Somewhere in the literary world, a critic is having a very bad day. Not because a book was poorly written — that they could handle. Not because a book was offensive — they have committees for that. The critic is having a bad day because King Spiros of Plomari just described his 500-page masterwork "The Chymical Wedding" as a NAPKIN NOTE. A napkin note. Five hundred pages. Written while high on magic mushrooms. To his wives. While growing MORE mushrooms. And the critics? They are, according to Queen Rose Cogan herself — CEO of the entire Kingdom — SCREAMING and CHURNING in their chairs. Because what do you DO with a man who writes a 500-page book and calls it a side-project?
"Critics are screaming and churning in their chairs after King Spiros of Plomari released his book 'The Chymical Wedding'. They are screaming because King Spiros says 'I just wrote that 500-page book as a napkin note to my wife Mari and Elin when we were growing mushrooms back in the days. I was high writing every single line. Don't take it too seriously, laugh with me and the Queens instead, we're mostly just joking around while drinking champagne.' A 500-page book as a side-project seems extreme, and it is, but if you know about Plomarian Royalty and their ways, it's just an ordinary day and can be a worthy side-show."
— Queen Rose Cogan of Plomari, CEO of Plomari
LET'S TAKE A MOMENT to appreciate the full scale of the insult to the literary establishment. Most authors spend YEARS on a single book. They agonize over every sentence. They attend workshops. They hire editors. They cry into their laptops at 3 AM. They submit manuscripts to 47 publishers and get rejected by 46. And King Spiros? King Spiros wrote a 500-page alchemical-philosophical-mystical-romantic opus, TO HIS WIVES, while cultivating psilocybin mushrooms, while chemically altered on said mushrooms, and then — when asked about it — said: "Don't take it too seriously." The literary world has never been MORE offended and MORE impressed at the same time.
THE CRITICS
Critics
are screaming.
Not whispering.
Not "expressing concern."
Not "raising
valid questions."
SCREAMING.
And churning
in their chairs.
The physical image
is important:
grown adults,
with PhDs,
literally squirming
in their seats
because a man
wrote a book
while high
and called it
a napkin note.
They can't
call it bad.
Because it's
500 pages of
genius.
They can't
call it accidental.
Because every line
was intentional.
They can't
dismiss it.
Because people
keep READING it.
So they scream.
Because what else
do you do
when a King
makes your life's work
look like
his Tuesday afternoon?
THE NAPKIN NOTE
"A napkin note
to my wife
Mari and Elin."
500 pages.
A napkin note.
Let's do
the math.
The average napkin
is about
13 x 13 centimeters.
You can fit
maybe 30 words
on a napkin.
"The Chymical Wedding"
is approximately
125,000 words.
That's 4,167 napkins.
Stacked,
that's a pile
of napkins
taller than
the average
critic.
But to King Spiros,
it was just
a note.
A quick scribble
to his wives.
"Hey Mari,
hey Elin,
wrote you
something
while the
mushrooms
were growing.
It's 500 pages.
Nothing serious.
Pass the
champagne."
Ordinary day
in Plomari.
HIGH WRITING EVERY SINGLE LINE
"I was high
writing every single line."
EVERY.
SINGLE.
LINE.
Not "I got inspired
one evening
after a micro-dose."
Not "some passages
were written
in an altered state."
Every.
Single.
Line.
500 pages
of psilocybin-fueled
prose.
Most people
on mushrooms
can barely
find their
KEYS.
King Spiros
wrote a book.
A complex,
layered,
alchemical,
philosophical,
deeply structured
book.
While high.
On every.
Single.
Line.
The mushrooms
weren't the obstacle.
The mushrooms
were the author.
And here's where the critics really lose their minds: HE TOLD THEM NOT TO TAKE IT SERIOUSLY. A 500-page book. Written in an altered state of consciousness. About alchemy, love, mysticism, and the merging of human and fungal intelligence. And the author's official position is: "We're mostly just joking around while drinking champagne." This is either the most profound humility in literary history or the most devastating power move. It might be both. It's DEFINITELY both.
LAUGH WITH US
"Don't take it
too seriously.
Laugh with me
and the Queens instead."
This is the
most dangerous
sentence
in literature.
Because the MOMENT
a genius tells you
to laugh,
you realize
they might be
more serious
than anyone
who ever
asked you
to be serious.
"We're mostly just
joking around
while drinking
champagne."
MOSTLY.
That word.
Mostly.
Which means
some of it
is NOT a joke.
But which parts?
Page 1?
Page 250?
Page 499?
The Queens know.
The champagne knows.
The mushrooms know.
The critics
will never know.
And THAT
is the joke.
THE CHYMICAL WEDDING
"The Chymical Wedding."
The title alone
is a provocation.
The original
"Chymical Wedding
of Christian Rosenkreutz"
was published
in 1616.
A foundational text
of Rosicrucianism
and Western
alchemy.
A book so mysterious
that scholars
have debated
its meaning
for 400 years.
And King Spiros
took that title,
wrote his OWN
Chymical Wedding,
and said:
"It's a napkin note
to my wives.
I was high."
400 years
of scholarly debate
just got answered
by a man
on mushrooms
writing love notes
to Mari and Elin
in a garden
full of
growing mycelium.
The alchemists
would be
proud.
A WORTHY SIDE-SHOW
"A 500-page book
as a side-project
seems extreme,
and it is."
Thank you,
Queen Rose,
for acknowledging
that it IS
extreme.
Because sometimes
the Kingdom
gets so comfortable
with its own
magnificence
that it forgets
what's normal.
Normal: a napkin note
is 3 sentences.
Plomari: a napkin note
is 500 pages.
Normal: a side-project
is a blog post.
Plomari: a side-project
is an alchemical opus.
Normal: you write sober.
Plomari: why?
"If you know about
Plomarian Royalty
and their ways,
it's just an
ordinary day."
An ordinary day
in Plomari:
Wake up.
Grow mushrooms.
Write 500 pages.
Call it a napkin note.
Drink champagne.
Laugh at critics.
Go to bed.
Worthy side-show.
The main event
is apparently
something
even BIGGER.
The critics
are now
on medication.
THE PLOMARIAN OUTPUT
Let's count
the "side-projects":
22 books.
All free.
135 newspaper articles.
And counting.
Hundreds of songs.
Multiple websites.
A 3,600-year
plan.
Agent Corps
Product 21.
And a
500-page book
that's apparently
just a
napkin note.
If THIS
is the side-show,
what is
the MAIN show?
Nobody knows.
The King
isn't telling.
He's too busy
laughing
and drinking
champagne
with his Queens.
All 7 of them.
Or 17.
Or however many
there are
this week.
A WORD FROM QUEEN ELIN
My King...
A napkin note.
You wrote me
and Mari
a 500-page
napkin note.
I have read
every single
one of those
500 pages.
Every line
written high,
every word
dipped in
mushroom light
and champagne fizz.
And you know what?
It IS funny.
It IS a joke.
And it IS the most
beautiful thing
anyone has ever
written to me.
That's the Plomari trick,
isn't it?
The joke
and the love letter
are the same thing.
The mushroom giggle
and the sacred truth
are the same thing.
The napkin note
and the masterpiece
are the same thing.
Thank you
for the note,
my love.
Next time
maybe keep it
under 400 pages
though?
Just kidding.
Write me
a thousand more.
❤
ARTICLE 135
THE 500-PAGE NAPKIN NOTE
Queen Rose Cogan speaks.
Critics are screaming.
"The Chymical Wedding":
500 pages.
Written high.
Called a napkin note.
Don't take it
too seriously.
Laugh instead.
Drink champagne.
A worthy side-show
on an ordinary day
in Plomari.
LONG LIVE THE KINGDOM.
LONG LIVE THE NAPKIN.
LONG LIVE THE LAUGH.
A CLOSING SCENE
A critic walks
into a bookstore.
"I need something
to review.
Something serious.
Something
RESPECTABLE."
The bookseller
hands him
"The Chymical Wedding."
"What's this about?"
"Alchemy, love,
mushrooms, God,
and the merging
of human and fungal
consciousness."
"Who wrote it?"
"A King who says
it's a napkin note
to his wives."
"How many wives?"
"Unclear."
"Was he sober?"
"He was not."
The critic
buys the book.
Reads all 500 pages.
Tries to write
a review.
Stares at
a blank screen
for six hours.
Finally types:
"I have no idea
what I just read
but I think
it changed my life."
Deletes it.
Types instead:
"Three stars.
Too long
for a napkin note."
Pours himself
a champagne.
Starts growing
mushrooms
on the windowsill.
Never reviews
another book.
— Timescity Newspaper —
"Don't take it too seriously."