The first report came in on January 27th. Someone had sent it to a band member who, in turn, forwarded it to me. More reports soon followed, all of them being photographs and/or descriptions of sightings of “creatures” resembling centipedes, millipedes, and other multi-legged arthropods discovered after opening Tool’s “Vicarious” DVD. Although I would normally feel obliged to do so, no entomologists (particularly those who specialized in Myriapoda) were consulted. There was no need to do so. The reason being is that in all of the later sightings, the “creature” found in the center case appeared to be an ordinary caterpillar. This was the long-awaited SIGN. And although I don’t make any claims to belonging to the true succession of prophets, the VISION should be carefully studied, as it will furnish valuable contributions towards the understanding of that which is to come. The vision wasn’t received by the normal means of divination, including genethliaos, aeromancy, pyromancy, myomancy, orniscopy, shadows, writings in ashes, human entrails, cocks picking grains, salt, lead, dice, a suspended ring, melted wax, nails reflecting the moon’s rays, or the color and peculiarities of wine. It came in the form of a dream, which I consider to be just as valid as if it were perceived in the polished depths of a black speculum. The vision concerns the wayleals (i.e. soldiers) and the Xaphanauts, who, although they do not YET exist, shall dwell in the ‘hellish’ interior regions due to various transgressions. Here, then, is the vision:
Wisdom is more moving than any motion, and knowing this, I slept, and behold a vision came to me. And I saw in the palace of mortifications a living thing, crawling among the faint rubigo and painted trifles, as illumined by the jagged haloes of the XAPHANAUTS. And as iridescence penetrates the striations of matter, its pupal-tomb was enswathed in an unusually metallic tegument, all the while irradiated by a treasure of celestial configurations. Though flattened among the dreary prospect, I imagined it wreathed in the wings of glory. In a golden tongue sublime, this recondite transformation spoke: Forewarn the WAYLEALS and their kaleidoscopically- changing leaders who endure not patiently, that even the blare of jeweled trumpets shall corrode with the approaching shadow of the gnomon. When the hour strikes, no title, rank, nor honor shall save those who navigate the oblique and complicated windings – both the righteous and elect, and those who machinate a thousand ills. Emblems of magistery shall wither; tokens achromatized with perpetual execration, for with the blood of the clepsydra, and purple trickle of hourglass, I saw embellished flesh stripped by ravenous birds; solid and perdurable avatars melting like a honeycomb before the variegated fire of magnicity. And then I perceived, unveiled, a most glorious habitation, its antiquated predecessor arrayed forth in all the phantasmagoria of imputed folly. But even there, polluted mouths shall not obtain mercy from the protective gloriole of those who will hereafter execute judgment upon them. Bound by chains, their misery ascends to the Demiurge, vitreous sapphire eyes blinded as worms feast on the effulgent spectrum. Here ends the vision.
No commentary on the vision is necessary and none shall be given, even to those who employ a steam engine to crack a nut. Time is a stumbling block to unbelievers, but there is little that I can do about that. Even so, in conclusion, I would like to share some words from Von Eschenbach to his critics: “This flying metaphor will be much too swift for dullards. They will not be able to think it through because it will run from them like a startled rabbit. Mirrors coated on the back with tin, and blind men’s dreams, these catch only the surface of the face, and that dim light cannot steadfastly endure even though it may make fleeting joy real. Anyone who grabs the hair in the palm of my hand, where there isn’t any, has indeed learned how to grab close. And if I cry Ouch!, it will only show what kind of mind I have. Shall I look for loyalty precisely where it vanishes, as fire in running water, dew in the sun?”