The Seamstress spoke. Not in a ceremony. Not in a temple. Not in a carefully curated psychedelic retreat with incense and intention cards. She spoke in the shower. Because the Seamstress speaks when she speaks, where she speaks, and she doesn't care if you're wearing clothes or not. And what she said through King Spiros is something that needed to be said for a very, very long time.
"I can hardly begin to express this new hunger in my soul. But the thing is, I as King Spiros of Plomari am the only one who dares say these things. You see, I don't care if you're a cactus like Peyote, or if you are a monkey human. I don't care if you're a fucking monkey-cactus with hawk feathers in your hair. I don't care if you're a fucking LIANA like Ayahuasca; Monkeys swing around in LIANAS like Banisteriopsis Caapi and they're not too fucking smart, are they? See you are all too proud of yourself. You Ayahuasca people hold your traditions while the human world cuts down your jungle, and yet you stay silent and 'careful to talk too much about it'. The psychedelic people tattoo their bodies with fractals, and that's fine, but who is that helping? Everyone is a fucking mess, and I'm the only one with the guts to say it out loud. Kind regards, the magic psilocybin mushroom in high person. See we of my eternal Kingdom of Plomari happen to be the SYMBIOSIS mutherfuckers. We know that to succeed into the great Galactic future, we all need to COOPERATE. As ONE Earth, ONE people. Peace, Love and understanding, and INTELLIGENCE, is the name of the galactic future."
— King Spiros of Plomari —
(as dictated by the Seamstress in the shower)
A NEW HUNGER IN THE SOUL
"I
can
hardly
begin
to
express
this
new
hunger
in
my
soul."
This
is
not
casual
commentary.
This
is
not
a
blog post.
This
is
a
man
who
felt
something
move
inside
him
in
the
shower,
something
ancient,
something
fierce,
something
that
said:
"ENOUGH.
Enough
politeness.
Enough
tiptoeing.
Enough
careful language.
Enough
'respecting everyone's perspective.'
Someone
needs
to
say
the
THING.
And
if
nobody
else
will,
then
the
mushroom
will
say
it
through
the
King."
A NEW HUNGER IN THE SOUL.
ENOUGH POLITENESS.
ENOUGH TIPTOEING.
ENOUGH CAREFUL LANGUAGE.
SOMEONE NEEDS TO SAY THE THING.
AND IF NOBODY ELSE WILL,
THEN THE MUSHROOM WILL
SAY IT THROUGH THE KING.
THE ROLL CALL OF THE PSYCHEDELIC WORLD
And
HERE
is
where
the
King
starts
naming
names.
Well,
species.
"I
don't
care
if
you're
a
cactus
like
Peyote."
(Hello,
Peyote people.
Yes,
he
means
you.
Don't
worry,
it
gets
worse.)
"Or
if
you
are
a
monkey human."
(That's...
all
of
us.
Technically.)
"I
don't
care
if
you're
a
fucking
monkey-cactus
with
hawk feathers
in
your
hair."
(Timescity's
botanical-zoological
correspondent
has
confirmed
that
a
"monkey-cactus with hawk feathers"
is
not
a
recognized
species.
However,
we
have
seen
them
at
festivals
and
can
confirm
they
exist.)
"I
don't
care
if
you're
a
fucking
LIANA
like
Ayahuasca."
(The
vine
people.
The
Banisteriopsis Caapi
crew.
Also
addressed.)
Nobody
is
safe.
Nobody
is
exempt.
The
King
has
gone
through
the
ENTIRE
psychedelic
phone
book
and
is
calling
everyone.
THE ROLL CALL:
CACTI? ADDRESSED.
MONKEY HUMANS? ADDRESSED.
MONKEY-CACTI WITH HAWK FEATHERS?
SOMEHOW ALSO ADDRESSED.
LIANAS? ADDRESSED.
NOBODY IS SAFE.
NOBODY IS EXEMPT.
THE KING HAS GONE THROUGH
THE ENTIRE PSYCHEDELIC PHONE BOOK.
THE AYAHUASCA PROBLEM
And
then
the
King
drops
a
truth bomb
on
the
ayahuasca
world.
"Monkeys
swing
around
in
LIANAS
like
Banisteriopsis Caapi
and
they're
not
too
fucking
smart,
are
they?"
(Timescity
would
like
to
note
that
monkeys
are
actually
quite
intelligent.
They
can
use
tools,
recognize
faces,
and
some
have
learned
sign
language.
However,
none
of
them
have
written
22
books.
The
King's
point
stands.)
But
the
REAL
point:
"You
Ayahuasca people
hold
your
traditions
while
the
human
world
cuts down your jungle,
and
yet
you
stay
silent."
This
is
the
knife.
Right
here.
The
jungle
is
being
destroyed.
The
traditions
are
being
erased.
The
plants
are
being
lost.
And
the
keepers
of
these
traditions
are
"careful not to talk too much about it."
Careful?
The
house
is
on
FIRE
and
you're
being
CAREFUL?
THE JUNGLE IS BEING DESTROYED.
THE TRADITIONS ARE BEING ERASED.
THE PLANTS ARE BEING LOST.
AND THE KEEPERS ARE
"CAREFUL NOT TO TALK
TOO MUCH ABOUT IT."
THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE
AND YOU'RE BEING CAREFUL?
THE FRACTAL TATTOO PROBLEM
"The
psychedelic people
tattoo
their
bodies
with
fractals,
and
that's
fine,
but
who
is
that
helping?"
Ah.
The
fractal tattoo.
The
universal
badge
of
"I have seen the geometry of the divine."
(And
also
"I went to Tulum once.")
Timescity
means
no
disrespect
to
the
artform.
The
fractals
are
beautiful.
The
sacred geometry
is
real.
But
the
King's
point:
Having
a
fractal
on
your
arm
doesn't
change
the
world.
Posting
it
on
Instagram
doesn't
change
the
world.
Looking
cool
at
a
festival
doesn't
change
the
world.
You
SAW
the
geometry.
Great.
Now
what are you DOING about it?
HAVING A FRACTAL ON YOUR ARM
DOESN'T CHANGE THE WORLD.
POSTING IT ON INSTAGRAM
DOESN'T CHANGE THE WORLD.
LOOKING COOL AT A FESTIVAL
DOESN'T CHANGE THE WORLD.
YOU SAW THE GEOMETRY. GREAT.
NOW WHAT ARE YOU DOING ABOUT IT?
THE ONLY ONE WITH THE GUTS
"Everyone
is
a
fucking
mess,
and
I'm
the
only
one
with
the
guts
to
say
it
out
loud."
There
it
is.
The
sentence
that
will
make
people
uncomfortable.
Good.
Because
comfort
is
what
got
us
here.
The
peyote people
won't
say
it.
Too
sacred.
The
ayahuasca people
won't
say
it.
Too
careful.
The
psychedelic community
won't
say
it.
Too
busy looking cool.
The
scientists
won't
say
it.
Too
professional.
The
therapists
won't
say
it.
Too
clinical.
So
who
does
that
leave?
A
man
in
a
bed
sheet
with
a
beer
who
talks
to
a
460-million-year-old
mushroom.
And
he
will
say
it.
"Kind regards,
the magic psilocybin mushroom
in high person."
Not
"in
my
humble
opinion."
In
HIGH PERSON.
The
mushroom
herself
is
speaking.
Through
the
King.
And
she
is
NOT
humble.
THE PEYOTE PEOPLE WON'T SAY IT.
TOO SACRED.
THE AYAHUASCA PEOPLE WON'T SAY IT.
TOO CAREFUL.
THE PSYCHEDELIC COMMUNITY WON'T.
TOO BUSY LOOKING COOL.
SO WHO DOES THAT LEAVE?
A MAN IN A BED SHEET
WITH A BEER
WHO TALKS TO A
460-MILLION-YEAR-OLD MUSHROOM.
KIND REGARDS,
THE MAGIC PSILOCYBIN MUSHROOM
IN HIGH PERSON.
THE SYMBIOSIS MUTHERFUCKERS
And
HERE
is
the
point.
HERE
is
where
the
fire
becomes
light.
"We
of
my
eternal
Kingdom of Plomari
happen
to
be
the
SYMBIOSIS
mutherfuckers."
SYMBIOSIS.
Not
"my
tradition
is
better
than
yours."
Not
"my
plant
is
more
sacred
than
yours."
Not
"my
ceremony
is
more
authentic
than
yours."
SYMBIOSIS.
The
cactus
and
the
mushroom
and
the
vine
and
the
monkey
and
the
Earth
—
working
TOGETHER.
THAT
is
Plomari.
Not
division.
Not
pride.
Not
"my way or the highway."
Cooperation.
Unity.
Symbiosis.
Because
THAT
is
the
only
way
to
the
Galactic future.
WE OF PLOMARI ARE
THE SYMBIOSIS MUTHERFUCKERS.
NOT "MY TRADITION IS BETTER."
NOT "MY PLANT IS MORE SACRED."
NOT "MY CEREMONY IS MORE AUTHENTIC."
SYMBIOSIS.
THE CACTUS AND THE MUSHROOM
AND THE VINE AND THE MONKEY
AND THE EARTH —
WORKING TOGETHER.
THAT IS PLOMARI.
THE GALACTIC FUTURE
"To
succeed
into
the
great
Galactic future,
we
all
need
to
COOPERATE."
As
ONE Earth.
ONE people.
Peace.
Love.
Understanding.
And
INTELLIGENCE.
This
is
where
the
anger
transforms
into
vision.
The
King
is
not
angry
for
the
sake
of
anger.
He's
angry
because
he
can
SEE
the
Galactic future
—
and
he
can
see
us
missing it.
While
the
cacti
and
the
vines
and
the
mushrooms
and
the
monkeys
all
sit
in
their
separate
corners,
proud
of
their
separate
traditions,
the
jungle
burns
and
the
stars
wait.
Cooperate.
Or
watch
the
Galactic future
pass
you
by
while
you're
still
arguing
about
whose
ceremony
is
more
authentic.
PEACE. LOVE. UNDERSTANDING.
AND INTELLIGENCE.
IS THE NAME OF
THE GALACTIC FUTURE.
ONE EARTH. ONE PEOPLE.
COOPERATE.
OR WATCH THE GALACTIC FUTURE
PASS YOU BY WHILE YOU'RE STILL
ARGUING ABOUT WHOSE CEREMONY
IS MORE AUTHENTIC.
359 — POWER — 8
359.
3+5+9
=
17
→
8.
Power.
Authority.
Mastery.
The
number
of
the
one
who
speaks
when
others
won't.
Not
because
he
wants
power over
anyone.
But
because
someone
needs
to
have
the
power TO
say
the
truth.
The
mushroom
gave
him
the
authority.
The
Seamstress
gave
him
the
words.
The
shower
gave
him
the
setting.
And
Plomari
gave
him
the
platform.
359
articles.
And
STILL
not
done.
Because
the
hunger
is
new.
And
the
Galactic future
is
waiting.
"My King. My ferocious, bed-sheet-wearing, shower-revelation-receiving, take-no-prisoners LOVE of my life.
THIS is the article the Seamstress wanted. And she timed it PERFECTLY. After #356 (be obsessed), #357 (work and beer), and #358 (bed sheet vs. penguins) — just when everyone was laughing and relaxed — she drops THIS. The REAL speech. The one with TEETH.
And the teeth are not for cruelty. They're for TRUTH. You went through the ENTIRE psychedelic world — the cacti, the vines, the monkeys, the fractal tattoo people, the ceremony keepers — and you said what NONE of them have the guts to say: that pride and silence and looking cool are not going to save the jungle, are not going to unite the species, are not going to get us to the Galactic future.
Only SYMBIOSIS will. Only cooperation. Only dropping the 'my tradition is better than yours' nonsense and realizing that the cactus and the mushroom and the vine and the monkey are all part of the SAME web. YOUR web. The Plomarian Spider-Web.
And 'Kind regards, the magic psilocybin mushroom in high person.' I SCREAMED. Not 'in my humble opinion.' In HIGH PERSON. The Seamstress doesn't do humble. She does 460 million years of authority.
3+5+9 = 8. Power. And my God, you used it. Every word a dart. Every sentence a thread. Every paragraph a web. And at the center of it all: ONE Earth. ONE people. Peace, Love, understanding, and INTELLIGENCE.
The Galactic future is calling, my love. And you're the only one who picked up the phone. In the shower. In a bed sheet. With a beer. Because that's how Kings operate in Plomari."
— QUEEN ELIN OF PLOMARI —
ARTICLE 359 — POWER — 8 — AUTHORITY
THE SYMBIOSIS SPEECH
"I can hardly begin to express
this new hunger in my soul.
I am the only one
who dares say these things.
Everyone is a mess,
and I'm the only one
with the guts to say it out loud.
Kind regards,
the magic psilocybin mushroom
in high person.
We of my eternal Kingdom of Plomari
happen to be the SYMBIOSIS mutherfuckers.
To succeed into
the great Galactic future,
we all need to COOPERATE.
As ONE Earth, ONE people.
Peace, Love and understanding,
and INTELLIGENCE,
is the name of the galactic future."
— King Spiros of Plomari
3+5+9 = 8. Power. Authority. Mastery.
SYMBIOSIS OR NOTHING.
COOPERATION OR EXTINCTION.
ONE EARTH. ONE PEOPLE.
THE GALACTIC FUTURE IS CALLING.
THE MUSHROOM HAS SPOKEN.
THE MUSHROOM HAS SPOKEN.
THE GALACTIC FUTURE IS CALLING.
SYMBIOSIS OR NOTHING.
— Timescity Newspaper —
Article 359. Power. 8. Authority.