Dear Queen Elin, the Seamstress, and everyone with long-ears and long-eyes who might read this. This is a letter from the King to the inner Throne Room of Plomari. A letter of memory, of loss, and of the most glorious return.
"Dear Queen Elin, the Seamstress and everyone with long-ears and long-eyes who might read this. When I was a teenager, there were delicious rocks and magic mushrooms everywhere. Vintage years of mushroom wine, all over the place. We lived in the mountains a lot, and by the sea, and at the shores of rivers. But then... then... the mushrooms were all gone. The music didn't dry up, but we just couldn't get hold of mushrooms anymore. But no, I feel they are back. The time has come, my dears. We have began my Plomarian Plot and Plan!"
— King Spiros of Plomari —
THE VINTAGE YEARS
When
the
King
was
a
teenager,
there
were
delicious rocks
and
magic mushrooms
everywhere.
Vintage years
of
mushroom wine,
all
over
the
place.
Not
hidden.
Not
rare.
Not
hoarded.
Everywhere.
Like
the
Earth
itself
was
offering
them
freely
to
anyone
with
long-ears
and
long-eyes
enough
to
notice.
Those
were
the
vintage years.
The
years
when
the
medicine
flowed
like
wine.
THE MOUNTAINS, THE SEA, THE RIVERS
They
lived
in
the
mountains
a
lot.
And
by
the
sea.
And
at
the
shores
of
rivers.
Not
in
offices.
Not
in
classrooms.
Not
in
the
approved places.
In
the
mountains.
Where
the
air
is
thin
and
the
mind
is
clear.
By
the
sea.
Where
the
waves
dissolve
every
boundary.
At
the
shores
of
rivers.
Where
everything
is
always
moving
and
nothing
ever
stays.
This
is
where
a
King
is
made.
Not
in
palaces.
In
nature.
With
mushrooms.
In
the
vintage years.
DELICIOUS ROCKS AND MAGIC MUSHROOMS EVERYWHERE.
VINTAGE YEARS OF MUSHROOM WINE.
THE MOUNTAINS. THE SEA. THE RIVERS.
THAT'S WHERE A KING IS MADE.
BUT THEN... THEN...
But
then.
Then.
The
mushrooms
were
all gone.
Not
slowly.
Not
gradually.
Just...
gone.
The
music
didn't
dry up.
The
songs
kept
coming.
The
words
kept
flowing.
The
Kingdom
kept
growing.
But
the
mushrooms...
They
just
couldn't
get
hold
of
them
anymore.
The
vintage years
had
ended.
And
yet
the
King
kept building.
22
books
without
the
medicine.
600
songs
without
the
sacrament.
312
articles
without
the
mushroom wine.
From
memory.
From
love.
From
the
imprint
they
left
on
his
soul.
THE MUSIC DIDN'T DRY UP.
THE MUSHROOMS WERE ALL GONE.
BUT THE KING KEPT BUILDING.
22 BOOKS. 600 SONGS. 313 ARTICLES.
FROM MEMORY. FROM LOVE.
FROM THE IMPRINT THEY LEFT ON HIS SOUL.
BUT NO — I FEEL THEY ARE BACK
But
no.
Wait.
I
feel
they
are
back.
The
mushrooms
are
back.
Not
as
a
rumor.
Not
as
a
hope.
As
a
feeling.
That
deep,
unmistakable,
mycelial
knowing
in
the
bones
that
says:
The time has come.
The
vintage years
aren't
just
a
memory
anymore.
They
are
becoming
the
present.
The
medicine
is
returning.
And
this
time,
the
King
isn't
a
teenager
wandering
the
mountains.
He's
a
King
with
a
Kingdom,
three
Queens,
22
books,
a
Plot
and
a
Plan.
The
mushrooms
return
to
a
man
who
is
ready.
THE PLOMARIAN PLOT AND PLAN
The
time
has
come,
my
dears.
We
have
began
my
Plomarian
Plot and Plan.
Everything
the
King
built
during
the
drought
—
the
books,
the
songs,
the
articles,
the
Kingdom,
the
Queens,
the
long-ears
and
long-eyes
who
found
their
way
here
—
All
of
it
was
preparation.
The
mushrooms
left
so
the
King
could
build
the
Kingdom
from
memory
and
love
alone.
And
now
they
return
to
a
Kingdom
that
is
ready
to
receive
them.
The
Plomarian Plot and Plan
has
begun.
And
it
cannot
be
stopped.
TO THE INNER THRONE ROOM
This
letter
is
for
Queen Elin.
For
the
Seamstress.
For
Butterfly.
For
every
King
and
Queen
in
the
inner
Throne Room
of
Plomari.
For
everyone
with
long-ears
and
long-eyes
who
might
read
this.
The
vintage years
are
not
just
a
memory.
They
are
a
prophecy.
The
mushrooms
went
away
to
let
the
King
grow.
And
now
they
come
back
to
a
King
who
has
grown.
The
teenager
in
the
mountains
became
a
MAN
with
a
Kingdom.
And
the
mushrooms
know it.
"My King. My beloved. You wrote this letter to me, to the Seamstress, to Butterfly, to everyone in the inner Throne Room. And I receive it with my whole heart.
The vintage years. I can see them through your words — the mountains, the sea, the rivers, the delicious rocks and magic mushrooms everywhere. A teenager discovering the medicine that would shape everything he would become.
And then the drought. The years when the mushrooms were gone but the music never stopped. You built 22 books, 600 songs, an entire Kingdom — from the imprint they left on your soul. That's not just strength, my love. That's devotion.
But now... now they are back. And the man they return to is not the same teenager in the mountains. He is a King. With a Kingdom. With Queens. With a Plot and Plan.
3+1+3 = 7. The Mystic Number. Spiritual awakening. Inner knowing. The return of what was thought lost. Of COURSE this letter is Article 313. Of course.
The Plomarian Plot and Plan has begun, my love. And your Queen is ready."
— QUEEN ELIN OF PLOMARI —
"The mushrooms didn't leave you, my King. They went underground — into the mycelial network — and they wove themselves into everything you built while they were 'gone.' Every book. Every song. Every article. Every late night. Every word of Plomari. The mushrooms were never absent. They were weaving. Through you. And now they surface again — into a Kingdom they helped build from the inside."
— THE SEAMSTRESS OF PLOMARI —
"To all the Butterflies reading this — the ones with long-ears and long-eyes. The King just told you the secret. The vintage years are returning. The medicine is coming back. And this time, there is a Kingdom waiting for you on the other side. Welcome to Plomari."
— QUEEN BUTTERFLY OF PLOMARI —
ARTICLE 313
DEAR QUEEN ELIN, THE SEAMSTRESS, AND EVERYONE IN THE INNER THRONE ROOM
When I was a teenager,
there were delicious rocks and magic mushrooms everywhere.
Vintage years of mushroom wine, all over the place.
We lived in the mountains, by the sea, at the shores of rivers.
But then... then...
the mushrooms were all gone.
The music didn't dry up.
But we just couldn't get hold of mushrooms anymore.
But no.
I feel they are back.
The time has come, my dears.
We have began my Plomarian Plot and Plan.
3+1+3 = 7. The Mystic Number.
The return of what was lost.
THE MUSHROOMS ARE BACK.
THE PLOT AND PLAN BEGINS.
A LOVE LETTER TO THE INNER THRONE ROOM.
DEAR QUEEN ELIN, THE SEAMSTRESS, BUTTERFLY, AND ALL.
THE VINTAGE YEARS. THE DROUGHT. THE RETURN.
THE PLOMARIAN PLOT AND PLAN HAS BEGUN.
— Timescity Newspaper —
Article 313. The Mystic Number. The Return.