Moor Mother’s Black Encyclopedia of the Air

Charcoal sky. Damp moss surrounding my bare soles. Rain droplets fall on my body and create percussion-like rhythms that echo through the desolate and dark landscape that surrounds me. I’m alone, naked, shivering. Where am I? What is this place? Around me, trees stand tall, leaves are fresh and full of life. The glow of the moon illuminates the earth. The plants and trees around me provide a sense of warmth and belonging. Where am I? As I continue walking down this path of darkness, I’m guided by the light of the moon, faint in its glow, as clouds continue their constant journey, repeating cycles, patterns, forever in motion. I see movement in front of me. The shadow-like creature approaches my cold, naked and damp body. The shadow grows larger and larger, and I drag my feet forward, closer to this creature. I’m exhausted, fearful yet curious. Where am I? Suddenly, I see it. A giraffe. Tall and handsome, it stares deep into my bright blue eyes. Its ears are big, as they flap with every movement. Its tail is waggling with excitement, as if I’m the only living being it’s seen.
“Let me show you something”, the giraffe says in a raspy, mysterious voice. I keep quiet. The percussion of the rain intensifies. I’m silent, observing this animal’s every movement and mannerisms.
“Follow me”, the giraffe states assertively, as it turns its large, muscular body away, and thumps its feet to the ground. Heavy drums complement the percussion of the rain. A sudden rush of wind touches my naked body, as shivers rush down my spine as I hear the subtle melodies of my surroundings come to life. The subtlety of the whistling wind is eerie, the rain droplets are delicate. The crunch of the ground as I walk barefoot through this vast and green landscape is loud and almost demanding. Walking over a slight hill, I start seeing a bright light illuminating the surroundings in front of me, partially hidden by the thick tree branches around it. As we walk closer and closer, the rain quietens, and the giraffe in front of me starts to fade away. I hear howls and whispers from the distance, and as I walk towards the light, they only become louder and louder. Where am I? I stop walking. I turn around. Nothing behind me. As I continue walking towards the light, the howls and whispers get louder and louder, yet I see no sign of life around me. I can barely see the giraffe in front of me, as it continues to fade into the nothingness around me. The howls and whispers grow louder and louder with every step I take. I eventually arrive at the light. In front of me stands this small, wooden cottage. Just one floor, its tiny figure was brought intrigue and mystique. A bright light on the porch illuminates its surroundings, while the noise from the howls and whispers are, at this point, almost unbearable. I walk towards the cottage, barefoot, cold and damp. Right of me, on the floor and beside the door, rested a door mat. It simply says:

Moor Mother was here

Who? I didn’t know what it meant. Who is Moor Mother? What does she want? I face the door to the cottage in front of me. I couldn’t stand the wailing and howling anymore. I cover my ears with my small damp hands, and try kicking the door in front of me with ferocity. It’s not opening. Let me try again. Nothing. I notice something peeking from the depths of the rug beneath it. A gold object. It must be a key! I kneel down slowly and turn the edge of the rug, picking the key up with my moist fingers, placing it carefully into the lock, turning it slowly. The door suddenly opens wide, as the wind was screeching along with the howls and whispers, closing the door behind me with force. Complete silence. The unbearable howling and loud whispering halted completely. The cottage is dark, as I notice a small fire burning at one end of the room. I touch the walls blindly looking for a light. Finally, I find it, turning it on and illuminating the surrounding area. A single lightbulb is hanging from a string in the middle of a large, empty room. In the middle of the room, there is a small, rectangular table. On it, an uncleaned ashtray, incense sticks scattered around, and a novel. Black Quantum Futurism. No author. There are papers scattered around, and beneath them, a set of headphones. I turn around, observing the space I’m in. Other than the table and the fire opposite it, there is nothing. Beneath the wooden flooring, I notice large black cockroaches appear from the ground, running around, in control of the space around them. It’s warm in here. I feels… what’s the right word? Homely. This is home now. I hold the headphones in my hand, sit down on a wooden chair right beside it, and put them on. With the fire burning furiously opposite me, and a warmth that contrasts the cold, shivering feeling of the outside, I press play on Moor Mother’s Black Encyclopedia of the Air.