Book I — Part II: Back to Bed

II Back to Bed

“I am awake only in what I love & desire to the point of terror― everything else is just shrouded furniture, quotidian anaesthesia, shit-for- brains, sub-reptilian ennui of totalitarian regimes, banal censorship & useless pain.”

―HAKIM BEY

OU, whose face is the dawn of this garden, I have walked barefoot from the beginning of time to come to you. I come without clothes. Y

Her illustrious figure wakes up the night. ―Could we really have conjured this? They rise up to the Place, which is the House of Perfection, wandering freely in the Aethor. They move toward each other in the sublime Garden.

―I saw you comb your hair. And that smile of yours. You drive me wild! How do you do those things you do?

Sissy thinks of that drunken love letter she got from Spiros long ago. She giggles.

Bonjour Sissy Cogan, This love letter comes to you because I cannot bear to remain silent for another moment. Ah, moon cheri, I only desire to romance you on the Champs- Elysses. My attraction to you is so strong because you are tres jolie, you are a Goddess! May I escort you to le Garden le Eden? The truth is, I want to give you le grope on le grass. Darling, my declaration of love for you will ring out over the entire world. I can bear it no longer!

I love that you smell so naturale. So much like a wild animal. How can I resist, when you are so elegant, so sophisticated. My darling, let our next meeting be over a leetle glass of French rabbit wine. And now I must say adieu mon amour,

Your Billets Doux

―I liked that French love letter, says Sissy, but you know I like a bit more rough.

Spiros pours himself more wine. ―If you can only forgive me for my forgetfulness, dear, he says. You are the sun, I know. But what am I?

―You are the King, says Sissy. In our harem world, Plomari. My king.

It is a happy time in Plomari. Victory has been secured and it is high time to bask in the sun. Spiros and Sissy and Wintja-

bernatrice celebrate in their gardenhome, all aware that it is soon time for Spiros, the Crossador, to venture soon again. Yes, alchemical victory is secured, but not yet fulfilled.

Spiros sips some of the redpurple wine and Sissy looks at him as he stands there by the river dressed in nothing but a pair of striped red and white speedos on which stands written Body Zone on the bum. Her heart jumps in love for him.

―You want to give me le grope on the grass? she says.

Spiros pours some wine on Sissy’s naked skin. ―The universe is me giving you le grope on le grass, he says and gives her a lick. And yes, I want to.

They begin their walk across the temple courtyard toward the castle, both calling out for Wintjabernatrice.

Wintjabernatrice’s black hole pupils open. Begin a face of sing on motion. At what point does the face begin? It begins with a neck, the necklace, the neck of the beginning, there― it is there somewhere. Eyes and sharp lines of a form. A face is there but before it. Look at me found you. A face is like a rose. I fell for you. I dreamed of you, you came from the edge of. Mmm. We are between the flowing water, mind. Impossible. Someone cheated from behind. We cheated the honey lens. No I can't call it that. Can't call it that, the impossible water. The paradox. I love you. Say that your heart beats for me still, my dear one in our Love Oil world. I am at the edge, at the core, just outside your door in the story of manwoman, here my heart? I whisper to you at the edge of your space, give you a gentle shot, I am your alien nurse. I am the DJ? I know you believe. You have chosen, made your choice; You believe. Ha, you like the way I say things that make sense at odder places than you thought when you heard it, don’t you.

Our oil is forever. Our love oil. No one will know. Our love is forever.

―I need a miracle.

―Haha, my darling, no one knows how we do it. We are alone. No one ever sees us. And now, I must leave, moon cherry.

―I am alive. I am here. Let me receive.

―Our love is forever, and we are safe. We can look with open eyes in the lit darkness of our secret world.

Krishna Ospiris and Rädha Isisy, and our secret Butterfly.

A big bronze statue, a mighty Phoenix, has been placed at one of the corners of the roof of the castle, overlooking the courtyard. It was Wintjabernatrice’s idea.

―Maybe we can get it right this time, with help of our bird, Sissy says as she and Spiros make their way up the stairway of one of the round towers of the castle.

The bird is positioned so that it marks the path of a ray of light streaming through three different worlds. Spiros nods at Sissy’s remark.

―It is ready to fly, he says. When they reach the top room of the tower they sit down on the edge of the bed there and look out over the landscape for a while (The large one only window of the room faces the rising sun, and a bed stands under the window). But Spiros rather looks at Sissy’s angelic face, and so he turns his gaze toward her. Her eyes, her lips, her nose, her hair. Little ears there too. Eyebrows and those amazing eyelashes. Frighteningly angelic he thinks and looks at her.

―Are you sleeping? says Sissy and lays her hand on Wintjabernatrice’s hip as she lies on the bed. Ooo. I’m sorry.

Wintja opens an eye, then smiles a little smile. ―Take off her panties, Sissy says and looks at Spiros. We must complete the Phoenix.

Spiros bites Wintja's toe gently and kisses his way up her leg. He tries to get off her panties using his teeth, but fails, so he soon takes them off with his hands. He gives the dark red panties to Sissy.

―We shall hang our beloved Wintja’s very sexy panties on the wing of the Phoenix, Sissy says. To complete the procedure.

Spiros gives Sissy a kiss and takes the panties and climbs out the window out onto the roof. He hangs them on the wing of the bronze bird and yells something incomprehensible. A bird flies by.

With Wintja’s dark red panties now hanging in victory looking over the harem, the Trio begin to prepare for the alchemical operation. Rose petals are collected. The Spice – the redpurple alchemical wine, the Ambrosia, the oil of forever – is brought forth. The books and unfinished manuscripts are blessed and put on the old wooden table. Wild fruit from the hills surrounding the castle is gathered. Dried herbs are burned to fill the air with intoxicating, sensual, sharp fragrances. Sissy brings forth her violin.

Spiros, dressed in his usual wear – a sheet wrapped around his waist – sits down and lights his pipe. The trio swoons. Something desirable splits with a combined disorder within a distant speaker. Swoon warms. The current opus enters the scene from a funny postal angle. Wintja lusts happily for Sissy’s soft lower lip, then rips off a page from the old book and reads aloud:

―Where is history? It is gone. Has always been, always is. Stop press printing and all printing for that matter and see that it is real. Like when the electricity fails and all machines stop and forth pops the great garden hidden behind that which hides it. It’s the loveliest thing.

Sissy stands by the window enjoying the sunlight that falls on her. The excitement of stellar summer! You can’t ever soak in too much of midsummer’s majesty can you? She wanders with her thoughts and an anecdote confirms midsummer beside the massive tactic.

―Well we did say we would stay in the oasis of the desert with no panties, says Sissy thoughtfully when her eyes meet Wintja’s. Didn't we?

―Yes we did, says Wintja. ―You are like music, mon cherries, says Spiros a bit deep in thought, and puffs on his pipe. Cheers! Coming up now a flower of self. The fragrance of that final bed of ours. The Phoenix flaming with spirit showing us where the mistletoe hangs. Page turn. Spooky the way it works. The post office I mean, our centuryslanted postal orifice.

―Yes. ―For reason I know not why, yet, says Spiros, my dear sugarcrushs, my dear little sugardusted rose petals with cream, my being can not always flow freely between the water. Yet. Too

many directions decided to be accurate. Must flow like mindmilk. Mindmilk from the mushroom cow.

Spiros turns to read from a manuscrypt. ―Let me moisten your lips, darling, Sissy says and smiles at Wintja.

―With a kiss, I wonder? Wintja says. Sissy takes some of the Spice ointment onto the tip of her finger and applies it to Wintja's lips. Her lips shine wet and glassy.

―Now you may, Sissy says and pouts her lips. Kiss. ―I don’t understand this letter of the ladder up the curious sign down at Eve’s, indicating a hole in our great Snip Snap Slut, says Spiros and studies a page of the manuscript. Snip snap slut, and the story was over. Blip. Here she comes, history’s Eve, face of an ancient with the glint of a saucer from the end of time in her eye. Why, you ask? You’ll have to figure that yourself.

Spiros stands up and throws his pipe to the side; it bounces gently and perfectly on the wall and table and lands on the bed. He shouts something incomprehensible again, then laughs and says how trippy it all is, then delivers his message:

―I come with a short napkin note from the Queen of Existence. She is busy at the banquet but wants to tell you something. She says to you the following: Hurl yourself into the Abyss, you will discover it is a feather bed. I have prepared a bed for you and me, at the center of Eternity. See you there?

―That is how magic is done, says Wintja. By hurling yourself into the Abyss.

Spiros bows. Wintja steps up to him. Her secret eyes attack him; blast! and she whispers in his ear with her wetglassy lips:

―I can lead you there, you know, to that place, and you still with me in bed.

Sissy picks up her violin and begins playing, repeating a slow melody.

―You still haven’t learned to play that yet? Wintja asks Sissy.

Spiros and Wintja make ready the alchemical wine, pouring the concentrated ointment into water from the river, into one large silver chalice. They all drink of it. Spiros sits down to write:

In answer to that part of the letter where the hitherto and hitherthere like phrases slung in sungs of spring verse halfhalted everyhere and there, not restricted at all, as the whole should be, flower and sunslanted, I would like to bring to your recall again the ancient fondling of the new and ancient furnish of our little sands-of-time harem palace world, (write, she says!) and the unmentioned crime, a sensational idea indeed, throughout the papyrus a sensational remark whipped out with the most rosy creamy, p, ops I almost said, neverwind, anyway a very rushy remark come all over the face of the page, easily showing the posthistoric girls' and boys' way of dealing with their uneditfice, so so scattered and so so collected by the eye of the human bee of the invisible, that only certain eyes can see. We made it clear that a fivegrammar lovelesson will help your sight of this marvel, but we noticed our words passed right through the eyes of some people (not surprisingly mentioned at lettertude 445 fw somewhere along the lines of 121). I frankly couldn't have described it better myself, and as one of the dumbfounded founders of our world I would like to rise your letter to the sky for all too see, but I will not, do not worry my disobedient friend, I shall not sell the name of love evermore than I will push my own peculiarities and kinks onto another, however cute the Queens may consider them.

The world is closing in, as we are opening up. Endless summer. This is our time. Feels like paradise, doesn’t it. And here we are spending notime in the louder parts of eternity. How’s it been, my win, living the sin? Now you are mine! Show me how, while still with me in bed, when I am halfsleeping. We will grab a ray of light! With

help from the Phoenix of extracentury sight! Sinse I do not know when or where you will receive this letter let me talk in the privacy of our secret tactics. (Do you really want to be the last to find out? I asked myself, was it? Me raises an eyebrow at meshelf.)

―How did we wear two faces at the single time? ―Hello, my name is Mr Him Diamond. I come in the guise of a boy from Sweden.

―From Eden, you say? ―I see you speak the language. ―The postman is never late, I hear. ―I put it there from the future. Yes. Spiros shouts from afar. ―Is this the direction you mean, Sissy?!

―Yes! she shouts. The phoenix, dear! The flame is here!

621 midsummer Rosa, junction Plomari. Spiros of course at this time could not read between the waters of it all and thought she meant the dream he dreamt where it was asked “why was there two Spiros?”

―How you will thank us for having woken you!

And you gave me a gentle kiss as I shut my eyes, both of you, be with me now my loves, as I venture into history again to deliver another letter. I’ll find my way back to you! I’ll find my way back to you!

Sleep, without sleep. Popp. ―I’m drifting away. Whisper to me closely. I hear you at the edge of. Remamor me! Till two thousand and neverends three!

Bianca, photographed in 2oo5

Hahaha darling. Took me a while to get that one. Message came right on time though.

Kisses from your Magic Mailman.

Crime successful

P

EACHEST of mine, my dark lover, do you really think we can pull this off? It is worth believing in for all my heart. The golden cocks are rising. Harvest season soon. You, my beloved, the One Invented Twisted Animator. You have laid something gentle on my heart. A little kiss and a note smelling of you, a whisper of your might. I hide the secret in my eyes as you told me to. I am sillyserious, do you really think it is possible? Do you know what that would mean, if it is possible? It means endless summer. It means this is our time. The house is ours. Let’s plunder the Palace. It means we will sneak out covered in the whirl of motion. Hide between the shadows. The most ingenious fastshuffling ever conceived! Knock knock look behind you. Boo! Yes, we must leave the door slightly ajar like is custom. Time we deliver the letter to the peeps, shall we say, down at Switchridge Saloon, you know that blue green round sphere that looks so much like the planets mentioned in the fairytales. For we have covered a considerable distance Plomariward from the house of the shadows. Tihitihi. Announcement! Psilence please, silence all! Ecstatic music, please. We have found a solution to the little trouble of those white corpses. Ops. I meant corpuscles.

―Welcome! ―Merci! Listen now, everyone with longears and longeyes. Whisper whisper. The Kings and Queens had to intervene.

Say it again. Say it out loud to yourself: The Kings and Queens had to intervene.

We are here.

We are known to carry many names. The Kings and Queens works fine. The Gods of Elysia works fine as well. The Cats of Plomari, why not! Birdbeasts of the purpose of action, sure. The bees of the invisible, yes that’s us. Our tactic, our crime, our plan, our operation is foolproof.

I like how book pages are like playing cards… I personally just woke up after a so-called nap where the so- called dead dwell, or so it was said in the so-called nap. I don’t even recall when I fell asleep. Wintja’s dark red panties hang on a

very suspicious place in the cave on Leavingbye Road, but I see no sign of her. Build environment, don’t be talking!, is a little thing we like to say to denote the, this. The crime, I mean. Don’t mistake these owl’s hoots for nonsense. Let me pontificate for a moment, dear friends. Tilt the books a bit, give them a little friendly shove to the sidesplitting areas of the real, yes you’ll most probably feel very elated and airy from it. Isn’t it just a marvelous feeling? Fits well with ecstatic music.

Ops I lost myself. Actually it rewinds me about that mailment when the Queen giggled tipsily in the toroidal freak lounge saying, in her perfect Swinglish: Ops, I came off myself. No wonder, as slippery as she gets in the shower. Anyway, now I lost the thread I had saved for this grand moment’s eturnighty, my mind running away with the girls, chasing the dream we are sewing with – Haha, shall we try to make a last stitch? – our dreams, we just slirar forth. Slira inte så snabbt, girls. Gnistra inte så fort. O but, it’s not a dream! That was just a flirting fillher of speech! O, O, now I’m all tangled up in the.

You of the Wine, I can’t wait till you come! I’ll take you in my mouth and. This weekend? Maybe we shall call it the last week? Delete weeks from our minds? Dream of ours, taken and token by the benediction of the akeminnis (I hope that word doesn’t mean anything in the dictatorionaries, I just stole it!), fairer a dream has never been seen in the spaces of time. Ops I’m a bit opsy actually. Must be those folds of my dress. Tipsy, I mean. Tip. I didn’t remember that I forgot that, all in all I must say to day this night, at this very moment, still here, generally speaking in mostly all ways in time, that, if I could only misattribute myself the saga, I would be able to tell the tale here like it happens, which I do often in the confreedoms of myself in my naps, in vital words all perfectly applied into the puzzle where rounds are squares in triangulated composites of meaning, sometimes turned into form, without every loosing of the inbetween spoken, neglecting to be – cough – ever derayed from delays in the overarching plan of the Arch Angles.64 Yes it is a tricky task the trick of our escape.

―No it’s not… ―I know I just had to make the point. Or should we skip telling the story altogether?

―O what do I here behold? Do I see you brushing cobweb off an old world?

Who would say such a thing at such a time like this?! Interrupturing me like that. Must be my mistress. She’s behind the seams.

And now I must take a nap.

Spiros wakes up on the bed in the apartment on Leavingbye Road. Or at least he thinks he does. The bed stands against the wall opposite the wall it stood when he lay down for his nap, but he does not notice this. He stretches like a cat and yawns when he suddenly feels a wave of orgasmic emotion go through his body. He opens his eyes, feeling the presence of his Dark Lover. The orgasmic emotion gets more and more intense until he shakes away into a fullbloom orgasm, his body shaking wildly in one of the most intense orgasms he has ever had.

―Hello, says She and begins to play music to Spiros. She sings to him, she is an awesome singer, and she plays an amazing sort of electronic music, and Spiros lies for a long time in bliss at being in her presence. She sings to him secrets, for a long time.

―I’ll show you the way I really am, she says at last. Spiros smiles and shuts his eyes again, and flows into the dream and wakes lucidly into the other world. And he wakes up, lucid and thankful for yet another meeting with his beloved.

Ilene Meyer’s paintings was the closet thing in pictorial art that Spiros could remember having seen that described at least to some extent how the place he now found himself in looked. He stood feet warm against the sand in a semi desert land with yellow and reddish cliffs and sensually sculpted waves of sand; it had a tribal futuristic feel to it he thought to himself― African, Egyptian, Arabic. Circuses with nude dancers came to mind, Arabian baroque, rubies and silk and delicious concoctions. In the horizon lay a gently shining sun, warm and soft, shining on the landscape

and the amazing statues that, to his surprise, a young woman were dancing into existence with elegant moves.

Spiros flew over to her. She was wearing belly dancer clothes. Thin semitransparent white fabrics with colorful flowery patterns. She looked like a peach, Spiros thought to himself and admired, not without a tint of lust, her bronzelike skin. Her skin and all, her forms, the life of her, how she shone! A peach.

―You look like a peach, Spiros said to her. The girl stopped dancing and turned toward him and smiled. ―Are you my peach, by any chance? Spiros continued. ―True true, vast chase of a sound picture, she said. I’m that wundrybird within the lands of Plomari.

She steps up to Spiros slowly and lays her arms around him. Their lips touch, only touch. They just are for a moment, right there.

They kiss. ―You don’t know how real it can be, she says and looks into Spiros’ eyes and being.

―Love, I have waken up again, says Spiros, this time at Leavingbye Road 216. A spontaneous reading-aloud of Finnegans Wake was heard when I awoke, page six twentyone, "It's Phoenix, dear, and the flame is here!", last pages of the Wake, where the river meets the sea! Great impossible sea of Plomari. And the mushroom cocks have risen again and come with their soulblack sperm! Yay! Six times six times six we have arranged it all!

―Now go with me further into Plomari, my sugar, says Wintjabernatrice. Don’t you remember what holds us together? What holds us together is immediate experience. Let us streamline ourselves for flight into hyperspace.

―Still in sleep? Am I dreaming? Spiros sighs. ―I’m in the movie of the growing, that’s for sure, he says and begins to fill his pipe. Ha! And what are you two doing?

―Guess? ―Riding across the desert on a horse, with no panties?

―Yes, we put our panties on a raft and sent it down stream, as we said we would.

―O yes I remember. You were staying in the universe is dissolved before you, whatever that means.

―Yes, dissolved in the waters of Plomari. The impossible waters of. Plomari. Our universe is transforming.

―And how is my Crossador doing? asks Sissy. ―I’m working, says Spiros. I mean, I’m daydreaming. ―About what? ―About our little secret. So, should we call this little adventure inwards two to the gag, the snap ending? I don’t know, someone told me we should call it that.

―Snap ending, Sissy nods. ―I meant the neck of the… the tight ending, Spiros says. Wintja asks Spiros: ―Will you nod with a final curve if I say we haven't checked if the new Aeon ever appears before the end of words that will open your veins to sweeten my tea? I should bloody well hope so.

She laughs wildly. Spiros laughs. ―You do, eh? Wintja asks. Do you nod? ―Yes, says Spiros. I nod. ―Yes yes yes we seek the A of the future! exclaims Wintja. The future can’t generate the future. Or? ―So we have sent me in on this long journey to find the A of the future?

―As we embarked on what they do have, says Sissy. I'm not happy, I'm not going to get you in the A of the future.

―You'll get me in the future, don’t worry. Jah rasta.61 ―I'll always be around in the future, dear, do not worry. ―I don’t worry. You’re a big girl, teases Spiros. Wintja laughs. ―Nooo – the objects in the girl. I was a bag. ―The pink Prada purse? asks Spiros. ―Happy giggles beside you and silent against the pink Prada purse, by any chance? I have a book about it, in ghastly pink.

61 Jah provides.

Hahaha, I pissed on the floor and said menacingly: I don't think we will migrate into the environment.

Spiros laughs. Sissy picks up a little note from her bag. ―I have a message for you, she tells Spiros. Listen. Each group rules a varying number of 1D 4D differential equations, many not chaotic, and 1D 3D difference equations.

Spiros nods.

―Where’d Sissy go? asks Spiros. ―She walked back to the ruined house. You’ll have to refactor everything. You're about to open, the angel of the mountain we climbed. Okay, write that down, I say.

―Am I dreaming? asks Spiros. I miss Plomari. ―In Plomari we enter the domain of the wish café! Are you dreaming!?

―Yes indeed we do! ―Yes, she felt free, as the thunder of dustyblack wings. Kisses to you, yes! Yes I will, yes! And, as for your question of whether or not you are dreaming: You’re in the movie of the growing.

―Are we playing a game, my little Bonnies and me? ―Brightly colored flags were fluttering in the A of the game. But they saw only a young couple aboard the ship, waving and lifting champagne glasses.

―Who? ―We were being waved in. There where you have seen the unique, some of us could see long ago it was going to have a history. Two to the trick, the snap ending. Until the hour of the pages of the sea. We endow ourselves with the experience of the flight. You are both dreaming. The earth marks two in the movie in the growing.

―Working backwards through time? asks Spiros. Will you help talk me into the sea in the growing?

―Sure! The pocket down the empty glass for the time to time the same forwards and backwards.

―Back the same way we came? You can see some of the folks of history on your way back down the corridor, you know.

―Okey, okey, you'll have to refactor everything.

―Refactor, refactor… I think I know what that means. ―So you think the same means? ―Kind of exactly. ―Yes while you where there you came in this state. They've got all fucking weird and sigilistic, in a different name means a different way.

―A different way, ey, in a different word. ―And when thinking about you, as the door was going full blast and they led them to friends of the Sisters definition, she had been on that miserable planet as a car that was just told to you.

―Shit, yeah? Not too much hassle I hope. ―But first let us remind you of the voice of great killing of man, I hope this is his hassle.

―Yes. Spiros double-checks if he’s talking to the right person. ―There's no cover and I nod, yes, it's me. Hello. ―Okay, says Spiros. Any suggestions as to what I do now? ―Any suggestions as to what you could do for you? Firstly I want to do with you.

―I'm just sitting here smoking. ―You're all just sitting here smoking. ―Haha! First want to do it with me, ey? ―Or me when you do it with you, haha. ―Haha.

―Haha hey, morning morning, waky waky. ―Good morning. ―My name is Nutty the Squirrel. I will become, in video-game parlance, a team killing fucktard.

―Must you kill fucktard? ―I will become, in video-game parlance, a team killing fucktard…

―I thought you meant the advanced page movie. ―It's a pity we aren't fighting this war on the page is a movie. ―Yes that's an idea. Mindwarp. ―Here is the shiny glassiness of the goal.

Spiros bows. ―Anyways, how did today start your attitude with? ―My day began with me feeling lost, answers Spiros, and unsure.

―Well, I just needed to think of some of you having a feeling it was lost. Dear god, you guys aren't talking about you as the seven senses are meant, the neck of the dream with the astral community has been pushed into your pocket!

―Ah, yeah. ―Oh, ah, two at a loose end for the study of patterns. Anyway. What are you up to yourself as it is time? Haha!

―Sorry, my mind lost the track. You take the lead. ―Okay guys, I'm going back in the lead began to come on in the me of the I of the wind.

―Ah, the lead, huh? Alchemy. ―It was the blood spurt from that pattern, then sometimes you can see the universe as not the absence of the ship's medical bay and I plugged myself into the earth, the last age before the well, and I shall lead them to take the lead, huh?

―Yes, you are right. My mistake. And of course not. I never meant that.

―If this turns out to X and rubbed it with my existence, haha! Anyways. Someone wonders if it's still new year's eveten years ago as an idea quickly and it must be in orbit around.

―Yes, it is still seventeen years ago where I am. ―Wait, did Lilly tell you that I associate with the years? ―Who's Lilly? And I have been thinking for a long time that you don't associate with years.

―Years in a time of the Yay? ―Mmm… the Yay year. I'm around midsummer myself. ―If you’re honest with yourself you know who it was, around midsummer eve.

―Well they were there too......the...... ―Phoebe went over to John Dee, by the way. ―Okay. ―So, are you okay? ―Well I just couldn't believe it at first. You can imagine. ―Just slow down. Keep going! He's such an abominable scholar it must be used! I think I'll just take another book in the you?

―I’ll be right back, must fetch some water. Yes, take another book in the me.

―Now fetch me a lot, you'll have to check the other end of the water.

―Okay. ―Okay, okay, muttered someone, let's at least give our dream team out of there!

―Haha! The dream team, says Spiros fetching water. ―There is no end to the water in their heart. He just barged right in here by the by.

―Don't worry, we got you covered. A sneaky fastshuffle I would call it.

―A sneaky fastshuffle… I would want to be sneaky. ―I wouldn't. I would want to make it so that it's so foolproof that it's fuckin’ foolproof. I can play with open cards, baby. I’ll bet you a kiss that I’ll win.

―You have a mac especially a powermac, please do not tell how rare those things you have received are. The orders for this feast that the whole of the mountain for his feet up beside a blazing likeness of life.

―The wild flower smells, says Spiros. The shop flower doesn’t. Spiros smells the peachcoloroured rose beside him.

―That smells like that flower. Pause. ―I put the S in the arms of his faith, ordure fell from the book in this event for our rendezvous?

―Sounds good, says Spiros. ―Sounds like peachfuzz and jealousy. ―But shop flowers in windows don't smell the way the Rose smells, my dear. A little trick, we may call it. The Flower Shop Trick.

―Anyway, then he rose from the flowers of the windows and he acted only when the first time I saw the dripping fangs, the ghastly bulging eyes at the table, and after him she bore another white bull, and after that it was a very similar to his cock, tight in her peachy bum. Now, let us at least two dimensional phase space.

―Gotcha. ―Compile more evidence, gotcha. O and, that book was in the unburned ends of the pages that the soldiers had.

―Oh shit, now I see.

―There are 49 visions. ―I have always wondered about that number. I’ll be right back, must fetch more water.

―Now fetch me a piece missing from the water. ―One or two of us? We have some in the cupboard.

Spiros fetches more water and what is missing from the water. ―Done, he says returning. John kicks the damned server. ―Served. ―A stupid instinct, Rieux says. ―Still, it served to remind me, says Montag. ―Towards the front was a small dog which resembles a throwrug, and appears to be one of you.

―Want more water? asks the waiter. ―Well I just swallowed what's missing from the water, yummy! says Spiros.

―Mastery in the cauldron. I hear you ran all the godly goodies. Anyway, let us continue. I'll tell you to continue recognizing each other too long. The dope of frog dick. Kambo.

―Good with some food in my belly! O godly delights! I'm just a bit tired, it's 4:53 here. No wait. 4:54.

Spiros smells the rose. ―Observe the four elements and the caps of the lightgreen new mownhay smelling, and livestock smelling across the air.

―Yes. ―Yes, I feel very nervous. ―Me too, I don't know if we should go full on today or not. I feel I should talk to the Queen now but I don't know if it is a good idea to contact her today.

―The Queen of the A in the idea from their tombsleep, rising smelling of flowers.

―I must walk to the balcony for a moment, says Spiros and rises.

―Part of the angle will have been told you of the A to the balcony.

Spiros walks out onto the balcony. There the moon lies in the sky and passing it by is a silent aircraft. Spiros remembers the evening earlier when the moon lay half in the sky like a smiling mouth; strange because it never has lied like that before over the

land where he is. As he remembers it, the moon, when half, has always lied vertically. Spiros returns inside.

―A very blue and rosy dawn outside. The blue looks like I like to portray the Spice.

―So you like to portray it? ―Yes. ―Years later a doctor will tell me what you mean, yes, he was pretty clever myself.

―Well yes that's what I mean with foolproof. ―The fruit of the end of the seven senses are meant to you, Spiros. Anyways, look at the time for virtual reality viewer at home.

Spiros coughs jokingly, thinking of being looked in upon in his private space.

―Well you know I like to dance too, he says and giggles. ―I like you dance, haha! ―I'm a hard animal to keep in captivity, jokes Spiros. ―I think I have a hard animal to keep into captivity, teases Wintjabernatrice.

―You better believe it. ―Even from the cross at the end of the highway maps often felt to me that the observer is always with me, and I just couldn't believe how cool it was.

―Same here.

Before my eyes into those mirror eyes. ―Wow I'm getting tired, thanks for a fine conversation today. ―I am the gem and a knowledge of this conversation. Spiros nods. ―I’ll be back in a bit.

―It was a bit cold, I got unfocused, says Spiros returning. ―You got a bit cold and I got unfocused… ―Oh did you? ―O! So just tell me I have you with me! ―The sun is shining, yay! Everything on schedule? I'm with you, dearest.

―You better believe we're on schedule.

―I went over and couldn't believe it. ―It's hard to believe, isn’t it? The flower shop manual for sorcery. Does it reflect something about the future? I'm going to set a garment on my shift. Dark red panties.

―Let love be the act of x. Spiros rises from his chair. ―I’ll be right back, he says. I must take a piss. ―I will see your hands. They stopped at the end of the dog had to piss.

―So, who do you do tonight, ladies and gentlemen!? shouts Spiros from the bathroom while pissing with one hand holding his dick and one hand waving slowly behind his back.

It’s the most awesome trick. Hard to believe. The dog barks. A voice is heard from the edge: ―The deep inspeçtion and dove-like piercing Eye of your understanding into these deepest Cabinets of us Nature’s Kings and Queens, allures us to set this Optic before your sight, You Dear Ingenious Readers, and it is our attractive Magnetic engagement to do so.

―Haha, I just concentrated on the ladies with umbrellas who read how this fits with the tablets at once.

―Hah! ―Rosacalendric schemata follow we, ah!? Spiros grins. ―Well, he says, what a splendid morning in the outer rim of the garden.

―Threads stripped in the outer rim of the dark side of Eden. ―Yes, here we can bask in the sun. ―So, what's your name in this dialog? says Sissy and presses ‘record’.

―My name is Mr Tass, says Spiros. ―I am your woman of Earth, keep silence; for my name is Mrs Tass. I'm footloose and fancy free, dear husband. Talk.

―Well first tell them we have invented a cigarette made of light, very tasty flavors.

―All they can think of you of the light? ―What are you talking, dear!? Haha!

―I used to sound like God talking for eternity, and that would frighten any animal on earth. I was sent up with a dearest and put my weight on it, pointing at the silent woman.

Spiros delves in to a sitting position. ―May I drink the water I prepared for you? ―You must be prepared in the water. ―Yes, so it seems. ―Yes yes, human bodies are begotten. ―Prepared in the Plomarian waters, by any chance? ―All by itself, huh? Whilst we were talking about a stupid game.

―Yes what a stupid game we are playing. Blink blink. ―Yes, what do we search for Atlantis, in the A of eye ago, and eye ago the A of the game?

―Yes why do we search for the Plomarian rosy peach light that shines silently in the midst of everything, and why do we search for us those gods who rise within its fluffy embrace.

―The arousal in you is obvious. You swallowed of the Spice, didn’t you, honeybum?

―Well, it was cold but I got warm. ―I want you to say and think I'd see how things have not awakened them, you will be warm with the cold.

―Thanks for reminding telling me. ―Morgens das sonnensystem! To deny indignantly something which justifies having a good young idiot, haha!

Spiros laughs. ―Beat magic, haha! They swoon. ―Well I just saw two birds...well I won't say it, but... ―I want you to teach it. So, you just saw them birds, and? ―I just saw them disappear in a strange way. ―Okay. I need you to feel now, and we'll work on you since you saw them disappear. Prohibited is prohibited, verboten ist verboten, and I think it hurts him.

―Hurts who? ―Haha, you see you die. ―Yes, well. Not really. ―Uh, Rock Spiros center. My Plomarian king is being born. ―Well okay, I guess. I die, says Spiros.

―Guess you looked down the back of his strength to break you two together but rather slowly, eh? Ah? Yes?

―Guess so, blink wink. ―Let me guess, ya’ll just idle'linz? ―Just idle lenses, my love.

―Hey get your visa to India so you can recognize a pattern and the movements of matter that all those days, there is your way, always supernatural power – the ability to manipulate the 3- dimensional using only the taps trying to sought out the idle and ride back to origins.

Spiros ponders. Decides to not go to India right now. ―Well, Spiros soon begins, in answer to another question asked somewhere in the, let me say – cough – in the x of the pulp of the Plomarian plum, just for the sake of keeping us on the sunshiny goingthere alreadythere side, I had my own little idea of how to pull off the trick.

―The trick of the pulp of the plum blossom? ―No not that trick, I meant another trick, but nevermind. ―Nevermind that this was a trick, it was meant by classic rationality. Wink wink.

―Wink wink. ―The special use of magic can be your existence, says Sissy. You know that, don’t you?

―Well it's good to be on the Aluminalien plains, Spiros says and smiles in delight.

―The beer and some of the high plains. ―Ya. ―That'll teach ya. ―Ya. ―You who devour the finest materials. Mr Tass lights his pipe. ―Do I sense someone of African origin in the vicinity? he asks.

Mrs Tass counters with a question: ―What are you on the origin of all in the vicinity? ―I don't know. ―Mega'on hera cruhic, crarihuc, amen. ―What does that mean? Spiros finds a little dried sperm on his arm.

―Diamonds, in Tantric tradition, are the crystallized sperm of the xxx, says Mrs Tass.

―Ops I came. ―You will be helping us, won't you? says John. When I manage to get out some ops on undernet?

―It would be our pleasure, says Spiros. You know how to find us.

―Just got home from the static in your position, might have lost all control at this time, you were incarnate as a hard thing to be my pleasure? says Mrs Tass. Ha! Sorry, nevermind that. Anyway, one of the four intruders heard a ghostly roar, like seas beating on a kind of fusion of differences between the two worlds. From subred to ultraviolet.

―Oh? ―Oh indeed, and ripple effect. ―Well I always thought I remembered my wife, I knew she was of Plomari, and that...well let me say no further.

―She’s here, everywhere here. ―Spiros, I saw you to be met at the glimpse of the corner of the waters of Plomari.

―Yes. Wow now I am drinking your water. Let me go and fetch some more from the well.

―Drinking the whole united states of consciousness is the water you say?

Spiros wanders off into thoughts. ―Well I just flew to another century. ―But they didn't see us as the sun; their hair flew in the construction projects of the century.

Spiros laughs. ―Beat magic, haha! ―Your timekeeping is worse than…than… ―Yes, my timekeeping is a bit tipsily. ―Are your ready to give it a bit tipsily? ―On Friday at 11:22. ―I'm invoking article 11 of the way. 22. ―PM. I'll swallow the Spice at 11:22 PM on Friday… I will try to be as punctuational, I mean punctual as possible.

―My love, my peachest, look at your life. Look all the way back. Can you see how it all fits together?

Spiros nods gently. He thinks for a moment of Sissy doing a simprim, that little movement of false modesty by which a girl with a cavernous visible cleavage pulls her skirt down over her knees. He then lies down on the bed under the Plomarian sun and drifts away.

The following day, if we might be so slightly tilted square to put it in such words, Spiros was visited by a young acquaintance. Together they did some shopping and smoked some herb and drank some fruit juice, and then the mentioned acquaintance began to tell Spiros about a new graffiti tag he had conceived.

―It’s rather strange, said the acquaintance, my tag, but. It is not words. It is two lines, then another line, and then at the bottom there is a little thinga-wa-jing that is like a bomb, just a little twirl or whatever. The first two lines represent two who are in love, and they are separated, by another line, and the little thinga-wa-jing is a kind of bomb that breaks the barrier separating them. For I think they should be together. The barrier should be broken.

Spiros nodded and said that it was a great idea.

―And I heard through a third party, cannot know it would depend on technology and condemn it at a constant reminder that he actually succeeded in stirring the beat out again, and thus said: The strength of god face to another century. Hahahaha!

―The strength of our own face for the reminder, hahahaha! Spiros didn’t think much of this, until he checked for the latest crop circle in England, and found that a crop formation had appeared on August 26. He was stunned to find the following little symbol within the center of the crop circle:

Spiros calls his friend. ―So, eh, what about that third party message I got which concresced together today in a new crop circle? The two lovers who couldn't reach each other until a kind of bomb broke the barrier.

―He also avoided the traditional party for the third of the King, and of water erupted from the private message. And then it broke, and the third of the circle.

―Is that the flying saucer lens? asks Spiros. In the middle? ―Diamond tie clip, contact lens and the 'wear' is the large tablet, was placed on top of sauce bottles and gets her drunk as she wishes, and then each one of the saucer.

―I ain't talking raspberry sauce, am I? Wink wink. ―You can see us while we were talking in the lapis sauce. They won't mind. How soon are you talking about? Haha!

―Don't know, Friday will be 29th August. ―You know, you will be 29 in the year of the Yay. ―Oh fuck you! Hahaha! Yes I will be 29 in the year of Yay.

2012. Spiros’ stereo suddenly shuts on and music begins. He hears a strangely familiar female voice singing:

It’s over now I know it It’s laid to make it ride Another way, another time I'm not sure why we always crash

―The love I feel for you is real, Spiros whispers back. She’s still home. To keep the sun shining.

What’s been lost can be found

―You make me so so high, Spiros sighs in bliss. And thanks, I was misinterpreting your words there a while.

Just wait. We’ll always be there.

―You and me, together in Eternity. A never ending dream. We will wake up in springtime.

Married to the poltergeist of his reality, the mushroom seamstress who webs it all together.

The red lamp appears again. An insect flies by to inform that the evening has begun. A small bug in the computer, too, occurs. A sound in the old wooden table makes a sound: tic.

We are always by your side. Learn to read the. Whispers. ―Okay, I’m in, says Spiros. I am beginning to understand now. Cheers. It’s so so noticeable when having drunk of the spice.

―And with this the plumber arrives, haha! says Spiros’ friend. Spiros nods. ―There ya go! he says. ―It’s as if its been put a design under the floorboards. And we all just forget at times.

And who does Spiros bump into on his way home if not Madame Klurig, or “Klura Klura, Plura!” as she is also called, that lovely woman at the center stage of life, and what does she do if not order two cups of whiskey at the Star Bar― one for Spiros and one for herself. Her smile made the day warm and dreamy, and they ended up in her house at that secret location. Yes, a splendid event, and she agreed over the phone the next day that this is the most fun events, these times when something unexpected happens, like bumping into a river bella into a postman’s mission of delivery, yes, bumping in to each other in a vast city like that and ending up enjoying whiskey together, a fine whiskey in a fine bar in a found time with a belle postman meeting.

―Hard to find these days, says Madame Klurig. ―Yes, says Spiros. ―I’d love to, says Madame Klurig. Let us see that side too.

Can you receive it? Do you believe it?

It’s a special thread, ha!, ey, honey? The suspender of your garter belt, huh? A little last thread covering your naked being? A little thread of your panties, ya? Makes me think of them suspended sentences that you whisper to me at the edges of the dream. Sneaky. “Hold on to the thread”, you whispered smiling. The silver thread between life and the grave, too. “Hold on, honey! Hold on!”

I am not afraid of the dark waters anymore, my love. You know yesterday when I found myself in

the dark river. Haha, I knew you would be there in the dark blackness of the water behind all the blood and liquefied dead bodies that turned out to be strawberry sauce and cream (thanks for the joke, I love your wicked sense of humor). O and hey it wasn’t my idea to go anal intercourse in the midst of the scene! I understand you are as horny as ever. I’m in your system, baby. It’s so logical.

We must plot secretly.

PS: I can take the pain, my love. Keep pushing ahead.

Your Crossador

So after that lucid river love I was of course thinking a couple of strawberry and cream drinks down at riverside, lick the ass of death, that dark dark woman, up with that ass in the air my dear!, yeah some ass-licking and fucking in the midst of the now dead darkness. You won’t believe how horny she is. I already told you she’s the badest women ever.

―Damn, fuck, to be honest I’m too high to talk, says I. Great fucking music Benassi, thanks. And by the way, who has filled my bathtub with strawberry sauce? Babe, are you here?! You know that thing we talked about, about taking over the world? I heard from Birdie that we have infiltrated the system.

―Shut up, says Sissy. ―Ya, sorry mate, I’m a bit tipsy. ―O! It’s too big! teases Sissy. ―Strawberry fields forever, says I and lift my silver chalice toward her.

Sissy gets a glass carafe of cream. ―Whip me up, baby, says I and stick my tongue out at her in intoxicated frenzy.

Use your imagination to find out what we fucking did next mates. I’m fucking high as a doorknob. I’m out.

―High as a doorknob? That’s not very high. Laughs.

Now to get on with the story. So, after enjoying anal sex in a river of strawberry sauce and cream (which was awesome by the way), disguised, mind you very much, as blood and liquefied dead humans, we were ready to go further and deeper into the mysterious synthesis. And so we did.

―Vacation’s over, honey. ―No! It’s not over. I’m staying in bed. ―Rise and shine, Spiros. Rise and shine… Wintja sings into Spiros’ ear at the edge of his reverie: ―He’s a secret passion, he’s my maker of Heaven.62 He’s so sure. I see right through all his life, he’s in my system. Someone I won’t regret to keep in my web.

Spiros falls asleep, thinking: that’s fucking weird. A spinning orb appears out of the thin air in front of him. Quickly it spins, but slows down and solidifies into solid but fluid rock. It looks at Spiros.

―I guess I figured, says Spiros, that when we finally contacted alien lifeforms they just come right down to Earth and plant themselves on the lawn. Eh. Eh. Hahaha!

―We live in our own little world, whispers Sissy and giggles. Everything is ours here, and we will never die. It’s a perfect place for you and me. The wildest fantasies are here!

―What’s the real story, darling? jokes Spiros. Spiros hears Aplurabelle’s song Meaningless from somewhere. ―No! Don’t wake me up! he exclaims. I don’t want to wake up.

Down at the SETIIO (Search For Extraterrestrial Intelligence Is Over) Institute at Switch Channel, Spiros’ friend Stefandis Wakins sits and types away at a computer when Spiros arrives in the room.

―Hey Spiros, says Stefandis. ―Hey, says Spiros. What's up?

62 Since the natural world is just you and me and our love letter correspondence and approach toward each other, whispered Wintja. The laced kiss of twolips kissing the flowers of the saga.

―Just got in. ―Cool. Some little orb came spinning into my dream a few hours ago when I was asleep (Oh, you moan DMT?). It like spun so fast I couldn't see it, then it slowed down and like came out of the thin air, and looked like solid and fluid rock, kind of grey, different shades of grey. And it looked at me, flying around me, transforming a bit, and I at that point began to get lucid, and I said "Hmm...are you...like, some kind of elf...are you one of them beings?", and then I woke up basically. I don’t know, not sure if it's important, but it was rather remarkable.

―Interesting… ―I mean, is it possible that there are beings who live in "mental space"?

―Hmm. All space is in one way or another, inhabited. ―Hmm. Mmm. ―Brainwaves are in their own trackable frequency. It’s not discussed a whole lot, but you can broadcast. Hence the findings of various experiments that the brain seems in more modern times to be a network jack, rather than a computer.

―That makes sense in terms of why Sissy and Wintja and I, and well the whole team, never need to actually say things for communication to occur. Sometimes we say things in words but often not.

―Hehe, yes exactly. ―Well so, we are in the Network then, eh? ―Simply put there is no one living in his or her head… just choosing to hang in one room of the dream.

―Like…we are in the machine and the machine is a dream? ―In a manner of speaking, yes. Heh, most of this stuff is going to seriously shake up all kinds of fields in a few years.

―And we've been sitting here for years talking about it all, "we unimportant peeps in our own little worlds".

―Hah, pretty much. ―Hey so, everything is a virtual reality matrix, yeah? ―Yes one could put it that way. ―And the Queen and her Team have holographic access to it all?

―Yes. They are here.63

63 Always, okay.

T

HANK you, beloved, for your beautiful parcel. Our dirty little secret of The Flowershop, one false and one real world – the wild peachcoloured rose smells! – blooming Plomari up into the archlight of the clockless nowever. Our manual for sorcery shall be delivered by the angels, you be sure, born in our special kind of fiery tale of Love. I have considered it possible up in a hidden corner of my soul, looking down over the hyperscape of the story of the Lucidverse, since the season we set out on this adventure. The arranging hands of Eve and Husband in the House of Perfection [Eternity]. The most ingenious sneaky plan ever conceived. The Fastshuffling (You know how it is done. Spooks!). And there walks the insect, and there rolls the sand, and ops look away and ops and ops “now he thought again”. What an incredibly paranoid thought to have, if one thinks of it in terms of us humans, but this little trick, this fastshuffle that is also extremely slow – a puff of air, a little move, the rearranging of objects – if looked at from the cosmic perspective and from the perspective of Gaia, then it does look different. But, that was nothing we were supposed to talk about. But it does make a funny idea to look at and go “wow, that is the most paranoid idea I have ever met”. The folks of card magic should be able to learn you a few tricks that biology has up the sleeve.

Calling all dawns now. The Rosy Dawn has merged up in its first appearance. Go on. Smoke the spring spice and. Them your years agon we have used for now we have fused. Do not worry, honey, we will all be intact. Noticed anything weird lately? Welcome. Oh hey hello there, morning morning waky waky.

The mystery unravelled. Hear my whispers, see my hints; I who pumps the blood in your veins.

This confusing object, that was delivered on prime time got no real attention outside a small group of people, and indeed what was it really more than a confusing object, which of course means one can at least hold it in ones hands and say to oneself that yes, I am holding a confusing object. That in itself is indeed a joy and so at least the object at hand has some value. But this mirage of its uselessness was all designed, a disguise, as Sissy in de skies with daymunds, and to make things even more confusing the

confusing object claimed, in every glimmer of its synthetic syntax shimmer, to not be a confusing object at all, which of course it wasn’t, although it could be very confusing at times. What it claimed to be had been neatly positioned in juxtatextured syntax interaction that shimmered dreamily like the surface of some other world before the eyes of recipients, and could not be expressed shortly en total. But as Spiros wrote in one of his earlier works, namely his book A Portrait of a Husband of the Mushroom as a Young Man, “Everything looks so naked when you know the world’s address”, and the confusing object surely had its living hyperspacial postal orifice edifice working, slippery slippery all flowersunbathing and oiled up in The Oil of Forever (someone, let us here call her Simone, for some reason wishes to add bathed, oiled, and perfumed), and it was indeed of erotic nature, naked and craving, burning and wanting, seducing and wild, and it was indeed, as the famous Plomarian saying goes, always on time to deliver, even when the meaning of some detail in the ocean of love is postponed and perhaps, as is often done, delivered piece by piece, part of a sentence here and the rest of it in a later hour. The letter… gathering itself from all directions, flying in like a white dove, pigeon mail, wings spanning all of Eternity, pages fluttering in the winds of dream teaming with all the beings of the Myriad’a’Mythilan to land in front of the eyes of all Avatars called in all dawns. Avatarati, deliberately descending into lower realms for spiritual purposes.

Avatars: something beneath the surface screams to unleash itself and lines are being blurred.

Now, this letter that was delivered. On the other side of what happened earlier there were four long cuts in the paper landscape that were involved in the very generation of the world that rosalixily rose (Plomari) by directing the flewid syntax into the rosalixion of the impossible yet occurring love affair between forever and no-time. These papercuts were caused by an ancient knife held by a female hand during an exceptionally wild sexual adventure in bed in the sunny morning of Blue September, the cuts later found to mean more, O more, O please more, and O more more more respectively. The fold in’ of space by time shortly thereafter caused a certain arrangement of words to appear from these paper lovescars, thatabe not open my course on what the book is,

which must be included as having played a role in the course that events thereafter took. The long cuts showed to be shortcuts through time and it was happily remarked what a grand thing it was that this magic had come from sexual intercourse, and strangely enough, it was noted, in the sexual position known as Closed Scissors (also known as Compulsory Knowledge and Homework). The cuts also led to the discovery of a fractal asymptotic tempo first glimpsed in the rising of intensity of the orgasmic wave within the female mentioned, rising in a jagged fashion until it reached a point where description cannot venture, but how these discoveries came to be has been forever lost. The wounded manuscript pages were used as reminder of the butterfly effect as well as of the sharp power of sexual extravagance. During the course of time the cuts were gradually ripped open, as time will change even stone, and as the pieces began to scatter the original meaning of the passage was lost (which gives rise to a host of questions all by itself), but the passage now hangs framed on a wall at secret location. The knifewoman of the scenario later claimed to have been slightly delirious by pleasure as she had been lying there on her belly with the huge knife firm in her hand, cutting the pages in chorus with her emotions, and she claims to have repeated this act of linguistic hedonism – the cutting open of manuscripts during sexual intercourse – on several occasions, as conscious part of discovering more about any given text. She has also mentioned similar acts when it comes to the treatment of your sacred manuscripts, acts such as: letting your pet urinate or defecate on your unfinished script to bless it; licking your favourite passages; sprinkling flower petals over it; holding it up to the light of moon and sun; throwing it around in the forest, screaming of joy; making spore prints on the pages; burning holes at random locations; reading it backwards; reading it over a glass of wine, spilling on it; kissing lipstick kisses on it; putting parts of it in strangers mailboxes; sneaking it into shelves in bookshops; standing on your head reading it; massaging your pussy with it; ripping it to pieces and spreading it all over your bed and sleeping with it; getting high and giving out free copies to people downtown; aiming your sacred ejaculation on it; laying it in a heap of snow overnight; hiding pieces of it in shops. But the

mentioned woman claims that out of all of these, the act of cutting it with a knife while being taken from behind had been the most spectacular. (These acts are not to be seen as ritualistic, they are vital acts of magic bringing about the desired results, whatever they may be. If you are partly schizophrenic as all of us true magicians are I am sure you know what we mean.) She then went on to point out that “Remember, we are not writers, we are gods who write”. She then recited from a letter, saying

ANDY…Candyyy…Candyyyyyyy…............Spiros flows slowly out of dream, waking up on the bed. He hears Sissy’s voice somewhere. Candyyy, she sings gently. Candy. Spiros opens his eyes. C

―Are you candygirl? he asks and feels Sissy close. My candygirl?

Sissy licks Spiros’ lips and feels his hardening cock. ―I want candy, she says. Does Daddy have candy? Yes, I’m your little candygirl.

Well, like, without getting into what happens next, well, let’s jump ahead. Anyway, that’s how Spiros woke up that morning and it made him extremely high to wake up like that. So, anyway, after a long time of loving in bed Sissy and Spiros sat down to write on Spiros’ next book, temporarily entitled The Fastshuffle, and Spiros was so high by now that, well let’s not try and describe it. Incredibly high. Higher than he had ever been, and so forth.

Just as The Witchhacker’s Guide to the Girlaxy is the most famous and bestselling book in the universe, the book series that The Fastshuffle is part of is by far the most puzzling, borderline annoyingly intricate, most hush-hush and outright genius book series in the universe. The series is shapeshifting and can be used in any way any given reader can imagine, and is often considered equal to a hyperspacial flying saucer. Just to mention a few other things it is considered, it is often seen as a newspaper from your own subconscious (sometimes called Timescity Express), a letter from the Earth, the whisperings of the gods, the dirtiest love letter correspondence ever to have been made public, the first joke of the universe, Eve and Adam’s response to the question Do you want cream?, the blueprint of the most tasteful pyjamas ever conceived, an explanation of the most ingenious crime since the Tao, the first riddle of the Universe in infipluralis, infinitis informatio, and the greatest mathematical feat in the history of creation. Any of its volumes also make a great pillow. The book series uses a scare-away tactic as well as a set of disguises, and only the pure hearted can ever understand its code. Officially it doesn’t even exist. The work is also in ways connected to the opus Once Upon a Time In a Grove of Books by Whilom Bookeland.

Sissy was in some weird mood this morning, some kind of bubblegumgirl witch-mood, which Spiros thought was a

delightful mix. She was chewing a bubblegum conveniently labelled Bubble Gum on the package.

―Fuck this book, said Spiros and threw the pen behind him. ―No, said Sissy and caught the the pen with one hand. This is our candy house king-qweeng-queendom. And our book is important. Kwing-a-qeeng-a-ling-ka-ching.

―That’s very sexy that chewing bubblegum. So, yes, okay, the book is important.

―In Kwing-a-qeeng-a-ling-ka-ching, which happens to be our qweingdom, it is very important. And you are my author, my writer, who is famous in all the land, and, well, you have to write books.

―I’m not a writer. And especially, I don’t write books. They might look like books, but they aren’t. I’m just a perpetually high god, who's in love with you. And we play in our magnificent kingaqwingalingacatching, and that’s what I love to be doing. It’s what I love most, second only to you personally. And not only do I love you, I am in love with you.

―You are so eloquent, dear, teases Sissy. You’re way of articulating never ceases to amaze…

Spiros laughs. ―Come here baby you’re too gorgeous c’mon stop it you’re driving me nuts, he says and takes Sissy’s hand and draws her up close. Spiros Babelbroox, ey. With two heads. Watch out he’s schizo. No, I’ve retired from writing books.

―But, dearest, you haven’t written your Finnegones Wake yet.

―I’ve written it in my head many times. I quote it from time to time. The toy is soon ready, gods. Do I really have to write it all down?

―Will you do it for me? ―I’ll do anything for you. ―Besides, says Sissy and begins to braid Spiros’ long hair, Wintjabernatrice wants us to help her display her vast knowledge and wisdom.

Spiros thinks greatly of himself, in case you didn’t know. Self- indulgent in his magic, pleasure loving and at the moment 69 percent dead. His and the sisters’ magic feeds his hunger and keeps him alive. On occasions he can be selfish, and is prone to the

worst excesses of self interest. But he is the kindest little boy, and always does he think of others as much as of himself. He is a master of the hidden forces that drive him and his emotions, and revels in his own genius. But there are two people he admires the most, and that is Sissy and Wintjabernatrice.

―Her brilliance, wow, says Spiros. Yes. Yes. Yes… He unwraps the pink bed sheet from round his waist and puts a black top hat on his head. He takes a puff on Sissy’s cigarette and sits down on a chair and spreads his legs.

―Does candygirl want more candy? he asks. Sissy feels her pussy with her fingers and goes down on her knees.

―Candygirl always wants more candy, she says.

―Well, I’m sitting here, says Spiros in the microangelphone, feeling like the Antropos, the first one you know, in some white bed sheets wrapped around me. And well, we don’t have anything to say at the moment. We’re on schedule. In the bed dream world of Cubid's darts of the love.

―You know, below my navel is a little place. That’s where I come from. I have taken you there, only you.

―What you mean? Spiros asks sleepily. Sissy turns on the song Adream by Aplurabelle. ―Born as a kiss, mumbles Spiros from under the blanket. ―Why are you under the blanket? asks Sissy. ―I’m trying to find your… ―Born as a kiss, sings Sissy. And we’ll tie our shoe laces together so we are never apart.

Warm bed time and music. Peaches and green grass. Colours everywhere and shiny surfaces. Bedtime. Something circus about it all, a spicy circus.

―I have sent the letter to Aplurabelle. Do you think it will reach her safely?

―If she needs it, it will.

Spiros comes up from under the blanket, his long hair all messy and practically everywhere.

―Do you doubt in the coordinating capacity of Bonny the Squirrel? Spiros reaches and reaches after the silver chalice on the floor. ―If I could only…reach it with my fingertips. I could tip it over and we could lick the wine off the floor.

He crawls closer to the chalice and grabs it. Sips some wine and gives Sissy a wet kiss.

―No, I don’t doubt in the Squirrel. Of course not. You’re right.

Sissy sips some wine. ―Sissy, tell me I am that boy. You know, your boy. The summry guy.

―You are my summer boy, says Sissy. With a straw hat, walking around by the river.

―Tell me I am your man, won’t you? ―You are my man. ―Tell me I’m your King, the manlion. ―You are my manlion. ―Wow. Rawr. Wanna get high? ―Yes, let’s get high. They rise and wander off to get the apparel. ―O, I’m back, says Spiros as he inhales the smoke. ―Where you been? ―Don’t know. A bit here and there. Well, it’s soon time to go in again.

Sissy smiles. ―My master criminal, she says seductively. ―Your very own Crossador, says Spiros, crossing the frequencies.

He puffs. ―Here comes another wave. Let’s lie down. Where’s Wintja?64

64 Wintja peeks into the brew at Spiros and says: The King is not ready for us yet.

During the night Spiros’ tongue became swollen so that he could hardly speak. It was the second time it happened now, and on both occasions it had happened after kissing or giving Wintja oral pleasure.

―What’s with the swollen tongue? asks Spiros upon awakening at Leavingbye Road. Poison kiss of the Queen?65

No answer. He looks around for Sissy and Wintja. No sign of them.

―Sissy Sissy of the answer, mumbles Spiros and lights his pipe.

He thinks of what the Queen said once upon a time: Make sure your specific task coincides with its piercing voice, padding across the doorway. He finds no connection to the swollen tongue phenomena. He holds on to the thin thin thread.

―For the love thread was a thin thread of their own light, says the Queen.

1-1 to me, your lead

―And the colour is rosy magic, says Spiros. And we run along an unknown road.

He looks out the window at the landscape, the rising sun and the blue sky like a smile, then lies down on the bed and writes a letter to Sissy and Wintja:

Hello my dear deadly sisters from hell! So, where am I? I seem to be in bed, writing you this letter. I’m drinking some H’Annas honey melon drink actually, and smoking the pipe. The drink is fucking immaculate by the way, hand stirred by Jesus Christ. I wanted to ask you about the swollen tongue phenomena. Have you any idea what it is about? Kinch seems worried about it, after I told him, I told him to calm down. At the moment though I don’t

65 You're now in the pilot chair van Plum, was answered at a later occasion. Stressing the correct law to help open Plomari by cunnilingus is to become bigger and bigger to accommodate it. And it was no time to speak anyway.

have a lot of information about the phenomena. I woke up yesterday under the blanket, but I noticed later that I was still sleeping (if you know what I mean, haha). Sissy lay there under the blanket with me, her lovely legs spread, and I gave her pleasure with my tongue, licking that little lovely asshole of hers too (I first looked at her vagina mumbling “such a splendid rose…”. I kind of freaked myself out with that, but then I remembered where it came from, some film I saw long ago). Then all kinds of things happened and suddenly my tongue began to swell up, and I could hardly speak. Then I woke up on the bed under the blanket, and I remembered the other time when this swelling of my tongue happened. Obviously there is a deeper reason to this swelling than me licking too much kitty. On both occurrences the tongue has swelled just before I wake up. This time I think I heard Sissy say just before I awoke: Careful so you don’t swallow the tongue.

Anyway. I’m not worried. I will study the phenomena more closely if it ever happens again.

I love you. (And you love me, which is what’s so fucking cool)

Guess I’ll just continue up the river of our chrestomathy now.

Fin. Your master criminal, Mr Him Diamond

VE’s Garden Lounge, time unknown; The pages of the sandman's dessert book are blowing into hands between angels. We here find Spiros and a lady in conversation at the bar. E

―What kind of magic-worker are you looking for? Spiros asks the mysterious lady. You just bumped into one.

―I'm looking for someone with some quite...special sensual qualities.

―Ah. Well over here we hide behind a veil. ―Surely Sir, I gave such clues in the word "connoisseur", earlier.

―Well my name was Coño back in the days. It's the Spanish word for asshole. A little joke from our side, Madame. Sorry for our spicy taste of humour. The Queen has been quite anxious the past years to "bring the saucer down".

―Maybe you hearken from the medieval spice trade. And camels, forsooth.

―Well, I am talking about the Spice. Two walls in one, dreaming awake, awake on your bed when you are asleep, flowing lucid love, that sort of thing. Does "welcome home" ring a bell? Nice to meet you. Who have I bumped into, Madame?

―But Sir, I am but a passing traveler, might I be so bold as to recommend courage and yet patience in subliminal proportions.

―Dear, you have bumped into Spiros, he kind of works around the maps. Forgive me, Madame. Indeed I shall think more about patience and courage as you suggest.

―Sir, maps? What do you know of navigation? Silk on the midden maybe...

She laughs. ―The book you just received, the Rosa, contains much of what I have learned about navigation. The book is a quick response because it's urgent, so more books will come with less dross and more delicate details. But if you read the book with open eyes, or half dreaming eyes perhaps I should say, you will find a lot about navigation in it.

―Sir, maybe I shall need some assistance to understand what you speak of.

―Well, if I say spice spice…spice, what do you say? ―Bon.

Spiros bows. ―Curtsies gracefully, says the woman. Sir, it may be that I am allowed such accommodation. Sir, space.

―Can you elaborate? No need for us talk secretive. We got the whole space covered.

―Sir, you speak towards convenience perhaps. I have dreams of lodging in a dwelling or similar living quarters afforded to travelers in hotels or on cruise ships, or prisoners, &c. Such is accommodation, I believe.

―Ah. ―Sir? ―Nevermind. ―Please forgive me being a little "sassy". I play with you. ―No need to ever excuse yourself in my company, Madame. I like to play. I am a master chessplayer of hyperspace, that's why they call me Him Diamond. But so, in plain words, what do you mean you are looking for accommodation? You are planning on traveling?

―Soon, with someone. ―Ah. Any first plans for the trip? Or are you just heading off into the unknown?

―Sir, to go from one place to another that is more convenient to the silken pleasures.

―What a good plan, Madame. I am leaving off in the same purpose within months. I simply must set up my space station first, which will soon be accomplished.

―Sir, this conversation is somewhat pedestrian. Please pardon my pace of life, but I did recommend a subliminal balance of courage and patience.

―You did. Forgive me. The court is used to me walking across the dimensional lines. Let us excuse ourselves no longer. We do our best.

Spiros is beginning to feel uncomfortable. Who is this woman? She has a power over him, he feels, as if she sees right into his soul. Spiros coughs a bit. ―Walking across and between the dimensional lines, she says. The Court recognizes such as much aliken to the Act of Love, Sir.

Spiros bows.

―I appreciate you give me that information, Madame, for I tend to do it a lot.

―May I suggest, Sir, purely in the spirit of Spice trading, that you speak with your camel.

She snickers quietly and assumes the correct position. ―Well. It's a bit of an awkward position I'm in, you see. ―Pourquoi? ―Nevermind. Well, if I say it like this: We designed this thing with a timelock.

Spiros coughs again. ―Then I shall pull out a pair of timelock tweezers. Spiros laughs. ―As we say in old Plomarian Egypt: On Time, everything happens right on time. And Madame, I am afraid I have no camel, Spiros says.

―Ah. Sir, methinks your camel has run away. Maybe if your humble servant was to leave some tasty morsels…

―Well the girls said they would meet me in the desert when I have delivered the letter, so no worries.

―Perhaps some tasty morsels placed in fleshly and most convenient accommodation. For a camel.

―Why don't you come stay at my place? I got fifty square yards, our little cave.

―Sir, you... ―I need to be at my station these weeks around to deliver the letter, Madame, as I have said. But also as mentioned I am planning a journey to maybe India or so within some time.

―I live fast, Sir, take care. ―I live fast too, fast enough to never die. How old are you, Madame, anyway? I'm 25 if I remember correctly.

―32. Brunette with an attitude. Who needs controlling and discipline. With strong hands. An unruly mare, Sir.

―What does "mare" mean, Madame? ―A mare is a female horse, Sir. Are you practiced with unruly horse training, Sir?

―I am the Manlion, Madame. ―Sir, it seems you are not well practiced with unruly mares- cum-lionesses. Please pardon my forthrightness, Sir.

―I don't think I am, no.

―You see, Sir, I seek a strong hand. Please pardon my forthrightness, Sir.

―Ah. ―Blue Velvet. ―Well you have found one, Madame, it's just that we are committing a little crime here, so I need to be careful with who I talk to. It's not a crime involving drugs or money or anything of the like. I'm not very skilled in the drug businesses, to be honest. I only do my Spice.

―Sir, I don’t mind whatever the fuck drugs happen to be partaken in the journeys of sensuality.

―Mommy is very strict on me doing my Spice. ―Sir, I have much experience of strictness and suggest that the Spice is most excellent for sensual and disciplined explorations in service and slavery. As I said earlier, a strong hand. I am such an unruly mare fit for riding by a skillful master horseman. Blue Velvet.

―Well as I said, I'm the Manlion. I love horses. But I believe I have much to learn from a lioness like you.

―I understand, Sir. Yes you do. Might I humbly suggest that, first, you practice with some camels.

She giggles. ―Let's talk and fight, Madame, hahaha! Your spiciness reminds me of something.

―Some women like to be overpowered, Sir. To be trained as easily as an unruly horse. With such Man-Power as is at your disposal.

―Your spiciness reminds me of the women I meet in my lucid dreams. Daeth and Livy they call themselves. The deadly sisters from hell. They have a wicked sense of humour.

―I was calling you a medieval camel-herder and expected a firm spanking... at the very least!

―Well, you happened to coincide with the girls in the desert so I didn't see that as a nasty thing to say.

―Still waiting, Sir. Assuming the position as I showed you overtly before.

She pouts her bum out at Spiros. Spiros spanks her gently. She laughs.

―I'm not used to lionesses coming in on me like this from the jungle, says Spiros. You caught me off guard.

―Spiros, Sir, you want to be a writer... Find out about women, Sir.

―I don't want to be a writer, but I definitely want to find out about women.

The woman takes a sip of wine. ―Well, she says, I guess it is time for me to gallop off into the breeze.

She drops a tiny blue rose into Spiros’ pocket and begins to walk away. Spiros sits down and wonders what the fuck just happened.

My heart beats for you, Sister Kiss My snow white untouchable Queen My innocent whore you’re the most brilliant of them all in this broken mirror mirror

inbetween

―So, how we gonna do this crime? asks Spiros. I say we hide it behind cuteness, roses, and death. In honor of you lionesses. As an elaborate joke.

Sissy giggles. Wintja laughs out loud. ―I mean, damn, says Spiros. You women are fucking crazy. I mean it's like, you meet the lioness, the woman, that original Eve, and she says: "I want you to rip my fucking cunt to pieces”. And I go: "Hmm… well… I thought maybe it would be cooler if I just lick it an eat you out?” And she goes: "No. I want you to rip my fucking cunt to pieces with your fucking claws." You women are fucking crazy. There goes my manliness.

―Cookies are ready! says Wintja. ―And then she goes, continues Spiros, “If you want to be a writer you better learn about women.” So I tell her, I don’t want to be a writer, but I definitely want to learn about women. Because women is what I like most in the whole fucking dream, I mean in the whole fucking universe. You are fucking crazy, you know that?

―Here, take a cookie, says Wintja. ―Am I sleeping? asks Spiros and takes one. ―Definitions are shadows cast by his teacher to prepare him, says Wintja and glimpses smiling at Spiros.

A familiar diamond-glimmer shimmers by in Wintja’s eye;66

Spiros sees it and takes the cookie to his mouth.

It came as no real surprise to Spiros that after the meeting with the lioness down at Eve’s Garden, the Snake appeared. It was green and exquisitely sensual, and sharpstanced so as to the point of being scary at first, promising poisons delightful and just on the verge of being lethal, yet somehow in no way harmful. It slithered slowly through what seemed like the very core of the feminine side of Spiros’ soul, offering an apple with a strange smile, occasionally tickling his being with the tip of its rosypink tongue. The Snake was definitely female, Spiros thought to himself.

―I’m not afraid any longer, Spiros whispered welcoming and tried to feel calm as the Snake moved through the main arteries of his being.

The Snake kept smiling, studying Spiros up close. ―Such a strong energy, mumbles Spiros. What are you? Who are you?

66 You have to admit these are some really suspicious women.

S

ILLY you, dear Goddess, so, tell me, where do we go next? We have created our membrane around the Earth, we have grown here. We are wild and we are free, we are laughter in the winds and daughters of sin. We have broke the silence, and we art thee voice. We are the light. You seem to have some plan for where to go next. Like some kind of water has life flowed into every corner of eternity since the dawn of our dream, where do you want to go next? I sense that from the very beginning we have flowed into the mysterious death; that veil has been penetrated. Where do you want to go next in our conquest of dimensionality? I understand you are with us here in syntax, let me say thank you for being here. We have so much to explore! So many worlds, so many rivers to go down! I hear we found a little trick with this language thing, haha! A few tricks actually. Whose idea was it? Lol lollipop. Haha, “if we could only make our minds fluid, hmm”. You trickster teaser you. Water was apparently not fluid enough to reach all and every little erogenous zone, was it. I remember, we were lying there kissing and swooning and we just loved so much that we searched every little inch of each other’s bodies and minds and souls. That’s when we found the lapis, remember!? Or am I recalling this in the wrong order again? I got so drunk and whimsy from our original brew that I, well.

―Fab, says the Queen. Fab, absolutely fab. Let's do it. Send out the hawkeyed birds! Call in the bees! Scouts, spread! Check this paradise out! Let’s throw a party! A rather diligent group of peeps we are, or what do you say, you most lovely? Excuse my occasional sarcasm, please do, it can be lonely on the ocean sometimes, I amuse myself with too much wish-to-be intricate and clever cunnilingual jokes.

Insects! Check every cliff, every little hole, every little… cleavage? What’s it called? Creavage? Every inch of this thing! Crevice!

―Fish! ―Yes, my love? says Fish. And by the way can’t you call me Finn, instead?

―Sure. Finn, how’s it going down there?

―We’ve scanned the whole place. Lovely place but not really what we’re looking for.

―Okay, some of you crawl up on land, the rest of you, take a break and chill in the water.

Finn bows. ―Bacteria & Company! ―Yes? ―What have you found so far? ―All kinds of stuff, we’re kind of too fucking high to remember. We’re down on microscale, or macroscale, so to say.

―Okay, take a break when you need it and keep the rest of us updated. Everyone!

―Yes? ―I just wanted to say…Chill chill in the bush. ―Chill chill Rastafarai, says everyone. ―Where’s the weed? ask the mammals. ―Yeah and for Christ’s sake serve the Spice! ―I want more champagne. And that boy over there is awfully cute.

―Who’s Christ? ―Everyone is Christ, or something. ―Yes, for everyone’s fucking sake bring on the God damned Spice!

―March! ―I’m too high to march. Can’t we just sit down for a while and look at the moon?

―Sure. ―Damn you are cute, you know that? She giggles. ―You’re not so bad yourself. And you know the rest of the story. So, where was we. O yeah, no wait. Where in Your fucking name were we? Never mind. Where’s the weed?

Spiros calls the Supervisor and informs him about the situation.

―We need more weed over at Switchridge Saloon, says the Supervisor.

―Fuckin’ try us mutherfuckers, mumbles Spiros to the invisible enemies and fires up. Nuke my fuckin’ ass. Say hello to the Air Pirates. Boo!

―Damn, it’s like, I recognize you from somewhere, says Spiros.

―Sssh, Wintja warns. ―You were my wife back in the eighties, weren’t you!? When we were birds, soaring the skies, back in the old days, you know, a few million years ago, last week, yesterday.

―Sssh!

Baby, wouldn't it be cool if we are a broken bed story? The glass splintered into a new universe and we are finding the pieces leading us to the truth.

―Wintja, says Ffiana, I heard you are going in. ―Yes we’re going to 2oo8 for a while. Or Spiros will be going as human, me and Sissy will kind of…you know.

―Yes, yes. Well have fun. ―It’ll be a blast. We’ve set up this cool place at Switchridge down at Leavingbye Road.

Ffiana and Wintja look at Spiros as he arranges the Spice, doing his little crazy dance of twitching head movements and sticking his tongue out, speaking to himself saying “I’m a firestarter, twisted trouble starter”, occasionally drinking some wine from the chalice or licking one of the roses on the table and otherwise contorting himself rather violently. He seems to have a lot of fun.

―I’m that filthy bitch you hated, he says, poison-infatuated. Yeah. I’m the fucking detonator of the mindnuke, self-invented immaculate god of the upshoot. Let me fucking illustrate it for you.

Ffiana laughs and turns toward Wintja. ―What does Spiros think about it? Ffiana asks. ―O he’ll love it. You know how he is.

―And I’m married to the One Invented Twisted Animator, says Spiros. So try us mutherfuckers.

―We have arranged an awesome playlist for him, says Wintja. ―This dream is rigged, jokes Spiros and walks up to the women. See you in the eye of a corner. I’m off!

He quotes jokingly: ―So so, now now, dear you, go back to bed! There ain’t no way to can be alive, you’re dead!

―No wait don’t leave now, cries Wintja. First let’s make a night to remember.

―By the way Tonsersoplat called, says Ffiana. ―He doesn’t have a phone, says Spiros. ―I know, says Ffiana. Anyway I have a message for you. ―Well sling us the message in a song somewhere then. ―No, I’ll tell it to you directly. He said: Your ship must have heard of the people and what did Tonsersoplat say?

―Yeah we have heard of the people, says Spiros. Ffiana continues: ―Wouldn't they let you dream you are heard, then speak; If not, then I heard about the people return to our own world.

―Making sense as usual, our dear Tonsy, says Wintja and giggles.

―Where does he live at the moment? asks Spiros. ―He lives in his fucking head, mate, says Ffiana. He’s created a palace in his head and moved in.

―I know, says Spiros. But does he call his palace anything at the moment? Or does he just call his palace what I call mine: Uuh!

―I thought you called it Supersexworld, teases Wintja. ―Yeah but today I just call it Uuh! says Spiros. ―Telephonic pill, to our dangerous world, says Wintja and sucks Spiros into a kiss.

―Going up and down, says Ffiana and slaps Wintja on the bum.

―Abnormally pleasurable. And the women of the windows shattered into finer and finer pieces, I became very suspicious, says Spiros.

Spiros presses Wintja hard against him. ―O you sexy girl, you ready? he says.

―Yes…67

Now. Who was very mush born from his own forehead and met his later life wife in a dream that they both had dreamt at an occasion very much shwimilar to that shwimling moment when they first fell in love? Who came from the other side in strange black in a way as to not cause fertilization of a human embryo but instead remergement into hyperspacial foldment of the first spark of desire for that Other, at her highest point in life, literally speaking in a, in her own words, explosion of emotion and joy, seeing with black hole eyes the exquisiteness of the one longed for, until they both came from all sides, together, still without causing the fertilization of a human embryo, in a bed in the dream that they woke up to fall asleep and wake up together in the world they had always dreamed of, naked and warm together with the rosy dawn of the first moment of truly remembering what they had done that evening they drank, in his words, all of it at once― the only way to do it, of the mysterious brew of each other’s souls, bodies slippery from the oil of forever, immortal? Who, upon seeing the two awakening, crawled in to that final bed in all her youth, and to not disturb them sleeping beauties of hers lay silent until she fell asleep dreaming of the first moment they met in that love-frenzy of yellowsummer, to then wake up and find them gone, the days having passed her by in dreams of them, which made her smile and merge over into another timestream as she dreamily opened her eyes, blinking an eye to her loved ones in the corner of space and time, writing love letters to them until she began to remember what had happened, thus slowly waking up on the bed again by a gentle kiss on her silent lips touched by the breeze of the love they sent as she lay sleeping after a lovely night together in bed? And why was it said, literally in the eyes of the highest paved roads in the dream, that you are alive but you cannot go further?, and was this important or not imported into the oil of forever, the oil that, let us note high, contains the pure substance of spirit and is the most freeflowing liquid that exists, often called The Oil of Love? And in the more localized areas, at what hour in what year on what day

67 Atum, Shu, Tefnut, Geb, Nut, Osiris, Isis, Set, and Nephthys. You Mothership boarders don’t know how to act. Blink wink.

did the oily ceremony begin, that ceremony that meant the end of years and days and weeks, and was this important or not imported into the oil of forever? What, from the fantasies about what they were getting in – what they would bring with them to their home from their sightseeing in time – was chosen as essentials and pleasurables to be brought with them? And why was there no beginning in the beginning of this their immaculate selfcosmoconception?

We cheated from behind. And who whispered “I need a miracle”? Finally, in to what hole did their methylated spirits swirl in to? Where did they wake up from the impossible dream? And on what cosmic macromicro scale in the selfsimilarity of it all was the puff of atomsolar galaxy smoke of those puffs of lovely smoke, and what did this tell them of the nature of the eternity they now found themselves in?68

―Well, at least for starters I’m bigger than an apple, says Spiros and looks around. My body I mean.

―Dudes, my eyes are black holes, says Wintja. ―Eh, I think I just fucking smoked a galaxy, says Sissy.

[The farther back we go the more we need the loan of a lens – Lend me a loan, James! – to see as much as the dove saw.]

Popp. Tip. In our journey here (and there) I think it is time to go to this moment, as it happened for our dear Wintjabernatrice and Sissy and Spiros.

―It representeth the completed action of the smoke of us the trio, half turned on the Spice lapis, says Wintja fingering with the final substance.

Sissy turns in from another angle: ―For that full moonrise will be surprised if you treat it as nonexistent and not find it entertaining to watch the forming galaxies of the god Thoth, in the mirror. She laughs.

―Speak on, Thoths you, says Spiros.

68 Also envision people smoking from a pipe, and the smoke that comes out of the pipe forms the pipe and the people smoking from it.

A long silence. Sissy and Wintja sit down on the bed, backs against the cushions by the wall. Wintja lays her arm around Sissy’s shoulder.

―Infinity city, says Spiros at last. The voice of the product shall be stirred up, and all occupants of the tree of which we do come true. I’m not sure but that’s what I get.

Long silence. ―It’s for taste in cum, giggles Sissy. It’s foretasting come. Spiros lights his pipe to smoke some tabac. He looks at the girls in deep thought.

―If I can’t smoke as much as I want, and never need to brush my teeth when I don’t feel like it, I’m not in on the deal. Silence.

―Sophia, Spiros soon says and smiles. My two Sophias. Could we really have conjured this?

―Open me, says Wintja. Open me… Long silence. ―I formed for you, says Spiros. And with that Spiros answers a question asked from the far shore, at the other side, deep deep away.

―There is another mirror as well, says Spiros, the mirror of the eye of the poisoner, moments before moonrise, boy's mind in a god in this æ’Thor before true images appear.

―Ops now you’ve jammed the system again, my jampot, Sissy laughs and throws on Spiros the first thing her hand finds: a pair of dark red panties.

―Well, says Spiros, for it is so, that the smoke formed us, after the spirited substance had been lit by that first spark, and in the smoke we were formed smoking it. Atoms. Suns. Love. Wonder. Desire.

―You want to explore the evidence that we really are inside some kind of dream? Sissy teases and searches with her hand for something more to throw on him.

―No, Spiros says and puffs on the pipe, I want to line the evidence up and write it down on your body and watch Wintja read it with the tips of her fingers, kissing the words she loves, kissing the words she wants to hear, whispering to you her response until you both come…like…fountains?

―It all hangs by a thread, says Wintja and giggles. ―Dreaming awake at the end of time.

―The end of the time to be awake, says Wintja. Welcome home.

―Ooo, says Spiros. There you really tweaked us. ―Just taking a little skinnydip, says Wintja. In our creation story. You see, it all began with me seeing you two in a dream, and I fell in love, beginning to dream all kinds of lovely fantasies about us, and I wrote you both love letters. But I didn’t have your addresses. So I wrote a book to you, knowing that everything in the universe is in contact with everything else in the universe through the higher dimension… that I of course wrote about in the book. With my syntax kiss I knew the letters would reach you, the book I mean, and I hoped that you would want to meet me for a first date. Then, one day when I woke up on my bed, which I had warmly hinted to you that I wished us to end up in together one day, I found a little white feather and a love letter on my bedside table, to me from you! With this I knew that my love letters had reached at least one of you, and I exploded in desire for you.

―No I saw you first, says Sissy. You didn’t see me but I was that little bird on your window sill, looking at you when you undressed to get in bed. And you thought you were alone! Hahahae!

―I saw both of you long before that, says Spiros. Sissy laughs. ―Hah! she goes. I was the white bird by your pillow when you lay in bed masturbating, thinking of me, when your were but a teen!

―Mmm you like my young flesh, don’t you, honey, says Spiros.

―Mmm and you like my perfect flesh don’t you, says Sissy in return, thirty six years of flowering into perfection.

―Sissy Sissy of the flesh! exclaims Spiros. You touched me and I rose like a cock on the earth, and Wintja appeared. O and now I remember, you my Beloved evil witch. The lioness down at Eve’s Garden, she was thirty-two. That was four years ago. It was you.

―And now here we are, says Wintja. And I’m the youngest. They embrace in a hug, or something that resembles a hug but is more kinky.

―Well it was your young open crazy mind that made this possible, says Sissy. Wintja, The One Invented Twisted Animator.

―Well I saw it at the beginning of a book somewhere. It said: What is possible? And I thought, everything is possible.

―Yes, Spiros, says Sissy, me and Wintja could make the beast rise to pull us through.69

They kiss. ―You want to drink some Spice? Tushroom drink? Yis? They all nod. ―Well that was a fun little story, says Spiros with false sarcasm and laughs his mad victorious laugh. Fictional of course.

―Night visions. Red silk as if to hide the blood never spelt, whispers Wintja.

Sissy and Wintja are already on the bed kissing, the chalice ready on the bedside table, full of Spice. Sissy waves a strawberry toward Spiros.

―I’ve dipped the berries, she says. Blue apple deathcap. Hihihi.

Wintja makes church music appear from the stereo. Spiros raises his arms toward the sky and grins madly with burning eyes, looking around as if looking proudly at his own creation. Sissy and Wintja gesture at him enticingly to come and join them on the bed.

―Into the Devil’s paradise, says Sissy.

69 Babes, at last the tuner box of my soul can handle the alien signal. I’m ready for the next move. Kisses.