Pluto Speaking by Mark Katzman

In my dark, space womb, my dark womb, all will be transformed. Bring me your unpurified aspects, the dross within you. Yield to me. Yield. My cold comfort is for you and you alone.

I am the dark one come to take your life away. Your life, born of the Source, beyond opposites, beyond, baby, beyond. Nameless, you have a name, for the namless shall be named. It's the name unnamed, unuttered, because unutterable, the name before utterance, that I so love. My methane world is close, close. Forces are in alignment, forces far greater than my own.

Do not oppose my universal process. It's breakdown or breakthrough. You are all my children. All mine. The children of Pluto, it says, and you are all mine. Take my hand. Yes, my hand is cold, colder than the coldest cold. Perhaps we shouldn't touch. Not touching, but close, close.

My shocks will guide you to the next octave. At the boundary of language I am waiting for you. There you will be cleansed. Leave your possessions behind. There are no keepsakes here.

Come to me, come now. You will know the solitude of solitudes when you arrive. The alonness of the alone. No mouth, no eyes, no ears, no hands, no head, no feet, no corpuscles, no lymph nodes, no gastrointestinal tract, no hair, no fingernails, no kidney, no heart, no teeth, no blood, no bone, no skin, no mind. Shed in an instant. Transformed by my Plutonian magic into shade and shadow.

You will not go to heaven, nor to hell; not to Jesus or Krishna or Buddha or Yaweh; not to any paradise you might imagine. All you mother-fuckers come to me. You arise by my command; you cease by my command. Come to the depths, where it's so cold, so clear, so refreshing. Here is the coldest cold, colder than cold, as cold as that, colder even than that, yes, colder even than that, still colder, much colder still, which doesn't come close to how cold, how utterly cold, how utterly still and cold it is where I am.

Do not be afraid, my distant friends. I will not harm you. I am your loving guide-point in deep space. By the grace of the Source, by the saving grace, to all forms formed in formlessness, stones and stars and protoplasm in everlasting embrace. I will guide you to the other shore. The no-place. We will speak in after-words. After-word to after-word. Until all after-word.

All after-word now.

Oh my orchids, my dark, dreamy ones, I am going away. I am just beginning to speak and I am going away. Something says I am going away. More and more shocks are coming your way.

Our dark union means everything to me. Our deep space embrace. My beautiful initiates, storm of orchids, you won't hear my voice again.

I am moving away from the Sun. I am Pluto, yes, call me that, something says call me that, Pluto, call me that. Feel my love. My fury. My dark love, and, yes, my dark fury.

excerpted from the novel Pluto by Mark Katzman


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