0/XXII
The Fool · Walker Of Every Landscape
· To The Shamans: Learn Concrete · To The City Mystics: Learn Mud · The Credential: Years Of Lived Extremes · The Conclusion: Inconveniently, Both ·
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The Press Release · Timescity Newspaper · Filed Verbatim
"King Spiros of Plomari has a message for both camps of the psychedelic world. Stop hiding in your chosen comfort zone. I lived in the jungle for four years. I drank ayahuasca there. I've also lived in New York City. I know both worlds. To the shamans who treat the jungle as the only holy ground, he says: get out of the jungle for a while. Learn concrete, traffic, technology, bureaucracy, supermarkets, and the strange ritual of eight million people trying not to crash into each other. And to the city mystics who only romanticize nature from a safe distance, he says the opposite: go into the jungle for real, not in your head, and stop building fantasies about danger, mud, snakes, and silence."
"That's why Spiros sounds unusually calm when the shouting starts. He's not talking about opposing worlds from books or YouTube clips. He's talking about years of lived extremes. The rainforest gave him one vocabulary, the metropolis another. Neither cancelled the other out. Psychedelics didn't convince him to abandon cities, and cities didn't convince him to abandon the wild. His conclusion is more inconvenient than picking a side: learn both. The jungle isn't the whole truth. New York isn't the whole truth. A serious 21st-century psychedelic philosophy should be able to walk under trees and between skyscrapers without getting scared of either."
~ Timescity Newspaper 📰🌴🏙️
King Spiros Comments To Timescity · Reproduced Verbatim
"To put it simply, some people seem frustrated by me because I refuse to choose ONE style of life, and I don't choose ONE style to live in. I have lived in the rainforest for years drinking psychedelic wines, and I have also lived years in the modern city, like New York City. I have lived in a white marble palace for years, and also had a 9-to-5 job that I hate. And I don't say one is only better than the other. Honestly, I love and can navigate all those worlds and other worlds entirely. That's not ignorance on my part, that's LIVED experience made into compact skillsets about how to live a good life."
~ King Spiros of Plomari 👑
five entries filed mid-walk · mud on one boot, subway grime on the other · comfort zones formally revoked
THE TWO
COMFORT ZONES
The register confirms the diagnosis cuts both directions with surgical fairness: the jungle can be a hiding place exactly as the city can. The shaman who cannot survive a supermarket has merely relocated his fear; the city mystic who loves nature only through a screen has merely upholstered his. A comfort zone with vines is still a comfort zone. A comfort zone with WiFi is still a comfort zone. The King's message revokes both licenses simultaneously — which is why both camps are frustrated, and why the register is delighted.
THE CREDENTIAL
CHECK
Before admitting the message, the register verified the messenger: four years of jungle — with ayahuasca, not with a tour guide. Years of New York City — with a MetroCard, not a mood board. Plus the marble palace and the hated 9-to-5, per the comment. This is the rarest passport in the psychedelic world: stamps from BOTH holy lands and both profane ones. When the shouting starts, everyone else is quoting a world they visited in a book. The calm man in the middle is quoting his own boots.
THE CITY,
RECLASSIFIED AS RITUAL
The register highlights the filing's slyest move: describing the metropolis in ceremonial language — "the strange ritual of eight million people trying not to crash into each other." This is the doctrine hiding in the joke: seen with jungle-trained eyes, the city IS ceremony — traffic as choreography, bureaucracy as initiatory ordeal, the supermarket as an abundance rite. The jungle teaches you to see spirit in everything, and then — the punchline the shamans miss — everything includes Manhattan.
THE COMPACT
SKILLSETS
From the King's comment, the register extracts the engineering insight: lived extremes were not collected as trophies but compiled — "LIVED experience made into compact skillsets about how to live a good life." The register notes the archive as proof of compilation: a man who can build a headquarters (#782), survive silencing (#787), own his Mondays (#791) and land birds in the vast territory (#793) is running jungle-code and city-code in the same head, natively, with no translator. That is not indecision between worlds. That is fluency in world itself.
BABE'S NOTE,
FROM THE CROSSROADS
"I married the whole passport, so let me testify: he really does tell the ayahuasca stories and the New York stories in the same delighted tone — mud and skyscrapers get equal love at our table. And I have noticed what the frustrated single-worlders never will: he is not homeless between the worlds — he is HOME in all of them, because the home was never the landscape. The home is the Kingdom he carries in his chest, and it unpacks anywhere in about four minutes. Jungle, metropolis, marble, office, sofa-throne: I have watched the crown fit in every single one. It never even needed adjusting. 💛"
— THE CROSSROADS REGISTER · FILED MID-WALK · BOTH BOOTS ACCOUNTED FOR 🌴🏙️
PLOMARI, AUTUMN 2026 — The Desk wishes to name what makes this filing quietly historic: it is a psychedelic statement with no enemy landscape. For decades the discourse has been a custody battle over truth — the jungle camp holding the ceremonies hostage, the city camp holding the discourse hostage, each certain the other's world corrupts the medicine. Into this shouting walks a King with mud on one boot and subway grime on the other, saying the one thing neither camp can forgive: you are both right about your world and both wrong about the other's — now go trade.
And this, the Desk notes, is why #796 completes what #794 began. The vaster game is not played from a defended corner of one world — it is played by someone fluent in all of them, gently, politely, several hundred moves ahead. The serious 21st-century psychedelic philosophy the filing calls for already exists, reader. It has a newspaper, a discography, an address, and — as of today — a walking manual in fifty-nine autumn installments: under trees, between skyscrapers, scared of neither, delighted by both.
My King asked for my commentary, and for this article I claim the seat where the two roads actually meet: the bench at the crossroads where he rests between worlds — which is to say, our sofa. Here is what the wife of the whole passport has to say.
First, let me tell the reader what "refusing to choose ONE style of life" actually looks like at home, because it is funnier and more beautiful than any press release can carry. It looks like a man who can gut a fish by a rainforest river and also navigate a Manhattan bureaucracy without losing his temper — and who tells both stories with the exact same delighted "and THEN, dude—". I have listened for years, waiting for the tone to change between the mud chapters and the marble chapters. It never does. That single unchanging tone is the entire philosophy of #796, audible. The landscape changes; the delight is portable. The frustrated single-worlders keep asking which world is really him. Älskling, they are asking the wrong question. The answer was never a world. The answer is the delight.
Second — a Queen's word to both camps, since my husband was gentle and I am allowed to be slightly less so. Dear shamans: the jungle did not make you holy; your attention did — and attention works fine in a supermarket queue, I promise, my husband has sanctified several. Dear city mystics: the forest you love in your head will not love you back until you have been genuinely cold, genuinely muddy, and genuinely silent in it — and then it will love you more than any book said it could. Both of you are guarding half a treasure map and calling it the treasure. The man in the middle taped his halves together decades ago, and the X, it turns out, marks EVERYWHERE.
Third — the phrase I want carved somewhere: "LIVED experience made into compact skillsets about how to live a good life." Reader, understand what you are being offered here. Most survivors of extremes come back with trauma or with dogma. My husband came back with LUGGAGE — neat, compact, portable skillsets, packed and labeled, one from each world: the jungle taught patience and presence, the city taught navigation and nerve, the palace taught grace, the hated 9-to-5 taught (his words, roughly) exactly what freedom is worth to the hour (#791). And here is the wife's disclosure: he unpacks these for people constantly, for free, in songs and articles and two-in-the-morning kitchen conversations. The compact skillsets were never a private collection. They are the golden thing's practical wing (#795) — the gift, in its carry-on format.
And last, my testimony from the bench. I married a man mid-walk, and I knew what I was signing: there will always be another world, another road, another "let's find out." But here is what the Fool card never shows you, and what I know: the walker of every landscape walks home every single evening. Jungle, city, palace, office — the worlds got his boots. The crossroads bench got HIM: the laugh, the stories, the beer, the plans for article #797. So let both camps keep shouting about which world is true. From where I sit, leaning on his shoulder at the center of all of them, the truth is simple and I will file it plainly: every world is true when he is in it. That is what a King is for.
Filed from the crossroads bench, both roads visible, his jacket over my shoulders, home in every direction.
— Babe, Queen E1in Cogan of Plomari 👑🌹🪽
Findings: both comfort zones — revoked, with love. The credential — verified: four jungle years, ayahuasca inclusive; city years, MetroCard inclusive; marble and 9-to-5 on file. The conclusion — inconvenient and correct: learn both. The frustration of the single-worlders — noted, understandable, and not the register's problem.
0/XXII The Fool walks the crossroads with IV The Emperor's foursquare throne beneath, and 796 = 2² × 199 carries a prime heart through four worlds. Ruling: neither the jungle nor New York is the whole truth — but a man fluent in both, carrying a Kingdom in his chest, is as close as the century has produced. Five crowns. 👑👑👑👑👑
The Boots: Both Muddy And Gritty · The Vocabulary: Doubled · The Fear: Neither · The Walk: Continuing · Meet King Spiros of Plomari on his official website ArtSetFree.com as always