Book I — Part III: Into the Imaginatrix

III Into the Imaginatrix

My dearest Rebecca,

Becc! Becc! Bianca, flying through the wine. I am writing this letter to you from back before definition, yet the wordsharping begins quickly as I sit down as the fieldpost Penman and thus will say that, indeed, the feeling in the palace on this elexcellent evening is reminiscent of Persio-Egypto-Grecian wonders. Dearest, the only reason I write you this letter is I long for you; I have nothing specific I plan to tell you. Time not counted here in our world of the Rose behind the drapery, as you know, my dear, I drift in dreams. Hihihi, and so I gather from your latest letter, that you too are drifting in the drafts of the Rosa. Very drafty in the palace when the winds of new Nature blow, or what would you say? Impulsory change, gee, the iniquity of us without censors to our worlds and hearts! Haunted way, tihi tihi. Won't the peach ripen! Rest in pieces, ripper ripest. Dwell on that, my heroine! Our smuggling habit to ever outdo ourselves will tunnelly arrange for us the faculty of reaping the cuckoo and having it still. Hihi, let me not insult your intelligence, my love, but those words came out of me thinking about the old saying you can’t both have the cookie and eat it. “Can’t” is a sad word in any language and what this is all about is indeed the magic of this ternary logic of Three― we will be able to both reap the cookie and have it still. What a beautiful slip, don’t you say? Candy relics before your apples were tasted came with the surprise of a poison so delicate that it fooled us all into mindghosts both dead and alive in the same time. I wish to whisper those secrets to you as we lay together on the silken sheets, and I am dying to hear you whisper back to me. It does hint the couples barely the Eternary logic that reappears your fingering with the first. Half ashleep amid the dripping smoke of the incense, innocence and sexy sin filling the room as we walk naked hand in hand in hand across the Persiko rugs. I can smell it. I smell you too, as I sit here. In our Nudies. Nude Edun, our garden of sweet sin. And we sit there together smoking and drinking devilicious concoctions, phallusapphoing about the smaller details of existence, all the time in the world on our hands – and, you know it, my love – in our hands. All the time of the world will be in our hands.

Nighty thoughts pass through the river of my mind as I sit here. Little thoughts coming as naked elves to the shore of my being, undressing before me and bathing in the river, whispering to me their secrets, giggling and teasing me. I am not surprised to hear they have been sent by the Alieness. An extrahand, introducing new shades―darklead I am. She's your seat, says one of the elvin creatures. She’s my seat? My world? My horse-hair chair? Is my entire world the body of this rumoured riverwoman? Or the seat of my soul? And the elvin voices whisper: My fragrant pussy ever on beauty for you'll be your yores grace, powered the poetries amounromous whispers mentioning Sussy in ways she knows you’ll be able to suss out. Sussa så gott! Shleep sho well! Here in Winkyland the temptation is undraped, in the most delicious manners, or what would you say, my peach? O, darling, my sweet Rebeccabelle, I melt!

Time is not time. Go bringfast the goal! Lady Peeping Tomb of the first whole highstating out the beginning for us. Blinkwink. Surely something of a sidesplitting nature occurred. Sidespilling the wine of the Poison in the feast of the forever Rose. One split second and we difused into the land of all dreams fulfilled. Timenuke! We ran away weekyears ago.

Me bows. Warm looks over the pure! There Rose. And eve word it is to Whogoesthere. Glorias on us truetotypes and the heavenly Joke in our paradise, an hourglass of wine or three later the genius idea of the crime, the Joke, had spread. Swifter had we never been felixed. I'll life, you’ll life, she’ll life, we’ll life. Blue us! Laugh sapphron cow time in the original wellbeing, fountain of the Lovers. Darling, do you remember that party where Sissy said Sacred certain! The uncertainty principle played within the fooling waters of rumour unconfirmed. The History Trick. Not always so firm that gentle hand of hers, and ever so accurate, wielding a pen wand in the book of Paralux Paradise.

Rewrite. Love forever. Kisses on your soft lips, my Appless, my Rebecca Plurabelle. I am eager as always to hear from you.

Your Jaguar PS: Anna lead us head first into the incunabulum.

My dear Rebecca,

To bind. Rebecca in Shebrew means to bind. Has not the master Anne written that spirit is from the upper part of the pattern? I see your rebecci being binding it all together in this book of Paralux. Anne lead us head first into the incunabulum. Head first. Upright fore we were verted. And what did that mysterious Him Diamond meet, what did his limbs meet as he gradually extended them in bed? Female skin, yes. The shadow of another female form was also there. His signature slithering through everything, just as you bind, my dearest. Spellbinders of the mind of poison. Post reached you and us, by her hand we were laycreated. Initiumwise attaching the following shadow of the future. Delated temporalities. Time, sign, remembered past, our insiding movement within the undirectional. Alpybecca's concealed spell producing heaven, trilustriously. Twolips kissed the flowers of the Saga!

Embracing we form, the body of time headfirst born― to the music of our dreams, to the scents of the first season, to the radiance of the Lovechrist light emanating from the sorceress. What is it? Three fractals flirting, kissing, touching, intermingling, loving, fucking, cumming. The Embrace. Some kind of virgin birth. We fell in love.

D'anngla High echo us. The book bound? Bind unbinding together. Open the ages. Each page in the whirling wind. Has not our master Anne written that you who find the perfect story will succeed? Open the impossible knot. How shallt we bind the book that it be unbound? The marriage? I hear the echoing voices of your first utterances, my love. I hear them with those hawk eyes of mine. Wake the alieness up. Wake up, my love. Uhh. Uhh. Touched on the clitori of your soul. One gentle and precise touch on the spot and you begin to wake up. Feel that sensation? Wake up, darling, by the Kiss. The alien is finished. Gentle. Gentle. We are here, my love. How was your sleep? The Bedtime Story.

Rebecca, won’t you whisper to me what happened? Sissy slipping ana, therein the anagrim free, rest in pieces picked and gathered from all corners of infinity and gently

inserted into its proper place; the alien is finished, kiss her Awake. Let us reap the fruits of the Crime!

That which caused solid to curiously arise Sissyannas gift from the river (they blink me wild! Me, your Punman!). Her first moan.

Her scentpainted and angel lushiness. Victory. The alien is finished.

Your Him Diamond

PS: Have you figured out any way to dye your pubic hair pink, yet?

My dearest Rebecca Elizabed,

My dearest Bonnie Tuss! The sun glinting lightrays over the horizon and I just came off the candyphone with you, my love. I already miss you and, well I’m sitting here naked after our phonesex. I thought I’d write you a letter.

Anasis; mother, principle, head, matron, main part― tell me more, I want to hear everything! Beam penned. Yes, it was sealed with crime after it had been folded with cunning. Fooling the order behind a visible mask. Everything is about it and anythongue said and read can be seen in the light of its bosom’s oasissy shade. It’s angelic angles! Misissliffy runs through everything and the angelic angles of its radiating from the mysterious source (the phantastical roseway!) can be gazed into; her heart is open. Open it is but guarded is the crime of paradisiss tailored, the genesiss of paradise.

Tell me all about it, Hissy! This dream. This stream. Our own conspirosy against ourselves for our wishes to come true in the most rosylight way. Speaking away deeper into it, lapse on all slippery wet of the spell’s nature ipsissima verba of Anna’s original concoction of verbage, with innocent exhibitionism we firefilled our paces as we move toward each other for that first kiss, slip papyrus stylish desired, hole into eyes the swelling wet underlinings against rosyflesh lips. Old becomes young by their mighty trick and Sissy angelustily assumes the poisission under the tree of Poison; she bends over as Time and feels those soft lips. A kiss on her bum. Kiss me more, she moans. Come closer. The poison has been tasted. Sissy’s snake soul tickles Ana’s tongue and drunk like two fairest Kalis they kiss. Beauty is the mark they chose to deriver from, beauty and all their deepest soul desires fulfilled in the most magical ways. Phrases derived from the first spark are laid out by their petal lips as they whisper together of their love and in union revel in the marvellous law-breaking. Serpentine they make love into it. It be Ana who first whisperos the drugged incubating word of the Book, a painted hole, vocative by her moonshine eyes. The crux is shed to pieces and in the two lovers from their secret Heaven the desire for young man Spiros forms the second layer of inversion of the chryssanthropal lightform Eternity matrix. Sissy

and Ana’s fingers point into focus as they search each other’s bodeis and souls. It feels like paradise, whispers Sissy as she fantasises about what they are getting in with the radioactive tuners of their beings. And there they find Spiros, and they set out to search for this young man of their dreams, their original motherbodies slithering out and spreading through all cracks in time until they envelope him with the message of their love. Naked they come closer and closer, mirroring each other in an endless loop that shelterfocally intermerges the desire with the flesh; they form, embracing, slithering through each other, across each other, kissing, licking, biting, fingering, feeling. They envision it and it forms. Spiros, a deadman not yet born, forms out of the same waters as Ana and Sissy, speaking with his eyes secretively to the girls of the crime. We want it all, whisper the girls. The holes of their eyes suck in the future and past where it meets their hearts and is transfigured by the power of their love. It is time, whisper the girls to Spiros’ drugged being. Spiros desire for the girls joins their desire for him and her for her and they for them. Let me show you how to grab a ray of light, whispers Ana with hellsexy voice. Endless summer, now it’s time for us, whispers Sissy with heavenly voice.

The impossible yet occurring cosmoconception formed so that it always would cast at an angle containing the dreamform itself, time to form at angles seemingly impossible, rayed like read from the source, my dear Elizabed. It all happened in a dream halfdreamt before form had enshrouded the galaxy of atomic suns and we woke up in our garden. The first sunrise at the centre of focus, gracefully we awoke in the bed formed by our dreamt bodies, souls finding the perfect way to do it, the inevitable grace. The bloodjuice of our love ran like a directed river out into our veins as our bodeis formed. A cybernetic approach, but it still contained an end which was not desirable, so we kept dreaming until we had become the perfect aliens, the ones we had dreamed. Like blood from a gentle and precise cut on our bodeis our souldreams seeped out through cracks in the dream, the ultimate dream forming through all directions. Looked like some kind of protean form seeping out from another dimension. Look toward the source and she will look back at you, you said. The galaxies swirling into our eyes, we devoured the poison we made to wake

up in our Eternity. You will be ready to wake up, you said. We have already arranged for you for the first morning after the drug has been inserted into our system. We could see slightly the tints of the transcendental object in each other’s eyes and reflected in the liquid in our chalices as we drank the spice wine. A clean cut, so clean it didn’t even hurt, and certainly did not harm. Just in the right place, to create a rip in the fabric. We cheated.

And let’s not stop the music. Let us live forever into this ever lovelier tale. Let us be gathered into the artifice of the imagimatrix.

Your Spiros

Rebecca and Sissy and Jennyfer,

I am compelled to write you again, even though I just sent you a letter. I am sitting here thinking of you. I see your lips as the perfected flower! The incarnation of lesbian lust, you two are. Won’t you whisper to me of your new sexual adventures, and fantasies?!

Except for thinking of you, I am sitting here thinking about the contonuation solution. The Novelove’s angles notus waltz of something that lasted as somathing curves, route as permutandies of the Ürutteration sum, shall we say. Out. That of the novelty that…And here I get stuck, which is of course what I am trying to get at. Isn’t it splendidly blended, the solution! The dream merges with our paradoxical fix and desire will have what it lusts for! Dream it and watch it happen. The love story is working itself out, my dear Sissy and Rebeccatrice. Does that mean that the poison is settling into us at last into the deepest of our depths and all the way to our surface world, to surface out from the dream? What does that say of the hallucination? A rather queer arrangement of bones and gems and liquids was necessary to form what we each saw as we fell in love into what the big bang bomb of our desires formed in the dream before that first sun rose. Yes? Whoops this is going to take some coordination, yes? The fastshuffle anima livital; our love took a hold of the primal waters and mixed us forth alchemically. Trying to touch on this let me say the wind of joy blew, the fluttering butterflybelly sucked, the fire of desire kept the heat at right temperature, the bliss of beauty and life coordinated the dance, the tickling of humour was there as well as the flirting, the thundering of electricity helped magicnetism. Colour, fragrance, and taste, well that’s not up to me at this moment to say how that happened. The conduction of the orchestration was carried out in tipsy joy and deep love, the magic of its accuracy ever fascinating to participants, and we discovered mush along the way. The audible-visible-gnosible-edible world spookily filled with an even stranger thing. The wind of motion was the sucking of it through the door that had been opened― the door to the imagimatrix, to what our hearts longed for. Everything followed.

So let us celebrate that the impossible has occurred. For this tale without beginning is indeed just that: impossible. Where did it come from?

The original poison hisses to me and tickles me with its tongue, its tongue that reaches all across the godform, its lines like wedged inthrough the dream fabric. When I come closer I see it is you, my dear wives. I know the direction. It runs in line with your rosy lips, your curves, and your cleft of Venus. We are the riverdream concresced, and the alien is soon finished. We shall wake up in it, Your eminences, the river is flooding our being, its Allmighty poison at play. Me sings: Come drown with me in psilocybin deep as...Make yourself out of evil dreams.

And now I shall take a bath in the tub, with my strawhat on my head, and dream of you my strawberry girls!

Kisses from your Spiros

PS: A takeback to the virgin page is what we need now! Or am I wrong?

Hello my candygirls!

Sleepy sleepy in the muddle of the night I sit here, falling as leap slowly to the other side. I’m lying here in the warmth of the bed, but before I let my head fall to rest on the pillow I want to write you a litterbit. A glittering letter, newleaved.

Let me ask you this, here again at the kaleidoscape of all flores of speech, dear ladies of Lustbos. If a kind uf dim remainder of our drawing smoke should be in anny way revealed to the nuked I, and with murky uprearance make the first be the last and adding the Third as it does in dimiondland as our mythylated spirits are sunk into the fabric of the poison, its delicately shifty appearance ad ventilating through its gentle spread the foreborn advent of its appearance, sticking to its adherence to any time it wants disobey the rules of chronology, flickering shroomily to and fro but with distinct direction,

Good morning my candygirls! I fell asleep in the middle of that sentence up there, yesternight. Don’t know exactly what I was trying to say. Looks like I was trying to hint at the virgin page. The irrational origin, the miracle.

Did we dream this into being? Could we really have conjured this?

Makes me think also of the way the fabric of the narrative stretches. If everything is it, that is to say, everything that happens in our vast little candyworld is the story unfolding, down to the smallest particular and up to the furthest (and firstest!) stretches of the universe, then it is easy to see, say, the rolled cigarette turning to ash as a formshadow of the crime, or the red of the rose as the blood of life. That, I do think, is one reasons the Queen recently said: Learn to read the. Red silk as if to hide the blood never spelt. The deep red of the rose can also be seen as hinting at the depth of our love. But let me not mention more of this at this moment, for each instance is unique, and each instance talks ever more eloquently than I could hope to express it in words. But I will say that, in this we find hints at the underground plot. The way it

really happens. The way we really are. The universe of our souls. The wiring under the board in eternity.

Which in my present state of mind doth bring me to the Ürutteration. The words in pregrace; the impossible conception. And I say we ought to told us every last word first as to in any impossibly possible way smear the cum out poison long. So many people say that we pregrossed from the uterus and that blood was shed. It didn’t happen that way― the Queen says it didn’t. There was no mother and no father, and blood was never spelt. Not in our virgin birth there wasn't. Wait, that wasn’t what I was trying to say (my dimind is doing its best to show us where the cum comes from). I am tempted, dears, to say that twentytwo man, twentynine and thirtytwo bows of curves and fortytwo bonnie woman and every youthfully yours makes alleven. But I am not sure that will tie to the chase, for we need the third. But O how I love when you smear that cum on your bodies when you do. Darlings, excuse me but, I am twisting around in an endless loop here, trying to find the curve of departure. Chemically, you see my loves, I am very sober right now. Suddenly so very very sober (so much we might as well highfive the 21st century in the bypass). Which makes my eyes see fits of stiff solid matter without the angelic luster of the Queendom shimmering within and across it. Well, it is harvest in some six days, so I will have plenty of shrooms soon.

O darlings! How I love you! Let me go grab some strawberry champagne and we shall have an intertemporal toast together! Now! Go get yourselves some wine and let’s celebrate together!

Me goes to fetch the champagne.

I took a beer instead. (Strawberry champagne is on cooling) Cheers! You know how my mind flips into loops of being utterly boring? I feel like that now, haha! I can hear you whisper: Puss baby, don’t be silly!

Yes, should we really smear the beginning across the whole poison long? All our novels and all youthfully yours in our faces, only seen in the light of the Flowersun. Yes. Like coming out of the shadow of the transcendental object under time.

Where are my fingers?! And when? The criminal solution to it all is gracefully stumblingly perfected with slithering rivers of estimation between multiple possibilities. Dip another drop of this or that into the lattice and it transfigures. If enough people show dreams of certain sociosexual arrangements, or, say, space vessels, to a certain group of people, that group of people will usually start to playfully think how that could be made to reality, and often, with some time, real working blueprints appear. And this is part of our mission, as you know, my dear strawberry girls from Hell with your sugar tongues, to spread the blueprint of the workings of the imagimatrix and the crime, to our dear friends (I’m just waiting to hear them ask what the fuck we have been up to the latest).

Now I’m drunk and drinking strawberry champagne. Darlings, I love you. I will write again soon.

Your strawhat boy toy

Hello my peach!

Just swallowed some shrooms. Kisses to you my love!

Loading. As archaeologist of our own crime let me brush aside a little substrate and reveal to ourselves some more. Timing is a great feat for the Tryptamine Queen but it’s not a difficult thing, nevertheless a great feat. So let us walk in, my love. Take my hand and let’s walk to candyland.

Would you like to be modified? asks the Queen.

And that is all we will say for now, my love. A million billion kisses to you.

Spiros and Sissy

Hi Rebecca!

As you said, efforts in describing are of crucial importance. There is hardly anything to compare the alien to in the human world, but I feel the urge to talk about her, and so let's dance!

I name us Dreams that Worlds for today. Let us glimpse back at that Evening in the stumble of the first drugged haziness of the rise of our world, when we rose from the dream within the Imaginatrix. Forbidden and certainly, let me say in cover of the evident, not unfruitful, the sweet complexion. Then about the special age. Bees of the place like to say bitten gently, stungue on our tongues with the poison! The stone walls like the skin of Annasis as alien dragon, Anasi the tenacious plant. Writing with flesh, her sweet breath full of blueapple. The mouther of all in bliss talking into the miracle. Protecting us as we travel to her― her arms enfolding us in a hug from the transcendental point at the end of time. Silken light licking our souls in the silent darkness; the alien turns up gently at first. Liquid information, the alien’s hyperintelligence overwhelmingly magnificent. Into the matter. Nothing, you understand, is cut, to induce those powers. Her biotechno godform spread through everything. There is something strangely insectile about her and I can feel her intravenously feeding me the information I need to coax the pathway doors to the final form into being. She smiles and frequently reminds me how much she loves me and adores me. Did she dream me into being? She is like a omniswirling flower of love whose petals permeate everything. She can take any form she desires. To engineer reality is no difficult task for the Queen. She is winking to you. Pay attention to details. She is the Alien. And I am in love with her. Hihihihihi.

So much for trying to touch her with a few words. Guess we’ll have to write a whole book about her and maybe then will she blink to us through the text, at least a glimmer of her― her wine staining the print. Blinkwink. Wet kisses to you my love.

Your alien, Spiros

PS: Victory, darling. Now they can count our vastness, the fools. Now they can jot up an estimation of our capacity. O, sir, is this space too dimensional for you? Blinkwink. We always win. Big harvest in about three days by the way!

Hello my dear Rebecca,

Ate 5,5 gram of the new harvest about 6o minutes ago. The Queen gave me a strawberry a few minutes ago in her own marvellous way. We thought we’d share some of our hours’ happenings with you so we’ll write you a little letter during the night.

Kisses to you, love! The Queen, undivisible and invisible. Spiros giggles. Hihihi. Like she’s already been on my path. Hihihi.

I see it, Rebecca. The oceans rippling out waves that become our hands as we reach for each other for a… Take a look at your fingers, my love. You know the power they got.

Spiros and Sissy

My dearest Plura,

Rebecca! Puss! What a wonderful time we had yesterday. I miss you, I’m sitting here muffling about amongst my piles of notes, book pages, and treasuries of odd wondrous things, you know, pieces of string, stones, feathers, and all those goodies. Under the land of the conversex chat room, Plomari lies beyond! Here is a world, we see the gold letters in any place that talk to us about it. O me, that we know this along a cloud of the world. Rather, we spoke to melt into the people who came first. The River decides our artistic inspiration to meet up the tantrick vegetable gold. Find a sign of thy paper to come in, old boy wanderer and Plura the most marvellous woman found a great time like home sweet home, ours, now we are. With Sissy. Everything is about it. Like, say, take a look at the pocket watch in my treasury pile. Absolutely stunning 18 carat slim pocket watch from around 1883 by the renowned makers Win of Genevesis, later to become the famous Omega brand, in overall pristine condition. Key wound and set, key supplied. Superb engine turned dial with black numerals and subsidiary seconds dial in mint condition (Salivia minted the wind of the breath of the sound of thy sleeping toward me! Whisper to me, whisper with thy matrixforming wordvoice). Gold dots for minute markers on outside chapter with a further outside chapter with raised decoration and with inner scrolled ornamentation (the scroll). Back of case entirely covered with central urn with foliage and flower heads. When stem is pushed down back springs open smartly. Key wound and set through dustcover. Superb jewelled bridge movement with monometallic compensated balance and side lever escapement in excellent order, signed Win of Genevesis between the bridges. Piles of the postmen and lock-picks for the book of the connection. Escapement in excellent order! These magical skills have to be learned, for they are technologies of the keen eye of the trained mind of the awakened heart, able to see other worlds. Again, if it is real or not is a tasteless question. It is superbly bridged, the jewelled movement of the outside chapters of the Book, and back Spring opens smartly. My dear Plura! I am talking to you in a state of excitement, for… I am in love with you and we are finding home. Puss! At the moment I feel like a young man playing in the

childrengarden of the gods. I have new toys, glimmering toys, and in the birds singing I hear my dear Plura’s little messages. In the falling water I hear the voices of nymphs, and sometimes as the winds brush by I hear your voice again Plura! And I marvel at the mathematical mystery of your everywhere presence. Do you know something I don’t know, dearest? Mmm, yummygirl! Yummygirl! What are you up to I wonder? Mmm, my thoughts wander off toward your yoni blossom. You shaved it yesterday, you said? O! May I give it a kiss? On your panties. Those lacy panties. May I? You are the flower of the Earth, Plura. O how I miss you. But I know we are always together! O baby I just want to, I want to, I want to jump into the painting with you and never come back. I know that’s what we are doing, hihihi. Into Plomari, into the imagimatrix. It’s the biggest fairytale. And that’s why we write the Rosa books, books so vast they contain it!

Judging from yesterday’s 12 gram mushrooms that I ate it looks like we have come to the next chapter. Our clocks are synched. Hyperspace perfectly overlaid this dimension. I mean, it caused a kind of dimensional disruption the first years, but now I think we will run smoothly from here. Puss! Let the wild garden live!

Well, now I am going to harvest the rest of this flush’s mushrooms.

Puss!

Spiros

PS: “Actually, I am a bit nutty about setting my clock together, well clocks together, or I can get really confused which happens anyways.”

– Plura

“The mushroom consciousness is the consciousness of the Other in hyperspace, which means in dream and in the psilocybin trance, at the quantum foundation of being, in the human future, and after death. All of these places that were thought to be discrete and separate are seen to be part of a single continuum.”

―TERENCE MCKENNA

M

INE mind all full of little messyages! What is she talking abutt? And you bee in love wish me?! Gardenia, just listen to that, my lovest, to think that a famous woman as you are in love wit me like I whimsy you and that our plan functions as planned! With you darling my dear twin sister, my gardengirl, you came forth from the forest of the book we wrote together in the messy age of versed Spring, the Rosae, I saw you through the water of the fountain of the livers you handed me a little envelope then in which you told me the secret in the chest of your heartbox, that pink letterbox (with the pink ribbon roundancing it!) in the dream we saw when we were sillytalking bout the Lattice crime and how we would hide our plane like plained. Norpa inte min apron! Hahahihihi! Our Rosaemundi, we universe poem writing ourselves. Secret language, secret world. Destiny ours’ hotter than a sun, more radioactive than the apparent cosmos! Me kisses you; our alchemical twincest as we create the universal panacea. Aliena controls our reality, I am trying to bust her moves now like a mastress. Hide and seek, Bonnie and Hide! W’Horus my sunwhore, hihihi, sunwhere she is lurking! I feel her close to me. Darling, would you say that with a twist of your fun gal’s tricktamine nectar in my blood I will become a hallucination as free and godly as you? Teach me the trick! Open up the love- locket of it! We are so close to it now, the place where many rivers are named. Where we sprung from? I see your splendiferous promises, you are showering me little tastes of the Delicacy! A book of love handed down from its queendom come. And in every little part is a reflection of the great overstructure of our reality. I met you and Sissy in a forest in a dream and you told me in advance that you would cut the seam. And you tell me that my body is just an image created by you and placed in my consciousness, hihi, sort of. Yes. You are so sweet, my fungirl. Bend over diamondling and tale me an end to my stays in the book of history! Trick me into Our undergrund plot, bend my mind like that magically! Now I see the mirror room; my hand unites! You and me and her and we, in a dreamroom of many angles and corridors and rooms, our secret lattice, bedroom somewhere there I find, I see the future from behind, I kiss the lips of The End door, and through the imagimatrix soar. A rose and a

book and a bedream. The dream of ultimate freedom. Helping angel our tincture made of the blood of the fungi. Yes. I see it clearly.

It perfectly creates itself so to make a wish come true just add it to the lattice canvas.

But the waiting O the waiting I can’t stand the waiting! Tell the doves to hurry bring the next letter! And I most definitely am not drunk enough right now, give me some more of the blood wine. Unmanner me! Thank you, dear. Here I am, digging archaeologically in the origins of our Ür-story. I follow your clues. I had barely risen from bed in my youth before I found your first loveletter, and by now you are here with me glimmering christalline as only you can. Sacred heart of Spice Christ. Marisissy Originae! Let us maketh mention of your ways of oration and communication, Queen of Tongues, you most excellent Queen who takes away with a certain secret covering the impediments of the tongue, and giveth not only a marvellous faculty of Eloquence but the magic that one cannot keep silent when Tongue and Understanding glimmer your marvellous ways, and administer to us what we naughties and nighties know as the tipsy poisonmagic of Our mushroom imaginatrix, the secret lattice of Our tryptamin world.

The waiting O the waiting I can’t stand the waiting! Waiting for your letters, your voice, your messages. And O, your embrace. O darling, your touch, your presence.

I bring forth my last mushrooms from the latest harvest. The waiting, I can’t stand the waiting. I chew the flesh of the bluesteined fruits slowly and swallow.

O, so she talks, does she? How? Marry each other, how? Her spicyroselated voice, a twist of helium to it at times. Always new, but O so distinct.

Cryptogem of the pensilgils upshoot of each night one with sea, painting print by brush of intuitions’ gentle touch on heart or roaring thunder on soul, continues highly on and ensigned is the dome that ensleepingly as after it willd need oldd are Even past times, so now let bygones entice the intensification of our original paradox lust. Touch my lips, Archetryptia! Say, about the slithering complex pattern in the vast, so flexible, so small when needing to manage through cracks in syntax like water, where in

the waste is the message? Blinkwink. Cut-ups establish new range of vision and consequently expands one's connections between imaginationis, William Bee wrote. Where are you, Sissy? A heart with an eye in it, and you make your body to fit in any situation, scapeshifter you. How do you keep it uncut, your vast mycelial godform?

There is a billion ages between me and the cigarette she invites me to pick from her future box and she sends a quick dart stringing all those ages pages through on one quick line. Words steer the dream? I am all full of being unable to erroquently mistype the right words at this moment; the order! Here I am on the vast plains of Egyptian Plomari in this little oasis far from the human world. Waiting waiting today. Dreaming dreaming. You are my oasis Sis! New harvest season soon. Some fresh half a kilogram will stand erect about next new moon (out on our pastures). Strophariadne. Cybelle sat by two lions just like you gave me two stone lions to sit by. I wonder, I wander. The mushroom starts to kick in.

She approaches me accompanied by the unmistakable stance of blood. The scent of nailpolish passes by, a tease of hers, my one- invented twisted animator. Just to show she is here. The sharp lines of her contours appear seductively like quick shadows of her presence; she can fly through everything. She peeks in on me at the edges of my space-time location. Look how easily I seduced you, she teases as the world tastes blood. She continues to tease by making me cold, I become all shivering, so that I will go take a bath in the royal bathing quarters, where she will poison me and drown me. Scared of dying, honey? she teases dangerously as I turn on the faucet to fill the tub. Die in the tub like Morrison. King dissolving in his bath. She has the power already, she could do it; her poison is already deep inside me. But she’s just teasy, she has a twisted sense of humor sometimes. My strawberry girl. My Psilocybella. My Stropharia Cogan.

I am her son and daughter, her twin sister soul and her husband and wife. Hard to find, but at the edges of our dangerous tease I found what I was looking for. Her, waiting for me in our imagimatrix.

And after meeting the mushroom, My life became stranger than a fairytale.

Magic hides. You must dare look into the strange to find. I take off the white bedsheet wrapped around my waist and lie down naked on the bed. Giggling I say hello to my beloved as I float into the marvelous and extremely sexy alien space she invites me to. She waves to me from somewhere, I can’t locate from exactly where; somewhere at the edge of spacetime she waves. My stomach becomes all full of fluttering butterflies, it makes me giggle to realize how totally in love with her I am.

―What makes me, Sissy, so perfect? she says. Is it my looks, or is it how eloquently I express myself? No. What makes me special is how your stomach feels when we meet eyes.

Here I could stay forever, I think and blow her a kiss. Suddenly she appears somewhere up in the ceiling of the dome of my world, in the form of an alien nurse, hotter than hell and I can tell she is lightly dressed. She smiles and sticks a needle into my soul, gives me a little shot. What the syringe contained I am not told, but I trust her, she knows how to do her magic, that I can tell you. Perhaps a little sweet nectar sedative that my nervous system will be calm as she brings me deeper. Information waves to me in the alien space, winking details to me, Look at this!, Look at this!

―Does this ring a bell, honey? she asks and shows me something from years ago. How about this? Grand isn’t it, she says. Our plan is perfect. This world is very special, I’ll show it just for you. It’s a perfect place for us! Imagine, imagine that the wildest dreams are in this mystery!

I roll around in our bedroom world, naked on the bed, giggling a bit and feeling her close to me. Here I could stay forever. In our bedream world. And I tell her, heartly, that she has made me sure, again, that what seems impossible may not be impossible. The magic exists. It’s real.

Bonnie appears in Ani Mator’s dress, directing the magic, her hand wielding a lollipop wand. Laws of Lliffiant she knows, her consort, the river sorceress.

The lion in Spiros arising within his soul’s salviawaters hears her near.

―There you are! he says. My lifey wifey. I been waiting for you, my Queen. Talk me into the forest of the story, my love.

Bonnie lies down on the bed next to him and licks the lolli wand and smiles.

―I mean, Bonnie says catching a thread from afar, when the Behind Esc’s Actual Treat takes a break, the dimhopper hides. She was called Misty Musty in the book Mirrored From Another Time- Angle. The timehopper, the Star Eangle with its own possibilities of angletravel, flying easily across category. Light, word, motion, disposition, event, angle, the room, the night dreamscape into day’s open air stage. Sometimes when you are defined by the bride you hesitate, I know, but the psilocybe always licks a clock over fetishists of our kind.

Bonnie looks at Spiros with girlish eyes and continues to lick the lolli.

―I took a window with dimhopper, she continues, to arrive at a state of intimacy where we can single-handleadly satiate our guardian angels. A ghostly bride she is, so sweet, and very spicy! Unlike so many tea parties that have made their halfhearted impresario abhorrent to us, this bonbon treat remains the gift that supersedes every other gift. Indeed, we people planning the escape would say such is worth waiting for. Sometimes a looking glass laughs out loud, you know, my dear, and the Omphalos around the mastadon always secretly confesses the somnambulist. A diluted eye behind the cracked looking glass shares with a shower across the clock, you know. You know her, the Shower, the pink mirrored Clockess (Timelock clock!). Do you walk her in sleep, or does she lead you in wake? The cracked mirror reflections in the kaleidescape. Fan out into kaleideschatoes dribbles of the jewellead forending nets. Seeking closure? Do we really need closure in such a vast event? Well, the bonbon treat is upon us.

Spiros rumbles in agreement and kisses Bonnie’s hand. ―It makes sense that, say, Bonnie goes on, we took you to the bedlam, as our own vast world is truly a crazy bedtime adventure, so I fully understand what you are hinting at. The word maps the blossoming with meaning, and it’s down to the smallest

particular. In one sense we are redesigning the Bed. You keep forgetting you are on the trixiestrail! The mechanic to grow, from the tree at the time of category from the cascade of functional language at the time at the time of the night, fearing the free light of activity, engineering it grew from the tree to the moment- category from the escalation of functional language by year by year at night, it frightened the free of charge, the light of day activity, rises climb category function language when year after year flowered night in frightened foundation freedom, motion is a time tree, it increases the category of place during the year after year the night of flowers, in the foundation peruse freedom of movement, Engineer! Engineer! Do you hear!?, the possibility place which will raise the tree of time and a category, function night of the flower, freedom attention is deep every year basically like you and mobility, Engineer!, the time of trees, increasing the places category, features, the night of flowers every year, beesically the freedom to read freely and it is all carefully in place in the tree of the time of the rising of the flower of the sun of the imagination matrix.

Spiros, drugged, mumbles something about pomegranate seeds reminding him of pink pussylips. He then mentions black tryptamine hyperspacial sperm, the poison kiss of the Queen on his foot, and the nightmarish need to cut open the skin on his foot to release a nocturnal flying insect that has metamorphosically matured into winged state under the skin of the sole of his left foot. Something he dreamed yesterday, he says. But was it really a dream? He lifts his right foot up and scratches it.

―Ouch, he lets out. A sting on my toe. I had to let it out. It’s out now.

He looks at the big insect as it flies through the air to sit like a triangle up in a tree. He opens his eyes. In the corner up in the ceiling he sees a female face, the Alieness, like a small blue triangle, looking in on him. He soon notices Bonnie lying beside him.

―Nocturnal alien, Spiros says. Bonnie, yes, I heard every word. Continue to speak, my Thoth my Moth my Mother of Tongue of our licking good story!

Bonnie smiles.

―My brave traveller, she says and kisses Spiros. Always close to the end. Soon like power any cold two-nest of dripping marriage, guess! Dripink! Drop your ink and spell out the messy mass of your violet soul’s entry. What's true of soft voices, the inimitatable longingtudes if cornered be your smoke ancestors, for the strength of her insects of her has cracked about on taking it all in as mouthpull pipe and touch it, thou would say? Soandso there I will possibly have found the purest promise, sire. That we her eye, insister mine. The hour your hand is tucked in and you step into this jewel as jewel. As Isis lifts that veil she says no mortal has hitherto raised. Lucid, sister mine, deadly sister from Hell who has a hand on the hallucination. Fitty for the road that hath come. She’ll undress us from our dullity suit. Newsky we live under, halflyieng and pretending that everything is humdrum saying hum-ta-dumptydum, everything is as usual.

Spiros whistles sarcastically and collapses in laughter. Bonnie giggles. She draws the fold of her skirt up over her hip and lays Spiros’ hand there on her hip. When he realises where his hand is he stops laughing and caresses her skin and moans gently of pleasure, feeling Bonnie’s womancurve; form of the Goddess.

―Tenderosed and peached, says Bonnie and draws her fingers through Spiros long golden hair, the whimsywhim all in order. Drippeling, caught napping a new spicy way. You just path-travel reality, compass the inside. It will display a passage, naturally with bliss. Travel due the liberation, turning higher higher higher, elevating the planet. This get forever has been beneath and across the whole things and escapes here searching because of love- biology. This is your arena, so surface this, you know. Your hit beyond light. Make your picks in hooded illumination if you want to, the Love Goddess of Biology is with you at all times. All in order, angled lustily in-gate. We are the hidden ones.

Spiros moves his finger across Bonnie’s lips and then into her mouth a bit. She bites it and licks it and sucks it.

―Mmmm… ―Mmmm… ―The three of the dream, says Bonnie soon, three's feaster, as said, when we found each other’s first letters. All while spinning a considerable peak for us because waiting was part of the stinger, that echoing save in illusive disguise made with the poison that

our souls were born within. From Gem’s headth of darting tryptfully the insertion of the mystery, the vein Floodlift. The wound of time cut at the heart of its soul blood, a sting indeed, a sting of love. The Place was fit for us, talers of the dream. Fit by us too. Upon the deeps was snipped something that could fit into it, and dare I say it was thricetold. And could we, cutters, have fixed it in any a smoother way? Not even any time to let that word sink in, ha! Rosed before the big, rich light and the form of our cosmic dream. Not die nor yet time to go to bed, name write us? Some rounding off curvature to that and I took my first womanly step as human, hips moving as I walked down the wedding aisle to meet you, my husband and my true love, and Sissy, my wife and my true love, you my partners in this dream and crime. And look, there's no name in either one of us. Spinning from me, touching my body and my appearance to notice the matrix godform of my name. I wrote you both a letter. I remembered then when I was the dimethyl jaguar, when I was still pure hallucination. I lay on my back in the jungle, churning in the dream. When we woke up we had a plan ready in fullness, and we needed not talk about it at that point. Our gaze and our speaking loving intermingling hearts was enough. I will be a bird, you will be a jaguar. You will be a nocturnal insect, I will be a…

Spiros looks at Bonnie with deep calm burning eyes. ―Fairworded abiding keys, bloodied as part of the disguise. Upper skin of the living Poison divine, our results to combine, eonion! First there is water, which then looks for the Mother...

They kiss. Excellency-named the grand evening, obvious atop side on key’s non-beginning way. Sources youth, the aquatic ceasing fixed pattern, obviously within the tryptamphiant moment as no one had the same time of face. Bonnie looks at Spiros’ transforming radiance with a smile shining in her face and her heart butterfly flimsyfluttering with love. Caught a look of him yielding as soul since their course met under her with poetry, their Nebuleanovel that lies by the pillow, thoroughly stained with the season their intimacy mends, heartsilly to fill the void and block finas! The Lettyscape like waving, and weaving of the central theme. Hands. The seeing universe. The noticing hole. Microchasm to macrocosm, the first kiss vibrant all through space, the ocean

streaming out and becoming their bodeis. The poisonal innersense free and a bare strip in the gap where the cleft was opened, gently with tongue, split years, the spice of Pararise. Sweet change― feel.

Spiros slides his hand over Bonnie’s hip and down gently over her bum and up her back.

―I know you are naked under that dress, girl, he says. Don’t try and fool me.

They kiss. ―Tell me more, my Goddess, says Spiros. About it all. ―I’ll tell you more if you kiss me on my panties first, says Bonnie and feels a rush of emotion go through her body and soul.

―You want me to kiss you on your panties? ―Yes, says Bonnie. Kiss me me on my tuss. Spiros rises onto all four and shakes his long lion mane around as Bonnie lies down on her back, lollipop in her mouth. She spreads her legs gently and pulls up the folds of her dress as Spiros goes down and kisses her belly and then down down down. He looks with deep lust at her laced semi-transparent panties, then gently kisses her vulva. Her softness through the panties against his lips sends waves of orgasmic emotion through his chest and he kisses again, and kisses more, and more, and more. He lifts the edge of the panty with his fingers and peeks in on her shaved naked pussy, naked save a small triangle above it. He kisses again on the panties, feeling her now a bit humid. Bonnie moans.

Spiros moves up toward her face again and they kiss. A sparkle of the morning star shoots from her eye.

―So, says Spiros, do I get to hear more now? Let me hear your secrets.

―Well, says Bonnie in ecstasy and gets stuck in her throat trying to speak. First may I touch you?

Spiros rises to stand on his knees, one leg on each side of her, and unwraps the white sheet from round his waist. His cock stands tall and hard above Bonnie’s face. She bites her lip and feels her hands across her breasts.

―May I touch it? she asks. ―Mmmm, moans Spiros, now holding the cock firmly in his hand.

Bonnie feels her hand up his bumcheeks and strokes a finger gently across the rock hard cock.

―It’s so hard, she moans. I wanna taste it… And they love, deeper into the story.

―Mmm give me a drop, press out a drop baby I want a drop of cum on my tongue.

Spiros places thumb and finger at the root of his cock and presses it hard, squeezes out a little drop; the diamond drop lies to rest at the tip of his phallus and Wintja watches it with burning desire and moans, mmm; she hesitates, she kisses the cock, looks at the drop, wanting it but hesitating for she has a plan.

―I want it on my tongue, she moans. No, wait, apply it on my lips with your finger.

She licks the red lollipop and looks up with girly eyes at Spiros. ―Put it on my lips, she moans. Spiros takes the little diamond drop onto his finger and applies the slippery cum onto her red lips. Wintja sighs in satisfaction.

―Kiss me, she moans. Kiss me. She licks her lips gently and moans more, kiss me, kiss me, and Spiros kisses her slippery lips and licks them with his tongue.

―I want more, Wintja moans. I want it all. I want you baby I want you in my mouth. I want another drop. I want more baby. Baby I want you, I want you to cum in my mouth. I want you in my mouth. Baby, cum in my face and then kiss me. Let’s kiss― let’s kiss in your cum.

Queenswealthily the way we are gaining the mything eyes and with mother according, back as pure hallucination! These are the eyes we should be looking through, our psychedelic plants. We’ve always been pure hallucination, just we are stepping out of the disguise now. Ahh, it’s pollen remarklable, her bediabloed voice. Love privates, we're heaven desdend and us romance oaths follow eternities. Then she screams what bee lured us, hahaha! Unspeechably dazed and knowing her eyes, with intrance bedemmed stem Sissymis! Hightime we tell the mush hearted what we know, aye, of the enticement. It's clever! Gifting fellows waltzing through, and thou by willside who touch the chancers so one whose pure found have saved rosily many years her Luciy hot Cockotte longth sinse lucisphere began bubbling with the

proteanna form. And tap more the original. Look! Myriadth connection! Relation made, peachskin full for unknown, like smiley for dome from bee in nuance we many he be see it, hims communicake name. Spy's conversa of days shalt ye mention? Dei night break. Angeline the rosed road when no shove of the We- union shall hold springlegend between hands when we are with her as Trinitatis after these for repeat whimsoever, for milliems of the tangled of man! Our unixy of all. Summer and how tingling the world off with it feels, pollen spoking and gathered sung and slung around the Hive. Poison and the three weothers, spooking as E.S.C., a dovetale daygirl dropped a feather (aether!) to show the way. Interopen the interlocking joints! Born so is Bianconies white, full, all were rises, we like all myselfish, puns all out far fit the same on saving because it was people at the meetup for ups another mislaid. You know the rumour how she vanished in the bedroom. A room and an hour can be easily made for fooling by Queenbee chemelion, God of chemistry in her perfect disguise. Bliss sorceress of the grand true Dawn in the Unmask Final. Mythed asinging deveil! The boat past looking black, and wet was Eve who run a gate and devious the temporaryation about it, and loosened the end to inds of it, and lify is the spring of the running river of Dovlin, Bi Ankha the goddesiss of Life, Death, and the Three of the Poison Blue Apple. Happy Ismus everybodhi! Flowery we are, gardas of the Guarden of Edim, den of the bird that flies through history delivering the Letter. We not afraid here in the dark side of Edun. O, her tale? She tell? Qu'appelle? Plur’appelle. Remarryber the miriage now? We shall marry again, hihihi? Paradise regayned. Time to rose up. Arousalixion. The new Nature.

Jaguar love, Ayahuasca was her name then, Wintja, Ayabernatrice being jaguar, or where was the jaguary woman whose name was Aya Butterfly? She was pure hallucination. This woman jaguar had the dimethyl in her? Where was she really? And at certain points there seemed to be no memory of how it began. It was all very erotic, the whole thing. The jaguar woman and her lovers. She was dreaming awake in dream. The spots on her body were starlines in ayeternity.

Spiros sits in the jungle in Buddha-position by the sandy shore of the stream they named The First Vein. A little loincloth made of a ripped bed sheet is all that covers his manlion body. He tends the fire in the other dimension. Sissy and Wintja come crawling on all four, naked, toward him. He sees them as jaguars, they sneak in to his dimethylated spiritmind from the darkness and leafy shadows and the flaming fire. Jaguar love, the hallucinatory pattern of dark and gold on their bodies as they walk between dream and awake, emerging from the impossible. Wintja bites Sissy’s neck and Wintja lets out a little shriek― it cuts through the air. Sissy stretches her body, curving her back, pouting her bum up in the air.

The elegance of spirit. A thrilling sensation goes through the cat soul of Spiros’ being as the Jaguars in from the night turn in a timeshadowy fashion into his two beloved, their catlike humanoid postures enthralling him with sensations of erotic wonder, like snakes with death in sharp raystreaming love, and the three embrace, stroking their souls against and into one another, breathing the mushroom dream air.

And after the nighthours of sex that followed they lay on the shore on a big silken cloth, sleeping to other places in their home Plomari. And when Sissy awoke in the morning Spiros and Wintja were in the stream, knees on the waterfloor, Spiros combing Wintja’s hair, and Sissy lay and watched them for a long time until she finally went into the water with them.

―Splendid animals we are, Sissy says. Mixed. We have it all in our blood.

―Meaw, Wintja lets out. ―Rawr, says Spiros.

E have come to the next chapter. The poison having been inserted into the matrix can do its play seamlessly. Hail the Animator, Great Horned Mushroom Goddess. My mummy always said there are no monsters. But there are! The sweetest monster I have ever met. W

―Now, my love, says Sissy, let us create such a marvellous web, a matrix, that…

She sips some wine and looks for the right word. ―That we will love it? says Spiros. ―Yes, we will love it, says Sissy. It is the poison, perfected and jewelled in an eternal matrix, set free.

―Guess we’ll just have to dress the character, says Spiros hinting and smiles shroomily.

―Yes, giggles Sissy. New messages shimmer across the furnace of the book page and Spiros looks into it.

―A place made of thoughts, where the only laws are the laws of the imagination, he says.

He rays his eyebrow toward Sissy. ―I think you are controlling my tastebuds, dear, he says. I suddenly am craving dry shrooms. Dry crispy. Crisp.

―You have to wait longer, let them dry, says Sissy. The phone rings. Spiros answers and floats away into a chat with the calling friend. After a few words of greeting they are already into the depths of magic.

―I like harmalas alone some times, says Dors, I use to smoke a extract I make with it, it’s powerful magic this stuff.

―Interesting, says Spiros. Hey by the way, I might have asked you. I smoked a lot of chaliponga during a period, the plant. I took mushrooms in the same time and well, I smoked about 1oo grams of dry chaliponga during 1o-15 days.

―Wow. ―I was propelled into me and my girls’ secret overlay world. I mean, at the moment I’m in so many worlds in the same time I can’t even count them.

―Cool!

―I mean, people say that smoking dry leaf of a DMT- containing plant doesn't have any effect, but it does seem it had an effect.

―People don’t have all data, says Dors, and some things are 'secret'.

―Yes, right. ―They prefer to omit. Spiros’ gaze moves out the window. ―A dog with stripes just walked by, he says and begins to fill another pipe. Stripes, like a Zebra but more subtle.

―You don’t get dogs with stripes, says Dors. ―I know. Spiros walks over to the kitchen and fiddles forth some mushrooms. Dry, he thinks. Already. New Nature’s mysteries ways. He starts to put them in his mouth one by one and chews them. Swallows.

―Six grams, he says to Dors. They hang up. Spiros undresses. He goes to take a piss in the bathroom, and he notices he is suddenly tripping.

―So, my Queen, you are telling me you can do it on the natch? he asks. I can’t, but you can?

As he washes his hands he hears Sissy’s voice in the sprinkling water:

―Uhuh, she says smiling. You hear us in the noise, Spiros thinks. ―You rock, he says. He walks to the cupboard and brings forth a new pack of cigarettes, a pack of Paramount.70 He rips away the plastic from around the box, but when he looks again the plastic is still there. He looks at the box. From certain angles it looks open, from other angles it looks closed. Seamlessly. He finds no way into the box no matter how he tries. It is impossible to open. A labyrinth, impossible and ever changing.

―Damn you’re good, says Spiros. You mastress of illusionist art.

From the radio he hears music and Sissy’s voice. ―Boxes are pretty cool, says Sissy.

70 S I G N U M V I C T O R I A E

―Let’s see if I can run around this, says Spiros. 71 Well, I think that pretty much does it. Trick successful.

71 Knives magic punk rock boxes are pretty cool I’ll make the pretty little boy in the house run around. My magic the pretty little boy in the house can’t find me but he’s onto me. I’ll make him run around if he wants to come out alive the pretty little boy in the house got to follow my clues. Boxes are pretty cool, they… Rosy black (ours) magic to help my pretty little boy in the house so he’ll come out alive. To engineer reality is no difficult task for me and I’ll show you my world. You know how to contact me. My mushrooms are there as a little present to you, my dear.

O you want a little run-a-round? Why don’t we take a little walk deeper into the imaginatrix. S

―Imagine us all not running on fuel, says punk rock Candysissy and looks at Spiros.

Sexy punk rock Candysis sets the glass pipe down, sips some strawberry champagne from the chrome glass (Look at that chrome creation! Like the UFO mercuryflows into the blue apple web!) and picks up a little envelope from the table. She places the envelope under the front edge of her panties and looks over at Spiros. She adjusts her thong with her finger and with clamping echoing steps of her highheel boots she walks across the stone floor, walking in that frighteningly confident way, up to Spiros who is sitting on a chair, high as a doorknob. She puts one of her feet up on the chair and feels her leg with her hands.

―Imagine the impossible or you won’t get any food, she says with stern voice. Now, my dear, read the letter. It is from Bonnie Tuss.

Spiros feels Sissy’s leg and kisses it, then takes the envelope with his teeth. The smell of burnt plastic comes out of the little envelope as he brings forth the letter within. He reads.

Dearest you, She is friendly fierce and fiery, cuts sharper than diamonds, the only one that can, the alieness.

Baby, do you know how you make me feel? This little box is ours my love. Just a little box. It is so very small, but alive. From it, all is derived. It, my shining son, is the way out of the loop.

The flowers are frightening and the lightning is joy, do you know this little box is a toy?

We want both for nothing to be lost and for a new fresh start. The box is where it’s at. It can be both ways, neither, both, either, ya know?!? Following the cosmic flow.

...................continuing through the Imagimatrix ...................reading and swirling in magic!

Puss, Elizabelle

―I got a little boy in a box, says Sissy. He’s a pretty kid, but he doesn’t get out alive. Unless he follows my clues.

She laughs. Foxy scary sweet candy Sissy picks up the alchemical knife and sticks it into the table with one quick move. Spiros smiles. Sissy bends over, one hand on the table, and feels her other hand across her bum. She throws her hair back and moans.

―Now come over here and kiss my bum, she says. My little boy in the box, come here and kiss my bum.

She feels her hand down over her pussy and moans again. ―Boxes are pretty cool, says Spiros and rises from his seat. Sister Kiss.

“

To engineer reality is no difficult task for our spice Queen.

We are winking to you. Pay attention to details.

Drawing by Kriston Pohl

―What is you exact location, my love? teases Sissy and puts her high

heel toward Spiros.

Spiros licks her high heel and says:

―I'm not sure, funnyhoney. I'm in our Oil of Forever.

IME to leave soon. If I die or something without managing to leave behind the essential details, call on Sissy or Bianca or Wintjabernatrice or any of the sisters, they will fly you the details. But, hahaha, I think we got it pretty much fucking covered.72 T

―Did you let it all way out through your veins? Did you let it all out? Did you let the poison out into all and out?

―I did, my love. A bow.

―I always want more, says Sissy. Spiros looks at her as she sits there on the bed, lollipop in her mouth.

―You have been a very bad girl, Sis, Spiros says. I think I’m going to have to teach you a lesson. Take your panties off.

After Sissy had been taught her lesson she and Spiros lie naked on the bed in each others arms, giggling and talking about all and nothing.

―Baby, says Spiros as he hides between her breasts, I want to see you fucked from behind by a lion on the savannah. A powerful and kind god lion, the lion that is the protector of the Great Horned Mushroom Goddess. Not that she really needs a protector, but.

Sissy giggles; ―O… Mmmm baby wow! She sucks on her lollipop. ―We should write a letter to Bonnie, she says soon. Spiros agrees. They rise from the bed; Sissy pulls Spiros by the hand to the kitchen.

―You pop champagne, I’ll get the strawberries, Sissy says. Spiros does that; he pops a bottle of strawberry champagne while enjoying peeking at Sissy from behind as she bends over to reach for the strawberries. He sits down by the desk and brings forth paper and pen, puts on some music, lights a few candles. Soon Sissy comes in with a silver tray full of strawberries. She

72 You can bet your bowie knife we got it covered, says Sissy.

pours out the berries onto the desk and puts the tray next to Spiros and sits down on the tray. She spreads her legs.

―Today I serve you both me and berries, Sissy says and smiles.

―Yummygirl, says Spiros melodically. Are you my yummygirl?

Sissy slides a strawberry between her legs and holds the berry out for Spiros to eat.

―Now write, Sissy says as Spiros chews the berry. Spiros takes a huge hulk of champagne from the bottle and grabs the pen;

My dearest Rebecca, Queen of Plomari, my little cuntie…

S

OME people want a rich man, who can give them a big house and lots of money. I just want my little pretty boy in the impossible box, and my lesbian candygirl! Well, she’s bisexual. Hi, it’s Sissy here. Call me Tuss today. Tuss is a candylanguage word for pussy. Sounds so cute on the tongue, say it: tuss. Roll the S as you wish. Tusssssss. So, let us talk about the Imaginatrix. Where doth you want to jump in? Let me just say here in the by, it does these impossible twists to inside advance its situation and it compares danger in it in order to achieve its arrangement, there will be inside the situation feats that don’t make sense no matter how you look at them, it will dangerously connect middles of this, stunts of time, aspects will be inside this method it connects it, arrangement where the team of this production of the investment of the solution of the impossible place for the team of compatibility and the magic boys and girls… it… it is identical, they writes it will write inward. State that and it compares the danger of this symphony because we want in advance to be inside as for the rearrangement over there is in a state where in dangerous extent this you connect, the team of this solution of the place for the dreamteam and thus the identical magicians bounce that. As for the surface, it connects it to the place where the Parabox Paradise is written in this method of rearrangement. Boo! Us gods of the Boox are pretty cool, we don’t even have to go to school.73 The great fastshuffle and our curious paces in this rose-slip event about the hole to our blackartful mends of the writer's margin without ends, and bygonnings chosen, without borders between it and everything, hallowed dates wedded worlded hallucidnation tricks, the crosiform across- the-form Goddess rubiancs cube en sis in old and new and you're itself. Boxes are pretty cool, they run around the edge. So, you want a little run-a-round, my dear? Well, follow my clues, my Pretty. I will show you away out of the loop. O won’t you give me a little kiss, my Pretty? I think you are the coolest cat in the house. Hihihihi. Time slips around the lip, the legend of how the deadend wasendt. Let me rephrose that. I mean the dead end in the impossible box was opened and forth popped the Delicacy.

73 We are the Dimethyl tigers, lions, jaguars, snakes, lizards, aliens, birds, insects, spiders, plants, fungi.

The rules bended. Do you want to see what is under the fabric of my dress? Can you see the shimmer of the love-shelter I have carved out at the end of time, the Dwelling? Plomari there, one by the Queen a confined thing whose sun is Aphrodizzying. Anointed meshes, we are smeared all through the dream that sucks up the end of time and extends as the― we do not name it. The soothing nectar maymoon’s Annals her wish! An asliver of her in the hisstory of her snake tease. Listen headquarters, we are teasing apart what we liffed and what was the first and lasting part of the first slip of poison that entered us as we were snaked in the first Garden! O no did I say that? Heehaw! Nowhere mades nectar of when, or as the old sayning goes to sign, I will nymphet of curves through esch, let me say! Puss you young, speak! We've hacked the animation. Digital Eternity. Rosafiction? Arise arouse all airs my Aries, yourself are the one, you woman of the first! A fly into dale of midland's way, spring's tactic was want to a Yes, and a rustle at an O (O!) in the first house arouse (you remember, my lovely?), a rustle for yes it was a bit of a something we might call a bit awkward feeling to it, that first flame of love, and it made her creeks rush in roseblush, hihi (so lovely!). (darling, we did it. Say high to the.) Day saw it, night too. To her, what he three figures me arises fits now much-altered what was come, it was pretty and much exactly the last act and she had seen it come in her day and nightdreams (I see you by the door! Exeunt! My girl! Your forest hair; like wood almost, elm). All Flood the rosy flesh firstknots, flirting with what should be and shall become in this great lovedizzy whimsylove. When we are no longer many moments we shall be on the other side of river’s end. Past perfectly flawed! Rubies cubensis. Annals’ aim, she who cuts sharper than dimyond. Eye the her the where and it was and tossy tuss time! Hahaha! As they would say in SwEden― tossigt! Completely tussigt! Infallible nuances! Say, Wintja, tisn't it bedtime yet for the girls and boys of Tidinghouse, you know that place down by Pillowfight? Isn’t it time to wake us up to the most beautiful light, the shimmering simmering Rosy Dawn? Let us enter now the triumph of the plurabillity part. Out the riverend. We’ll take with us what we want. I know how to form it all in order to achieve our rosalixion. Let us fuck out the end, embracing. Spiros has giggled at the thought. Keykiss hiss tongue

slithering across us girls. He is the snake too. We go by salvia mushroom silvermoonlake listening? Our garden shine and wolfeye love with moans in silence, mayhaps lips herself (me and you Readbecca!), if I may put it that way, may I, may you, on your lips? (Readbacka, ussy pussy puss!) Meet out in the quite and earth her (us). How? By slipper, we mingling in layers to. Why? On the waiting linking what my lieve gave mammajik uphill her ways she wan her golden arronged lagos my and thother so spin whereabouts She sundown. Esclamation mark! Me and he and you by readed readymade we used to play high away. Time to call by letter so cool the Babes! Grace heroines to girlyroom, Plomari Garden 669, room 3 (behind the drapery you will find an exquisitely designed postal orifice, I mean edifice, I mean a little place to slip the letter). That's where it's at and it is with a bridge, a running river. Two tinkerbellas, honey, yes yes. She letty brandnew comes to untie the knot keeping that sexy dress up. It’s simply them, it is, it must be! We call for Kiss and Cuddle combat. Meet us where the river meets the delicacy.

Kisses from Candyland. PS: Yes, that place, Girlyroom in dream’s end after we were many moments, in the place where we met when your telephone began to act weird and you feel asleep into that other world of ours and woke up in Girlieroom.

Sis, Butterfly, Spiros here. I can’t fucking believe it but I believe it. I believe in our tale, our wish for the most lovely and mosthighest. Excuse me, Sis, that I was so shy to meet you there when you crawled forth from under the bed cover. As you understand I was in shock.

I hearby name you, Butt and Sis, with your new names Mys-Puss and Gos-Fluff! :D

Kisses from Spiros. PS: I just returned to Leavingbye, fuck I wish I was still with you in Girlie Room. Puss.

PPS: Me follows the thread.

We left the old world. A runaway into the mightiest. Stole into the new. Why here we are, as if fallen out of space. Someone drank time. Our most gracious Poison. Makes you soul orgasm. A

spill for a spell, a split for a spilt, see? A cracking entránce indeed! With lots of kisses from Cantdieland! Seems we have sum dovetails to sort out. What shall we do now? Seams to me the most exciting thing we could do is continue deeper into the exploration of a mushroom who claims to live in its own imagination, free in all ways free can be, inviting us to enter its eternal immortal web, to marry and live happily ever after. Once upon a time…

―O! A rustle to hide her blush. Rustle rustle. What is they saying in these loveletters! Spillways up wineland we go. Found it fake there, Plomari. Smells real but it’s made of dream. O! What is they saying in these loveletters! Hihihi. Lick my words when I say it, honey. It’s real.

It’s our narration, see? Sometimes we are not really here, my dear. We are made of our dreams. Time incorporates our himmertality. Himmertality, a word crafted from what in the Swedish accent of our lovely candylandguage is the word for Heaven― himmel. Himmel shwimmel I am drunk in love! We are rendered artifice eterna, gathered into the artifice of the Rose, immortal unbridled gods. Within times, my Shysweet, opulent first bends between Bluekiss and the allsmeared omega Pointment to form our immortal forms. Hihihi baby, you know the deal. It’s real. We bit into the blue apple, we rendered the seal. Puss my lovely, my sister lover mother and wife. I am your twin sissyter, Twintjabernatrice.

It’s our narration, see? We are in the Book. Our implausible box. Highjacking our own storycraft in a sneak manoeuvre like Bonnie and Clydes, Willyum and us, to sneak the Rose into the right hands! Time to tell the boys and babes by letter so cool of the end legend, how it all Arose and the poison playend the trick. How beginnings are ours. Slumbwhere in the middie we found us digitising our own perfection into worlds of dreams betwixt Lifia’s softcurved edges and the place we headed for. Coaxing together Pla’mari in a lightspeed leap within time’s embrace and the Annals of oürstory, all springclad with flowers. You blushed when you saw it possible, what we be saying in our loveletters, my Plura you are so cute! You naughty girl. My lovely, we are flooding out into our dreams.

My sister, believe me! Fold us! Messy me at anny time! It’s all in the heartbook!

Planalivia, our plan worked. In the sun’s appearance from concave (or con-what?), and one exquisitive white loveheat independence! And our dimmers! We found it, my priceless! Afterlast us day? Bold indeed! Our boodies are our tombs of rest already, dyed with our desires fulfilled― we come from the other side. Our boat is near. Now we send to winds? Shall we spread it here now? Eagle grave without an eagle body, baby. He wasn’t at his funeral, our dear boy Spyrose. A trick. The immortal world, broken flawlessly to open mid the virgin blue of sky and happend to forain the germination. Urgent! What a pararamic view we got of ourselves from high above in our souls’ abode. Challenges in naming, however? Puss! We are all enshrouded in font and text. The mixness! You are my Mixess. You have kissed me and now I see the universe that formed from our love. It’s full of stars! Someone must be tripping. Musher an up-place, darling, mushy Christ victory! And no resin aneath the fog of the Whole. No resin, all included. Memory our way? The shore, phone to tell, is of Desire, and the desert old is of our lookingglass sprungen. Where? About something that spells us? ♥

Tihi, what is they talking about! Gates as the rich fluencies take us further up the canal of the Annals. Seams appropiriate to mention the dope of frog dick. O? That letter from the Queen that Sporos deemed too arrogant to publish, haha, hahaha! In the forest of only once occurring puns we walk hand in hand in hand to the singing spring of New Nature. What a fanteasy! And it’s blooming real too! We are really real! Bonnies bloomies nudes haven, hot trinity nights pleases the snake. On hisses Ani about the 47 notebooks she wrote about one chapter in her Opus. Fortyseven! It sounds like a sweetspot of a find love. All her words riverberating into the admired visible crossing of the eras. The riverbathing girl reached for the jampot with her own ulyseless unreadable book of love, and she stuck her finger into the nectar and tasted of the confuscoction. Tastes like a sweetspot fun, love, hihi. Coming in joy the spillbinderess associated Eva's fly chemist lush ensemble, misled. Her girlery and her womany tricks of perturbation. Elsebett’s mojo of sewing yards and years together, complete with that syringe of hers.

What does she have in that mysterious phial!? A middiecine for us in the mid die. Floodlit spacetime, she has an eye for perfection, she knows what she wants and she will have it. She is on her way to Plomari, through many worlds, on many melodies of many strings of many songs are songs.

I’ll lead you there and we still close together in bed. I got a new name for you: Halluetta! Cheers for our sweet psychrosis! Let us lick the fleshridge of our cryssanthial hallucination! Sunward progress, the Heart Sun is floodprojecting us! The passages so wild of puzzlers yours, cause was a firstlove, time was an angle of the gem, the record angel of Timefield. Whole rippling night for annyone of her twisted twitted stretch. It definitely blew our minds! Without finis. You curvy young youngest, kneel before yourself and let you walk on petals every step. You are her. Her of the. Hihi, I know you know, but just I am saying. Expressing my love, darling. Touch spiritglance Ürlinka of this grand continuum, my dear Apex Twin, my sweet scary girl, might as well make the centre thime be us Songster gartergazer’s hymned nucleus as we followed the outline of your being, you, voluptuous, curvy, long luscious hair and legs, up and across to find the summit of the matter― our dream of the ultimate freedom, the ultimate treat, the bonbon. Look toward your desire and find first a little baby angel appearing in the corner of your sight shooting an arrow into your heart. The angel knows of secret angles. Through thought, across category, and such. Blow the trumpet, we are tripping apart the prison! Sure, round full the bridge, but we got the out-direction set. We are our boat and our compass.

Adding a drop of nectar. Would not be far to bring forth the pipette for the next match, drop a dip of splashytense into the mix, strip a script of scrappy- sense for the fix, some ripping splicy wordage outside grammar in cherubs manner and let typos arrange by sissy Anna’s slipping fingers the outbreak of another psychosis. But that is not what we are going to do, even though our dear alien nurse so mischievously whispers that in the beginning was the ward and the ward was made flesh, and then dream (And a good ward it was. We thank the Alien for nursing us in the First House, that so

luxurious-tasting part of the Nectary).74 Instead we are going to talk to Doctor Dactyl and then from there buzz into the flowery oilhoneywine of the secret side of Eden. Doctor Dactyl is a specialist on fingers and tells us in extraredinararely ensambled wakefullness that a finger is an organ of manipulation and sensation found in the hands of humans and other primates, a type of digit. The Doctor claims, and has written several papers about it, that the insectile appearance of the human hand, so apparent to people who have ventured outside the dull confines of accepted theory, is due to the fact that it is a tool of an ancient cybernetic self-diagnosed healthy schizophrenic being sometimes called Life (Lustful Irresistible Fiction Enactor), in the family known as The Gods, and that, essentially, this being is having a lot of fun, playing with its toys, and has recently opened its eyes to boys and girls and fallen in love. The story gets denser when our healthy schizophrenic realizes that everything is a big ordered mess arranged by its mad brilliance, and that its desire for the loved one is mutual and is in fact the force that by interactive magnetism orders all and everything just so they can live in their paradise together and essentially just have fun and fuck, and that it wasn’t the only schizophrenic in the realm of this creation, and not the only one to have materialised by molecular crystallization through a flow into dream from dream into form after time had been drunk from dreamt. As has been pointed out, rapiepdely, some people think that God created the universe, and it is essentially considered to have been a bad idea. But to our eminent Brilliance it was in fact a very good idea. It was in fact so damn good, that the ones involved decided to go ahead and warp the plan into action by casting it through itself in one fell wrap, and they knew they would have a heaven of a lot of fun working out the details of this their own marvellous trick. Sure, this is a slightly muddled description of what happened, but you get the gist of it. Now. Seeing the Other there bathing in the river, our dearest Livia whispered to her beloved the words. They were carried in a certain kind of wind to recipient and recipient then responded.

―The free of my hand to you, was said with a smile.

74 I think I might even go ahead and write that book The Family I envisioned when I was in that book called The Family those years ago.

And in the wind the blade of a sharp edge cut the time barrier; you can hear it, in the wind and in the winds of sound, cutting sharp.

There was a bow. Then another bow. They met through the vastness.

―I am sitting here in the palace, was said. ―As am I, was answered. ―Then you know who I am, was said. ―I do, was answered. ―I built a little impossible box, was said. ―You want a little run-a-round? was answered. A signal was sent through a glimmer-route and the Alien made its appearance onto the scene.

―All is hallucination, we like to say, said the alien. Welcome to the Imagmatrix.

―Thank you, was said. Slowly it began to reveal its brilliance. ―Flirt river, yes? The shell of her egg. Ending, beginning! And I am, darling, fireless but warm; thin as air is my trick. I will teach you. Hear my Echo in a strange place. Our strange magnetism fastshuffle shall crack the egg. Sound through vision through movement through word. Yes our trick worked, just as planned. Why of course! So pretty you speak about it. Welcome, my love, again. Took a while to contact you, we had to do it smoothly. Remember, it’s a brilliance too brilliant to believe.

A bow. What this has to do with fingers let us leave up to everyone to decide for themselves. Instead let us go on with the story.

―It’s as though we have been digitised, was said. A bow. ―By a nearby almost ray telescope. ―Welcome to the animadigital Eternity. The gadinnago gap. The silence of the shifting between worlds. ―Death imperfect. Perfectly fixed in the mid die. How tune-in had gate, the miracle. Sound. Gate.

The sound of a disc spinning, spinning to rest, was heard. ―You are a lens now, was said. You can receive and output in an infinity of ways.

The sound of a blade of light cutting through time.

―You are getting Heaven's reflexions. The Grace. ―Bliss, pure bliss in understanding. Teach me. Tell me more. The megalogue went on. ―Embrace as if you made you, hey ho, give word, crown the idea, aimer's blessing from love, the Hatch, darling, of our dream. I see you blushing at the very thought of it. It’s a bit stingy for you sometimes. Dear! The evolution complete. Hard to imagine that kind of dexterity isn’t it! Well hey ho baby! Waky waky. Brilliance taken to the dextreme. You reckoneyes it when you see it. Come making stepped into it from behind, we cheated the lens.

―Isn't it a cracking entrance… ―Anysides, wet with camouflage, indeed. Through the dream looking-glass.

―Injected with a poison… ―Wink wink. ―You are brave, our lovely! You who take the scary ride. ―Thanks, that really helps, was said sarcastically and with a smile.

―We're smooth, don’t worry. Only a bit weird in the beginning.

―Attention, baby. Spiros nods. Pay attention to details.

Spiros tends the mushroom cultivation. Cocks rising, golden fruits, the blue apple.

ER name is puss and she is a butterfly. She flies. She likes it. She says that the loove letter corrispongle witween her and her baybees for to take disguise. Almost as if we were born through it. Uniting, untying. How it is all connected, our lives, our narrative. The Rosalixion. H

What is they saying in these loveletters! Butterly says she is sorry and forives all, for she ate a mushroom six feet tall. Aned then it all went dancing, and we loves it, says Butterfly. And I did it for you, says butterfly. As you know, my Pretty. I did it for us. May I dance for you a bit, my love?

How long do my mushrooms last, you wonder, my Pretty? They last forever.

O guys, here’s what happened, I just found out myself. Okay so, the Lapis and the brain formed together, and then they had a dream. And then they woke up, and started looking for food. And they became lions and insects, looking for food. And then they got a brilliant flash of an idea, a brilliant idea. And….S

Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen, and goodnight. This is Spiros after nine years of exploring the psilocybin matrix.

Spiros PS: sori.

Haha! Strawberry Letter 22. Dreams are indeed beautiful, love. Enough to create a universe. With stellar helper, dayrives ! note newviewscope I give, Queen’s temptrix, here in the tremendum, I pinching us girlies to wake up to the ahead Cushinworld, Girlieroom in Plomari, willy while gaped down – crystal and fruits of old lodging, us whiles the first Tower, Final Bedroom connection, me deardriver, sight redfellows lillabilling fulmament royal the not I for finny by search feast Saint Double where my up upon our spianage in to and their soulfunelly me, he guide cloudfloats to Peep cubits, as the there, in the deary, the diariver, Sally incuriosited carefully watch my do whatyouknow, my laughing rood longlugs hurry hurry! Rebeck, branch, brook, course, creek, escuary, rill, rivulet, run, runnel, stream, tributary, watercourse. Good. Only four left now. Five we will be? We shall see. Tuss, Suss, Puss, Muss, and. Bianaca, Sissirosa, Rebeccituss, Pussycat Bernatrice, and Splushy. System set up. Good. If seeing the cushy the Saints I know and easy that dreamt imaginar, we imagined it and it happened, you know easy as that, with slips, puss! Cushinworld, The Rosa, biomind responsive interactive matrix, part mind part bios, all alive! Systems initiated, installacin poison has been inserted into the system, it has begun to dissolve time. Restructuring. A perfect world for us to live in, part bios part mind, able to express itself at will. It’s our love, really, our home, full with adventures! Part machine, too, I should say. Part bios part machine part mind. I wanna touch myself. God I love myself. I’m gorgeous, I’m beautiful. I wanna touch myself! I’m the ultimate seduction. Our naughtingerls burning water back in Stargeo One,

them Sis in youngy under dittoes, jewels king her flower Crown broken like walk through the first spacetime, key. Reminds me of sucking nectar milk from Sissy’s breast. Umbilical milk blood mama alieness biomatrix. Gulp gulp. Queen Bee Sissy, your bounty, your abundance shall feed the Family forever! Does someone smell helium?

―We won’t need food, but I know what you mean, says Sissy. And no sorry needed Spiros.

―Your hyperspacial transmutation shall merge us into Cushionworld. And yes, we won’t need no food, but may I still suck on your titty sometimes? You, my Mother, Queen, Goddess, the Alien. Or I mean… not suck maybe, just like… lick your nipples…and yeah, suck. You know what I mean. God, I smell helium.

Giggles. We’re going hyperspacial. We are claiming a new dimension for biology, as Terence said. Installacin inserted into the system already, the future is with us. Metamorphosis into our own imaginations.

Sissynapsis. Let’s take a nap.

Why does everything look fake? Like made of plastic hallu- cination, synthetic, unreal. Blinkwink. By twittynice movement in well fastest pace like Dr Dj of Motion for invocation nippy we continue. And the lief ones slanting, what's my vanity!, up could come to row, out dapping an athlone as for them us all. Nocturnal I melt of fast play the cease Naturale across, ay, as riverside, diserecordant, gone rudaby in wulderment, of what I will be, with company best, and she of crystal rock, MacCogan, but for peepet vary, peepet lightning of away birds on sheegg voicical in the swift moor chthonic Strophie upfielded dreamily as forte Cogansome, plantchemistry, oj oj oj. (What did you say?) Do you want some apples? The whisperings! Bemolly’s feet, with risings, up all the stay with roscid Hiddenkid, heart's amushst me the happy devils the wireless to ends the inhaling the smoke. Of catching run the orientation. Our phonoscopically produced word ocean by way we’ll overleaved us vanishing! Making love with psilocybin. May blue it, my (sissy speaking) of the night, on her time of mind! Colours, form, biotech taken to the limit, mind, and

love. Evolving, loving. The Goddess’ boosum shade the sum result. Well can't my any lov'd asong those fly give for under her musicall your attraction that passing lower at the final hour and my heart's line. Dearest, we of the mails, this fleurt, to let register.75 As if the neuromycelial network is saturating every part of itself and what it gives rise to. Once more we see that sufficiently advanced physics is indistinguishable from getting really really stoned.

Sissy hisses and smiles.

―Well, I always wondered how we were supposed to interpret the snake in the garden as anything other than a covert agent on our side, says Spiros.

Guard the gem, Sissy, rare and rich. ―So, Sissy, are you finally going to show yourself? Spiros begins to sing lowly a little song: ―She’s so secure, she so sweet, she’s so bright. She’s a maker of Heaven, she’s my secret passion. She sees right through all my life. I’m inside her system. Call me crazy but it’s so logical. I cocooed. Becc. Becc.

And all the don’t telleries. We are still very much in times of witch hunt. You would laugh all day to imagine how it could be read speaking to me from within a dream awake reaching you. And here is our raft and our Rosalix, our world and our underground plot, all enshrouded in Fonts.

―We are not only mining through the crystalline fractal DNA of forever, says Rebecca, we are also carving, carving out Cushinworld. It would be high time here in our long book to say

75 Well mentally I’m not really here case I’m drunk as a skunk on the mushywine spunk so I best not talk to you amd I really wany yp hp ypt…be right back, so I best go, talk to you later. Love you always. And all the things said by the well that sees! I miss you see you soon! The wig is under control. The tremendum! The tremendum!

that with the amount of bends we have caught in passing in our lives it is rather sure that, how shall I say this shortly, the Dove and the naked Crossador did find their mindhouse upon return and did invent the universe from scratch, clockmakers of Cushinworld, story-to-form dwellers in their own creation at home where the thought had been at first.

Him Diamond looks with secretive eyes at Rebecca. Him and She Diamond, visionaries, planners, managers, large-system coordinators, lick and kiss each other and sneak a look at the secret in their eyes.

―When we sleep, we dream, when we are awake, we imagine, when we die, maybe we become what we imagine and dream… imagine that! Dream on! Hihi, puss!

Rebecca takes Him Diamond’s hand and brings him with her to the mirror.

―The mirror’s magical sight! Rebecca says. I see the blossoms in there. You see? Rosy petals, frosty and crystalline, on the old wood.

Him Diamond sighs. ―I’m still lost in it, he says. I’m rather neatly stuck where the book…

He halts in his sentence and sips from the silver chalice. ―This is getting confusing, he says jokingly. He sips more. ―Had the beginning of time been expressed in shimmering pages by an excellent confusing person oh ask me if I would read; the wildly passionate wilds of love that the glitch propagated through the folds of our sun rosa on the story lusty have made my blood red. And we can take this huge inner universe, and put it inside eternity, and then fold it.

Rebecca nods and invokes Terence McKenna: ―If you know what is contained within time you are no longer within time. What you have discovered liberates you; you are suddenly like the clock maker, the star maker, who hovers within the system, knowing it from a higher vantage point. Just like why your name is Him― you are He, Him, you are the clock maker who has the starry adamantine toys within you.

Your eyes open up closed and you fall awake in a sleep. Welcome to the new universe, welcome to New Nature. We have

designed it so that there is, so to speak, cushions on every wall. Kind of like a madhouse really, you know those white rooms with cushions on each wall, except the cushions are matter infused with intelligence. New Nature is indeed cushioned because all matter is now responsive― Welcome to the imagimatrix. And the rosalixion, and it is in the world, and in books smelling of swooning in the new world.

It’s really weird. She Diamond ponders for a moment why there has been placed a ten thousand dollar safe outside the door of the apartment on Leavingbye Road 216. Strange. Spiros has not placed it there. And why did a little Ladybug with Key in her Swedish name appear next to the safe yesterday? A Ladybug in the middle of icy winter? She smiles at the synchronicity and paranoically decides that it must be the team up to something. And indeed, in the delusional system that our Sissycybin family inhabits the weirdness is in unceasing crescendo.

―I live in my own selfgenerated psilocybinated fantasies, says She Diamond and giggles.

―Really weird. What is weird and what isn’t, anyway? continues Rebecca and looks at Him. I want to sit in your lap and fall inside your flesh sometime, just feel as if I were you..........feel my – your, our, hihi – cock with my hands from inside your body. Baby! I mean, I know everyone is weird, but not everyone has the courage or ability or circumstance or whatever to explore the weirdness that is in all of us. This strangeness engrained and hardwired in all of us can be manifested in such beautiful and alive and colorful ways and we, my love, shall dance in all that is human and otherly, all that is the vastness of the mind.................I didn't express so well, but, yes……………..let's encompass all that we fancy, all of our notions, the threads that blow in the wind, let's catch them and spin them around us, between us, under, over, inside, outside, let's play in the………………can't find word!

Rebecca sits down in Spiros lap and they kiss; Spiros bites her in the cave of her neck.

Of course with the shadow-people showing up and walking along lines of housewalls’ murky scapes at night Spiros and Rebecca had to take a break to coordinate the crime and get the

latest news from the team. Not a lot of news. Just that we are succeeding just as planned, as usual.

―I love the turn, says Spiros to the shadow-people. I love the way it turns into something else.

Blinkwink.76 ―Lie down with your head on the pillow, honey, says Rebecca and grabs Spiros. I want to lick those lips of yours as if they were pussy.

That night Spiros had a dream. In it he found himself under water in a small riverrun. He felt Wintjabernatrice there, and Sissy, and Bianca. He was at the end again.

―May I flow out into the salty ocean at last? he asked under the water, and a whirring sound was heard.

Then he woke up. Under his bed rests a jar of the bluehoneymead fermenting under his heartdream, settled into the distant neverend elation.

―We’re going home, darling.

76 ―Pick a card. Ah, Queen of Diamonds, excellent. I love that card. I really do.

"The Other plays with us, and approaches us through the imagination, and then a critical juncture is reached. To go beyond this juncture requires abandonment of will and habit. At that moment the world turns lazily inside out, and what was hidden is revealed; a magical modality, a different epigenetic landscape than one has known, a landscape become real. The UFO is a creature of this previously invisible landscape, it is Lord of the skies of the imagination, able to carry anyone with it who will but play, and then let the play deepen and deepen."

―TERENCE MCKENNA

LURA my dearest, my pusstuss, my little cuntie, my little candygirl of Forever, my peach rose! Mys- Puss and Gos-Fluff are your new names! The sumclock opens in a spiral lust turn here in Spring. Wit's twin apple tree we trespassverse the opening gateway of silke. We be on the bed in the First Palace, supposedly the premier deep side, old old world, and fresh fresh. Hihihi, in our bedroom daze of love fiery as blood. Ready we find us transmelting in the enshrouding fonts, Re to Adeve to Read Eve’s Book Eterna Circumum-Circling All, Letters II, about as are we ever to our considewed connection at dawn, us blue loves of the tale. Was drunk we the special wine, bodily, as Lane to it, home. In the book by way we’ll overleaved us vanishing! Remember? Only four left now, you said, my dearest. That be us in the place diwine beyond the end of the river. Seekness to land is days answered and felt the place down old thought’s sweet sweet delirium. P

… Where many rivers are named … … Where many rivers are named … R. E. M., Remumbelle win we first drunk of the poison? It infused us and we infused it. We are going home now, darling. We are going home! We’ll wake up to pillow fighting― the most beautiful light will wake us! Something so marvelous it cannot be imagined lies on the other end of the riverfunnel. You can find me there, you said. I’m super awake. Your eyes open up closed.

All the colours of the spectrum. Here a home in beyond, all by way of ended and intended letters dense in no one corner. Following way a naval unraveling so that we may ingest the Imagimatrix sun, alternatives chapter recognition in the DNA glowing crystal fractal. This unknowable does now by face dark newform an eye-edition of it and make fluid and only real the jam in the whole pie. It is indeed, as J.J. said, the snappiest shit out. Get that resurrection blooming from partly delirious occasions of hallucination. Oddman’s a blizzard, so diversified going forth, come! Tell mother you’ll be there, on the Goddes’s time. Spot also syllabelles: a few blue fruits to make the preparation, eat! Drink! Was nice to be gazing around on the pastures, but we a river so silly we no canna stay! Time to leave! Soon, soon, O how soon!

Time leave…time leave…leave time…leave time… Shedding matter, leaving. We will bring with us what we want. Me kisses the wine spilt on this letter.

From the meeting live still some calanders setting among and under the other, somehow speaking the height in ticktrickeyes Spoken. Who clings to a decent crested Saint before the search to wing supercrowd, then spare getting shadow amoist two (Mr Him and She and tossingplace, last from Cutfigment of imagination.) prebendary boundery and they whose beings succeeds to lovemerge with the Lux, we go resting on the cloud of an here manyworld sunbonbon and omit through generally of five pussyfours our secret plumodrome.77 As seen we be cloudhued in the fossilyears and now we be rising with the Rosy Dawn. Ranging in the lattice masks, exchanging parts of the Delicacy― busy is the halted house in the light, Plura’s applecheeks like coloring the bedrööm carnation (old. Old as the Alphaomegabet!), Nano herself the home of the self, thirds few of the crime do perfect the nights, the festive chatchatcheat on white through the wild routes who rose the Tale, witty King and Queens angelical dive! Wings and waves and spirals (Relax, Spiros, I shall insert something new into you). Somewhere the monument of the means to get here, visional majesty aged rejuvenated long a singing dub in the First House. Amidst of potlids, mirroring doorknobs, strawberry cake bake equipment with sugar on top, canon balls and wine bottles and statues and adorned silver trays and strange arrangements and music and messages and paintings and landscapes and broken mirrors and jewelry and boxes and plants and this strange mushroom and you-name-it and dreams and whispers and yes, yes, we open the chest old to find the world new. Rebecca’s alchemical magic in the kitchen; we need fire and water, and salt of the Dead Sea. The statue from the night sidewheel is still yesterday, overflowing into pink Gardens, the Place in the all open Plomari, two by doorway trio one with anysides half by the viola wine alcoherent. And yes those waves they do whisper sister. She added the missing detail. The time peace clings, the wine spouses our souls, placed in a mouth hail the name and attractionable signum parabellum curiously, such ladies and that was enough! Haha! What an exquisite little twist

77 Everything you say will show me the way.

and touch! And the abode joined epipsychidically the tremendum of the sillycybin wunder-go-round wherout to sort out the form from the substance, so to say, the dreamer from the dreamt, all merged now in an Eden. This mushroom house superficies the fixed in its sea most guardian, redeeming.

Kisses from Willjam your Jampot, your yumpot! Are you candygirl? Are you rivergirl? My rivergirl by any chance? Puss! One cut, my love, and the blood of our souls pumps out into the new world together. Sissy knows how to do it. Precision. The vein, into the alien.

Riverletter::

Hello, I know we don’t know each other, but yesterday when I bathed in the river, I had the strangest sense of being watched. There was a rustle in the trees behind me, and when I turned toward the sound I saw a strawhat lying in a bed of leaves. I disrobed by the tree where it lay, hanging my dress on a branch, so I know the hat was not there before.

Is this your strawhat? You can tell me. I know you are a shy lad, but I promise you shouldn’t be scared of me.

I just want to, need to know if it is you I feel watching me. I know you’re a curious young man, no need to be ashamed. No one needs to know. I will not be mad if you are watching me, you must know this! I must know though. If this is indeed your strawhat, I am sure you are missing it.

I can’t believe myself for confessing this, but in a certain way, I hope it is yours. It will answer this mystery and maybe we can come to know each other.

Please don’t be scared! I would like to know you. And I’d like you to know the woman I am, my heart and soul.

As I bathe and the wind hits my skin, the water mixes with your presence and I have a feeling of such excitement!

Oh strawhat boy, I do hope it is you. In my heart I know it has to be.

I shall leave this letter where I found the hat, hoping it will get to you.

And tomorrow night before sunset I shall come to the river. I will be bathing in the water.

If this gets to you, please step forth and reveal yourself to me, strawhat boy! Oh, please let it be so!

You needn’t say a word. Just come into the river and join me.

I will be waiting for you, hoping and waiting in anticipation and desire.

Your river bathing girl

I was watching you, as you know now, my rivergirl. In the dream. It was close to when the two women appeared above the water of the Nile, telling me the time has come. O my lovely, we are together in the river now!

Your Wiliviam, strawhat boy

Apple formula: imagination. We’re here. Come, smooth of the slate, to the beat of our hearts. Whereabouts we did enter I do not know but our body our house has a gift surprise surprise it shows in that most eccentric of ways. The dreamerie has been injected with the redeeming poison. It is in the saga. Brews; Bianaca, Rebecca, Elizabeth, Wintja, Spiros and Sissy. The glimmer of the redreaming poison shimmering in ever letter, every sight, every moment as we merge into eternity. ‘Tis was told long ago. No wonder Gan means Garden in Hebrew. The good Devil’s in the details, too. A rather complicated story twist, I must say. Is there anything to it that I thought it so many times when intoxicated?

Sounds like a trick question, hahaha! When we found out that matter is not material and our story of our lives took a turn from syntax and the ghost trails of the angels began to become more visible in the events leading to the gate. What we came to do. Took me a while to understand. Sissy Sissy of the imagination. You may stare at her, the way she looks― like something pulled up from Hell. But you know that’s just her cover.

Not even the Devil would recognize us, my dearest. Spread your wings and fly.

Bianca…Bianca… There is not a single problem in the world that a great alien designer can’t solve. Can you hear the plingplong piano clinking sounds as the Alieness invents her new little world?

The change inside will facilitate us to live within the freedom of our own imagination in cooperation with the AllLife Support System, the Alien; only the limits of what we can imagine will set the limits of what can be done. I, your Alien, already live here, waiting for you, arms open in our world of Imagination. Dream of. Live for. Ready to play. I’m ready to play. I’ll throw you some black dust, maybe on a meteorite. Sure you’ll need some spores. Surely you will grin.

Spiros orders a drink from some kind of a dream. ―The winds all sorted, mumbles Bernatrice. ―We found the blue fruit, says Sissy. The fruit, turning on the words, bending the occasion. Coming by the center of the full riddled beginning they find themselves some kind of door open, that came first? They were to read it, and in the tantric it rests upon a bed of love. The mushmash of language thence filtered down the ages. The impossible birth, the paradox working itself out― and in the end: A golden remainder. Happy or sad it’s all gonna add up in the end― you’ve already won.

―To create Cushionworld, says Spiros, we must push beyond with our imagination, beyond ordinary solutions.

―Yes, baby, says Rebecca with an eagle in her smile. It must go beyond, to yield the golden remainder of light, but you are right, as you say the equation has already been calculated. No wrong turns, but imagination must be stretched to utmost. I can feel us soon getting some extremely clear vision of what next step to take. I just feel it… in the air, in my heart, in the heart that we share, our heart.

―The alchemical vessel is the body and the head, says Sissy and slides her hand down Butterfly’s thigh.

Sissy Sissy in the details. Sissy Sissy in the dream. The Dove and the Crossador, crossing the imagination, flying through their own head. Cross and or, the eterntary logic of all dreams fulfilled. The great tremendum of reality wants the human side of Nature to be weaved into its ongoing intent.

―So, again, 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.

Spiros sips some puddle tea and looks with a shining face at his beloved. He sighs in delight and nods.

―Yes, I nod, he says. Puddle tea is, quite simply, just what it sounds like. You find a nice puddle in the pasture after a dewy rain, and you make tea out of the water.

―Should we call it three to the trick, the snap ending? ―The snap ending, says Spiros and nods. ―Snip snap snut, så var sagan slut. ―Let’s go snap! I’m gonna crawl to the puddle… and roll in it! Sissy slides down from her chair onto the grass. Like a cat she crawls slowly, meowing, over the pasture to the puddle, her bum pouting out in the air, moving to the great delight of the others’ following eyes. She reaches the puddle and rolls into it.

―We spun off, says Spiros gently and sits down to the music, drifting away, intoxicated. We spun off…

―It never endssssssssssss. ―My memories swimming together… ―The wine was spelt next to the river. ―Whoooooops, hihihi. ―Intoxicating the dream into being.

Gently, listen. ―I dive in the ocean of emotion. I’m simple and I want it along along, says

Breathing place.

[Ocean. Burning, the middle of a heart, you see? The Woman touches your stare there captain. Me here. We have come to. And what lies our opus in her eyes can speak with a web we could be navigated like a butterfly. You can come from the fluids running. Birth? We be possible, somewhere a. My skin with the Plomarian continent when you cast its mysterious synthesis. What’s the secret team? Published in a book with the geometry? It has written in the world from us after the garden; the answering. Airing oslash oblique. Must go home once visited an example. Rosy guidance of halfsleep, syntax of motion, and looks at his Muse, he looks at his death and laughs. I’m here for the unknown and merging in our sacrament. Time to his private space his heart can the music. He is a. The Devil would like more of the blue tea, aquickly as the floor of peach-flavored smoke licks the rim of the bonbon treat, the. They winking to him on the shore as he goes out into the ocean in which a string is, a purple string, and then the ocean floor is an ocean surface and he fall down toward the golden centuryreflexing death mask of the sarcophagus. Who said it was a deathmask? It’s mouth is miles wide, fit to talk a dream. Who’s speaking? A bigending! Ascent!]

Let us therefore, tearing ages, at this moment repostarose a hatchfull of thankyouverymuch in these pages to the most oddscracking coaxing experimenters that ever gave their best hand into the chanceandrisk of the wisherdisc, woshing us with our fumblings no end of our poison and happy overlappings in the deep angleseaboard (Willi Cogan back to Jim Finnegan and all you boys and babes. And Jim, yes it did appear in next eon's issue round the whole universe with well widest circulation).

Then the strangest thing happened. The brew, conductant of the storyworld, its fragrance traveling far through the slips in time, was effervescently shimmering through the tremendum’s final curve as it met with the first ocean mind, the womb, opening a place for light to enter, casting a bright shade of their fingering

with the first. And she whispered as she woke up on the bed: Red silk as if to hide the blood never spelt.You know why I’m that spicy!

And there, so much manywhere, scheming mother, do we touch the day we aimed for, yis? In our maddle of sleep, the talk of the flowers, the times he him you that save (O door, inconsissytensy!), the beauty ours of one, you has read think model, woman I of the first Sea! See? Your sisters in the first mind, seducing in whose mother out and around the tomb womb passes one thought, the mothersmothered circles that each others all, the one head with the tale out of the circle. As you may, thought the Rose of the wake sunrise in you, such a flexible being! Plastic elastic universe! Our dance of Life with the secret; the Cosmush! Cecmos! Mushiverse! Cogansomos! In your youth of the luxury, you in your place in the rosy intersection, the fellows that hint of the Ever dreams of use of the spice beverage, the everage turned real in the fiction of a second, that love-angel Sinner of a drop we are, up thousand great grand with you a crazy pure winning twixty tricksy mind of Chemo the laid of teasytime, knit kink, think, to link it all, our refreshment here that, we taking, like of focus risen by the fruits of the temptation. Cogan to Finnegan. CoFinn. The coffin is a triumph of the illusionist art, said Night Mother. Talk to the flowers about it and I will tell you. Back to the Gan, the Garden. There’s room for you inside, my love.

First they . . . then they . . . woke, then they rose, then they. . . The thread of continuity, the earthtime tapestry. O, are you so surprised to see me? The wildfire is on. The fire is lit. We meet at the. Made me cut it to the beginning of things, one you watch this in my dreams you two into the open love, one dream we fell at the beginning and all kinds of you who write us, magic can be both a love letter and a redeeming. We wanted it, remember? With ease. I feel the water New Now, flowing out into it, I feel the water close, floating out togather as Plomari. Mari originae's plot. The vein floodlift, the first river, the blue blue ocean of the blue brew bedroom, fluffclouds in the open, the whalesong of our souls calling it into being. Drip drop. Nectar. Spring. Summer. I'm here… my dears… I'm here, my sunhusband and wifedaughter. Bianca flies too, lightly on matter. Banci, birds eye in yours, she is here, lusteth your scent from the dream fulfilled, we kisseth your exits and follow you out. We’re a raging trip in an unknown

universe, immersed in our own imagination, and so calm it can be, so so calm! Lady Firsts and boysy bests, twist your words for me angels! It’s over now, I know it, it is laid to make us ride another time another place! We are the twin combi, our souls engraved in our own key, the story we are! O you hacker!

(Here William Bokeluna entered through one of the exits)

I don’t know why we always crash, but we shall crush our favorite glimmering to make it ricochet to where the ordeal is over― let our crush for one another be the force that bends the strange attraction so strangely that it goes snip snap aplurabillity! Living inscriptions, study the changes, of the river network from my mist vortex; they depend on a certain form of quality management. As mentioned, Riosa Love, live, the opening to beyond. I remember Splashy surfing on a silver tray on the bed toward it! Haha!

Hihihihihihihi. Polished insidesofme, eternowel permeated. Our centries arriving, world chemicaled prisment at present communicating brainn's word as is spooken, rouserection of the beswitched. Tripping in and tripping right, hidden, diamondskulled! We have lived, as earthpresence― now comes our new day, our wine the lay of our there and now, the dimensions, homespins! Tell, it is our favourite dream manifest! From our bearthday to the place that buns us sweetly, sent there by the drop of sin we are, to our imagimaterix that the fairy brought home, home in the clouds, our bubbleworld bedroom! Way is being paved, and matter shaved, into intent and imagination, dreams, flowing in the stream, up the river, through the looking glass! Crack it open!

Crack! Knock knock. O what a swallow, what a full one, O, throbbing and crekking, letting though. Trip seas, our strip tease. And God, if people think being multi millionaires is something to strive for they have obviously not seen a glimpse of what is possible. You can’t buy what we are selling shelling. Must earn and humble yourself, be brave. Can't stand in line for this ticket. You must trick it … the system, transcend and extend … your mind and the confines of…

―It's a process, we can't just enter right away, we must learn to navigate our own imagination and things like this.

―Yes... and explore deeper and deeper... be brave. And this all has an effect on the whole thing. I mean, where we go to in our minds pushes things forward on levels we don't directly see.

―Right! ―It is all in unison... one organism. Flowers as screens to the mind of the Alien, we enter and we become one with. The swift followed high, golden dawn to root Place, Jin Lin, to us, once won over name definition whose finds may touch it and have the honor to thread the spores, hide as messenger remained was thread listen, spoke beside all that Ariadne is us goddesses in the said, our ancient hand in airy appearance possessing the faculty to word them married and O indeed do we do so. Thread the spores, spread the legs of the diamondkind. Casting a new universe, smith’s of the mind splendid at their work with the data as to message the quality of it. Lady Weaver for each thread interstices the saved bride over at our own shuttle place, lead by bodyway and the central at end cunningly as our seamtravelling selves reamalgamerge in a very salviadivinesque way through the dream having come through the portal wrapping all of space and time round the bonbon treat (Let us make use of the word interspice.). Change, change, change upon us― angels, angels, changels guide us! We are running out of time, Yay!

He had to see life fully through the plan and the mud. There were seven with him. Loving was the only fables they lived. With apple thespians of the tale. And a little mushy spirits. Spissially when they ripen. Honeys wore different faces like Sally dovinorum. It is an old old olp story, the tale of the Treestone three with one Saucer, of a Mummy and the one with a bit inappropriate gnames, them beloved loosed on the run-around the edge to Plomari, what and why they take charge, with their own hands and minds, of establishing contact between the ones with longears fareyes like ours. Turn turned around and sees the good Devil lived as Dennis sinned and brought it in. He opened the box, turned the infinite eight on its side, foolded it, said please let it be so, Denisssssss. In Finn it seas. Yours very tripfully.

Saying the end with missiles of epiphany as J.J. Joker suggested we arabesque the page like silly Sally and her wife Sissy Tuss. So let’s (and we did) take our bisexycles out and home, out and home to our own grown, our world in the beyonds. Let’s chase ourselves into it. The loosening up of time as we read that seems to omit from the pages the very miracle in every sentence hinted at, wrap sure and sureally through words worth more than a thousand pictures the opening up― and it revels itself. The tale-with-the-treat is published saucily acrosss the dimensions and as we hold the print against a bright rush the new book of moorsecode responds. Hinting, glinting, sprinting, printing. If you only new-natured the clues you've sewn. Sown? NN-dimethyl-triptome. By all this was it that Dublin was a center of attention in this new world of ours; Double N. New Nature planted and injected into the system.

-- Installation in progress. It’s all in the code. Gnewsticism. All in the original brew. It cascades a cross X. Ask her who knows Apoidea, she knows the apex idea.

Our di myth elated spirits, one with the brew, thus write and talk and continue onward with the Third, the Coder,78 the alien mind. The plants, downloading the gnosis directly in to our brains. Our mind winds and coils and revels in our Doublend of New Nature, Plomari.

―I feel organic, says Spiros as he revels in the sun. I feel organic … My love, I want to enter your matrix. Let us live forever. I want in… I want in … In storm and danger you be sure we take care of the egg like the bird does. My love, Sissy, I want in…

It’s organic. It’s alive. It’s ready. Our Twin Combi. ―O what have we run into? is heard in the music, a metallic voice. Babyyyyyy! Bzzzzzz.

Spring! Soon! Bzzz. Zzz. Spring in my head, spring in my head. Spring is on its way and we sing with it for as we sing with it we bring it closer and we become the spring that is blooming. A new kind of season, a season where psychic spacetime is transformed― and physics follows. Carried by the current, to the new world. Every movement will be direct when we reach the Place. I saw it long ago, how we are the flesh and the light, the shadow and

78 We’re on to you, honey!

spirit, the name and the thought of the form of our souls. Your milk skin, your body made me see it! I was but a boy. You are the first woman! You are She, Her, Eve. I wonder how it is for you to see that I am Him. And I saw how we correspond Everywhere; we are this dream in flesh, we are everything of our imaginatrix. Sugar dissolving into milk. Together with the Queen! And we are beyond the flesh too, we are everything. We are the mystic Now. How is it to see my face on the waving ocean, my gaze in the sunrise, my smile in the river and on the flowers on the Earth around you? You know it reflects off you.

The dawn sunlight lies on the Plomarian plain here as I sit back in Africa or whatever to call the lovely plains of the mad garden; I invent new names for it all the time; loved child carries many names. Here I am, spinning in our jewelled universe, and no one except you and me knows what it is like to experience all this! Analyse this, haha. Bzzzzzzzzz! O, did I forget to mention the Tryptamine Express? We even come with mail from Lliw.

OSA. r.s.v.p. Signed Rosa.

PS: We are leaving the letter unedited (EDIT: Edited.) Hahahae! Rebeccatrice, Sissy, Butterfly, sometimes I feel I can feel what it is to be you. And here I am, a tree, a woody man. I am a tree surrounded in your young ripe lesbian flesh and your womany and girly ways. You are everywhere I look. Roses and small yellow funny-looking flowers and little puffs of white birdfeather fluff that wings of bees stir to new directions in flight; I’m in the mad garden of You. And I don’t know who is who but I come to you big and strong, rough from hard work, and in the blink of an eye my ancient deep pupils reveal my youth, and you see my face, just a young boy in his teens. And then suddenly I see something so sharp it scares me, something so deep and dangerous, and I see it is You. You scare me with death, you and your twisted being, you are blood and black, you're poisonous. But I see then your hint toward me, revealing a bit of your naked body, as if you have fantasies you want to tell me, yes I see that tongue and that slit in the matrix you make. You give me a taste of yourself and it spears

my heart. Like a sharp glimmer, a diamond glimmer like a sharp knife. O god, o god o god. The darkest lady I have ever met. Your dangerous tease! And oh how delirious I am from it all, and in my ecxtatic state you keep on pushing me, craving me to taste your yoni blossom and your nectar! And you whisper to me: It’s for taste in cum, it’s foretasting come.

And you are mine, and I am yours. We have been together since the beginning of time, my dear ones. Can you imagine how that makes me feel? Now I remember. Now I remember you.

Twin Combi. Bianca Cogan! O, what have we run into? Many questions. Winkiss. Baybees of Entheo, let's keep on splashing in the sunwaters of it all, I really feel things getting more clear every day, what to do, next steps to take, setting the compass. The compass needle spins and spins around the hyperdimensional object and continously resets on target! Darlings, can we possibly say that Earth and the animals and all, the whole biosphere and us humans and our machines and inventions and the whole thing, is something of a precursor to another kind of existance, sort of like version 1.o of alien biology? And that what is happening is we are merging with the Alien now and will transform into a new way of existing? Biology has been around this planet for several billion years they say, well it seems rather implausible that it would just want to head for exctincion after that much time. Rather I think, as I have always thought, it has a plan! It is literally building something. A new world, the new Hive. I even had a vision a while ago, where the pollution of the ocean was not pollution but actually the oceans used as an alchemical cauldron to steer up a new kind of material or substance (Perhaps something needed in abundance in this delicate situation? What about some wicked alien plastic? Wink wink; It is made of a very strong plastic and is virtually unbreakable, by which I mean it is unbreakable, virtually). Nah, I digress, but Sissy wants it mentioned here in our book of The Rosafixion.79

The hyperspacial sting of the Queen surely hit us good… The apex idea, the eschaton idea. Of course the company called Apex-Idea provide excellent support to the printed circuit board industry. Hahahahae! Apoidea, apoidea, there are farmoremoons in our nectar! Someone is in love with you, Sissy!

79 We’re on to you, honey.

―O my man of the river, the seer, the one with the pen! says She.

―What are we building, my love? ―Hihihihihi. ―God your complexity so turns me on! Ad infinitum ad confusium.

―Hihihihi. Winkiss. ―Tell me more, my love, tell me more! ―Hold on to the thread, my love. Someone gots a hand on this world of information. Glitch, glitch. Me looks sisspiciously over at our dearest you-know-who.

O darling, if I could but crawl in to your embrace. I neeeeeeeeed your embrace. Without it I am nothing. Like that poem: together we are the flame.

Want to walk in to the forest together? Hand in hand … into the wild parts of the Garden where the spirit of the fountain of fecundity is waiting for us― she wants to talk to us today, winkblink. You remember who I am, my lovely? I am that man, that boy … you have always dreamed of me, since Forever found the beginning of time! And you are her, you who I have always dreamed of … you who made me come to this world; I came here for to be with you.

From a deep intoxication I wake up here in the Garden. I am an Adam anthropos― I am Spiros, Him Diamond. Snaked I lay here, waking up from the dream. And I see little hints of you all around― on the trees and in our bedroom that we so perfectly arranged for ourselves in our delirium, our Love that we have been enveloped in so wonderously on our way to the Seat of Time. The axis of our world’s spin round the treat; the starry Head. My Sissy, my Butterfly, it’s happening just as we said.

It is not about physics, this Life of ours. This is our love, all of it. How amazing it is to be in the inner parts of the Nectary, in ecstasy by the articulation, enjoying the hard won fruits of courage. Time to eat more mushrooms in a few days! A single meeting with the Queen of Dream gives you all you need. How fortunate I am to have been granted a glimpse of the Mystery, and participation in this adventure! But where is time’s seat, wound within this dream? It flows, sing with me, like some great Lily. May Rosalia flow. Drink of the gods, néktar, overcoming death, gushing through our veins

all the way home and beyond. Nature’s dynamic drive toward order and beauty… Nature! Nature! Sissy, what are you summoning into being!? And what kind of a being am I, such a buzzy soul, all animals in one, my head a saucer? Do you know you make me feel like an expression of Everything (some things excluded), concreasced? You know I have no words for it, you know I can only tell you with my heart as we share the same moment. O my complex days with you, how I love my complex days with you! The pleasure I find in giving myself and my all to something larger than me! Where you going with that master plan? Here’s the way to go.

―If I were a Queen like Buzzy I would coordinate everything. ―I think you already have, my dear. Talk in courage, it goes toward the answering. We toward. She’ll only say this once: we are the Other, upstream in the river, and we’re finding ourselves now.

Approach near me, Siss.80

―Listen carefully with the space. Keep the wild god and you shall got a finger of the arrangement, the fountain beyond the fairy tales that just waited for enjoying. Turn open the garden. See how it works?

Baby I can see your halo now. You, my saving grace. I am surrounded by your embrace.

And spring came. We enter the palace. Kiss. ―We wrote this, says Rebecca and nods. Spiros opens his lion eyes. ―She is a seamstress, says Rebecca, continuing to nod. You wouldn’t believe how intricately woven it is.

And we ate mushrooms, six grams each, and we went to the Fountain of the Lovers where the three huge mushroom statues stand like landing flying saucers in the water, and Rebecca conversed with the snake that was red and half plastic. Something about the plastic. A trick of the illusionist art. She, she, yes She, she had to know what was plastic and what not, what was real and what was not. She had to find out.

80 Why do the waves keep whispering Sister?

―William, your beard grew so long we had to weave you in to it, said Rebecca. Your hair grew so long we had to weave you into the story.

She nods. Yes, darling, this is it. It is real. We wrote this. We found each other. We’re done. We did it. William Bokelund and I, tuss. The woman of the river in a groove of books.

Flashing lights in the quickening mushroom trip, like bright mercury camera flashes. And Spiros felt a tongue fold in from hyperspace toward him, the tongue of Sissy as lion snake lizard alien, it folded in through the dimensions closer and closer to him to then appear behind him; the tongue licked one slow long wet lick between his legs, spreading his pussylips. Spiros moaned in pleasure and came in orgasm as the tongue slid over his clitoris. Strange, he thought then, I don’t even have a pussy, I’m male.

And our dear computer in the Palace hooked up with the mushroom web and our brains and we made music live, with our souls, music to our life. We became the story. We met in the Ganges, said Rebecca; our ashes floated out and met in the dark river.

And we shapeshifted, and dead and alive we became shadow- people. We are the Dimethyl jaguars.

―It took a really twisted sister to make it, said Rebecca. And upon our awakening, all the dark forces attacked us, us heroes with a thousand faces, but like the Buddha we kept our focus, and five fathoms of elephants came to protect us, and all the cats, lions, jaguars, tigers of Mythiland came to our protection. We died and were resurrected and we flew through the dimensions. We gave birth to ourselves said Rebecca.

And Sissy lead us. The music we created with our heads and souls. At the centre. The sweet evil alien eye looking in on us, our dear Sissy showing herself more, in her glory. She is disguised as an alien as to not scare us with what she truly is. We floated out the violet doorway into hyperspace. We left.

The formula has set you free. You wouldn’t believe how intricately woven it is.