ate and fornicated freely under the watch of nature gods with names borne of ancient, unknown tongues, mysterious entities neither good nor evil who simply fostered the thinking animals that would grow to abandon their ways, careless and free worshippers of primitive powers that would sow the seeds for gods and demons like Pan and Taurt, would show that, indeed, this ancient culture has remnants in the fertile crescent, hinted at by bones much older than anticipated deep beneath the sands; the marrows hinted at human ancestry, but not enough were found to piece together any recognizable being.

I journeyed to the scorching desert with only myself, except for the guides who took me to an abandoned dig site and swiftly left my side once I had been deposited, for they feared ancient demons and often tried to push their unfounded anxieties onto me concerning the supernatural.

A patch of neat, picketed squares tore deep into the dry earth, exposing jagged holes that led straight down into the crust; I tread down into the crypts, leaving the comfort of the inky sky with its glimmering stars and watchful, golden moon; cracked earth and ancient timbers upheld the structure whose design, the layout of its guts, were unfamiliar by any standard of human organization.

Rooms led into rooms led into hallways led into rooms, empty and dusty; I searched and searched for something, anything; an artifact, a bone, a tattered manuscript—anything could be left here after the dig team left in a panic, as I was told by my fearful guides.

The air in here was old and musty, stale; it made my head feel strange, but I would seek the refuge of slots in the ceiling where moonlight would funnel through into the architecture under the packed earth.

Before I knew it, hours had passed but the direction of the moonlight seemed not to change; weariness began to overtake me, so I decided to return to the camp I had set up at the mouth of the ancient site; I turned around and headed back from whence I came, but still new rooms revealed themselves to me.

That corridor wasn’t there before.

This room is new.

I don’t remember there being a doorway here nor there.

My stomach churned and sweat began to trickle down my back and head as the terrible realization seized hold of my rational mind, shaking me violently with the realization that I was lost in the crypts.

No matter how far I went in any direction, I seemed to be going in circles, finding new rooms along the way but never the corridor to the outside; after what felt like hours of groping in the dark and coughing in the dust, I grew desperate, clawing at the walls with my fingers.

My fingers raked the packed earth, dust accumulating under my nails as my fingers were rubbed raw from the handfuls of sand and earth I ripped from the walls, hoping to find my way out; my hands hurt and I cursed the guides who led me here for allowing me to face this folly; I pounded my fists uselessly into the earth and then wailed on the wall until, to my surprise, a large chunk of earth fell through to the other side.

I could not see very well into the chamber I had just revealed, so I pushed more and more chunks of earth out of the way, feeling the gritty sediment cake around the blots of blood on my raw hands; the adrenaline kept my mind off of the stinging.

Before long, I had a hole I could draw through and, with nowhere else to go, I proceeded; as moonlight poured in and my eyes adjusted, I could see the low hallway stretch out into darkness before me, with rows of thinly spaced shelves or slabs.

Lined up tip to tip were bundles of ruined, tattered rags wrapped around round, lumpy objects; I got onto my knees after crawling through and, after coughing at the staler scent of this forgotten passage, investigated one of the objects by carefully peeling back the canvas; it was roughly human-sized whatever it was.

I could see mummified skin and exposed bone; my heart raced as I discovered that the creature wrapped in gauze was not human; anatomical features were in the wrong place, malformed, and warped to the threshold of recognition; I had read about the ancestral humans not being what was expected, but to see it with my own eyes made me.

My abdomen violently lurched, my throat heaved, and I threw my head to the side, expelling what I had last eaten.

The stone was desecrated by my sorry self.

To think that Adam and Eve, as well as their children, could have been shaped like these creatures; if God had any other reason to wipe out all life with the flood, it was to destroy these disgusting entities.

The irregular shape of the countless other lumps on the shelves told me that more of these deformed “people” were preserved here in eternal slumber, their twisted, mangled forms to be preserved for a thousand more years, to outlast possibly the modern man should the site remain as it is.

I continued down the dark passage way, passing hundreds of mummies; the air becoming warmer and more humid as I pressed on, and a certain organic smell started to fill my nose until I entered a chamber, semicircular in shape; the round walls met at a flat mural.

An ancient painting, a carving whose contours were filled with the oldest dyes, it had the characters of an unknown primordial language, unlike any form of writing but predating cuneiform; wicked gashes and gnarled glyphs covered the wall, annotating the pictures in long boustrophedonic blocks; what these misshapen creatures were trying to communicate was not made clearer by the drawing, depicting horned, gravid beings with exaggerated anatomical features; they were sitting with spread legs above fetal forms who appeared to be catching drops of red with their disgusting maws. A depiction of what could only be a city was shown, whose architecture consisted of pyramidal structures and monolithic cubes that appeared to dwarf the buildings that gave Giza prominence.

On the floor, more of the esoteric marks were arranged in a pattern about a complicated sigil, painted in red; dust and the breakdown of organic molecules had damaged the piece on the floor, but it wasn’t entirely destroyed.

I could only imagine how long it had been since a living thing had graced this vile tomb.

The central horned figure on the mural, a part of her salient reproductive genitalia , drawn in disgusting detail, appeared to have a hole in the wall placed over it.

I peeked through the hole and could not see anything, but it felt much warmer on the other side—very warm, in fact, and considerably more humid.

I shrieked and flung backwards, falling onto my back as I tried my limbs scrambled to do three tasks at one: get up, turn the other way, and flee.

Something wet and soft had touched my eye, briefly.

I wanted nothing more than to leave and return home.

I didn’t care if I came up empty handed, disgraced and made even more the laughing stock of the academic community.

I wanted to leave this forsaken tomb and forget about it.

I ran down the hall, passing the mummified figures once again; to my horror, the hole I had made in the wall was gone, the hall instead opening into a grand space whose air was hotter and wetter than before.

A pervasive odor penetrated my deepest sinuses, bringing about a dull malaise in my head.

My eyes adjusted, trying to comprehend what I was seeing; the realization struck me like a stone: I was in the city.

The ancient city of man's ancestors, the true cradle of civilization, the rotten nursery of the Earth's dominant species.

Moist sand stuck to my shoes as I stumbled out of the chamber, looking in disbelief at the ramshackle huts. The squat buildings had been sitting untouched for thousands of years, the hill-like buildings slouched and irregular. Above me was a stygian expanse dotted with cold and indifferent stars. There was neither a moon nor sun to be seen above.

In the distance, over the rolling hills of dark sand and past the clusters of tumor-shaped homes were titanic stone constructions shaped like cubes. They dwarfed the skyscrapers from home. Their size was difficult to comprehend given the state of the village; the empty, muddy homes had tattered rags with uncertain and unorganized designs covering aborted, malformed furniture of rotten, musty wood.

Did any of those hideous creatures live here currently? Or were they all laid to rest?.

Rearing its head from the murky depths of my fogged mind were vivid and sickening images of the village, right where I am standing, inhabited by limping, crawling creatures. Their features were only barely human. No two beings looked alike in their distorted forms, and they choked and gurgled at one another, spitting out words in proto-proto-Indo-European. Here they were, the basis of our modern tongue.

I walked for what felt like hours, the small timeframe stretching towards the extreme end in my mental fatigue; I walked towards the central pyramid, dwarfing even the cube citadels. My muscles ached and my insides felt dreadful, but I pushed on, hoping for a way home amid the dull unease. I passed by hundreds of hand-sculpted huts, if you could describe their creators' manipulative appendages as hands, and the cubes had barely changed in their apparent size. I eventually reached the base of the pyramid, watching it stretch up into the heavens with its immensity. It would have taken me a lifetime to walk its impossible perimeter. A carved tunnel dove into the earth and presumably into the pyramid's interior. I stepped in and walked down and deeper thoughtlessly. I was eventually met with a massive chamber shaped like a dome; radial steps led to a raised platform of old stone, and the bodily scent from earlier had become choking.

Was that a figure in the dark?.

“Who are you?”.

I called out, but I received no answer.

I tried several of the local languages: Punjabi, Urdu, Sindhi, Pashto, Dari.

No response.

I tried again in Bundeli, in Braj, Bagheli, Persian, Akkadian, Hebrew, even the piss poor excuse of a reconstruction for Proto-Indo-European.

The figure began to approach me.

Its eyes.

No.

HER EYES.

They were for a moment like blinding suns piercing through my head entirely, overstimulating my cones and rods after the hours of darkness.

My head was assaulted by a foreign presence.

I wasn’t struck, no, something was in the privacy of my mind, it won’t shut up.

It’s talking directly to me, but I can’t hear it; it’s insinuating ideas that aren’t mine, it’s thinking for me.

Stop stop stop, please stop, there’s only supposed to be one voice in my head at a time.

My thoughts are disrupted as it thinks over me, like a parent speaking over their babbling child.

The ideas become clear; I see the ancient deities I studied, the roots of Canaan gods, Sumerian gods, horned gods of the pagans, mother goddesses representing the very earth itself, the idealized form of reproduction that the crawling, gasping meat creatures idolize in their search for immortality through the expression of chemical combinations embedded in DNA.

I was staring in the face of Earth.

No, she is insisting on the myths of Lilith.

The first woman, God’s failed creation, what was to be of the opposite gender before they were derived from Adam’s rib.

The first castaway from the garden.

She was upon me, looming over me.

Her body was covered in black fur; the warmth, the scent, it was coming from her; the stench of rut assaulted my mind, I was finding myself quaking and shivering but paralyzed from the flood of information.

Clarity and confusion fused in a way that shouldn’t, my vision was splitting and blurring like a migraine from Hell.

Her timeless body was calling to me, it was speaking directly to the animal in the human brain, the id was being roused from its sleep and ripped from the depths of the unconscious; her caprine face stared intently at me, her wide prey-animal pupils staring me down; the horns, she was of the old race.

My instincts were taking over, screaming out and clawing at my consciousness, sinking their teeth amid their shrieks into rational ideas and calls for order or sense, yanking the head back and ripping it apart; I felt nauseous, but even this feeling was denied me; I was scrambling for control and I was losing, my reptilian brain using brutal, pack tactics against my logical upper mind at the sight of her instinct-exploiting anatomy.

Lilith’s lips met my cheek, kissing me, poisoning my mind; I was sent reeling, spiraling into incoherence as my desires let themselves loose like a cracked dam; the ideas of the primordial man took control.

I can’t think.

I’m drowning, rationality is drowning under the surface of the id.

With all of the thinking that happens in my life, granted by Satan inviting the first men to bite the Apple and gain knowledge of right and wrong, bestowing critical thought onto mankind and allowing them to see behind the curtains of the stage and inspect the entire auditorium in which the play of Life occurs, after millions of years of mankind, it has begun to hurt to think.

Man cannot handle its faculties anymore, and their fingers bleed from scratching at the bricks of the auditorium, reaching past futilely from within its confines. Man is distressed and rational thought has born many an illness and crime, and old histories, old cultures old gods old pantheons old rituals had all been forgotten until now.

They were rushing back like a sudden realization felt hundreds of thousands of times over.

I felt myself grab her pendulous, woefully engorged teats; they were balmy and I felt a craze surge through me.

Searing pain scorched as her claws ripped through clothes, removing them from me.

Minor scratches made red flow down my body.

My heart is thumping and I climb onto her, pressing my dick between her loose labia and feeling her womb; the disgusting, wet lips of innumerable age swallowed my member, losing myself in her timeless womb; I was deep inside of a sin with a heartbeat. My conscious mind repeats to itself countlessly that this is wrong, this is a sin, this is desecration of everything that man stands for, but my id isn't listening.

I was pulled back under the drowning and crushing depths of thoughtlessness.

I was on her.

The heat was unbearable.

Not lucid, I grab onto her and start thrusting, feeling like a pleasure I’ve never felt before. Nothing has felt so good as to fuck her, feeling meat rub against meat, flesh on flesh, blood with blood.

Thoughtlessly, unconsciously, mating occurred.

In, out, fuck, breed.

The animal was taking its prize.

Lilith, the desires of the animalistic and instinctual self in flesh and blood.

Fuck.

Reproduce.

Fornicate.

Create anew.

The oldest ritual of the living creatures.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Hours passed and exhaustion tore at my muscles, but I could not stop, I did not want to stop, my brain wanted nothing more than to keep inseminating her, to sow the soil with seeds over and over again until I had nothing left to give; I filled her cunt with seed, tilled the Earth with my genes like the millions before me have to her.

I wish again to drink from the vulgar fluids of her ancient womb and taste of the bitter milk of my primordial mother, to return to the womb and be retilled into the soil to take on a new form more compatible with my desires of instinct and wants without rationality and coherence; I seek the paradise of disorder, for the rules and paradigms and axioms of human culture and behavior have begun to tire me and dig into my consciousness like the talons of a bird or an industrial vice grip.

To return to ancient atavisms, and dream thoughtlessly and a simple existence like the banished ancestors of man that had been forgotten and covered up because of the repulsiveness that the thinking mind perceives them as.

During a brief waking of consciousness, my form looked different.

I was warped, somewhat.

Features were melting on my body, anatomy was being altered.

I pull out her .

What is speaking? What is time, what is history, what is math.

I’m forgetting everything.

I can feel it becoming harder and harder to recollect anything from my years of study.

I can’t think.

New ideas fill my own, correcting or replacing what I thought I knew of the old men.

Time becomes a blur.

The thinking hurts, and feels like a chore after having succumbed to instinct for such a short time, so it felt.

I feel so free, so alive, without a coherent thought except for those meant to satisfy my wants, it was unlike anything I had ever felt.

I was changing, reverting.

Ancient atavisms taking shape, unexpressed genes given voice once again.

Progress undone, Darwin duly scorned.

Words fail.

What

Can’t

I

.